Striking A Deal

“If you think August doesn’t have a torture chamber, you’re delusional.” I paced back and forth in front of the bars. I had no expectations of the truth sinking in, but I had to try. This was the fifth group of plucky adventurers this year. I had killed most of his friends, and the others were in different cell blocks. I couldn’t have them working together for an escape.

It was musty down here. That was understandable, it was a dungeon, but the scents of mold and decay stung the nostrils and left a sour taste in my mouth. I desperately needed something to drink. Lemon water or some form of fruit juice. I didn’t drink alcohol. I never have. But, that would have probably helped dull the nasty aftertaste that had settled in my mouth.

It was dark down here too. The place needed more lights. I noted it in the litany of alterations I had to make. The list seemed to grow no matter how many changes I had implemented. Darkness was a place for prisoners to hide while escaping. A well lit dungeon would allow my guards to do their jobs better. Even now I was addressing the darkness in the cell instead of a person. I knew there was someone in there. Or did I? He hadn’t spoken yet. Maybe he had escaped and I was just being an idiot talking to an empty cell.

“King August,” started a disembodied voice. I don’t think I visibly showed it, but I was relieved to hear a voice. I wasn’t just talking to myself, at least right now. “doesn’t torture people, and if he does, I’m sure he has a good reason.” A little light seeped in toward the front of the cage, and there was a tiny window set high in the back wall, but the prisoner had sequestered himself in the darkness. It was a form of protest. He was unhappy to be captured after trying to kill me. Poor thing.

I gazed around what I could see in the cell. It was standard fair. A dingy, brick walled cell with a smattering of hay for sleeping, and a bucket for shitting. I added to my mental list to improve the conditions of the cells. It wasn’t for the criminals. A cleaner, brighter, cell was harder to deface. I could tell if he were digging a hole or whatever in a stark, antiseptic chamber. In this shithole he could be up to anything.

“I’m sure, you’re vaunted king would never do anything ignoble.” I responded. The thought that August was anything but a scoundrel left a worst taste in my mouth than the dungeon.

“He is a good man,” said the prisoner. He sounded defiant, defensive. It was slightly amusing. I wondered if everyone believed the lies. Whatever the needed to feel justified and sleep well at night I guess.

“He’s just a man. A flawed man like you or I. The rest is color pallet and good propaganda. And he’s greedy. He taxes the people to fund his campaigns to try to assassinate me. How much coin did he promise you?” I really didn’t care. Whatever it was it probably wasn’t enough. August had sent waves of people to kill me. They were all dead now, so he didn’t have to reward any of them. I idly wonder if the bounty was increased with each failure, and if so, by how much. I would have to send a plant into the next party.

“Enough. You’re a monster. A villain. It was our honor to kill your minions.” Oh, this man fancied himself the noble type. He would likely tell himself that all his murder and pillaging were for the good of the realm, or even world. Was I that big of a threat? Surely not yet. To be a world danger was aspirational.

“Those minions had names, families, lives and stories every bit as valid as yours. You cut them down mercilessly and proclaimed yourselves brave no doubt. You didn’t even leave survivors. I bet more than a few pleaded for mercy.” That was what these heroes did. They cut down everything in their path, tell themselves it was all necessary, and then go drink and party.

“Any man would plead for their life with a blade at their throats. Craven cowards all of them.” The disembodied voice spat out confirming everything I had suspected.

“That didn’t stop you from stealing from them after you murdered them. I’m sure whatever coin or baubles you could find was justified in your mind. Reward for a battle well fought. It’s no surprise, there are scavengers after ever great battle. People who probably tell themselves that if they don’t liberate this dead man’s items, someone else surely would.”

Some mother is crying over her dead son who was just working as a bursar. They tell themselves he was an evil bursar. They tell themselves that whatever coin he had on him funded my evil empire. It’s all bullshit of course. They stole a dead man’s pay that was meant for his kids. These mercenaries are usually too simple for complex thoughts. Morality just gets in the way, and they call me evil.

“We’re heroes.” said the prisoner.

“Of course you are,” this conversation was making me lose my appetite. It wasn’t the first time I ever questioned one of these self-proclaimed heroes, but the topic was very personal. It never got more palatable and they rarely ever said anything new. “A nebulous term. In some stories heroes are just extraordinary assholes that wade through normal people. I find these to be honest. The other tales focus on morality, and people are willing to tell themselves anything to feel justified. Tell me, are my people unhappy with me?”

“They are afraid. Not one of them had a negative remark for you out of fear of your terrible retribution.”

“Is that so? I am capable of terrible retribution, that is true, but I welcome criticism from my people. Just yesterday, a farmer, his name is Gunnar Wilhelm, brought to my attention a blight affecting his crops. He blamed the merchant for bad seed. I will investigate with a handful of animists, determine if that was truly the case, and if so, I will hold the merchant accountable. If not, Wilhelm will have to answer for wasting my time.”

“I ain’t sold no bad seed, milord.” A voice came from the adjoining cell.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” This was another reason to improve the conditions of these cells. I was fine with detaining him, but there was no reason to hold him in horrible conditions. “If it is determined that your seed was indeed bad, you will be hanged. Until then, you can sit in that cell and contemplate your life, your business practices, whatever. If you are innocent I will compensate you for your time and send you on your way.”

“Most merciful milord.”

“Merciful? Probably not, but necessary. Those crops will put a strain on my stores through the winter.” I turned back to the prisoner I was addressing. “Cruelty is necessary when you rule. August knows this. He is cruel, he just hides it behind luxury and chicanery.”

“King August would never imprison an innocent.” The prisoner that campaigned for my end retorted.

“August has imprisoned many who were innocent. He was just a wanderer once. A sell sword like yourself that murdered his way across the countryside much like you probably did. He gained fortune and fame and when it came time to slay the overlord he declared himself king and now lives in luxury.”

“His story is well known. It is told in taverns throughout his kingdom and beyond.”

“The story you were told is a fabrication constructed to erase his misdeeds…” I paused. My mind drifted into reverie and some errant thought drove me to anger. “…and his friends.”

“His friends died in the battle with the tyrant.” The prisoner spoke with confidence like he had been there. I was confident he hadn’t.

“Is that what the musicians, play rites, and storytellers say now?” I gazed at my fingers, made a distasteful face, and suck air through my teeth. It wasn’t entirely his fault, but this man was starting to piss me off again. The first time was when I threw him to the ground and had him taken away with his friends that survived. “My, my, what a tale. How epic and noble. He fought bravely no doubt. The last hope against insurmountable darkness?”

“Yes, he slew the tyrant to avenge his allies and liberate the land from darkness.”

“Well, that last part is true at least. King Brandis was an evil tyrant.” I paused and gazed at looked at the darkness in the cell like I was gazing into someone’s eyes. “An actual evil tyrant. He cared nothing for his people and his loyal guard were given every luxury. That’s how he kept his power. That, and his dark pact. He turned a blind eye to every abuse his men delivered upon the people. His power might have been otherworldly, but his depravity was all his. No demon made him do the horrendous acts he committed across his lands. He did it because he was sadistic and he could.”

“We’re you one of his servants? Are you looking to emulate your master?”

“Cute, but no. The only thing we share is a penchant for décor. He was not a fan of white a gold, turns out, neither am I.”

“Cut the crap. You have mutilated my hands and hobbled my legs. Why are you keeping me alive?”

“Honestly, for therapy. I find talking to people sent to kill me rather cathartic. You were the groups scout. I had to do all those unsavory things to make sure you stayed put. You got off lucky. You should see what I did to your magician. I will kill you of course, but I could release you. You could find a healer and, after a few years of work doing whatever, maybe pushing a broom with your teeth, you could pay for the wonders required to put you back together. But that would require giving me what I want.”

“And that is?”

“Information of course. What kind of evil tyrant would I be if I didn’t monologue and offer you a chance for your comeback story. Unless, of course, you’re one of the many cautionary tales before the real group sets off to slay the evil. Stories are full of those. The dozens of groups that set off and never came back. Sometimes it’s true. There have been several attempts on my life and yet I’m still here and they are not, but usually it’s added for drama. The heroes in the story are the chosen ones who will strike a blow against insurmountable evil and win the day for the good, simple people of the land, or some garbage.”

“What kind of information?”

“One of your allies escaped. Well, not escaped really. She tumbled from a window and fell to the moat, but when my guards dredged the moat all they found was her armor. She survived the fall and now she is no doubt out there somewhere, and before you think she’s going to single-handedly infiltrate this castle and save all of you and win the day in some epic fight, really ruminate on that likelihood. You’re telling yourself that the overconfident bad guy is scared. I am not. Lose end are exactly why leaders are murdered by precocious assassins. I don’t like lose ends.”

“If she were smart she flee all the way back to August and try again with a new group of murderers, but people arrogant enough to deceive themselves into thinking they’re heroes are delusional enough to think that gumption will be enough to win the day. She likely formed bonds with you. You were probably her friends. A smart woman would realize her friends are dead, or mostly dead, and save herself, but people get drunk off epic tales and think they can beat the odds.” I grew deadly serious. I was staring at darkness, but I was sure, somewhere in there this man was looking back. “The dead murderers sent by August fed off the same lies and look where it got them?”

“I will let you chew on that, but if one of your other allies tells me of her before you do your life is forfeit so I don’t recommend keeping me waiting.”

“And you’ll let me go?” Was that a hint of hope? His need for survival would override his sense of morality.

“I will release you, such as you are. You have my word, but take some time to think about it. I won’t let your allies beat you to the punch, don’t worry about that.” I turned on a heel and strode from the dingy dungeon and my thought turned to renovations.