Brewer King 40 (Patreon)

As Esomir Sol Suvanis lead Densa, San, and other officials to his father’s rooms, San wondered about the Powers he had. He didn’t have much time to ponder wha the Powers or Levels were doing to him. They made him stronger, faster, and more resilient, but did they also change his mind?

He had been a fearful man before coming to this world. A general anxiety about the world, about his place in it, and how failure at his business my mean ruin for him and his family. Yet in the days since receiving the first Level from the Mage Chief, the constant fear he always knew was subdued. He still felt the sharp spike of it in situations where it was needed, but the everyday anxiety and fear he would normally feel were gone.

Had the Levels reshaped his mind? San found that he could remember things more clearly now, if he concentrated on it. Old books, articles, and memories of his past were becoming clearer and clearer in his mind every time he Leveled up. Perhaps one day he would remember everything he had ever seen or read.

Although dwelling on the thought that his mind itself was being changed was cause for some existential anxiety, San was more concerned with the fact that he could in fact; ‘go with the flow’ of events nowadays. It had barely been more than two hours before he had fought Panchavi’s men in the coppersmith shop, then he had met some kind of magical being trying to sell him a Knife of Death, and now he was being ushered into the Baron’s suite to see if he could help the man.

Before, such series of events would have left him dazed and confused, his ability to adapt to the changing situations would have degraded with the first confrontation of the day. Yet he strode confidently behind Densa and took in the glances of the Guards. They of course were stiff and concerned about his presence, especially with the sword and dagger at his waist. Densa was unarmed, as she was a healer, so what was he supposed to be?

“You her bodyguard?” Esomir demanded as they rounded a corner.

“Pardon?” San asked.

“You. Foreigner. Are. You. Densa’s. Bodyguard,” he said slowly.

“No,” San replied.

“Then why in Senta’s tits are you here?” he asked.

Densa scowled at what was probably a bit of blasphemy.

“Lady Densa and I were having a conversation before you interrupted it with your theatrics,” San said. He felt a bit of annoyance at the man, the fact that he was the Heir of the Barony did not change that. He seemed arrogant and from his previous actions, pretty rude and showy. There was no need to throw the priest around, even if the man had been incompetent, the public shaming was uncalled for.

“San is a knowledgeable healer in his own right,” Densa said, casting a look at San. It was one he recognize, Mary would give him the same look when he was being obnoxious.

“Doesn’t seem to like me, though,” the Heir grinned at San. It lacked any mirth and was colder than the storms San and the others had faced returning to the Barony. “Respect is due to my title and heritage.”

“Respect is earned,” San said. “M’lord.” He added.

The Heir rolled his eyes and glanced to one of the Guards. The man had a hand on his sword and was scowling. “My Guard, Altaron, doesn’t think so, don’t you, Al?”

“Aye, m’lord. This foreign fuck is being pretty mouthy, m’lord. Me and the boys can take him out back and show him what we do to mouthy fucks.” He stopped and looked to Densa. “Pardon my language, m’lady.”

“Shall we see if we can save your father before you threaten one another?” Densa demanded, annoyed at the posturing. “I brought him along and as long as I am with him, he is under Senta’s protection.”

“Another one of your bleeding heart causes?” Esomir snickered. “Is he like the Filth you claim are people? Is he like the sick and poor that you try to help? Tell me foreigner, does Densa also wipe your ass and feed you from her tit?”

San stopped and the hall went silent and tense.

“Apologize,” San said.

“To you?”

“To Densa. You mock her and you goad her. She is the one who will help your father and yet you try to antagonize her.”

“Me and the boys’ll take him out back and cut off his balls,” the Guard Altaron said. “Geld him like they do in the Far Kingdoms. We’ll see how mouthy he is then.”

Esomir peered at San, looking him up and down. “He’s got Levels,” he said. “He’ll probably be able to kill you all, especially with that sword of his.”

The Guards looked to San’s waist, finally seeing the basket hilt broadsword in its sheath. San wasn’t entirely sure how people knew what was an enchanted weapon, but the men obviously saw what the sword was.

“I got a message from old Havatair, that there was a tough foreigner who went to kill the batto queen,” Esomir looked San up and down again. “Made an impression on the old shit. Are you really as tough as the old man says?”

“Doubtful,” San replied.

“Enough of this,” Densa said. “Your father lays dying and you indulge in this?”

“The Baron’s been dying since Mother passed,” Esomir said. “His heart grew cold and rotten when she left this world. Hetvana awaits his arrival, Densa. Why rob her of such a treat?”

“All are redeemable in Senta’s heart,” Densa said.

“Ah, but you didn’t see what he did to those Nox we captured. Even with his shattered leg he still took his time with many of them, their screams were heard for miles.”

“Do you want him dead or alive?” Densa hissed. “Publicly shaming Garatov like that was unnecessary. He is a good healer and to do that to him, that is unacceptable.”

“It is time for the Barony to change hands, Lady Densa. I need to at least look the part of the favored son trying to do all he can to help his ailing father.”

“So what’s with all of this, then?” San asked. “Just a big song and dance?”

“No, you’ll go and see him. Discover if he’s healable or not, if not then let him die. The Barony needs a change and his reign will be over. The years of his foul mood infecting this city will be gone and we can finally move forward with defeating the Suvanna and then securing our place as the dominate Barony.”

“This nonsense is why I left your father’s service,” Densa said. “Foolish politics and lies. Everyone proclaims devotion to the gods, but the moment their backs are turned, you all begin plotting.”

“It’s the way of Power, Lady Densa. Commoners like you would not understand.”

“Show us to your father, foolish boy,” Densa snapped.

Esomir stared at San, a slight grin on his face. “After you, foreigner.”

“I don’t know the way,” San replied.

“Al will lead you.”

Altaron grabbed San’s arm, the man was decked in full Guard armor but he barley came up to San’s shoulder. He glared at San, looking up at him.

“Forward,” he said.

***

The overpowering stench of rotting meat filled the room. The Guards and Esomir gagged and pulled handkerchiefs to their noses as they entered. San winced at the smell, it wasn’t as terrible as the Flesh Horror’s den or the batto caverns. The musky stench was heavy in the air, but it didn’t have the trace of evil or horror within it.

The Baron of Sol Suvanis lay on a wide simple bed in the center of the room. San took in the Baron’s suite and saw that it was minimally decorated. A few paintings on the walls and a lone bust of a woman at the foot of the bed. She was dark haired and lovely; with faint crowsfeet at the corner of her eyes and stern thin lips. The bust was painted with life like skill, showing her bronzed skin and a slight reddening on her cheeks. Her eyes were brilliant green and a pair of moles sat at the edge of her left eye.

The man moaned. The Baron was a big man, thick in shoulders and in his gut. He lay bare chested and nearly stripped naked, but sweat ran down his skin even as cold air blew in from an opened window. His entire left leg was wrapped in gauze and splints, but even San could see it was beginning to soak through with blood and yellow fluid.

“He was fine until a few days ago,” Esomir said. “That idiot healer said if we got back quick, we could save the leg. Said there was Powers the other healers had. I guess he was talking about you.”

Densa walked up the Baron, San trailed after. She raised her hands and hovered them over the leg, flinching and gagging a moment later.

“The leg needs to be removed,” she said. “It should have been several days ago.”

“Father didn’t want to be a cripple,” Esomir said, leaning against the opened window. “Forbade the hacking off of his leg.”

“It has to be done.”

“Why didn’t you use a Level gem?” San asked.

Densa frowned and Esomir scoffed.

“It won’t work,” Densa said.

San understood the use of Level gems when you were already well into your years wasn’t ideal, as Bostarion and Pavano stated, one could die from it. But surely the Baron was already Leveled and another gem wouldn’t do any harm?

“Why?” San asked.

“Level Sickness,” Esomir responded. “Father has already leveled twice this year, he’ll die if he gains another one.”

San frowned, looking down at the injured man. “If he was going to war, why did he not save one?” he asked.

“Are you a fool?” Esomir demanded. “Why would you not want to level before going to war? You might gain a Power that could turn an entire battle. Also, we supposedly had the best healers in the Baronies alongside us.” Esomir scoffed at that and folded his arms.

Densa poked and prodded at the leg, eliciting a pained groan from the Baron who was unconscious. The healer cringed and shook her head.

“We might be too late,” she said. “The infection is deep and the bones that are shattered, the tibia and ulna, are nothing but shards. We must at a minimum amputate that limb in order to get the infection under control. I can slow the spread of the infection and boost his immune system, but everything below the knee is dead.”

Esomir looked annoyed. “Do what you must,” he said. “If it fails, so be it.”

Densa frowned again and looked down at the Baron.

“I can sanitize the wounds,” San replied. “That’ll removed some of the bacteria infecting him and I have a bit of antibiotics left, they kill bacterial infections. I don’t know if it’ll be enough, though.”

Densa shook her head. “I have no idea what those are, something from your land?”

“Yeah, medicine. But it’s limited and I’m not sure if it’ll fully work on him.”

“The infection is deep in his leg, we’ll have to cut away a lot of the flesh and hope that it doesn’t spread after that,” Densa said as she looked at the wound some more and sighed. “All we can do is try.” She turned to the Heir. “I will need more help, a few of my nurses and some other healers will be needed. He will bleed a lot and he is already weak, therefore those with Power to reinforce him and strengthen him are also needed.”

“I have a few of the Leveled Guards with boosting Powers,” Esomir replied. He looked to one of the Guards. “Get Taggor and Dominov.” The Guard snapped a salute and rushed off with a clatter of armor, shouting out orders.

“I’ll need to get the antibiotics,” San said.

Densa nodded. “It will be a while before we gather all, be back within an hour. We shall proceed then.”

San took his leave, one of the Guards leading him back out of the Keep and toward the gates. He looked up to see the the sun was already heading toward the horizon, the hours of the day already being spent without much progress on his part. The thought of setting up his brewery and distillery had been pushed back, but as he hurried down the streets; he had to wonder if he could make something out of the Cleansing Fire and other yeasts he had created.

High proof distilled alcohol was good to have around to treat wounds. He could already make a sanitizer from the imbar, but what if he could make something more from it? There was magic in what he could brew, the same as Courage. He could distill something that would kill germs and promote healing?

San was lost in thought as he headed down the street toward the apartment. He skidded to a halt as he saw five men walk into the street before him. San realized he was suddenly alone, the well traveled street was empty of pedestrians.

“You the fucking asshole that attacked my men?” a bald man demanded, pushing his way forward. He was rotund, his once fine tunic stretched over his belly and his thick woolen cloak tattered at the edge. There was a cruelness in his expression that put San on edge.

“Who are you?” San asked.

That annoyed the man. “Panchavi,” he stated.

“Who?” San asked.

“I know who you’re with,” the man said. “The fucking Exonaris, those fuckers owe me sars. You’re gonna give me what I’m owed and then you’re gonna pay for attacking my men, with sars or with your ass.”

“I’m not a prostitute,” San replied. He glanced over his shoulder to see three more men arriving. Two of the men he recognized from the brawl that morning, Bunto and Kelgo, although the third was missing.

“You think this is funny, Merchant?” Panchavi demanded. “You’re gonna give us every sar you have on you, everything of value, and then we’ll see what else you have back at the shitty apartment you’re all hiding in.”

“You seem to know a lot,” San said.

“It’s my business to know, asshole.”

San rolled his shoulders and straightened his back. “Then you must know that I’m not just a Merchant, I’m an Adventurer. A Level Three adventurer,” San said, setting his hand on his sword hilt.

The men behind Panchavi shifted uneasily. They cast nervous looks at one another.

“That doesn’t matter,” Panchavi snapped, although fear was evident in his voice. “Corvanus don’t mean shit to me, asshole. Your levels don’t mean shit, there is nine of us and only one of you.”

“Mind if I tag in?” a female voice said.

San looked at the speaker, for a moment thinking it was Elgava and the others. Instead he saw a lean woman carrying a staff in one hand and a pack on her back. She looked to be a traveler of some kind, but San also noted the sword at her hip and the shield across her back. A soldier? The most notable thing about her was a large leather cuirass she wore over her robes, on it was a stylized moon and sword.

“Oh, fuck,” one of the men muttered.

“Peace be to you, Priestess,” Panchavi suddenly said.

“Peace? I don’t like peace,” the woman stated. She leaned against her staff, eyeing Panchavi and his men. “I think someone stated that Corvanus is shit or something?”

Panchavi visibly paled, the men around him moved away from him.

“It wasn’t made in jest, to our friend here,” Panchavi said. “We were only joking, Priestess.”

“Corvanus does enjoy a good joke,” the woman said. “Here’s one. Nine men set upon a lone Merchant and mock the God of Adventurers.”

A silence filled the street.

“I don’t have a punchline,” the woman said. “Corvanus also likes blood drawn in acts of justice and protection.”

San had never seen someone say anything that caused grown men to nearly piss themselves before. He stood there in faint awe as half of the men ran away, leaving behind Panchavi, and moving like the devil was on their trail. The others just stood there frozen; the lizard part of their brain telling them to stay very still so that a predator wouldn’t see them.

“I don’t know you,” the woman said walking up to Panchavi, “and I don’t like you. I hope to never see you again.”

Panchavi nodded automatically, not saying anything. His eyes were glued to the woman and if she had stated the moon was made of cheese, he probably would have agreed.

“Go,” she hissed.

The spell was broken and the others fled the scene. Panchavi huffed down the street after them and ducked into an alley, vanishing from sight.

“Impressive,” San said, with genuine feeling. “Also, thank you.”

The woman turned to him, looking him up and down. “You’ve got Levels, but you’re not an Adventurer,” she said.

“That obvious?” San asked. Panchavi’s men had called her a priestess, but of what Cult?

“You have the heart of one though,” she continued. She walked up to him and although her height reached his shoulder, San felt as if she towered over him. He unconsciously stepped back. “Who are you?”

“San,” he replied. “Thank you for you assistance. I think I might have been in trouble there.” He smiled nervously as she continued to stare at him. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I am on an errand to help the Baron.”

“Him? He lacks the heart of an Adventurer,” she replied. “Drink, women, and torture, rarely has a man courted Hetvanna so.”

“To each their own, I suppose,” San replied, taking another step back.

“I am Livonna, Priestess of the Corvanus Cult, here to represent my Cult and prepare for Midwinter’s Reprieve,” she said.

“Don’t the representatives report to the Baron first?” San asked.

“Corvanus commands me, not some backwater Baron,” the woman replied. “My first duty is to my cult, therefore I have come to see how they fare before I go to present myself before this Baron.”

“Then I’m holding you up,” San said. “Thank you again for your assistance. I hope you find your cult well.”

She didn’t reply, instead her eyes peering at him again. “There is something about you,” she said. “You must always be prepared to draw blood, San. Your life and future depend on action without hesitation.”

“Yeah.”

The woman turned and marched her way down the street, leaving San to stand there. He took a breath, feeling an odd relief she had left, then rushed the remainder of the distance to the apartment.

Panchavi had been forced to leave, but San wasn’t foolish enough to think that would be the last he would see of him. He knew where they were staying and he knew who he was staying with. San sighed, it had been only three days in White Tower.