Brewer King 49 (Patreon)

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” a voice said frantically. San felt hands on his face, shaking and fumbling. He cracked open his eyes to see Densa looking down at him. She looked terrible, her skin taunt across her bones and dark hollows around her eyes.

“I’m okay,” San groaned.

A faint trace of a smile flickered across Densa’s face. “We don’t have much time,” she said.

The memory of his last moments before being hit with the Slumber Power struck San. He clamored to his feet, feeling a tenderness across his flesh. He looked down to see that his robes were in tatters and covered in blood, but the wound he had suffered wasn’t there, nor were the scratches and bites.

“You’re okay,’ Densa said, seeing his shocked expression. “I’ve healed you.”

San looked down at the crumpled forms of the Afflicted. They growled and groaned in their sleep, their limbs twitting unnaturally and making sudden sharp jerks.

“What about them?” San asked.

“My mana, it’s nearly gone. It won’t be long before they awaken,” she said.

“Let’s go, then.” San paused and reached down among the slumping bodies to find his dagger. The expertly wrought blade went back into its sheath and San took a moment to touch his stomach where he had been stabbed. The pain was gone, but the flesh was tender and he could still feel the cold blade entering him.

Densa sagged and San grabbed her. She was skin and bones under his hands, her robes seemed far too big for her. As if she were shrinking or wasting away.

“Are you okay?” San asked. He held onto her and then pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground. She was so light. “Let’s go.”

San made his way down the stairs, stepping over and onto bodies as he returned to the second floor of the temple. He winced every time he heard a grunt, groan of pain, and in one case the audible snap of a bone. These people were victims, but he couldn’t do anything for them just yet. The bottles of Purification he had brought wasn’t going to be enough for all of them. He had to get back to the warehouse and begin brewing again.

It was up to Havatair now. If he could get the mana potion, then more Purification could be made and the Afflicted could be combated.

Elgava staggered up the stairs, her sword out and carrying a shield she’s obtained from somewhere. She spotted San and limped toward him, her head hung low and she moved with a stiffness that spoke of pain. Like Densa she looked exhausted, sick, and half dead on her feet.

“You’re alive,” she said hoarsely. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

San stopped as he saw one of the Afflicted. The man lay on the stone floor, his legs broken and a stab wound to his chest. San remembered the man, he had broken his legs with the spear haft. But he hadn’t stabbed anyone with a blade or sword. The wound pierced his heart and a pool of blood outlined his body.

“What happened,” San said.

“They’re monsters,” Elgava said. “They need to be killed.”

“Shit. They can be cured, Elgava. They’re Afflicted, the fire that you were looking into last night, its doing this to them. For all we know, you and the others would have become this soon enough.”

“What?”

“The Purification can cure them of this,” San stated. “These people can be cured from what’s afflicting them. All we need to do is brew more Purification.”

“Sweet Senta.” Elgava leaned heavily against the wall. She looked sicker than she had before. Her sword clattered to the ground and she let out a low painful groan. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“We must leave this place,” Densa said. “Those that the acolyte have awakened were taken down into the sewer escape hatch. We need to go.”

Elgava was breathing heavily, tears running down her face. “What have I done?”

“Can you stand?” San asked Densa. The woman nodded and San set her down gently. She wobbled, but braced herself against the wall.

San slapped the wall besides Elgava’s head. She jerked at the loud sound and stared at him.

“Get yourself together, soldier!” San snapped. “Shit is going down outside that will mean the death of this city or even more horrible things. The Hesna cult are summoning monsters and I need your help to stop them.”

“You didn’t know,” San said softly. “You didn’t know and there was no way of you knowing.” San set a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Elgava. I need your help and we need to save the rest of these people.”

Elgava wiped her eyes and nodded slowly. She picked up her sword and shield, glancing toward the body on the ground. “Senta forgive me,” she said shakily.

“I can walk,” Densa said and then promptly slid to the ground bonelessly. “Perhaps not.”

San picked her back up and they rushed down the corridors, reaching the great central chamber once more. The people who had been writhing in pain were gone, all that remained were the bodies of those that the Afflicted had killed. San steeled himself at the sight of those bodies, they hadn’t a chance to defend themselves agains their attackers.

“They all go down the sewer?” San asked.

“Aye,” Elgava said.

“Let’s go.”

San followed the clear tracks that lead to the backroom and the ladder. There were no signs of anyone there, instead a shattered glass bottle and his stainless steel container lay on the stone floor.

A pang of sorrow hit San at the loss of the bottle. It was one of the reminders of home, but it was only glass. Elgava picked up the water bottle, the sound of liquid within it.

“Why didn’t they use more of it?” San wondered. He set Densa down and then eased himself down into the sewer. The smell assaulted him again, but he ignored it.

Elgava lowered Densa down after him and then followed suit. He gave her his headlamp and she would lead the way down the sewer. San could see the path made by the dozens that had fled the temple all leading the opposite direction of where he had come from.

“Where does that lead?” San asked.

“To the Keep,” Densa said.

“Shit,” San muttered. “The Baron is dead, the new Baron, Esomir, is backing the Hesna cult. They’re the ones doing all this shit to people, making them into monsters.”

“Should we go after them?” Elgava asked.

San shook his head. “No, we have to get back to the warehouse. We need to make more Purification.”

Elgava stared down the tunnel and then nodded slowly. “Aye.”

They moved quickly down the tunnel, San retracing his steps and then stopping before the exit. Elgava eased up the stairs and peered through the near shattered door. The sun was up and the sky was shockingly bright and clear.

“No one,” she whispered back and eased the door open.

The streets were empty and quiet. San and the others moved from corner to corner, pausing to see if anyone would be coming out of the alleys or streets. The city seemed abandoned, the normally bustling streets were far too empty and the bodies that lay in the middle of the streets was a terrible sign of why people were staying inside.

People were huddling in their homes, trying to survive what was happening, and hoping that they weren’t the targets of the Hesna’s kill squads. San wondered how many more groups were moving around the city, there had been only two priests with the head priest the night before. Were there more of them out there? He had never actually seen the Hesna cult’s temple, but he assumed that there was one within the city.

The silence of the streets was broken by a sound that San knew very well. A matchlock being fired. The gunshot echoed though the narrow streets. San and the others paused, listening intently.

“Two streets over,” Densa said. Her words were punctuated by the roar of three more matchlocks. “Pistols, not rifles.”

“You can tell by ear alone?” Elgava asked.

“I’ve been on many battlefields,” Densa replied. The soldier nodded in return.

“We can skirt them, seems like they’ve run into some resistance,” Elgava said. “We go down three streets and then up the alley by the cloth shop, swing around the chandler shop, and we’ll be at the warehouse.”

“It might be Havatair returning,” San said, his head still cocked toward the sounds of fighting.

“You daft?” Elgava muttered. ‘We’re half dead here. We couldn’t fight off a five year old much less those creatures or the Baron’s soldiers.”

“She’s right, San,” Densa said.

San nodded and the continued on. They reached the cloth shop and skidded to a stop as a dozen figures burst out of the alley and also staggered to a stop before them.

Pistols and crossbows were raised at San and the others as the newcomers glared down at them.

“Foreigner?” a voice asked.

San saw Saggaris step forward. She was armed with a pair of smoking pistols and wore a brigandine that was splattered with blood. She looked him up and down, noting his own blood stained clothing.

“Trader Saggaris,” San said. He looked down at the alley they had came from. “Trouble?”

“Fucking monsters,” a familiar voice snarled.

San frowned as he saw Markona push his way forward. It had been several blissful weeks since San had last seen the man.

“You’re still fucking alive?” he roared, shaking his head. “At least you’re choosing better company than that old fuck.”

“They’ve been dealt with,” Saggaris stated. San sighed. “We’re off to the docks, perhaps we can get a boat out of this fucking city. The Hesna cult is driving everyone mad with their black fire. Can you not feel the sickness in the air, this city is cursed now.”

“We can help them,” San said. “There’s a drink we can make that’ll heal those that have been afflicted.”

“A drink?” Markona scoffed. “What are you now, a mage? A potion maker?”

“He can make it,” Densa said. Markona’s next words seemed to stop in his throat as he realized who she was.

“Pardon, Lady Densa,” he said, ducking his head.

“You’re making a magical drink now?” Saggaris said, San could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes.

“A magical drink?” another voice asked. A man pulled off his helmet and San recognized him. Saddan Hion, the owner of the fighting club. It took a moment for San to realize that the rest of the men with him were some of the fighters from that club, they all wore good quality gambesons and carried well crafted weapons.

“How do,” Elgava said, nodding to the club owner. “Looking to lose more coin?”

The club owner grinned at Elgava. “We need to get out of this city first. Coin is useless if you’re too dead to spend it.”

San noted the heavy lockbox that was being carried by two of the men.

“We’ve got a warehouse,” San said. “I’m brewing there, if you want to join us there, there’s room. If not, be careful. The Afflicted can be cured, there’s not need to kill them.”

“If they come at me, then they die,” Markona stated.

“This city is dead,” Saggaris said. “Come with us, leave this place. The Hesna cult are doing some fucked up magic and they’re going to kill us all.”

“We can save them,” San said.

“You’re no fucking hero,” Markona snapped.

“Safe journey,” San said and began walking. Elgava snorted at Markano and followed San.

“I’ll pray for you all,” Densa said as they left.

“Fuck,” Saggaris said loudly. “Hold up.”

***

“You keep bringing back strays,” Pavano said as Saggaris and the others entered the warehouse. The old man was armed with his spear and a sword, the large doors to the warehouse had been blocked with the wood that was being used to finish the upstairs rooms.

San grinned at the man and set Densa down on a stool near the fire. She looked even more sicker than before.  She grimaced as he gave her more of the Purification, nearly gagging at the taste.

“Rest,” he said. He grabbed a blanket off the floor and wrapped it around her. “You look terrible.”

“I used too much mana too quickly. I was never able to use my Power on so many people at once,” she replied, pulling the blanket around her. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

San brushed her hair back. “I’m not leaving this warehouse until Havatair returns.”

Elgava sat down heavily on another stool, she pulled out her sword and set it down across her knees. She still wore a stunned expression, her actions still eating at her.

“Are you okay?” San asked.

“Aye, I’ll be fine,” she said.

“All we’ve done is trap ourselves in this shitty warehouse,” Markona snarled.

“This is my building. You don’t like it, get fucked,” Herokov snapped back.

“Easy, lads,” Pavano said, trying to keep the peace.

“I agree with Saggaris,” Saddan said loudly. “If there’s one thing that I can count on with Saggaris, it’s her self serving nature. She would not lead us to where she may herself die. No offense.”

“None taken,” Saggaris replied. “I enjoy being alive.”

“What’s your plan then, foreigner?” Markona asked.

“I have to make more Purification. It’s a distilled drink that cures these people of what’s afflicting them. The thing is that I’m out of mana. I need more.”

“Hetvana’s bleeding cunt,” Markona snarled. “You’ve brought us to a place to die, Saggaris.”

“Shut up, Marko,” the trader said coldly. “Saddan.”

The club owner sighed and looked to his men. The two men carrying the lockbox approached and the man made a key appear in his hands. He moved to unlock the box and from within he pulled out a vial of blue liquid. It seemed to glow with an internal light.

“This is very expensive,” Saddan said.

“What is it?” San asked.

“Mana potion,” Saggaris answered. “You need it. Use it.”

“This is very expensive,” Saddan said again.

“Senta’s Grace, Saddan. What’s your price.”

“I heard there was mention of a potion maker that Donsval found. That they were being kept hidden in case others would try to strike at White Tower,” Saddan said. “Are you that potion maker, foreigner?”

“I’m not a potion maker,” San said. “I’m a brewer. I also make liquor.”

“But imbued with mana, with the ability to cure this sickness and give people courage when they are terrified.”

“Rumors?” San asked.

The man chuckled to himself. “I run a business, San,” he said. “People like to watch the fights, drink my wine, and even indulge in the women who work for me. There is much to be gained from being a kind host and being attentive to your guests.”

“There are also a lot of degenerate gamblers,” Saggaris added. “For a few drops of information, Saddan reduces what they owe him.”

Saddan chuckled again. “She is not wrong, friend. Like the trader, I also seek profit; and magic is always profitable.”

“What do you want?” Pavano said, annoyance crossing his face. “This city’s going to hell in a hand basket and you’re trying to negotiate a cut of what we’re making?”

“We save the city first,” San said. “Then when that’s done, we’ll decide what your cut will be.”

“I don’t-“

“This is not a negotiation,” San said. He could feel Elgava, Bostarion, and Herokov moving into position behind him. “Not now anyway. I am not a cheat, nor am I a thief. I will do what I must to help these Afflicted. When it is over, if we survive, then we can make a deal and figure out your cut.”

Saggaris and Markona have stepped to the side, leaving Saddan and his men in the own group. There were seven of them, but they weren’t carrying gunpowder weapons.  San could smell the burning match cords in the room as pistols had been prepared.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Saddan said, grinning once more. The tension was still heavy in the room, but he raised his hand and offered San the vial. “I look forward to discussing our partnership.”

San picked up the vial. The blue light glowed in his hands. “Just drink it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He unstoppered the vial and knocked back the contents. It tasted of nothing, no foulness, sweetness, or anything. He could feel the liquid going down his throat but nothing else.

When it hit his stomach, San clenched as heat began spreading across his body. It was pleasant at first but then it began to burn, causing sweat to bead on his brow and his cheeks to flush. He took in quick breaths, bending over and planting his hands on his knees as the room began to spin.

“You should have taken it slower,” Saggaris muttered.

The room stopped pinning and San wiped away the sweat. He could feel the mana in his veins once more, the not quite tingling of power running through is body.

“We have work to do,” San said.

***

A thumping boomed on the warehouse door. Saddan’s men were guarding it and they glanced to Pavano with questioning looks.

“We know them,” the older man said. “Let them in.”

Three figures staggered into the warehouse. They nearly collapsed onto the floor, barely holding themselves up as they gasped for breath. Saddan’s guards barred the door once more and peered through the thin slit to see if they were followed.

San stopped what he was doing and approached the men. He had been worried that something had happened to Havatair, he should have returned far sooner. The hours had passed and although San had a lot of work to finish, the thought still niggled at his mind.

There were two armored soldier and a hooded man. The hooded man stood up and pulled back the hood. It was Histoa.

“Mage Histoa,” San grinned.

“San,” the man returned his smile. “I would have come earlier, but things have been busy at the Keep.”

“Where’s Havatair?” Elgava asked.

Histoa frowned. “He’s been captured,” he said.

“The Baron isn’t being controlled by the Hesna cult,” a soldier said. “Havatair gave him the drink, practically poured it down his throat, but it did nothing. Esomir’s willingly working with the cult.”

San sighed. He had hoped that Esomir was a puppet of the cult, but it seemed that the man’s lust for power had led him to some god awful bedfellows. “Is he going to be alright?”

“He’s been charged with treason,” the second soldier said. “They’re going to hang him.”

“It’s getting worst out there,” Histoa stated. “Those creatures are everywhere and the cult is building more fires. They’re starting to drag people from their homes and make them look into the flames.”

San glanced toward the section of the warehouse they had been working in. He was stripped down to his boxers and covered in sticky imbar and charcoal. Over the last few hours he had managed to produce nearly twenty gallons of Purification. It wasn’t enough.

The change the black flame caused wasn’t instantaneous. According to Densa it took a long exposure and an entire day afterward to be changed. Densa and those in the temple had been gathered from the Market Square when San had put the fire out. They would have gotten sicker and sicker, until the flame of their souls were snuffed out and the void horrors possessed them.

Within the next day, all those exposed would be turned. The entire population of White Tower would become shells for the void horrors that were being brought forth. Yet, why were the priests able to command the creatures?

“-have to help them,” Histoa said.

San blinked, realizing he had missed what the Mage had been saying. “Pardon?”

“The Young Baron,” Histoa said. “They’re going to sacrifice him.”

San stared at him in mild shock. “Why?”

“To bring forth Hesna,” one of the soldiers stated. “Young blood, holy blood, regal blood is needed.”

“Holy blood?” San asked Vicca who had arrived and was listening to the conversation.

The bookish woman frowned. “The First Baron built the Senta Temple,” she said. “That act blessed his bloodline and I suppose that makes it holy. They’re rulers, so regal blood. And… the Young Baron is still mostly a child.”

“Young souls,” San said, glancing to Pavano. The older man nodded. “So they’re going to sacrifice the kid to bring their goddess to this world. Then what?”

“There are tales of mages and high ranked cultists summoning Heroes and otherworldly souls into this world,” Vicca said, “but summoning a god? I don’t think it’s possible.”

“They’re playing with magic they barely understand,” Densa said. She had regained her complexion, but still looked exhausted. “They think what they’re doing is going to work, but we’re already seeing what it will do. They will not summon their goddess, instead they’ll summon some horror from the void. They are fools. They weaken the barrier between this world and the void. If they enact their plan, they will cause a breech and then we’re all doomed.”

“A breech?” San asked.

“When fools mess with ancient magic, it has a tendency to turn upon them,” Densa said. “This is what my cult deals with, it tries to stop those who would mess with foul magics. There have been many accounts of fools opening breeches between this world and the void, causing an army of void horrors to enter our world. The last to happen was a thousand years ago, the Blood Campaign in the far east. A demon army burned cities and killed millions.”

“They’re going to do it tonight,” San said. “On the longest night of the year.” The sky was already darkening as the day was growing late. The brilliant day had cast over by thick clouds, adding a bit of ominousness to a day full of horrors. “We’re going to stop them.”

“We?” Saddan said.

“Yes.”

“I did not-“

“Shut up, Saddan,” Saggaris snapped. “These cultist fucks need to be killed or everyone in this city dies, no, not just this city. The entire Barony and Baronies if Lady Densa is right. If they open a breech, then we’re all dead. This isn’t just happening here, it’s probably happening back in the Empire and other places.”

Saddan was silent.

“It’s the end of the world,” San said. “If one breech can kill millions, then multiple breeches will lead to such devestation that you’ll barely be able to comprehend it. We can’t stop the others, but we can stop this one.”

“If that is true, then we’re all dead anyway,” Saddan said. “It’ll be just a matter of time.”

“We’re all dead anyway,” Markona said. “We’re all gonna die eventually, tomorrow, fifteen years, its all the same. But this is my homeland, I’m not going to let some fuckers open a breech here.”

“Weren’t you just talking about fleeing a moment ago?” Elgava said.

The big man glared at her. “That’s before,” he said. “If they were just killing folks and grabbing power, I’d be out of here. But this isn’t that, this is killing everyone and destroying the barony. I’ve fought against void horrors for the Baron in the Levy. Soldiers might survive, but your average farmer? Fuck no. They’re dead.”

“Then we have to kill the priests,” San said. “There is the head priest, I think he’s powerful.”

“He’s Leveled,” Densa said. “He’s cruel and powerful.”

San looked at the ragged group and nearly chuckled. “Alright, let’s go kill a dark priest bent on bring about the destruction of the world.”