Cassius Lange
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Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 34
🕑 Added 2025-08-12 15:00:05 +0000 UTCThe Temple District almost looked like the Ashpit. Tents filled with wounded soldiers flapped in the strong wind that swept through the square. Sitting in the northernmost part of the city, Sankta Varath’s religious center served well as a base of operation and field hospital. Still, it saddened me to see it in that state. It was one thing to war around the countryside, it was another to have it at home.
The atmosphere was grim. As it always was behind the lines of a siege. But what made it ever grimmer was the fact many of the tents, soldiers, and even healers were packing their things into large carts and carriages and moving out while those that remained watched them with desperate expressions.
“Did I fuck up this badly?” I muttered to myself as I rode Wolf along the different temples and farther north to the wall. I could have waited. I could have confronted the King after the siege and kept the bannermen of the different houses fighting, but Nergat forced my hand. I did have the idea to ride back to the Ashpit and inform him, but I figured the warlord already knew what happened. He had ears everywhere, after all.
I rode past the Temple District and took to Luck Street which bordered on the northern wall. The place was hit the worst since the siege. Every single house was damaged or destroyed leaving nothing but rubble in the wake of the Quinta attacks. Soldiers of the First ambled about with dour, dirty, and often bloody or bandaged faces. They had been there for months now, and one could tell just by their expressions how nerve wrecked they truly were.
The wall was manned with archers and spearmen who barely even bothered to look over on the other side. The upcoming battle was far from the worst thing in a siege lasting as long as that one. It was the waiting. The fact that at any moment your life would turn to steel, blood, screaming, and death but you could never tell when exactly.
“Oh, you must be shitting me,” the voice came from a small group of armed men sitting around a table and playing cards.
They didn’t wear the armor of the First, nor did they wear the coat of arms of any house. No, these were men who didn’t fight for a lord or a house or even honor, they fought for one thing only: gold. And no mercenary company was better at it than the Sons of Varath.
“Frank fucking Gerber,” Robert Findley said.
The man was a brute. Tall and broad and hairier than a satyr’s asshole. He stood up, slamming his hand on the table. The other men sighed and rolled their eyes. None of them were happy to see me, but only Robert had to make a thing out of it.
“That’s Frank Midnight, Skidface.”
“Don’t you fucking call me that, you traitorous cunt!” he hissed, grabbing the two-handed sword leaning against the wall and stomping towards me. “Whiskers, tell him what people call me.”
Whiskers, a slender tall killer who had seen one too many winters, looked up from his cards and tiredly said, “Painter.”
“That’s fucking right!” Skidface said. “And why do they call me Painter, Whiskers?”
“Tell your own fucking story. I’m not your mouthpiece,” Whiskers replied, not bothering to look up from their game of cards.
“Because I paint with the blood of my enemies, Frank.”
“Everyone calls you Skidface behind your back, Skidface, because you fell into your own shit face first, remember?” I said flatly.
It was true, too. Skidface did all he could to wash away the memory of that night, but nicknames tended to stick to a man, much like shit stuck to his face.
I dismounted and met him. The veteran mercenary was a mean bastard with a dumb face and a hard outlook on life and I didn’t want to get Wolf involved. He loomed over me, leaning inches from my face. Skidface opened his mouth for yet another threat or insult or whatever it was he wanted to say, but I had no patience for any of it. I simply punched him in the chest with an open palm, and he flew off his feet and landed on a barrel of arrows, shattering it with his fat ass.
The others shot to their feet though it didn’t seem like any of them really wanted to do anything about it. They grabbed for their weapons, everyone except Whiskers, who only turned on his chair to face me.
“Why did you have to do that, Frank?”
“He’ll be alright when he wakes up.”
The gawky old murderer looked over his shoulder and back at me, then shrugged.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Just making my rounds. I haven’t been to the wall yet and wanted to see what the Quinta are doing and how our defenses look like.”
“It looks like shit,” Greydog said and sat back down. It was curious to see how little they cared about me. Well, not counting Skidface of course.
“I can see that. How’s the company looking? Is Garret anywhere?”
“The company,” Whiskers snorted. “There’s no Sons of Varath anymore, Frank. Garret’s not in command anymore. Or he is, but there’s no one to command really.” I nodded towards Skidface’s empty seat and Whiskers nodded back so I sat down with my old mercenary crew. Except for the slender veteran, there were Greydog, one of the best archers and scouts in Sankta Varath, Dan Belly, a barrel of a dwarf who could tear a house down with his hammer, and Little Dick who…well, was a decent fighter with both spear and sword with yet another unfortunate nickname.
“You playing?”
“What is it? Five-down?”
“Aye.”
“Sure,” I said grabbing my flask.
I offered it to the others and every single one of the bastards took a swing from it. By the time it came back to me, I barely had two sips left.
“There’s no more Sons of Varath, you say.”
“Not since that big golden son of a bitch breached the gate,” Whiskers said.
“The thing had a thousand arrows in it and still wouldn’t go down,” Greydog said, scoffing.
“Stein had us behind the gate to stop it. Garret was there, too, got swept off his feet like a fucking sack of sand. He crashed into that house over there,” Whiskers said, pointing at a pile of rubble down the road which was barely visible. “He got up, that one. Can’t say we weren’t shocked. Any other man would have turned to minced meat.”
“Te golden thing took down half the company in the first minute, it did. It shot magic out them eyes. Burned men to the bone. The smells! Gods!” Dan Belly said, grimacing and shuffling the cards, then handed us each five face down.
“Then it stopped,” Whiskers said, reaching for my flask.
I handed it over. He took a big sip, shook it, and then finished what was left. I said nothing.
“It just dropped to its damn knees and began falling apart at one moment. It was the strangest fucking thing I ever saw and I’ve been on this godforsaken world for longer than most.”
“By the time it was done,” Little Dick said. “The Sons of Varath were no more. There’s less than a hundred of us left. Most abandoned the city, though. There’s the five of us here and about a dozen still loyal to Garret.”
“Garret’s alive then,” I said, looking at my cards. I had a good hand, real good. I pushed three king’s head into the middle of the table.
“Can’t kill a dead man,” Whiskers said sourly as he countered my three gold with five more, raising the stake.
I added two more and so did everyone else but Dan the dwarf. It wasn’t the first time I heard that phrase. Many in the Sons believed Garret was some kind of undead creature but nobody had the balls to test the theory.
“Aye,” I said, looking down the street to where the gate was. It had been reinforced with wood and magic, but it was a weak spot no less.
“Why didn’t the Quinta pour through the gate once it was destroyed?”
“Shieldmother,” the fat dwarf said with a chuckle. “Gods, she must have a killed a thousand of ‘em.”
“Aye, they came storming in,” Whiskers said. “But she led the First into the chokepoint taking vanguard. You should have seen it, Frank. I’ll never witness something like it again.”
“We won’t witness much anyway,” Little Dick said grimly.
“Don’t be a bitch,” Greydog snapped. “Play your card already.”
Dick opened his cards and Greydog chuckled.
“You’re fucked,” he said, opening a much better hand. Little Dick slammed the table, shaking the cold coins in the center.
“Once the golden bastard was dead leaving a sea of massacred body in its wake, everyone went mad with rage. The Quinta overestimated how pissed we could get and with Shieldmother cutting them down like wheat, it only made everyone fight harder. Gods, what a day,” Whiskers said and grinned, showing his yellow teeth as he opened a hell of a hand.
“Is she alive?”
“Of course,” Dan said. “Nothing can kill that bitch.” He chuckled then looked over his shoulder.
“You want to watch your tongue, Dan,” Whiskers said. “You know what happened to Phil when she heard him call her that.”
“Aye,” the dwarf said, clearing his throat. He looked at the pile of gold then folded his hand and cursed.
“Frank?”
I looked at my hand, knowing full well that I could take the Sons for everything they got. I cursed and slammed the cards face down on the table.
“I fold,” Whiskers grinned, pocketing the pot.
“You still suck at five-down, demi-god.”
“Aye, I never got the hang of it,” I said, getting up.
I liked the fact nobody asked me about my title and everything that went with it. For a fleeting moment, I felt like the old Frank worried only about the next payday. Such were the Sons. They didn’t ask where you came from or what you did, they only cared that you knew how to swing your sword.
I looked up at the tall wall surrounding the city. Banners of Sankta Varath flapped in the wind, and soldiers moved along the ramparts.
“How’s it look on the other side?” I asked.
Whiskers snorted into laughter.
“Great,” he said. “Go up and see for yourself if you want to sour your mood.” I took Wolf by the reins and led him away towards the nearest tower from which I could climb the wall. I suddenly halted, remembering something.
“You’re not loyal to Garret anymore?” I asked.
“There’s nothing to be loyal to anymore, Frank,” Greydog said. “The Sons are no more. Garret doesn’t even care. All he wants to do now is fight the Quinta till he drops dead.”
“Then why are you still here? Is anyone even paying you?”
The now former mercenaries looked at each other and for a moment it seemed no one would answer.
“We got nowhere else to be,” Whiskers finally said.
“Got me no other family than this one, Frank,” Dan Belly said.
“Because,” Skidface said, coming to his senses and getting up slowly. His whole back was black and blue. I might have overdone it with the poor bastard. “What else can we do, you fucking traitor? We are made to kill and there’s killing here.” He dusted himself off until he suddenly stopped, realizing one of the arrowheads was lodged in his leg. Skidface cursed pulling it out.
“Damn you, Frank Gerber,” he muttered. “And whoever gave you that power.”
“Agreed,” I said, looking at the ragtag group of weathered killers with a strange, almost disturbing sense of honor and loyalty. I never thought even one of them would fight for anything but coin but I was wrong. It just went to show Varathians always managed to surprise.
“I’ll have food and drink brought to you later.”
“We don’t need your charity, you filthy—”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Skidface,” Greydog snapped and turned to me. “That’ll be much appreciated, Frank.”
“Aye,” I said, mounting Wolf. “Don’t get yourself killed before that.”
“Can’t promise nothing,” Greydog said.
I made my way down the wall towards the main gate, which was only a few deviltail strides away. I stopped at the nearest tower, told Wolf to wait for me, then climbed the stairs. Once I was finally up on the wall, I took a deep breath before I looked over the ramparts.
“Gods,” I muttered absently.
The Quinta army was a sea of gold, red, and black stretching across a vast area that used to be farmland all back to the Seven Woods in the back. This wasn’t an army encampment, it was a city of black-gold tents that threatened to drown our capital in its steel. A good thirty trebuchets stood in wide clearings surrounded by other war machinery. Only a few kept raining death across the city, but the barrage was constant and nerve wrecking. Its point wasn’t even to cause damage, just to keep us on our toes day and night, week by week, month by month.
I swallowed, seeing at least a score of siege towers being hammered together. The news about the First must have reached the Quinta already. No wonder, they had spies and scouts surrounding the city and probably a few within. However, what truly sent shivers down my spine were the hundreds of bonfires being prepared all over the encampment. Prisoners, peasants, and even their own people would burn on those in the name of a dead god.
The main attack would come soon, there was no doubt about it. I looked to the ramparts where soldiers of the First sat around and talked with hushed, tired words. A couple of mages were reading and arguing over spells, a few children ran around carrying arrows and buckets of water for the soldiers. The atmosphere was grim, almost drowsy. These men were about to face the largest army they had ever seen, and very soon at that. Yet they seemed as if that fact was lost on them.
Someone loudly cleared their throat behind my back and as I turned around, a smile spread across my face.
“No way,” I said.
“What is your business on the wall, citizen?”
“Derek, you’re alive!”
“That’s Sergeant Strongfoot to you.”
I smirked at that. Derek had replaced the gear I gave him with proper armor from the First. Only Platebreaker still hung at his hip. Two soldiers flanked him.
“Alright, Sergeant Strongfoot then. How have you been? Moving up the ranks, I see?”
“Sergeant Strongfoot was at the chokehold when the gate fell. Major Urvin himself gave him the honorary rank of sergeant. He’s a hero of the people,” the soldier to his side said.
“A hero of the people,” I said in disbelief. “No shit? We miss you at the club, Derek.”
“I’m no longer working at the club, Frank. The days of your abuse are over. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time, what are you doing on the wall, citizen?”
I raised an eyebrow, still smiling. Despite his uniform and the badges of honor on his armor, I just couldn’t take the man seriously. But I tried anyway.
“Just taking a look at what’s to come, my friend.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll brave it,” the sergeant said confidently.
“You think?”
“Sankta Varath can never be conquered.”
“Hear, hear!” the soldiers at his side said.
“So they say,” I muttered, watching the banners of the Quinta flap in the wind.
The saying had a truth to it. Sankta Varath had never been conquered, but how hard could old sayings defend against an army of that size?
“Pearl said she’d like to see you.”
“She did?” Derek said excitedly, losing himself for a moment, but then cleared his throat. “I mean…she did?”
I smiled.
“Tell her I have duties and I can’t leave my post. I must defend the city.”
“She’ll be glad to know you’re here keeping her safe.”
“Don’t mock me, Frank. That’s all you’ve ever done.”
“Nah, Derek,” I said, landing a hand on his shoulder guard. “I’m glad for you. Truly, I am. You’ve always been miserable at the club. This is where you belong.”
He looked up at me, unsure of whether I was being sarcastic or not. I wasn’t.
“Thank—thank you, I guess.”
“Now, tell me. What’s the situation? How many are up on the walls?”
Derek sighed and looked down the ramparts.
“It was about three thousand, but many have left us in the last hour. Apparently, their lords decided to abandon the city and defend their own lands. Traitors all. When this is done, I’ll have them hanged.”
He’ll have them hanged. The boy was barely a sergeant, and he was already prepared to pass judgement over high lords. I didn’t say anything, of course. His heart was in the right place, but his ego was as fragile as a gnome’s mood.
“There’s about fifteen hundred left on the walls. Mostly archers. We have about two thousand riders and just as much infantry left. There’s about two scores of mages and twice that number of priests. But I can’t tell how many more will leave us yet. There’s more men in the palace, but I don’t know if the King will let them join us.”
A little more than five thousand against an army of almost a hundred thousand. The walls would serve us well, but even so each of us had to kill twenty of theirs. A grim fucking outlook.
A loud explosion rocked the city center, and it wasn’t one of the Quinta trebuchet that did it. Smoke rose from the White Palace, and I could hear the distant sounds of a battle.
“Nergat,” I hissed through my teeth. How was he already on the move? The high lords were still exiting out the eastern gate. It hadn’t been more than two hours.
“Nergat?” Derek asked, his face pale with worry. “He’s attacking the King?”
“The King’s dead, Derek.”
“What?”
“I killed him.”
“What?”
“I have to go.”
“What? What do you mean—”
“Hold the wall, Derek. Don’t waste soldiers trying to defend the palace.”
“What? You’re not my commander. What do you mean the King is dead? What’s going on, Frank?” I teleported down to Wolf and jumped on his back. Derek was leaning over the ramparts, his face just pure confusion.
“Hold the wall, Derek! You’re our only hope!” I yelled and spurred Wolf on. Once I was out of earshot, I couldn’t hold back anymore.
“You’re our only hope, Derek,” I said to myself laughing.
