Cassius Lange
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Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 32
🕑 Added 2025-08-08 11:00:02 +0000 UTCThey called him Old Silver and he was meaner than a troll’s fart. He was a knight and a major in the King’s First Army, second only to Stein himself.
He stood among a hundred or so soldiers and army mages guarding the entrance to the outer circle of the White Palace and had no intention of letting me in.
“You don’t look like you just want to talk, Frank Midnight,” he said. His white beard and hair covered a scar-rich face, a crooked nose, and deeply set green eyes.
“Come on, Major. If I wanted to cause trouble, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”
“He’s a traitor that one! Nergat’s dog!” one of the soldiers yelled from the back.
“I’m not a—fine. I am a traitor, I am working for Nergat and I carry an important message. How about it?”
Old Silver spat on the cobble beneath the gate he was standing behind.
“A human working for the orcs. I’ve got two scores of archers pointing their bows at your head, Frank Midnight. Why wouldn’t I just tell them to let loose?”
“Because you’re a reasonable man, Major. And you know full well those archers wouldn’t kill me.”
“Bah,” he said, sneering at me. “You don’t frighten me, god slayer. I know you killed Castelian, but that don’t mean you can take on my men.”
I sighed, rubbing my forehead. I really didn’t want to kill any of the soldiers. Maybe Old Silver himself, but none of the other poor grunts. I saw their terrified faces grimacing as they heard their officer challenge me.
“Here’s the deal. I’ll leave Wolf and my weapons with you, and a group of your finest can go in to guard me inside. Blackmouth is in there, isn’t he? Could I really cause any damage against a Three of Steel barehanded?”
“Tell me what you want and I’ll relay the message to the King,” he said, his voice full of derision.
He was really pushing it.
“Don’t do this, old man,.” I said losing my patience.
I dismounted and approached the gate, grabbing onto the iron bars. I casually spread them apart as if they were made of gum and stepped through. The Major unsheathed his sword, and his men pulled their shields up.
“Archers!” he yelled.
“All of you will die if you don’t let me through! Do you understand that? I can either tear my way through to the King, which I really don’t want to, or you can live another day! How about it, men?” I said, addressing his soldiers rather than Old Silver.
“Stand your ground! One of you moves an inch and I’ll have your head!” he threatened.
“He killed Castelian, sir. Maybe—”
“Who said that!” the Major barked. “Oafmen, was that you?”
Nobody answered.
“Major,” I began. “I don’t have time for this. This is my last warning. Keep your men alive. I beg you.”
“Nock your arrows!” he yelled and I sighed.
I considered using (Rift Walk) to just make my way to the inner walls, but the idiot would just sound the alarm and I’d have to fight a regiment to get to the King. And even so, I didn’t think he’d appreciate my idea of a ceasefire after I slaughtered his entire garrison.
“Step aside, Old Silver,” another voice sounded from behind the men. “Let him through, king’s orders.”
The Major turned around, and his men opened a corridor for a skinny noble to walk through. He had an impeccable posture and was dressed in a tight black gold robe that fit him perfectly. Two strands of silver snaked through his oily black hair.
“Apologies, sir. Our security measures are rather tight these days, you must excuse the Major’s vigilance.”
His eyes wandered to the bent bars at the gate and he smiled wearily.
“Uh-huh.”
“My name is Seldon Wey Stoneford, the King’s Voice.”
“Frank,” I said. I knew who Seldon was. Not that I had been introduced before, but everyone in the city knew the King’s Voice probably even better than the King himself.
“Yes, Frank Midnight, the Slayer of Gods. We’ve heard about your accomplishments, and his Grace is so eager to meet you. Come, follow me inside.”
“Weapons,” the Major said through his teeth.
“Oh, yes, indeed. You must understand that the King is exceptionally careful these days. So if you don’t mind—”
“Here,” I said, pushing Traitor and Mercy into the Major’s chest. I wasn’t gentle either. Old Silver grunted and almost fell over as he took the swords.
“Take care of my steel, Major. They’re worth more than your house,” I said seriously.
I followed the King’s Voice through the palace gardens and the second gate to the inner castle. Another hundred men or so waited there for us, but nobody batted an eye seeing who I was with.
Now that courtyard was something else entirely. While the outer gardens were filled with exotic plants, animals, and magic, the inner had been stripped of its glorious luxury. It was replaced by barricades and war machinery. Hundreds of troops sharpened their skills on each other, fletchers worked tirelessly making arrows, and anvils screamed under dwarven hammers. Carts and carts of supplies sat everywhere, food, potions, weapons, and armor crates were stacked at every corner. The statues of previous Catan Royalty seemed eclipsed by the workings of war. Scaffolds reached up to the top of the tall white walls where static catapults were getting hammered together by soldiers of all races.
The King’s Voice must have sensed my distaste for the whole thing. While the city lay in ruins, the noble’s little hideout ate up all the resources necessary for withstanding a prolonged siege. Of course it was like this, I had no doubt in my mind even before I arrived, but seeing it all still soured my mood.
“Without its head, the dragon cannot fight,” Seldon said with a smile. “What is a Kingdom without a King? Nothing. Anarchy and barbarism would cause the world to eat itself up. Don’t you agree?”
“Uh-huh.”
Two of the King’s Royal Guard stood at the large gates to the palace. They were both tall, handsome lads clad in gold and white. Knights of some important family, most likely. Those overconfident cunts had earned their position during the orc wars probably as some minor officers washing Stein’s piss pot. They did remind me of the praetorians from Morgefah’s prison though I was sure a dozen of ‘em couldn’t take down those abominations.
“My Lord,” they said as Seldon walked through then gave me a warning look. I just rolled my eyes and entered the palace.
The Catan Palace was everything I imagined it would be. Tall ceilings, white walls, rows of marble statues taller than any we could find in the city. Paintings of past Catan Kings and generals, trophies of great beasts, banners, flying balls of light, and soft music that seemingly came from everywhere at once. The air was heavily perfumed and yet it felt cool and breezy. Servants walked about in clothing the average Sankta Varathian could trade their entirey wealth for. They all had a kind of noble grace that must have been whipped into them from birth.
Seldon brought me to the gates of the throne room where two more Royal Guard stood then halted and faced me.
“Do not take this as an offense, Master Midnight, but as a word of advice,” he began. “You must address the King with ‘Your Grace’ or ‘My King’ and no other way. Once we enter, walk up to the throne and kneel, count to four before you get up unless the King urges you to do so immediately. Do address the nobles with lord or my lady, and don’t interrupt anyone while they talk. What else…” he said and sighed. “Right, don’t bring up topics regarding the Grace’s predecessors. He isn’t too keen on reminiscing about past rulers. When you speak do it clearly and concisely, he can be an impatient man which is no wonder. The crown is a heavy burden requiring constant attendance and attention. Time is of great value and…”
“What?”
“No, I think that’s it.” He nodded at the guards, and they pushed the doors open to the throne room. Seldon stepped in first and I went after him.
I swallowed, seeing the grandeur of the place. Massive marble columns stood in rows to both sides holding up a massive arched ceiling from which chandeliers the size of houses hung, shining with a hundred candles each. Rows of benches sat arranged to both sides leading up to the throne. There must have been a good hundred or so Sankta Varathian nobles there, and yet most seats were empty. Tall windows flooded the space with bright light giving the place an air of, I dared say, godliness.
Every head turned as I walked down the polished floors to the throne itself. Scorn, derision, disgust, and fear graced most of the noble’s faces. Some seemed curious, entertained even, but most just wanted to let me know I didn’t belong there.
Three chairs stood on the dais, the tallest and grandest was the throne itself of course. To the King’s left sat his royal lady, the Queen Baratha Wey Qin Catan, the right seat was empty, and in the middle sat the King. His Grace, King Winford Catan was a plain-looking man of narrow shoulders made broader by his lavish gown and preposterously wide shoulderguards made of some kind of solid silk. His hair seemed messy and his beard spotted and disheveled. He had the face of a tired peasant, dark hair and eyes. His crown sat properly at least, but everything else about him didn’t.
All of those things could have been forgiven, even for a king considering the circumstances. Yet, something else struck me as entirely insane and that was coming from a man who had just returned from Hell. In his lap sat no other than Blackmouth himself. Now I knew they called him the King’s Lapdog, but I never thought to take it that literally.
Luckily for the King, I guessed, Blackmouth was a gnome not that that made it somehow better. The Three of Steel was clad in black leather with two daggers at his hips. His head was entirely bald, so hairless in fact that he didn’t even have eyebrows. I almost forgot to take a knee when I finally stood at the dais. Seldon gave me a soft nudge so I did as I was supposed to, counting to four and then getting up again.
“My Grace, may I present to you Frank Midnight, Slayer of Gods, the Killer of Castelian, and owner of several important establishments across the city including the great Lusty Lion in Shieldwall Street.”
“My King,” I said.
“He’s cute,” Blackmouth said and grinned before the King spoke. All his teeth were a dark obsidian black.
“Come closer,” the King said and I stepped forward.
“Closer,” he repeated and I climbed the three stairs toward the dais.
“Hm,” he mumbled. “And you killed Castelian, didn’t you? You smell.”
The whole throne room erupted in laughter and the King satisfied with himself, grinned and leaned back. He waved me away and I removed myself from the dais again. In the meantime, Seldon took his place in the empty chair right of the King.
“They called you a traitor, Frank. Are they right to do so?”
I knew that question was coming but I still hadn’t prepared for it so I shrugged.
“Is that a yes?”
“I guess. But it wasn’t on purpose.”
The room exploded in another round of laughter while the King eyed me carefully.
“You speak the truth,” he said, narrowing his eyes on me. “Curious.”
“I had dealings with the warlord before he did…all the things he did. Still, I come in his name to speak in regards—”
“What was it like to strike a God?” he asked.
“Easier than I thought. They weren’t really…Gods, they were…creatures.”
“Creatures?”
“Yes, from another world. They used us to entertain themselves.”
There was plenty more I could have said, but that’s not what I had come for. The king tapped his fingers against his armchair as Blackmouth grinned at me for some reason. His teeth were entirely black. Each one of them.
“What are we if not the instruments of gods?” Winford Catan said in a joking manner and his nobles laughed, more forced than not. “And they are dead now these gods or creatures?”
“They are.”
“So there are no more Gods? Frank Midnight killed them?”
“There are Gods, they’re just not…they function as Gods but they’re not really…they don’t exist as people. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain and I’m not sure I get it either.”
“He’s a mumbling idiot,” Blackmouth said while Catan just watched me wordlessly.
“He might be my little Night Bird, but he isn’t lying. That’s the worst part of it, I think.”
Sitting in the King’s lap wasn’t enough, Blackmouth also had a cute nickname. Why was it that people were more demented the higher up the ladder they climbed?
“Your Grace,” I began. “I will tell you everything you want to know about the Gods and Hell. It’s a long story filled with plenty of unanswered questions, but that’s not why I came.”
Seldon cleared his throat and gave me a warning look. I ignored him. I had no time to sit there and entertain this crowned weirdo and his noble sycophants.
“I came to beg you to reconsider a ceasefire with Nergat’s forces. Let them go north to the wall and defend against the Quinta with the First. The city—”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard Nergat the first time.”
“My King, I will vouch for him. If he abuses the situation at any moment—”
“You will vouch for him? A nightclub owner vouches for an orc warlord? Well, that changes everything, my dearest man.”
More laughter and applause roared through the throneroom.
“I know why you’re here, Frank Midnight. I know you want to further Nergat’s plans. To weaken my position and hand over the city to your orc boss.”
“My king—”
“Be silent!” he snapped.
I saw movement in the corner of my eye. The Royal Guard was closing in on me.
“You’ve betrayed your kind, Frank Midnight, and now you want to bargain with me? The descendant of the Royal Catan bloodline?”
My Deeproot suddenly chimed. I checked it and almost choked up. There was an unexpected warning that persuasion had been used on me. Before I could think of what or why, Winford continued,
“I should have you hanged for this,” he said.
“Upside down and with a cleaver through your crotch,” Blackmouth added.
The King snorted then relaxed his demeanor. He tapped his ringed fingers against the lavish handle of his throne again.
“But…we’re at war.” A murmur broke out among the nobles. “And I can’t waste good soldiers.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
The King grinned and spoke in a tone different than before. A deep, slow elegant voice that seemed to fill the throne room effortlessly.
“You will abandon your friendship with Nergat and join me. Become part of my personal guard and live out your days in honor. This you will do.”
My Deeproot chimed again, another warning.
[Warning: Demi-god persuasion attempt detected.]
I looked around at the faces of the nobles who sat there as if in a state of trance. A freezing cold climbed up my spine as the realization of what just happened set into my mind.
“I…don’t think so.”
His Grace Winford Catan shot to his feet and Blackmouth vanished in a puff of grey smoke then reappeared standing next to him. Winford cleared his throat, forced a smile, and spoke again in the same tone,
“You will abandon your friendship with—”
“You can repeat yourself all you want. I won’t become your bodyguard…your Grace. I came to broker a ceasefire to save the city. Consider the people—”
“Be silent!” he hissed, all blood leaving his face. His heart thumped so hard I could see the throbbing through his robe. Sweat suddenly covered his face.
“You will abandon your friendship with Nergat—” he tried a third time.
“It won’t work,” I finally said. The King looked to his lap dog, beads of sweat pouring down his forehead.
“Blackmouth!” he snapped.
The gnome vanished again, and I sensed him reappearing behind me just a tad bit too late. The little fuck was quick. His daggers flashed against my back and I winced, staggering forward. They didn’t sink too deep into my flesh but it still hurt like hell. Gods I wished Rot had fixed my damned armor.
My hand instinctively went for my missing sword. Blackmouth disappeared again and suddenly came flying at me from above. I jumped to the side and he landed on the polished floor then disappeared again.
“Don’t do this!” I yelled at the King. “It’s not going to end well for you!”
Blackmouth cut across my left calve and dashed away.
Blood gushed down into my boot.
“Fuck!” I roared. “Fine. Have it your way,” I roared, turning on my (Demon Skin) and shedding the whole place in a dark purple. Worried murmur erupted among the nobles. Rightly so. Turned out Papa was right, after all. You want anything in Sankta Varath settled? You’ve got to do it the good ol’ heads-taking way.
