System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 2025 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 44
Roy could not possibly drag Toria along to a Witcher trial, ferry her to Cintra and then on to Aretuza. That was not practical, and Letho would never agree to take a childling in tow. He would need other hands.
In Aldersberg the only people Roy could think of who mattered were Severin Hogg, the Dwarf wine merchant, and the head of the House of Cardell, a woman with ties to the Revolutionary Army. If Toria was to reach Aretuza, if someone would give her the chance Roy promised, those two were his only realistic options.
A bright morning in the wealthy quarter, at Severin Hogg’s manor.
Severin lounged in the garden chair, sun on his face. It had been nearly a month since Letho had “cleansed” the demon for him; life seemed to agree with the barrelled Dwarf. The dark rings under his eyes had faded, his pot belly had grown more impressive, and beard and hair gleamed as though oiled.
“Roy, long time no see,” Severin called, and a freckled Dwarf servant brought a bottle of mead and poured. “You seem to be faring well in Aldersberg,” Severin said, squinting. “You look taller, stronger; still no handsome beard, but you’ve got manly bearing. Been taking Mahakam spirits to bed?”
Roy sipped the mead, its sweetness soft on the tongue. “You were right, Mr. Hogg. Dwarf liquor is not like the watered swill most sell. How are you? Any nightmares since ‘Hym’ was finished off?”
“Thanks to you and Master Letho,” Severin laughed, utterly pleased. “Nightmares mostly gone. I am an energetic Mahakam squirrel again.” He flopped clumsily in the chair and propped his furry chin on a hand, eyes on Roy. “Still, in the dead of night I think of my brother Arken in that barrel, soaking away. I cannot eat the next day.”
His voice dropped and roughened with longing. “When will Arken’s remains be brought back to his ground, to rest where he belongs?”
“By the way, where’s Master Letho? Didn’t see him today.”
“Out on business. Not back yet.” Roy set his jaw, then offered, “Mr. Hogg, let me clear this trouble up for you.”
Severin stroked his beard and narrowed his eyes. “You mean you’ll, what, sneak Arken’s body out and bring it to the Revolutionary Army’s leadership?”
“Yes ... Mr. Hogg.” Roy’s gaze was steady and calm. “Are you willing to let me handle it?”
Half an hour later they were in the wine cellar.
A pale man lay half-reclined, limbs twisted in a strange stillness. The strong tang of spirits hit Roy first, then beneath it a faint, nauseating scent of decay barely masked by the alcohol. He stared without blinking at the famous man before him, the Revolutionary leader Vernon Roche, who also happened to be Arken’s counterpart in Severin’s life. The sage who never drank, now dead by drink.
The corpse was dressed in simple gray linen, like a peasant’s tunic, with dark breeches. Long-limbed, lean, his pointed ears, hooked nose and narrow chin suggested elven blood. Some terror clung to his features, as if the final moments had been ugly and sudden. His hands lay slack at his sides, as if reaching and finding nothing.
The body had been steeped long enough that the skin wrinkled, blotchy patches appearing on chest and belly. It was like one of those specimens preserved in formalin back in Roy’s old world, only more immediate, more grotesque.
Severin’s eyes were sorrowful. He pinched his nose. “Roy, I have moved Arken from the barrel like you asked. What now?”
“If you mean move him out tonight, that will not work. I hear the Revolutionary Army plans a second protest at New Year. Two barons’ men are watching the streets.” Roy glanced at the corpse and tugged up the hem of the dead man’s breeches. On the right heel, at the Achilles, a strange tattoo, a looped puff of hair, curled like a squirrel’s tail.
Squirrel tail.
Roy frowned, then touched the corpse where the tattoo lay. Vernon Roche vanished without a sound.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.