NOVPUBThumping down the heavy bestiary he had found in the stacks—one of a dozen copies for the local threats—Kaius brushed off the dust and thumbed through its pages, coming to a stop when he reached the entry on bone-biters.
A quick read confirmed what he had hoped.
“Here,” he said, leaning back away from the book so that Ianmus could peer at the page.
“They’re carrion eaters, among other things.” he pointed to the relevant line. “Might be a way to bait them towards us.”
The entry on bone-biters was small, but one enterprising explorer had confirmed he’d seen the biters traveling far to scavenge kills, when the opportunity was available.
“A fake kill site is a good idea.” Porkchop confirmed. “Especially if we can haul in a couple of deer or similar from the surrounding grasslands.”
Nodding, Kaius pushed the book in front of Ianmus, who was still busy reading the entry. The mage was better suited to it than him, and he’d only skimmed the page. Standing up, he peered over the map they had purchased earlier in the day—more detailed than the one Rieker had shown them, but covering less area.
It was surprisingly pricey for a bit of paper, but ultimately a negligible cost compared to refreshing their stocks of potions. Hells, even the hunting knife he’d gotten to replace his old one was more expensive.
He glanced at it, sitting on his hip. It still felt weird not to have his old blade—one that had been a gift—but common steel was growing useless against the hides he was having to cut through now. This one was a fine piece—a simple Common with enchantments to enhance its durability and edge.
Turning back to the map, Kaius focused on the territory of the biters. They’d circled the supposed range of the pack they were interested in—a section right at western edge of the Bonefields. According to the map, there was a river within a day's walk. It was most likely their best bet if they wanted to find large game.
That said, he wanted more assurance than just a likelihood that they would be able to bait the biters to them. They needed a way to handle their numbers—reduce their strength. The right staging grounds would be part of that, but perhaps…
“Could we poison the bodies?” Kaius asked, eyes still roving over the contours of drawn stoney outcroppings.
Ianmus flicked to the next page, answering a moment later. “Unlikely. It says here that they have a fantastic resistance to disease and poison, and a similarly good sense of smell—we could always try toxins from other affinities, but those are expensive and there's a good chance they might sniff them out and steer clear.”
“Do they have any physical vulnerabilities? Anything that might let us deal with their armour?” Porkchop asked.
Ianmus pursed his lips, eyes roving the lines of text in front of him, before he tilted his head to the side.
“Not exactly. They’re not the most extensively researched creatures—this entry is barely three pages, and half of one of those is a sketch.” the soft sound of Ianmus’s finger tapping the page carried through the hushed silence of the archives. “There is an excerpt here about a biter struggling to turn in a pursuit and hitting a cliff face—leaving itself badly injured—but it’s a comedic anecdote. It could mean that they’re poor turners, and vulnerable to crushing force, but it’s hard to tell if it’s exaggerated for effect.”
A single anecdote. It wasn’t much. Running his hands through his hair, Kaius thought through their options.
Even if it was shaky knowledge, it was better than nothing. Tracing the outskirts of the Bonefields, his eyes settled on a section of contoured lines. A small plateau, ringed by what looked to be sharply rising stone pillars, and finishing in a sharp drop into a ravine.
It would be hard to access—only two narrow routes led to the flat outcropping, one from outside of the dead space, and one from further in. It was also the only decent option he could spot on the map that didn’t risk butting up against another pack's territory.
There was no way he wanted to risk fighting more than one pack at the same time—at least not at first. If they did well against the first one, they’d likely gain enough levels that they could squeeze out more growth from others without too much risk. Not too many though, otherwise they’d risk outstripping their skill levels significantly.
Thankfully, they could at least be confident in the accuracy of their map. They’d paid top dollar for one that had been drawn using scrying abilities—it was a close recreation of the actual physical features of the land, rather than an impressionistic one for wayfinding.
“Here,” Kaius pointed to the plateau he had found. “We can bait them up here. Ianmus can hide up in the rocks, and if Porkchop and I get overwhelmed, we might be able to bait them into charging off the cliff—if they’re as poor turners as the book says.”
“And if you can’t?” Ianmus asked, looking critically at his choice of battlefield.
“We jump—the ravine only looks to be twenty long-strides deep, and both of us will recover from broken legs faster than they will. Hopefully that won’t even be an issue though.”
“Oh?” Porkchop asked curiously, wondering how he could possibly intend to save them from broken bones.
Kaius grinned. He had his new spell, and from the little he had tested it, it would work fine at slowing his descent. As for his brother?
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“Have you ever tried to get your Shardwall to come out of a cliff?”
….
In a darkened office buried deep in a lost place, Old Yon closed his eyes and breathed deep, scenting vellum and well oiled wood. The smell of hard work, and profits to be made.
Opening his eyes, he took in the austerity around him. Everything was quality—good wood, well carved stone, and anything else that added material value; he was no pauper afterall. It was still simple.
He despised the excess of some of his peers and superiors. There was no better way to leave a trail than for someone to start questioning why parfum, art, vintage, and silk was vanishing into the wilds in vast quantities.
No, simplicity was enough for him. Finery was for those of weak will—those who couldn’t focus on more pertinent things.
Turning his attention to the papers on his desk, Old Yon moved onto more important matters. Business.
He picked up the first page on the stack—his weekly reports. Leaning back into the hard wood slats of his chair, he allowed himself a small smile as his seat didn’t so much as squeak. A lack of noise was the only comfort he needed, and it was one he was more than happy to pay for.
Shard price was on the up—another tenth again since the last week, and there’d been an uptick in habitual users. He smiled, far too many teeth glinting in the candle light. Much like most things these days, there was opportunity and challenge in equal measure. His trained eyes could see the profit that was waiting to be seized—if he could handle the difficulties in securing it.
The increased price was only partially due to addicts—mostly it was due to dwindling supply. Smuggling had grown more difficult with increased eyes on caravans, and fewer and fewer in his network were willing to brave the wilds with a smaller crew.
Tapping his chin, Old Yon peered into the veil—calculating a path forward as his eyes glowed a sickly purple, washing out the pale yellow of his candles. The light faded as he reached his decision, mind slowing as he returned to himself.
Restricted selling was fine—but they needed that supply. If they couldn’t drip feed shard to their growing customer base, they’d lose too many of them. They needed a stockpile, until trade normalised once again. 𝚗o𝚟pub.𝚌𝚘𝚖
He placed the page down, reaching for the quill he’d left in his inkwell. A stroke of ink on the page was enough for him to sign off on the expenditure of doubling guards for the smugglers.
The next report was interesting. One of the governor's guards had been getting uppity, started to demand more payment for the information he had been slipping one of his men. Yosi, by the looks of it. He remembered that agent, and it seemed he was as effective as he always had been.
The guard hadn’t realised he was one of a dozen they had on payroll. Yosi had ensured the man had an unfortunate…accident, and one of the hopefuls they had been grooming was already slated to replace him.
The pages started to fly past, Old Yon’s eyes glowing once more as he devoured text after text, cataloguing what he had learned in the iron vault that was his mind. His quill blurred, orders and directions left in moments.
He signed the death of a merchant that refused to price-fix with some of their own.
A gambling ring was sentenced to discovery—a few too many guards sniffing around it. Easier to cut loose to preserve the greater network, and give the dogs a bone to gnaw on—after the valuable employees were reassigned, and the useless and dangerously knowledgeable were dealt with. They had plenty of bodies to take the fall, after all.
The meat markets were full to the bursting, overwhelmed by the deluge of the dispossessed and desperate. With a slash of his pen, Old Yon ordered some of the prettier ones sent to Grandbrook. Bruiser was holding up a bit better than he was—his cell was far more centralised, and had a larger population to work with.
More room for profit, and more space for a tramp from an overrun hamlet to disappear. Besides, Bruiser owing him another favour would likely prove useful in the coming months.
Moving to the next page, Old Yon smiled. He’d been looking forward to this one. His greatest prize of the year—perhaps only overshadowed by the pet project that Grave-eye had left in his lap.
The Hiwwian was still holding strong—her mouth sealed up tighter than a guild vault. Old Yon frowned, at this point, he was almost certain that standard methods wouldn’t work. Bloody oaths, they made the most profitable ventures the most difficult. He’d hoped that he’d caught her early enough, but it seemed it wasn’t to be.
A few more weeks, and he’d pay for a mind mage. They’d need one if she was oathbound. Even aside from the Legacy she held, she had some secret—a valuable one, by his estimation. He needed to know how she did it.
She’d grown almost as fast as his other primary interest, without the backing of the guild.
Grinding his teeth in frustration, Old Yon leaned back in his chair and kept flicking through his reports. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere, and besides, he might as well save his money—save the call out fee for when he managed to secure the next shipment he was investigating.
A single knock echoed through the room—firm and polite.
Old Yon sighed, the glow in his eyes fading. It was important—no one here would dare to interrupt him otherwise—but it still irked to have his work interrupted in such a fashion.
“Yes?” he said.
The door cracked open, and a figure draped in black hunting clothes walked in. He was tall, and almost skeletal in his willowyness. One of his hunters.
“That team you’ve got me watching is leaving the city.” the man said, his voice a soft whisper—as if breaking the silence was painful to him.
Old Yon nodded. Finally.
“Take a Silver retrieval team.”
The hunter cocked his brow, looking at him incredulously.
“Mighty expensive for a bunch of kids, isn’t it?”
“First, do not question me in my own office.” Old Yon’s words were calm, slow—but backed by a poisonous surety of violent ends if his will was not heeded.
The hunter winced, shrinking back slightly.
Seeing his subordinate’s fear, he smiled, wide and predatory.
“Second, yes, it’s a gamble, but if ‘Grave-eye’-” Old Yon spat the name with derision. “-is right, securing them now is well worth the effort and cost, and a weaker team might not be able to get the job done. That team is growing like an invasive fungus, and I want to know how.”
The hunter swallowed, mustering his courage before he spoke.
“And if the lordling is wrong?”
The shadows pooling under Old Yon’s desk stretched, cloaking him in a malignancy that contrasted the white of his bared teeth.
“Then we’ll have our price from him directly.”
