One Moo'r Plow - Book 2: Chapter 35: Ragged Wroth II.

If this declaration was meant to stir something in me, it utterly failed to do so. This much became obvious to the drow once I shrugged and admitted I knew very little of her, save for her name.

“I’ve a feeling she knows as little of me as I do of her.”

“Nonsense. You’re a Godtouched inside her borders. She’d be a fool to not know every scrap of knowledge available about you, and the good Queen Elith did not take the throne through a fool’s means.”

“So, what, she knows rumors and stories about me? Haven’t exactly seen anyone show up and declare themselves an agent of the queen.”

There was something amiss here, and purposefully playing dense was the route I chose to dig loose more information.

“That wouldn’t align with her style at all, I’m afraid. Much more secretive and sly. Old King Brint was the one to boldly march up and declare his intentions, and look where that got him.”

I didn’t rightly know where that was, but I suspected he currently inhabited a grave somewhere.

“And how do you know so much about her Majesty, if she’s so secretive?” Another barbed question, meant to secure knowledge from behind a veil of friendly ignorance. “Pardon my askin’, but you didn’t strike me as the spymaster type.”

The laugh he gave to that was not wholly convincing. It sounded jolly enough, but his scent did not match what was writ upon his features

“I’m a drow, Garek. You survive this world by virtue of being larger and stronger than most anyone else. That luxury is not afforded to me. I need to know everything about everyone to stay alive. Any small scrap of information that others might see as trivial, I treasure. And I have listened long and hard to make sure I have all the knowledge needed to stay on the right side of history.”

“Do you?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “Let us test that, then. Tell me what you know about Queen Elith and her intentions.”

I settled back, drink hand, deceptively large sips taken as the beastmaster rattled out information I had little knowledge about. Far away and with little interest in these lands, Queen Elith ruled with a light touch, leaving almost any and all matters to Baron Ironmoor. She had come to the throne after her husband had been abruptly murdered by a rebelious noble house whiel attending a feast, and inherited a kingdom at war with itself.

Twas then the tale deivaited slightly to include the Family Irnomoor. Two brothers, one a spymaster, one a warlord. Both had sworn fealty to the new queen and set about subjucating her upheaved queendom in their different ways. One brother made dissenters quietly disappear, coffers suddenly vanish from bank vaults and swayed decisions from powerful houses in ways that might not align with their interests. A light hand, but one just as callous and cruel as his brother’s.

The other brother crushed. An experienced, well-trained, well-supplied and cohesive army at his command, Londor Ironmoor tread the enemies of the realm underfoot. Not content to stop with merely destroying those who rose against his liege, he decimated them. Lands were put to the torch, families erased, houses and names erased from history.

His methods, while efficient, proved too much for many to stomach. But he was the monster they required, they found. Not content to go quietly, House Elrath gave themselves over to a darker, more sinister power in their pursuit of victory. Vampiric covens were created all throughout their lands, the sky itself cast into perpetual shadow. Demons were summoned as they prepared themselves for battle against the rampaging warlord.

Londor Ironmoor marched forces into sight of Castle Elrath, set siege and called all the clerics of Heithos in the realm. Through sheer divine might, the land went dark and for days,A second sun burned directly over Castle Elrath.

He bombed the castle into rubble, torched the ruins for five days with Dwarvenfire, then led a legion of silver-clad knights in to put whatever remained to the sword.

It was this that finally broke the uprising and led those who remained to bend knee before the queen.

“The Ironmoor family stood beside the throne in it’s darkest hour.” Tash spoke, leaned forward with intensity. “They were bastards. Killers of men and takers of names. But they were the monsters the throne needed.”

“And what then?”

“And then Londor refused to stand down. Rather than disband his armies, he went further. He marched them all into the north and began to systemically wage war against anyone that had ever slighted his family. Wasn’t much left to oppose him, but he scoured the land clean. Bandit warlords, deserter gangs, beastmen raiders, cultists of the Deep Gods. He tore it all loose and scorched the earth bare.”

“And then, when there was nothing left, he returned to the capital. You should have seen the fear in those streets when he came into sight of the walls. A man with so much blood on his hands leading the best army the realm had onto a capital just barely recovered from years of war? Terror itself.”

And yet he was not the king, I noted to myself. Instead, he was some baron in the middle of nowhere.

“He led a retinue of guards into the throne room himself. Declared that he had rendered the realm fit to be lived in. Made it safe for men and women to live without daily fear. Then he declared his duty done and spoke that he would be taking the province of MIllward for his home. Not a single person refuted him.”

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“The man could have been a king. Instead, he chose this,” Tash shook his head and spread his arms to indicate our surroundings. “Why?”

“Can’t answer that for you.” I shrugged.

“See, that’s what has puzzled people for years. He was on the very cusp of power. By all accounts, he should have seized it by the throat and squeezed.”

“Or perhaps he saw what it entailed and did not want it.” Was my reply.

“I’ve a hard time believing that. Men like him remain true to their nature. And the Baron has the nature of a conqueror.”

How all of this was relevant to Queen Elith, I could actually understand.

Tash’s storytelling his well-structured, I found. The man had a knack for telling tales. Either that, or an actual Class for it. Before long, I was regaled with tales of Queen Elith’s rule. The realm had, for better or worse, been wiped clean in Ironmoor’s wake, and she had chosen to build anew. The houses that rebelled against her were stripped of power and the survivors exiled. Those that stood by her were elevated.

Londor Ironmoor took the title of Baron, yet few believed he would ever be subject to any sort of rules within the court. He was wisely left to his own devices at the queendom’s edge, and the world moved on. A large network of spies created under the second Ironmoor brother watched over the lands, any sort of dissent quickly reported and done away with.

Harsh as the methods were at first, they led to success, and the realm regrew. Now, the land was a safe place for most that lived here, well guarded and on favourable terms with it’s neighbors. But with peace came boredom. Even now, the noble houses bickered amongst themselves, jostling for a better seat at the table. They fought over resources and fame, skirmishes that the crown seemed content to allow.

And the emergence of the dungeon had amplified that dozenfold. There was only one, small, irritable problem.

“The land in which the dungeon resides is ruled by Baron Ironmoor.” I concluded sagely.

“Indeed. You have not seen it’s effects before, I think. But a dungeon’s emergence is a time of chaos and war as families fight over who gets to control it and benefit from the flood of people headed within. I ask you this; where is that flood here? Where is the chaos?”

There had been a marked lack of upheaval, yes.

“So scared are they of Londor that the nobles that would usually rush armies here instead linger in their borders. They all wait for someone else to make the first move. Have another house get antsy and be crushed underfoot by the Baron to make their own chances better. Selfish little goblins scrabbling for power.”

“And the Throne?’

“Can’t speak for her majesty, but I figure the throne’s biggest fear is still one person; the Baron himself. Think about it. No one knows why a man of his talent has just mucked about in this backwater for so long. But Londor’s a bitter man. A man who holds grudges. He doesn’t forgive. Lot of the noble houses are people he blames for his sister’s death.”

I let him recount what I had already heard before of that tale, feigning ignorance the entire while as I nodded along.

“Now, with that all in account, consider this; The dungeon might be what finally gives this man something he needs to raise his forces once more and carry out the last of his revenge. A bloody mess that’ll drown the land in blood.”

The baron did have scout towers that burrowed into the dungeon. That much I knew. He knew of it before it was ever awakened. But as far as I knew, only Valencia had ever stepped foot in it, and she was off the leash and roaming free. This too I did not share.

“Now, Gods Above and Below know that Londor is a fearsome man. Yet he is still only one man. A man with no particular love for you, in fact. But you have something to offer others that might want allegiance with you.”

“My Godtouched status.” I frowned, arms crossed. This was going in a direction I guessed I might not much like.

“Exactly. The rarest of them all. Exalted of the Gods. With you on someone’s side, their influence is strengthened through association alone. Can you not see how valuable that is? You have bargaining power in any alliance you enter into simply by being who you are.”

And here we came to the conclusion.

“And yet, I have no desire to engage in politics.” I rumbled. “Insofar, Irnomoor as left me alone, and that is something I appreciate. No envoys asking me to join forces with a house I have never heard of, no false promises of riches galore, no sly meetings in empty housesasking for betrayal.”

That last one was aimed at the Lady Ramsey-Pratt. My business with her was not yet concluded.

“So you would decline an alliance with the queen?”

“I would decline an alliance with anyone, truthfully. If you’re tales of how fearsome Ironmoor is were emant to drive me to alliance to safeguard myself, they did the opposite. I am on good terms with the man, and allying with his enemies would be the stupidest thing I might do.”

“He wouldn’t poke the sleeping dragon.” Tash argued. “He himself has been in your position.”

“And then he would know that sooner or later, that dragon will wake. And when it does, it is better to be it’s friend.”

All this information only further cemeneted my belief that staying off of Ironmoor’s list of enemies would benefit me in the long run. His presence kept all the wolves at the door, and he was militarily a powerhouse within the kingdom. In fact, it might be time to pay him a visit in the future. Serve up some information on potential traitors to him on a platter and stay in the man’s good graces. The incoming warherd might not be so devastating, Godtouched leaders or not.

I had an inkling that a man who fervently despised minotaurs and beastkin would be more than happy to bury his blade in a few invaders.

“I have contacts.” Tash promised as he stood. “People who have asked about you. Think on this and I’ll pass it along once you’ve reached a decision. I want to see the farm safe, and I believe Ironmoor isn’t the person to help with that.”

He no doubt had other motives in mind, but I nodded and agreed with what he said. Soon, he too left and I was alone with my thoughts, drink in hand and fire before me.

I had a decision to make, and little time to do it in.