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Baron Assassin: Chapter 12
🕑 Added 2025-09-07 03:19:53 +0000 UTCIt literally took me until today to finish this one chapter. That tells you how well trying to write yesterday went. But, I think I've kicked my brain back into writing gear now. in the meantime, enjoy! ~Eric
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Varal turned his attention to Daran and asked, “What did you learn?”
“Well, it’s definitely not a normal turn of the economy. The knight is being targeted, and he’s being targeted by people who are far too suspicious for a run-of-the-mill rural gang.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The normal criminal groups you find in places like this are almost always composed of thugs who leverage violence or the threat of violence to get what they want. Thugs like to boast about what they’re doing. They want people to know, which usually makes getting information easy.”
Varal nodded. He’d seen and heard the same thing often enough in his days as an active assassin.
“Go on.”
“Getting information was easy, up to a certain point. Everyone is aware that something is happening, but none of them seemed to know the details.”
“That is odd. It does beg the question, though. What could a knight possibly possess that a gang like that would want?”
“That’s the question I was trying to get an answer to when I discovered how suspicious this group is. They took a very unhealthy interest in me.”
“Did you need to kill any of them?”
The question was informational, rather than moral for Varal. He just wanted to know what, if any, backlash he could expect from Daran’s activities.
“No, but I did have to lead them on a merry chase and play some hide-and-seek before I finally felt confident that I’d gotten away. That’s why I’m arriving here now, rather than coming back last night.”
“I see. Did you manage to discover anything for certain?”
Daran shook his head and said, “I have strong suspicions based on the behavior of the people who came after me last night, but I don’t have anything that I’d call solid facts.”
Varal was still considering that when Mila knocked and, at a word from Daran, entered the room with fresh tea. She poured a cup for a Varal and, after a nod from him, another for the former spy. She didn’t seem suspicious about that breach in etiquette, which made him wonder just how much she knew about Daran’s non-servant activities. However, with her stoic mask firmly back in place, there was little chance of reading anything from her expression. She quietly left the room with Varal still considering his options.
He was sorely tempted to ask Daran about his suspicions. The man was adept at gleaning reasonable conclusions from scant details, but he wasn’t infallible. If Varal let him offer up unsubstantiated ideas, it could pollute the Baron’s own thinking and bias his later judgments. That was the exact reason the man had said he had suspicions instead of voicing them in the first place. Once a notion took root, it was easy to try to make everything fit that idea, rather than looking for an explanation that fit the information. Making decisions based on a faulty belief that one understood the situation could prove deadly.
On the other hand, ignoring possibilities simply because they were suppositions could also hamstring his thinking. Varal drummed his fingers on the table while he weighed the benefits and drawbacks. The most straightforward solution would simply be to ask Sir Jareks. Of course, that was as likely to fail as succeed. The knight could simply refuse outright to offer any answer. He might lie out of embarrassment or fear. He might mix truth and lies in some misguided attempt to protect some secret. Then again, he might provide the unvarnished truth if approached correctly. It all boiled down to the man, and Varal just didn’t know him.
“Give me your best guess,” Varal finally said.
Daran thought it over briefly before sighing.
“My best guess is that another noble is looking to settle some kind of grudge. The gang that’s here is too disciplined and professional to be local. People like that don’t work for cheap. Since this wasn’t a rich area even before everything that started, my thinking is that this is all somehow personal. Unless there’s a secret gold mine here somewhere, which I doubt, it’s not profitable enough to be one noble trying to steal trade from another. All that leaves is someone looking to punish the knight for a slight. It might be a real slight or just one they imagined. Not that it really changes anything if it’s all in their head.”
“To what end? Are they trying to have him stripped of land and title?”
Daran shrugged and said, “Probably.”
Varal frowned at that. Daran gave him a long look before he continued.
“I know that you wouldn’t particularly care if that happened to you, but you’re in a unique position. You can afford to lose your land and title, which isn’t the case for the majority of them. Most nobles would consider that a fate worse than death.”
“What do you consider your odds of finding out anything useful in the short term?”
“Exceedingly low. I wasn’t being aggressive in my attempts to learn what was happening. That means that they were already on alert for someone asking questions. Short of engaging in some tactical and maybe even strategic violence, I think the well is dry.”
“I thought so,” said Varal. “Well, I suppose that there’s nothing left but to visit young Remen’s parents and ask them directly.”
Daran raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked, “Do you think they’ll tell you the truth?”
“I think they’re probably desperate. Maybe even desperate enough to grab onto anything that looks like a legitimate lifeline.”
“Is that what you’ll be offering?”
Varal tilted his head back, took a contemplative breath, and said, “Maybe. The situation isn’t clear with them. With their son, I actually stand to get something out of it.”
“You do?” asked Daran.
“He has the potential to be both useful and valuable. I’d be foolish to ignore a potential resource like that just because he’s young. I also put a high premium on being in my daughter’s good graces because, on balance, she asks me for so very little. Helping him will please her, and it doesn’t inconvenience me too much.”
“I take your meaning,” said Daran.
“On the other hand, if I don’t help him, well, would you like Marida to level one of those stern, disappointed looks at you?”
“No, Baron,” answered Daran with no hesitation. “No, I would not.”
“Wise. With the parents, on the other hand, I’m less certain that there’s anything here for me to gain except enemies. The knight is poor. His domain is small. And both are far enough from my lands to be decidedly inconvenient.”
“Except, if you help the son, you may well draw down the exact same problems regardless.”
“Except for that. I fear that helping one necessitates helping the other,” said Varal, rubbing at his jaw. “Contact their estate. Tell them that I would like to visit. Tell them it’s about their son if they ask what it’s regarding.”
“Of course, Baron,” said Daran, rising from his chair and resuming his guise of a humble servant.
“Also, I’d like for the meal to be pleasant without becoming the final feather that bankrupts Sir Jareks’s house. Consult with Jarem about what he’d need to provide an appropriate meal, have it delivered to the knight’s estate, and volunteer Jarem’s services for the evening.”
Varal hadn’t known why they’d brought Jarem along in the first place. He’d been training under the head cook back at the manor for several years now, but there’d been precious few chances for him to put his skills to use on this trip. Varal suspected the head cook had been trying to create some kind of opportunity for the boy. His presence was convenient now, though, so Varal decided to take it as a bit of good fortune.
“I’ll see to it, Baron.”
“And Daran,” said Varal.
“Yes?”
“Get some sleep yourself. You look tired.”
“Of course, sir.”
The rest of the morning and early afternoon was a flurry of activity that mostly happened around Varal. Messengers came and went. Daran doled out coin to just about anyone who came within reach. Arrangements were clarified. Decisions were made. And Varal…Varal looked at paperwork. The business of the barony never truly ended, and the reports were endless. There were reports on the state of the roads. Reports on the population of the barony. Reports on suspected monster activity out on the fringes. Reports on suspected bandit activity. Reports on overall crime. Reports on tax revenue. Reports on military readiness. Reports on current military training. Reports on last year’s harvest, as well as reports on the predictions for this year’s harvest. Reports. Reports. Reports.
The worst thing was the very minute he returned to the manor or even his house in the capital, Varal knew there would be a huge pile of new reports to replace all of the current reports. He didn’t actively despise the paperwork the way he’d heard some nobles did, but the work did grow tedious after a while. As tedious as it was, though, ignoring it would have been stupid. Details were everything to an assassin. They could mean the difference between life and death. So, he was only willing to accept a certain level of summarizing when it came to the state of his domain. Marida would take possession of those lands someday, and he intended to hand her a well-ordered barony.
Mila occasionally took pity on him and brought in fresh tea or those oddly small sandwiches that nobles seemed to prefer. It had always looked like a lot of extra work for no real improvement to taste to him, but food was food. It wasn’t as if he’d had to make it himself. He supposed it gave people in the kitchen something to do. The kitchen remained a largely mysterious domain to him, so he was inclined to simply take their word for it when they said they had enough help or needed more. He wasn’t qualified to say if they were telling the truth or not, but Daran had never voiced any concerns. That was usually good enough not to worry about something.
Nonetheless, it was a task to hide his relief when it was time to go visit the Jareks’s estate. A glance out the window told him it was after dark, but that only told him so much. Dark came pretty early in the heart of winter. He pulled out a pocket watch and saw that it was after six. He looked over at the pile of reports still waiting to be read. It never ends, he thought. Cheerfully turning his back on the small mountain of time-and-patience-eating paper, he dressed for a semi-formal dinner.
Meaning, he put on the clothes that either Daran or Mila had set out for him. He scowled at the ascot before painstakingly tying the neckwear. Even after years of practice, he only got it right about half the time. A fact proven when Daran came in, tutted softly, and swiftly undid the work that Varal had just spent ten minutes on. With a few effortless moves, the man retied the ascot and slid the ring into place.
“Much better,” he said with a nod.
“Do you have a skill for that or something?” asked Varal for at least the twentieth time.
“I do not.”
Varal opened his mouth to demand to know how the former spy could possibly be so good at it, and then closed his mouth. He knew the answer. Varal just didn’t care enough about it. If he’d practiced it a thousand times with his full attention, he’d probably be as good at it as Daran. He just wasn’t willing to invest the time and attention required to master the mundane skill. Daran held up Varal’s greatcoat. Shaking his head, the baron slid his arms into it.
“At least I’m not visiting a marquess,” muttered Varal before gesturing at the door. “Let’s go.”
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Angela Roberts
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