Chương 95: Interlude: Narbok

The ale tasted like failure. Narbok stared into the cloudy brown liquid, watching sediment drift through the cheap drink. The tavern's name - The Rusty Mug - was a joke, and the establishment lived up to it. Everything here was corroded, from the iron fixtures to the dreams of its patrons. When he dragged his fingers they stuck to the table, a testament to the layers of dried ale… or something worse.

The surface bore a history of knife marks and crude carvings, its wood saturated with so many spilled drinks that it had gone black in places. Around him, the tavern's other occupants hunched over their own mugs, their low voices never quite forming into words. This is what I've been reduced to, Narbok thought acidly. He'd expected his father's rage to be unending, but Herod's fury cooled within seven days, settling into a passive disappointment that was far worse than any tongue lashing.

It was the kind of pressure that simply existed and made every breath feel insufficient. If he had just endured - if he had been patient - the storm would have passed. Instead, he panicked. Let himself be dragged from the shadow of his own home by Mault's enforcer only to be verbally dissected by Loric Thane in that oppressive office. The man's words had been a carefully prepared poison, and Narbok had mistaken them for salvation.

A deal was struck for protection, resources, and a path to power, all in exchange for simple loyalty to Zarven. The trap had sprung the moment he accepted. Narbok took another swallow of sour ale. The humiliation now had levels, and each one was more bitter than the last. His father's decree had been delivered intentionally, the words a blade deftly thrust into his pride.

"You've allowed your roots to be choked by common soil, then entangled yourself with merchants and failed to crush a half-breed in public. This is your mess, and you shall clean it up alone." Matter-of-fact words spoken in the privacy of the Blackbriar study before his father had turned away, returning to his correspondence as if Narbok no longer existed. The worst part was that Herod had been right. If Narbok only waited, if he'd possessed the composure befitting his station, he would have been free to act.

Now he was leashed. The new decree from his actual master was somehow even more galling. Little more than a week after he'd been coerced, Loric had appeared at the dingy room Narbok rented above a tannery and delivered the order to desist.

"The forager," Loric had said, never once using the mongrel's name,"has become a valuable supply asset. He gathers us materials quickly and reliably through the Guild. Disrupting this arrangement would be counterproductive to our shared interests. Consider him... off-limits." Off-limits. The dull-ear was protected, now merely another one of Zarven Mault's business interests.

Because the alchemist had found the half-breed useful he declared the mongrel untouchable, leaving Narbok bound to honor a decree that protected his hated enemy. He was being forced to watch his nemesis thrive. Their clash had been sealed with his own blade in his thigh, a humiliation that overshadowed any of Zarven's decrees. The shame of that alleyway encounter was still fresh. He remembered the fear of his followers being forced to flee, and the half-breed's chillingly calm eyes.

He had been disarmed, pinned, and compelled to retreat in front of the people who were supposed to respect him most. Narbok's fist tightened on the mug handle. He wanted to hurl it across the room, to smash it against the wall and watch it shatter. But that would be… undignified. Trapped between his father's demands for honor and his new master's demands for profit, Narbok had no room to breathe or space to act. The dull-ear walked free while he sat in a grimy tavern, drinking cheap ale and—"Special delivery!"

Finn announced in his reedy voice over the tavern's murmur. Narbok looked towards the entrance where his two followers were making their way through the scattered tables. The small elf's grin was too wide and his movements too eager, while Durk lumbered behind him. They slid onto the bench opposite, and Finn placed a small envelope on the sticky table that bore Zarven's seal.

"A directive from management." Finn adopted a poor imitation of Loric. Narbok glared at him. The weasel was trying to sound important, mimicking the merchant language of their new masters. As if speaking the words would grant him status. He broke the seal without comment and opened the letter.

"Observe Jakob's Magnificent Market. Report any pricing inconsistencies or unusual customer patterns." Narbok read it twice. Spy on a shopkeeper. Find ammunition for extortion. Loric had debased his role, reducing him from warrior and hunter to a snitch. He was now a petty observer assigned to watch a merchant's door and count copper pieces.

"What's it say?" Finn leaned forward, his yellow eyes shining. Narbok refolded the parchment and tucked it into his belt pouch.

"We're going to Jakob's." Durk grunted.

"Why?"

"Because I said so." The simplicity of the answer seemed to satisfy the lummox. Finn, however, couldn't quite hide his disappointment. He had clearly hoped for something more dramatic, some grand mission that would prove their worth to Zarven and Loric. We're nothing but errand boys now. Narbok stood, the bench scraping against the floor. He didn't look back to see if they followed. They always did. The alley across from Jakob's store reeked of rot and old urine.

Narbok leaned against the wall with his arms crossed while Finn crouched near the alley's mouth and Durk settled onto a stack of moldy crates. The wood creaked under his weight before one of the boxes collapsed with a crack, causing spores to billow up in a cloud. Durk sneezed loudly. Narbok whirled.

"Be silent, you oaf. Do you want the whole street to know we're here?" His voice came out sharper than intended, the words hissing through his teeth. Durk blinked at him, confused, and Finn scurried over to sit in silence with the halfwit. They don't understand. How could they? His minions saw only another task, another day of following orders, entirely missing the crushing humiliation of skulking in alleys to watch shopkeepers like common thieves. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road.

Report any occurrences. Narbok forced himself to breathe, to calm the rising panic. His father sounded in his mind, repeating lessons drilled into him since childhood. A Blackbriar leads through strength and decisiveness. Show weakness and you invite rebellion. He was supposed to be their leader. He was supposed to command respect. Instead, he was snapping at Durk for sneezing. Shaking his head, he looked back at the market across the street, its cheerful normalcy mocking him.

The storefront was painted a garish blue, its sign proclaiming "MAGNIFICENT" in gilded letters that caught the light of two suns. Through the window he could see neat rows of equipment, polished wood, and customers casually browsing the wares.

"How long we gotta wait?" Durk asked in a low rumble.

"Until I say we're done." Finn shifted his weight, peering around the corner.

"What are we even looking for?"

"Inconsistencies."

"What's that mean?" Narbok remained silent. He had no better explanation to offer, and admitting his ignorance would expose his own confusion. Loric's orders were deliberately vague, doublespeak that could mean anything. He was supposed to observe and report, but report what? Lower prices? Special deals? Unusual customers? Time crawled. Narbok watched the market's door, tracking customers as they entered and exited. A laborer buying rope. An older woman purchasing a waterskin. Nothing unusual or interesting.

His mind drifted, circling back to the same festering thoughts. The dull-ear was out there somewhere, thriving while Narbok rotted in alleys, protected by Zarven's decree. The half-breed probably didn't even know how thoroughly he'd destroyed Narbok's life, walking through Deadfall without a care and secure in his unearned victories, blind to the— Movement. Narbok snapped to attention on a figure emerging from the side alley that ran behind Jakob's market, stepping into the main street.

Auburn hair above slightly pointed ears. Moss-green eyes and fine features. It's him! Time seemed to slow. His enemy paused at the alley's mouth, head turning as he scanned the street. For one heart-stopping moment Narbok thought he would see into their hiding spot, but his gaze swept past without recognition. Satisfied, the demon turned and walked away, heading deeper into Deadfall's commercial district. Oblivious.

The sight of him sent a spike of rage through Narbok so intensely that he thought his heart might stop. His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. Why was he behind the market? Why the side alley? Loric's orders took on new meaning. Special deals. Preferential treatment. The dull-ear was a forager selling materials through the Guild, but what if he was also selling directly? What if this is it? What if this is the leverage? Narbok pushed off the wall.

"Come on."

"Where we goin'?" Finn scrambled to his feet. Ignoring him, Narbok strode across the street, his swagger returning as the mission transformed from tedious observation into a personal crusade. This was about exposing the mongrel's advantages, about proving that the half-breed's success was built on cheating and favoritism rather than merit. The bell above Jakob's door chimed as he shoved it open. Jakob stood behind the counter organizing a display of small vials.

He looked up at the sound of the bell, his expression shifting into a welcoming smile that showed too many teeth.

"Welcome, welcome! To Jakob's Magnificent Market, where your—" He paused, taking in Narbok and his crew. The pitch faltered for half a breath before smoothly resuming.

"Where your adventure begins! What can I help you fine young men with today?" Narbok swept his eyes about the shop. In one of the far aisles, he caught sight of a large frame. Gavin, the Legion trainee, was examining a set of leather bracers, his broad back to the door. Perfect. An audience. Someone who would see this, who would carry the story back to the other trainees. Narbok's humiliation at the tournament had been public. His redemption would be too.

He approached the counter, letting his footsteps fall hard on the clean floor while Finn and Durk flanked him, their presence adding heft to the confrontation.

"My new associates have a vested interest in market stability." Narbok kept his voice level, channeling the cool professionalism he'd witnessed from Loric even as the hypocrisy of the act stung him.

"They've noted certain... fluctuations in your pricing that they find concerning." Jakob continued to smile amicably.

"Ah! You must be referring to our seasonal promotions! Yes, from time to time we run special offers to reward our loyal customers and attract new—""I'm talking about special deals. Preferential treatment." The merchant's expression remained perfectly pleasant, but something shifted in his eyes.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, friend. All my customers receive the same excellent service and—""Don't lie to me." Narbok leaned forward, spreading his hands on the counter.

"My employers are very particular about their assets. Providing unauthorized discounts to a specific forager could be seen as disrupting a valuable supply chain. That would be..." Narbok struggled to remember the word.

"Inefficient." The toothy smile Jakob maintained, vanished. The manic energy that usually radiated from him guttered like a cheap candle in a draft, and his thumb found the scarred stump of his left pinky, rubbing the knuckle slowly. When he spoke, the fast-talking salesman was gone.

"My business records are private, and I've given you my answer." Jakob looked at him coldly, eyes two chips of hazel stone.

"Now, unless you're planning to make a purchase I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to clear space for other customers. We're quite busy today." The shop was nearly empty. Gavin was the only other person present, and he'd stopped examining the bracers, his attention fixed on the confrontation at the counter. Narbok felt the situation slipping away. The merchant was too calm, too professional.

Every aggressive move Narbok made was deflected with polite language, turning his justified investigation into the appearance of harassment. Even hinting at his association with Loric and Zarven hadn't moved the merchant. He tried again.

"I have it on good authority that you've been running unauthorized price reductions for specific individuals."

"Then I'm afraid your authority is mistaken." Jakob's voice remained steady.

"As I said, all my transactions follow standard market rates. If you'd like to verify this you're welcome to compare my prices with any other merchant in Deadfall. You'll find we're quite competitive." Narbok flared his nostrils.

"You're lying."

"I think we're done here." Narbok stood still, his mind scrambling for some angle of attack, some way to press an advantage he didn't have, but there was nothing. He'd lost. Worse, he'd lost publicly. Beside him Finn shifted, uncomfortable in the awkward silence, while Durk stared at a display of daggers; both men oblivious to the larger social dynamics playing out at the counter. Narbok turned sharply, his shoulder catching a new customer walking down the aisle.

He shoved past without apology and stalked into the street as Finn and Durk followed. Not before his eyes met Gavin's across the shop, though. The big trainee stood at the far aisle and Narbok didn't like what he saw there. Pity. Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, Gavin turned away, dismissing the elves entirely and returning his attention to the bracers. As if the confrontation had been beneath notice. Narbok kept walking, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

Fury and suspicion roiled in his gut, mixing into something toxic and hot. The dull-ear was at the center of this. He had to be. The timing was too perfect, the merchant's protection too convenient. Somehow, the mongrel arranged this. Somehow he's behind it all! The logic was circular and he knew it, but the rage didn't care. It needed a target, and the half-breed was the only one that made sense.

"That shopkeep was weird." Finn whispered as they headed down the street.

"Too smiley. Gave me the creeps." Durk grunted.

"Shoulda just smashed th' place." Remaining silent, Narbok let the words wash over him, highlighting the chasm between their understanding and his. Finn saw a creepy merchant, while Durk saw a problem that required breaking things. They missed the layers of humiliation, the social defeat, the public confirmation that Narbok Blackbriar had been reduced to harassing shopkeepers and failing even at that. They were his followers, but they weren't his peers. He was utterly alone.

They rounded a corner, putting Jakob's storefront out of sight. Behind them, the little bell above the market's door chimed again as another customer entered. The sound was cheerful. To Narbok, it sounded like mocking laughter.

"What do we tell Loric?" Finn asked. Narbok kept his eyes fixed on the road, his mind replaying the confrontation, dissecting every word and gesture. Jakob's calm demeanor. The way he'd deflected every accusation without ever losing composure. The careful language that turned aggression into harassment. He was protecting the mongrel. I know it.

The alternative was unthinkable: that Jakob was simply a successful merchant running a legitimate business, that there was no conspiracy, that Narbok had just publicly failed to intimidate a shopkeeper over imagined misdeeds. No. The dull-ear was involved. The half-breed was the spider in this web, pulling strings Narbok couldn't see, corrupting the natural order and flourishing where he should have been crushed. Narbok clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. He didn't know how yet.

He didn't know the full shape of Caldorn's advantages or the extent of his protections. But he would find out. He would tear it all down, piece by piece, until the bastard stood exposed and vulnerable. And then, leash or no leash, he would finish what should have been finished long ago.