Chapter Two

**Lord Cullen**

An hour after sunrise, the towers and spires of Laxtar started to rise before the party like jagged peaks on a mountain. The rising sun's ray’s played against the far-off sea, each golden wave rippled brightly as they lapped closer to the shore. The closer they got to the city’s gate the more travelers crowded alongside them. The flighty eyes of peasants stole quick glances at Malcolm curious as to who he was. Some of the bolder traveling merchants questioned Trent but the sheriff would only shoo them away.

“Fine looking slave,” a skinny caravan master remarked to Trent. The man’s skin was tanned like worn leather but Jason could tell he was still too light-skinned to be from Hezraphrat. “How much do you want for him?” He asked coyly.

“This man is for the king, not for sale,” Trent barked then turned away from the man.

"I can make it worth your while," the man said as he fondled a fat coin pouch.

"I'm a sheriff of the king, Titon. Get lost or I'll notify every customs officer in Laxtar to check your ledgers. It can be a long process," Trent added arrogantly.

The caravan master grimaced with his nostril turned upright then he returned to his train. Half a dozen muscular ponies were tied in a row bound with a wild assortment of items and led by a man dressed in loose tan robes. The caravan master sent Jason a wink and a greedy smile. “Good trading my friend,” he called.

Jason nodded back but without a smile. He turned towards Vanna to have an excuse to not talk back to the caravan master, “do you know what they are?”

Vanna shrugged, “haven’t seen anyone like them before.”

Trent snorted. “Imperials, they think they own the entire bloody continent,” he growled. The other caravan had already travel out of earshot. "At least their Empress is smart enough to know not to invade Braccia ever again."

Jason remembered the name from his character selection and frowned recalling he hadn’t chosen to be a Titon because of their strict social hierarchy. Looks like I made a good choice if they bring up slavery so brashly to strangers.

“Trent,” Jason called. The sheriff turned and slowed down his pony so that he rode side by side with Jason. “What’s our plan when we get into the city? I’ve things I need to do but I’m not going to give up an opportunity to see the king.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Trent said. “First we’ll rent out a room in an inn and store our things then we need to find Lord Cullen. The earldom is technically the prosecution, in this case, I can only arrest people. I can’t charge them as I represent the king. If it happened on the king’s land or offended the king’s property that would be a different matter but it didn’t. Without Byron, the only people who have enough privilege to bring a case involving a reeve directly before the king would be a Cullen. And things could get ugly if Malcolm’s lord is at court.”

“That’s an awful system,” Jason replied.

Trent shrugged. “It works,” he said, “besides if it were any other way we’d have peasant bringing reeves and lords to court every day.”

“But it makes it too easy for a lord to exploit their peasants,” Jason continued.

“Jason… they’re peasants,” Trent said, “most just care about being able to have food on their tables and roofs over their heads.”

"And whiskey in the winter," Jax added happily.

Jason opened his mouth to protest further but decided it was pointless, it wasn't his responsibility to spark the Enlightenment or write the Magna Carta. When they finally made it to the city gate they had to queue in a line. The influx of travelers bottlenecked at the gate and half an hour passed before they finally entered the city proper.

Trent set them up in an inn in view of the castle. The place was a stark contrast to the inn he and Vanna normally stayed in. Gone were the sailors and vagrants, instead there were plump merchants and minor traveling nobles sipping on wine and brandy. Neatly made feather beds filled their room piled with fluffy blankets and rugs and tapestries draped the floor and walls.

“Trent, how much did this room cost?” Jason asked warily. He had seen the sheriff speak with the innkeeper but hadn’t seen any money exchanged.

“The castle has a contract worked out with the inn,” Trent explained halfheartedly, "this is where all the king's sheriffs stay when they're in Laxtar." The fineries of the room were ruined by the presence of Malcolm. The captive still remained calm but he wouldn’t stop staring at anyone who made eye contact. “Jax, Vanna, you two watch him here while Jason and I find Lord Cullen.”

“Can’t we take him to the dungeon?” Jax asked.

“No, it's too easy for people to get… lost in there,” Trent replied. “I don’t want to risk him slipping away,” he said the last part with his eyes aimed at Malcolm. For a moment it looked like the prisoner was smiling behind his gag. “Tie him to a chair or something, come on Jason.”

Jason looked to Vanna and his companion sent a smile. He wished they were all going together but followed after Trent. Jason expected they would head straight for the castle to find the Lord but Trent surprised him by walking in the opposite direction. “Where are we going?” Jason asked.

“The docks,” Trent replied sarcastically.

Jason was surprised by Trent's tone and explanation. He didn’t think of the docks as a place a nobleman would frequent but then he remembered the club Wilhelm had taken him to and reasoned there were similar places outside of the city proper that catered to the upper class. However, Trent surprised Jason again as they walked past the club's brick building. Jason didn’t raise another question but scanned around for a place that looked like a noble would frequent. The search became more futile as they got farther and farther from the city gates and closer to the seedy area surrounding the Night Pit. “Trent,” Jason said.

The sheriff turned towards him and raised his eyebrows, “what?”

“This isn’t a good part of town,” Jason whispered. In truth, the streets were probably safer during the day but it still wasn’t a place Jason wanted to be if he didn’t have to be. He still remembered the mugging in the alleyway. A few beggars took advantage of Jason and Trent stopping and crawled towards them. Their bony hands clutched tin bowls and they asked for money in weak moans. Trent looked at them disgusted and continued walking. Jason dug a copper from his pouch and tossed it to them then chased after Trent. “Trent, wait up.”

“Come on, he’s probably in here,” Trent said pointing to a wooden building. A few scruffy men slept against the walls, mud-caked in their hair. One snored loudly as Jason passed through the doorway. A sour cloud of smoke met Jason inside and he gagged.

A masculine voice cried out, “grungy bastard, your mother hasn’t even beaten me that hard.”

“Scratch off bugger. Put your money out or scram.”

Trent’s ears pricked up and he moved towards the voices. In the low lighting, it was hard to see but Jason could make out slumbering bodies on the floor, on benches, and on top of the tables. Those not asleep cradled larges pitchers of dark liquid. A few met Jason’s eyes with their glassy gaze.

“Where the hell are we Trent,” Jason hissed.

“The lord’s favorite spot,” Trent replied as if Jason asked him to repeat his favorite joke. Trent cleared his throat then stopped in front of a table. “General,” he said in the most serious voice he could muster.

At the table, two large men sat across from each other with a set of dice between them. One of the men turned to them and looked angrily to see who was interrupting his game. He looked at Trent and his icy blue eyes thawed and his mouth cringed into a grin. “Trent,” the man yawned happily and tried to rise from his bench.

“We got a game going,” the other man cried but didn’t protest any further.

The first man lifted a leg up then tripped over the bench. He landed face-first on the dusty ground. Trent looked to Jason and smiled then bent down to help the man up, “It’s alright general.”

“Oh… ah what day is it,” the man asked dizzily. His grip on Trent was firm but he wabbled side to side. His companion sipped angrily from a mug as he waited. “Why aren’t you…” the man began but he slumped down again this time landing on the bench with a heavy thud.

“Wait,” Jason cried finally breaking out of his confusion, “Is this the guy we’re looking for?”

Trent looked at him still smiling and nodded his head.

“Who the bloody hells are you,” the man, apparently Lord Cullen, yelled. He staggered over to Jason and poked the Trader in the chest with a thick finger.

“This is Jason the trader,” Trent answered, “sir we have some news for you.”

“Thank the gods is the whore finally dead?” Lord Cullen asked. He pulled his head back in relief.

“What…” Jason mumbled.

"I told her she shouldn't eat so many sweet rolls, and look whats happened to her," Cullen wailed, but without sorrow. "She was getting so big it was getting hard to..."

“Your wife is still fine and healthy to my understanding,” Trent cut him off.

“Damn,” Lord Cullen mumbled. He reached for a mug, Jason instinctively wanted to take the mug from the man’s hands but the man was already too far gone. “What the bloody…” he belched loudly, “hells are you here for then. I’m in the middle of robbing this bandit,” he said.

“Half of Finchead was burnt down two days ago,” Trent said flatly. “It was Fallows.”

“Those sons of whores,” Lord Cullen roared then jumped up onto the table. “Hans,” he yelled looking at a passed-out man a few tables away. “Wake up you bastard.” The man didn’t stir. Cullen threw his tankard at the man but he still didn't move. The lord grumbled but continued his tirade. “Trent grabs the men we will go over and burn them to the ground, like the old days.” Lord Cullen reached to his belt and drew a sword. He swung the sword up in the air and the blade lodged itself into the ceiling.

“We’ve already handled it, sir,” Trent continued. The man was trying all he could to not burst out in laughter. Jason on the other hand was outraged that this was the man who was in charge of Finchead.

Lord Cullen tugged on his sword but it wouldn’t budge. He let go of the hilt and his hands dropped to his side, “we…we…we’ll burn them to the ground. No one attacks the Cullens and get away with it,” he cried.

“We sent a raiding party and half of Fallows is now burned as well, we have their reeve prisoner as well,” Trent said. “We need you to charge him in the King’s Court, we can tell you the whole story later... when you're feeling better.”

“I’ll hang the man myself,” Lord Cullen yelled then jumped from the table. Jason closed his eyes unable to look any longer. The jump turned into a fall that landed the man on the ground in a twisted pile. Jason opened his eyes and saw a ripple of spittle leak from the lord’s mouth.

“I’m… I’m… alright,” He groaned trying to pull himself up. Trent didn’t even bother to help. Lord Cullen propped himself up with an arm then a forceful stream of vomit erupted from his mouth. “Just give…” he vomited again. “Just give me a minute then we can deal with this…” he groaned and clutched his stomach, “scoundrel.”

“Are you sure sir?” Trent asked. “Why don’t you rest. We can help you get home.”

“Ah… ah,” Lord Cullen said slowly nodding. “That sounds like a good idea.” Then he closed his eyes and passed out on the ground.

Dumbfounded, Jason looked to Trent but all the sheriff did, in turn, was snicker uncontrollably. “Trent,” Jason said angrily, “what was that.”

“That was the Lord of Finchead at his finest,” Trent answered. It was weird seeing the normally stone-faced many laughing.

“He can’t take us before the King,” Jason exclaimed.

“I know,” Trent said. “We’ll just take him to the Cullen’s townhouse and the Lady Cullen, his niece, will go with us. She’d ask us to bring him home either way if we went to her first so I figured I’d show you him first.”

Jason relaxed, he was worried that they wouldn’t get to take Malcolm before the king based on the shape of Lord Cullen. “Who’s he,” Jason asked pointing towards the man the Lord had called Hans.

“The lord’s guard,” Trent cackled. He wiped tears from his eyes. “Come on let’s take them home.”