154 Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Four – The Stormcrone, Part One (1/2)
It had been a year since his little sister had left, and his mother had been revealed as a changeling. That she was actually a Warlock was something not spread out to others, but the search for the background of the woman was something that his father's spies were delving into.
They had already found out that she had likely infiltrated the manor by taking the place of a servant girl who had disappeared from the kitchens about five years ago. From there, it was simply a matter of time and place before his mother had been murdered and replaced by the Poison Soul Warlock.
Demonic Pactbound were notoriously independent, so it was entirely possible that her death was just a case of a woman taken revenge on her betters, and stealing her high status and life for herself.
Was it involved with what had been done with Veis? He didn't know. But he knew that Seal under his parent's bed was Hag work.
His ancestors had come to an agreement with the Stormcrone, something he wasn't privy to, and really didn't care about. Essentially, she got a territory of her own and would be undisturbed, and vice versa.
What had possessed her to force a Hagchild on his mother, he didn't know, but he was certain he was going to do something about it.
His Angel Weight training was done, the benefits locked in. He was effectively a six-gravity heavy-worlder now; stronger, faster, tougher than anyone without magical enhancements, and his Endoskeleton would be next.
That would take a lot of gold and Karma, however.
It was time to go kill a Hag.
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”Father, do you have a moment?”
Duke Gilderalz barely broke stride as he headed down the stairs for his next meeting. ”What is it, Errant?” he asked, forcing Errant to hurry to keep up.
”Just confirming that whoever kills Zouma gets to keep the reward money, sir.”
That did give the Duke pause. He looked back at his youngest son, who had grown significantly in the last year. Although Errant wasn't exactly the most welcome of his sons at events, he had built up a deadly reputation among the Duke's instructors and soldiers for his sheer determination and persistence. His self-healing ability had gotten a lot of attention, and everyone was wondering where it came from.
Most thought it was a diabolic gift, and wondered where in the Gilderalz lineage it had come from. He was giving sword instruction lessons to senior knights, because the instructors kept getting humiliated by him.
”Of course they will, Errant. The bounty is a matter of public record, and the Gilderalz will stand by their promises!” the Duke stated coldly.
There was nothing but calm in Errant's eyes. -But you won't commit House soldiers to that effect for some reason, nor send any of our uncles or cousins out to deal with a Stormcrone-, he huffed inside. Heaven sang a tune behind his ear, and he had no problem meeting his father's intimidating gaze.
”Very good, father. Best wishes for the negotiations.” Errant turned and strode away, leaving his father confused for a moment, but he dismissed their conversation quickly.
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Errant dropped down forty feet from the wall, heard bone creak as he hit the ground, but basically it did nothing to him, and he healed the damage to his ankles within two steps.
A horse would have been faster, but noticed more quickly, and didn't have his endurance. With a light pack and lightfoot, he was heading out at a trot equal to what most men sprinted at.
There had been numbers of adventurers who'd taken up the bounty. Some actually came back from their attempts without being Cursed, Morphed, mind-reamed, Possessed, turned into undead, or made over into interesting objects d'art.
The number of adventurers attempting to collect it had dropped off, however. The only ones who reasonably could beard a Senior Hag Witch in her lair would require Tens, and most Tens had better things to do with their time... especially since the Good Tens had been chased off, and/or had no desire to help out a noble family of Hell-worshippers.
His disguise wasn't much, but it didn't need to be much. He had been going into town at the wrong ages for years, and was perfectly able to fake being at different levels of birth, and what to wear and how. While he wasn't unhandsome, he didn't really stand out with dirty dark hair, blue eyes, compact build, a little taller than average, just looking a bit older and more well-built then his years.
It was thirty or forty miles to Zouma's peak, if her lair was even up there. But it wasn't her lair he was going to worry about first.
He needed some practical experience outside, and this was a great time to get it. He'd suspended all his normal responsibilities, or fobbed them off on others, over the past month. Nobody was expecting to see him doing anything anywhere, and given how ridiculous the stories about his self-training were, it was hardly unexpected. That night he'd run a hundred miles to Colpenton down the road, beaten the snot out of two of the Colpen heirs who'd been spreading nasty rumors about his family, and then run home while avoiding the cavalry sent out to chastise him, was still making the rounds.