The First Lich Lord
Chapter 39

The sun was getting low in the sky when I returned, so I headed out, crossing the lake in my canoe. When I entered the tavern in Omark, Maxwell’s music filled the space. He stood on the stage, not using his magic, just strumming a tune on his lute that he quietly sang a soft melody to.

Maxwell nodded to me in acknowledgment, gesturing at a table that he’d claimed near the stage. I waved to the barkeep and headed over to the table.

“Hi, Zeke,” the waitress, Sarah, smiled. She had short, curly blonde hair and a curvy figure that drew a lot of attention from the men who hung out in the tavern. “What do you want?”

“Your strongest drink,” I grinned.

“No food?” Sarah asked.

“Not today, I’m not very hungry,” I assured her.

Sarah headed off to fetch me a drink, and returned just as Maxwell was coming to the table. “This is a local stout, not the best tasting, but quite strong,” Sarah warned.

“Thanks.” I handed her payment for the drink and she left. I pulled out a small vial of holy water, and discreetly poured it into the beer.

“She sure is cute,” Maxwell said, watching Sarah walk away.

“That she is,” I agreed. “If I still had the urge, might be something I pursued.”

“So, you don’t mind if I do then?” Maxwell asked.

“If you think you can swing it.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know how many people hit on her every night?”

“Who can blame them?” Maxwell chuckled.

“You’re terrible.” I took a long drink of my beer, watching the tavern.

I didn’t often hang out here, other than stopping by to drop off or pick up supplies the barkeeper needed or sold. It was nice to spend the night in here. The chatter around the tavern made it lively, and after spending so long alone, it was a nice change.

Maxwell and I spent the night conversing, though nothing important was said. Maxwell’s songs became livelier and more suggestive the longer we drank. He was doing a little ditty about a priest in a small town who couldn’t tell the difference between a rooster and a hen, no matter how often it was pointed out to him. The song told a humorous story about how the priest kept getting mad at the flock of roosters he was raising because they wouldn’t produce him eggs. Little did the priest know, the town had been stealing all of his hens in a humorous series of events.

This priest was clueless while the townsfolk thought they were sneaky. By the end of the song, the entire tavern was roiling with laughter. As Maxwell returned to the table, the laughter began to die down, though a few snorts and giggles still filled the air.

“That was an inappropriate song for someone such as yourself,” an angry voice said.

A group of four acolytes approached, casting angry looks, and by the crumbs on the front of their robes, had evidently been enjoying a late-night meal.

“Whatever do you mean?” Maxwell said before I could caution him. “That there was one of my own creations. How could it be inappropriate for me to sing?”

With the holy water enhanced alcohol affecting me, I spoke before I should have and gave a knowing smile. “Besides, it’s not like we know anyone who would fit that song.”

The lead acolyte’s face grew red with anger and he sputtered, spittle flying. “How dare you! Father Mathis is a blessing to this backward town!”

“A blessing indeed,” Maxwell said. “If nothing else, he’s provided something for the town to do building that mansion of his. After all, it’s not like the townsfolk have anything else to do with their lives.”

There were snorts of laughter from a group of villagers who’d overheard us, drawing glares from acolytes. The villagers quickly got up and left.

“How dare you?” the acolyte repeated.

Before he could continue, I cut him off. “Truly, for Maxwell it’s quite easy. He opens his mouth and starts talking.”

“Then maybe we should cut out his tongue,” the acolyte snarled.

“Now that seems a bit harsh,” Maxwell said. “After all, what would the ladies say?” He peered between each one in turn. “Then again, maybe you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Maxwell’s proclamation carried, and those in the surrounding tables snickered until it grew into muted laughter.

The acolyte’s face grew even redder as he blushed. “You—”

“I could give you some tips to help you succeed with the ladies,” Maxwell taunted. “The first, and probably most important, is to not be a pompous dick.”

“Max,” I said warningly, but it was too late.

The acolyte snarled and pulled a dagger, lunging at Max. Despite being quite inebriated, we were both quite a bit stronger than acolytes, but they still outnumbered us.

Maxwell tumbled backward in his chair, avoiding the dagger, and the other three acolytes also produced weapons. I leapt back, sending my chair flying. Neither Maxwell nor I had our weapons, which was probably a good thing at the time. The acolyte surged. Maxwell kicked him hard in the groin, doubling him over in pain.

I grabbed one of the acolyte’s wrists and twisted around to block his incoming friend. Grabbing the leg of the fallen chair, I smashed it into the second acolyte, breaking the chair apart. Shuffling and hastily scooted chairs sounded above our brawl—the patrons of the tavern were moving away to stay out of the fight.

Maxwell sprang to his feet, catching a second acolyte by surprise, and punched them square in the face. I pushed my pinned acolyte forward into his friend who still recovering from being hit by the chair, knocking them over.

The fight devolved from there. Maxwell and I stood back-to-back, punching and kicking. Our first goal was to disarm them, which didn’t take long. My punches were landing harder than they should have, and the illusion around my hand started to give way slightly whenever I made contact with one of the acolytes.

Normally, this would cause me to worry about being discovered. But such are the ways of impaired judgment. Besides, I was enjoying the fight. Wasn’t like we were trying to kill acolytes, that would just make more problems. We just didn’t see any problem with beating the living shit out of them. After all, they started the fight.

That being said, Maxwell and I didn’t escape unscathed. The acolytes gave as good as they got. I was careful to avoid them hitting anywhere that was still only bones. The last thing I needed was for a fist to punch through my abdomen and leave them wondering why I didn’t appear to have much of a stomach.

Maxwell looked rougher than I was, with a bloody nose and a split lip. The barkeep broke up the fight, tossing all of us out of the bar—though he didn’t seem as mad at Maxwell and I as he was with the acolytes.

“Well, that was fun,” Maxwell chuckled.

“It sure made the night interesting,” I agreed.

Neither of us gave the scuffle much more thought as we stumbled toward the docks.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Father Mathis said from behind us.

He had a voice I’d truly grown to hate. I turned around. He was bathed in the light of a torch, and beside him stood one of the acolytes we’d just finished pummeling.

“You assaulted members of the holy orders of Olattee. You must make reparations.”

“T’ch, they started the fight,” Maxwell snorted. “What, did your feelings get hurt so you had to run and complain to your boss?”

“My acolyte informed me that you started the fight by insulting him and me with your disgraceful song,” Mathis snapped. When Maxwell opened his mouth to protest, the head priest hissed dangerously, “Keep your tongue still. I know what you were sent here for. You think you would’ve learned your lesson about not mocking your betters.”

“It was all in jest,” I tried to interject.

“You are as much to blame,” Mathis turned his attention on me. “Rhea spoke highly of you. Now I see that her judgment may have been an error.”

Even in my inebriated state, I knew that our best course was to see what Father Mathis wanted us to do. He was clearly going to try and leverage the situation.

“We’re sorry, father. What can we do to make this right?” I said, hating every word.

A smile spread on Mathis’s face. “I’m glad you understand,” he said smoothly. “I have some work for you that will bring glory to Olattee.”

***

“You know what they’ve been saying about you?” Helen Worthens asked me.

“I know,” I said in frustration. It’d been a week since Father Mathis had strong armed Maxwell and I into working for him. “I promise you, those are all stories from someone exaggerating what we’ve really been saying.”

“I know that,” Helen assured me. Over the year I’d been in the neighboring valley, I had spent some time working with the Worthens, helping them out. They, in exchange, helped me through the winter. “But most don’t know you like I do. I’m assuming you’re here under his orders?”

“Unfortunately, I am,” I gave her an apologetic look. “Father Mathis is—” I made air quotes “—requesting, that you pay your tithe in down feathers from your flock.”

The Worthens had a large flock of water fowl that they raised and traded for things they needed from the village. A lot of what I’d help them with was securing the valley against monsters that would occasionally raid their flocks.

“How much is he requiring?” Helen asked carefully.

“Enough to provide himself with a massive down stuffed bed,” Maxwell said angrily.

Helen paled. “That would decimate our flocks providing so much at once. What… what happens if we cannot pay?”

I winced. This was the hard part. “Father Mathis will likely order us to force you to, or will use his control over the town to ostracize you.”

“That is what I feared,” Helen said sadly. “We have no choice then?”

“I’m afraid not…”

I hated this. Mathis was using his position as the head of the temple to extort the villagers into providing the resources to build himself an extravagant residence. He’d been using Maxwell and myself to force reluctant villagers to ‘pay’ their tithes, regardless if what he requested was reasonable.

“Would you have any of your flock left?” Maxwell asked. Collecting the down from the birds would require Helen and her family to slaughter a large portion.

“Fortunately, we already have some down in supply,” Helen said. “Before winter came, we had to put down a great many that couldn’t fit inside the shelters we have for them through the cold months. But it’s not near enough… We’ll likely need to kill over half just to provide that much.”

“I’m sorry to deliver this news,” I said. “How long will it take for your flocks to recover?”

“They’ll recover fast,” Helen said. “Except we won’t be able to supply eggs like we do normally. At least we’ll have an abundance of meat to trade.”

“I will make sure Mathis knows how much this is costing you,” I said. “Hopefully he will be satisfied and leave you alone.”

“Hopefully you don’t end up like Derek,” Maxwell said sourly. “Father Mathis has practically made him an indentured servant.”

Father Mathis had all but forced Derek to devote all of his work to building his mansion. On top of that, he was paying him very little, insisting it was part of his tithes to the church.

For the time being, it wasn’t an issue. Though I worried that as time passed, things would start to fall into disrepair around town without Derek to fix things. I’d tried explaining that to Mathis. He dismissed me outright and insisted that building his mansion was more important than any work Derek might be needed for around town.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.