Page 47 of Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed

But Brim was already moving on, thoughts back on the coming battles. He pushed the toy soldiers around the map and drizzled fake blood around on it, and then, when he was satisfied with the plans, he looked to Morfran with a hint of a sparkle returning to his eyes. “Let’s go take back our towns.”

17

Journey to Redmoth

Day three hundred and twenty-five

Dear Diary,

Here is a list of all the pros and cons of visiting the towns of New Elksmoore, Hameline, and Überstrat.

New Elksmoore:

Pros: Lovely town you could make a day trip to if you set up home base in Atlantis 2.0. It’s split through with rivers, so there are many colorful boats and bridges. Lots of museums with both ancient pottery and modern paintings, and plenty of wine for celebrating if you end up successfully conquering it, which we did with little difficulty. The people were welcoming, too, if a bit snooty about our rebellion uniforms. (Note to self: once it’s in the budget, make sure these idiots update their wardrobe.)

Cons: The mayor was not pleased we accidentally blew up a statue of his great-great-grandfather in the center park while chasing off my ex-soldiers. And the crawfish bisque was outrageously overpriced.

Hameline:

Pros: Nestled right below the Hanover Mountains, so the scenery is to die for (literally, many of my men have vacation homes here and didn’t give it up without a fierce fight). It’s famous for its street performers who like to play, among other instruments, the harp, fifes, and drums, together. Interesting combination. There were also plenty of vendors, and one of them was selling beard-trimming kits for half off. I mailed one to Rapunzo’s tower using Hameline’s expedited express carrier pigeon services. We’ll see if the idiot makes use of it.

Cons: The inns were infested with rats.

Überstrat:

Pros: Plenty of old chapels to visit, as well as a haunted ghost tour of the village if you have the guts. (I couldn’t convince Bronwen to go with me. She’s still upset about her curse.) It had a lovely range outside the walls for Beni to graze. She was so eager to eat from it that we were still clearing the dead bodies from the area when she escaped her pen and began devouring the grass. Adorable little thing, she is.

Cons: It’s much closer to Redmoth, so past the southeast corner it gets increasingly ugly scenery-wise. Plus, I had a childhood bully who was from here. Now I can see why he was such an unpleasant person. Most of the villagers here appear to have never smiled in their life.

Oh, I forgot to mention. News from our scouts is that General Killian is moving south to try and defend Redmoth before we can get there. We’re on the road now, trying to claim the city. I

Morfran’s horse stumbled over a small pothole, rattling him from his journaling. Well, it was just about time he put away his quill and focused on the road, anyways. They were approaching Pierre’s Pass, which was where all the northern, southern, and eastern roads were fed into a narrow canyon road that would eventually spit travelers out into the city of Redmoth.

Contrary to its name, the lands of Redmoth were not red. They were bleak and barren, with strange configurations of black stone rising in oddly shaped columns, mounds, and cliffs. It made sense, since Mount Gesundheit had erupted several centuries ago, and it’d re-formed the land into a chaotic museum of caverns and calderas where people who were bleak and barren set up equally bleak and barren villages.

Due to its drab, almost creepy landscape that had a perpetual chill to it, Redmoth also had had the side effect of attracting necromancers before Morfran eradicated them years back. As the Elmswood Rebels’ leading caravan traveled through the bumpy, ashen roadways that spiked this way and that, they passed many altars and tombs carved out of cliffsides that were littered with skeletons, old goblets, and moth-eaten necromancer robes.

Morfran wrinkled his nose, tossing his hood over his head as they passed the Knolls of Knut, where a particularly large altar displayed two skeletons forever frozen in the moment of choking each other to death. Behind him, Gueldefore was trying to woo Bronwen with a swath of greenery he’d swiped from the trail a ways back.

“Behold! One of the only lovely things growing in this dank place,” the knight was saying, and Morfran could visualize him pressing it into her hands. “It grows for something lovelier.”

She’s not interested, Morfran wanted to snap at him. Her true love is dead and she’s permanently hexed. Because of me.

Morfran urged his horse—a gray Connemara he nicknamed Dirtclobber due to her habit of clobbering dirt—past the mounds. Before they’d left Atlantis 2.0, Tritonia had gifted them all fine, powerful horses. They’d been bred to be given to Morfran’s men, and seeing them passed into the hands of rebels had dampened Morfran’s spirits. He’d spent some time commiserating with Beni and her kids about this before they left, but Dirtclobber seemed a good listener, too, and—

Behind him, Brim let out a loud gasp. “Bernard!” he hollered. “Gueldefore! We’ve done it! It’s happening!”

Morfran, who was several paces ahead of him, slowed Dirtclobber and glanced over his shoulder.

Brim was grinning ear to ear. Beside him a rebel messenger was on a mount of her own.

“What is it, Brim?” Gueldefore came hurrying up the caravan line towards him. “What’s happening?”

“Our friends up north have overtaken the Valley of the Vale.” Brim’s reply was hasty, ecstatic. Those nearby went abuzz with giddiness. “Which means if we take Redmoth, it’ll be a straight, clean shot right to Warshire for us.”

Not exactly, Morfran thought. Even if the Valley of the Vale had fallen to the rebels, Warshire was composed of three separate cities leaking into one another, and Castle Atrago was securely tucked above them. It’d be Warshire that’d be a nightmare to invade. He didn’t know if he’d be around for that—even after spending three weeks helping these idiots take three townships, he still felt guilty about killing Bronwen’s sweetheart—but it wasn’t something they could conquer with dumb luck, as they had so far, or heart, which they had a sickening amount of.

No, what they’d need was simple: numbers, weapons, and skilled men. Redmoth could provide that. Not only had its dreary environment attracted necromancers in the past, but it was also a hub for mercenary armies from across the seas. Morfran had hopes that one mercenary warlord in particular was there. If not, the Elmswood Rebels had no chance of coughing up the steep hiring price.