The Azimar Archives Book One- The Book of Death

Ferrand

"You promised there would be more time. You said everything would be fine if I did as you asked. If my wife did as you asked." The man before him stunk of fear, his voice quavering as he whined and begged. Ferrand was certain he could see small tears forming in the corners or the man's eyes.

His nose wrinkled at the sight, disgusted with this pathetic excuse for a man. Men do not cry. Men take what they want, and break those weaker than themselves into submission. They do not cry. That is for the women.

"It seems I underestimated our beloved King's need for increased revenues," Ferrand said, pitching his voice low. It was the same tone he took with women, and it seemed to make the more... effeminate... men more pliable. Easier to bend to his wishes. Weaker. "I'm afraid that nothing you or your lovely wife do can buy you more time at this point. The funds must simply be paid. A Peace Guard should be by within a day or two to collect your debt."

There was a soft noise from the adjoining room, and Ferrand's gaze shot to the closed door, head tilting at the sound. The man froze, eyes darting between the closed door and Ferrand.

Ferrand could only smirk, seeing the panic in the man's eyes. His wife was surely in the next room, hiding from the hungry Commander and his insatiable appetite.

Good. Let them cower.

"You must understand," Ferrand continued, turning once more to the man before him. "You are helping your King fund an army. You are helping your country grow." Ferrand paused, his voice hardening as the tension in the man's shoulders eased. "You are helping to avenge the death of our former king."

"I-it's a service, I understand. To help the king."

"Yes," Ferrand answered coolly.

"To make Etritia stronger, and to protect us?"

"Yes."

"Th-then I will gladly pay," the man stammered. He took a half step closer to Ferrand, hands wringing together. "It's just—"

"Yes?" Ferrand was getting annoyed now. It had been the same at each house. Everyone was fine with the increased taxes, except...

"It's just so much more," the man sighed. "I'm a baker, you see. And with the farmers leaving, the mills are nearly empty, and wheat grows more expensive by the day. It's getting harder to provide for the people of the town." His hands continued their nervous twisting. "I'm not the only one. The butchers have no cattle left, and no hunters to bring them deer with the gates closed. And—"

"I understand the concerns you have," Ferrand growled. Why did he have to listen to this ridiculous shit? Was this not the job of the Peace Guards, to take these complaints and bring them to the King themselves? And yet he was subjecting himself to their whines and complaints.

But he needed to show himself. To let them know that he was still here, in their streets, and they still had cause to cower in their rooms at his presence.

"You are not the only baker," Ferrand said, voice low once more.

"No, no I'm not."

"Then, between all of you, I'm sure you can work together to figure something out." Ferrand turned, stepping through the open shop door and into the filth littered street beyond. "A Peace Guard will be by within a day or two to collect your debt," he repeated, leaving the man standing wordlessly behind him. The streets were quiet, with only a handful of men standing in open doorways to watch the progress of Ferrand and the two other men with him, as they brought the news of yet another tax burden to the citizens of Etritia. There were no women or children in sight.