by C S Vass
Yaura finished her tour of the secret forge and found herself sitting with Steffon in the tavern above. Monk Yelvin returned to his duties tending the sick at the temple, leaving the two of them alone for a few hours before Yaura would have to tend to some business of her own.
“I don’t ask for mindless praise,” Steffon said seriously to her while sipping the heavy beer foam that had settled over the top of his mug. “Please, I know you have expertise in this area. What could we be doing better?”
It was a struggle to hear anything that the kid said over the wailing of brass that filled the tavern room. Leaning close, she said, “I don’t give praise lightly, and I certainly don’t give it mindlessly. The forge is impressive. I don’t think there’s a chance that Shade would let things get this far if he had a whiff of the going-ons underneath this tavern. It’s one thing to let an enemy scheme and plot, ignorant to the fact that their plans have been uncovered. It’s quite another to let them obtain real weapons and stockpile them.”
Steffon grinned. “The hardest part wasn’t creating the forge, but finding a space for it. We had long thought of the sewers under Valencia, but they’re all so connected that it would be a risk should a Bluecoat unexpectedly take a patrol down there. But we let word spread just slowly and carefully enough about what we were looking for, and the owner of this tavern came forward and said they had sealed off the part of the sewers underneath here from the rest of the sewage systems.”
“Lucky,” Yaura said with an arched brow.
“It was lucky,” Steffon said immediately. “But I wasn’t foolish about it. The tavern owner was thoroughly vetted, as was the area underneath. It had to be done slowly, and only with those we trusted the most, but in the end we have built something that may end up liberating the people of Valencia.”
“You’re right to be proud,” Yaura said, sipping her wine slowly. “But I have to ask, how is it that you’ve vetted me? Just a short while ago I was patrolling the streets with a group of Bluecoats. Tell me, how is it that I’ve earned the right to enter that secret place?”
“You proved yourself the very night that you speak of,” Steffon said.
I should have known. The little shit was spying on me even back then.
“Don’t be mad,” Steffon pleaded. “You would have done the same thing. You’re a Shigata that recently spoke to Shade himself. How was I not to know that he put you here himself to slaughter us?”
“Well now you know,” Yaura said. “But if you think the hard part is done and now you can storm the Rosewalk, I think you’ll be sorely disappointed. Shade cannot possibly be so stupid as to leave his throne vulnerable with things as they stand.”
Steffon stiffened his face and drained his mug. “If I have learned one thing since becoming involved in the struggle against Shade,” he hissed, “it’s that there is no end to the arrogance of the powerful. I will be cautious just as my uncle advised me to be, but I will not throw away a real opportunity to do some good in this city. To give these bastard Bluecoats what they have coming!”
Yaura threw her eyes around the tavern. While it was intensely loud and the crowd looked to be nothing but elves, she didn’t like that the boy’s voice had raised.
“You will help us, won’t you?” Steffon said suddenly. He seized her arm somewhat roughly. Had he been anyone else, Yaura would have thrown him over the table, maybe through the glass window. But there was something about him. Despite not being a boy, he wasn’t quite a man. And clearly he was desperate.
She pulled her arm away and managed an intense look of anger that she threw at him in place of a fist. “Don’t beg,” she snapped. “It’s unbecoming, no matter how desperate your situation is.” But deep down she had already decided. Faela and Tzuri-kai needed to be rescued. Steffon and his uncle were the only ones who seemed to care. It was an opportunity that she could not throw away.
Still, at least he had the grace to look embarrassed. Yaura realized that he had become drunk.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’re a Shigata warrior. You could make such a difference here, if you had a mind to. You’ve already taken on the Bluecoats. You’ve already shown how strong and fearless you are. We need everyone like you that we can get.”
Yaura was not used to such compliments, and she did not know immediately how to respond. They did not make her feel good. “I’m a Shigata warrior,” she finally managed. “You have that much right, Steffon. So you should know my job is hunting demons, not men. And I certainly don’t go around committing treasons on behalf of my order. I can observe things here for a time, perhaps I can even offer some small help, but I am not your ally in this war.”
To her further surprise, Steffon laughed. She felt her cheeks flush with anger.
“I’m sorry, Yaura,” he said. “But I think we both know that that ship has sailed. If Shade knew anything about what you’ve been doing, he would have your head. You see, the great Lord of Valencia doesn’t have a nuanced understanding for how much someone is involved in something and to what extent.”
“You need to learn to temper your anger,” Yaura said coldly. “You dwell on this hatred that you have, and it’s going to get you killed. Or worse. Get your friends and family killed.”
Steffon waved the comment off. “What would you know about any of that?” he asked angrily. “Nothing, of course. You wouldn’t know anything about it because you haven’t lived our lives. You don’t know what it’s like to grow up here. You don’t understand a fucking thing.”
“I may not understand what it’s like to be an elf in the Skullgardens,” Yaura said. “But I know what it’s like to go up against an infinitely stronger enemy. I know what it’s like to win that kind of fight. But you don’t do it by boldly declaring your goodness or their wickedness. You do it by slow, calculated advances. You win battles so small that your enemy does not even consider them battles. And before long, wars are won. Leaders are corpses and peasants become princes. Such things happen, Steffon, but only if you have the patience to let them.”
To her anger Steffon snorted again, but this time he wasn’t laughing. It was a sob that he had choked on. “You’re right about one thing, lady Yaura,” he said.
“Oh?”
“You really don’t understand what it’s like to be an elf in the Skullgardens. Because while everything you said might be right, it doesn’t make a damn difference. Because while those slow battles are happening, they’re killing us every day here.”
Yaura lingered in the noisy tavern after Steffon made his departure. The boy’s last words lingered too, giving her the unpleasant feeling that she had wronged him. He wasn’t a boy, and she shouldn’t have lectured him like a crabby school teacher. He undoubtedly understood the situation better than she did, and if there was one thing that Yaura could not stand, it was unsolicited advice. Little good that did in stopping her from forcing her own on him.
Pushing her wine aside, she ordered a hot tea. She couldn’t spend the afternoon worrying about Steffon and his troubles. She had her own business to attend to. At least she would as soon as the sun set. Shigata business, she thought, smiling. It had been too long since she had accepted a true mission as a Shigata. It would feel good to draw her blade against a mindless demon and use her ability to kill for good for once.
Like everything she did in Valencia these days, Yelvin had organized it. He brought the client to her basement chamber in the Temple of Ice and Shadow before she had seen the forge. After the monk had made the introductions, he left the two of them alone. The man had been cloaked and covered in shadowy robes that left no part of him uncovered. He had a thick voice that made Yaura think he had been drinking.
“I represent a group of interested merchants,” the stranger had croaked. “We’re in desperate need of a Shigata.”
“I don’t see what’s so desperate about it,” Yaura responded. “Valencia is crawling with my comrades. Finding one of us to sort out whatever problem your friends have should be no problem
.”
“I don’t merely require any one of the low-ranking cutthroats that has flocked here from a ruined Unduyo to collect pennies,” he responded gruffly. “I need someone reliable. Somebody who is skilled with a blade and can keep their silence. Yelvin has informed me that you are that person. Was he mistaken?”
No doubt I have Faela and Tzuri-kai to thank for running their mouth about me to the monk, Yaura thought. But still, she hadn’t been offered a compliment or a contract in quite some time, and now someone was readily giving both.
“What is it that you need?” she asked.
She could practically feel his slimy smile, though she couldn’t see anything past his the thick shadow of his draping hood.
“She emerges at sunset. A demon of the likes of which I have never heard. I need you to kill her.”
“Tell me about this demon,” Yaura said. “What does it look like? What does it want?”
“The demon resembles the decaying corpse of an old woman. Her face is half flesh, half skull and grave rot. Her back is stooped and twisted, which is why we’ve dubbed her Crookhag, but her swiftness surpasses that of a fox. She walks past Merchant’s Corridor, as the last light of day dies, and howls for the sacrifice of a child. In her first few nights, she managed to kill a small boy right in front of his screaming mother. After that we thought she might be satiated, but she kept returning. Now she has grown bold. She breaks into houses. If there is a small child, she kills and consumes it. If not, she’ll wreak havoc on the place. Have you ever heard of such a creature?”
“I’ve heard of dozens of such creatures,” Yaura said. “None of which would be allowed to cause such mischief near the seat of a lord of Western Gaellos. Why has Sylvester Shade not sent men to deal with this beast?”
“I cannot answer for the Lord of Valencia,” the man replied. “But perhaps you would understand if you knew that the traders of Merchant’s Corridor have made an explicit policy of doing business with any and all races who have the coin to barter. About few weeks ago, before Crookhag made her first appearance, they loaned a hefty amount of gold to some dwarves fleeing Jagjaw.”
“I see,” Yaura said. “Little wonder no help can be had from the Rosewalk.” I just wonder who will help Sylvester Shade when enough of his citizens realize their biggest shared trait is a mutual hatred for their lord. “And tell me, will I incur the wrath of Lord Shade for involving myself in this affair?”
“Don’t try to haggle with me, Shigata,” the man spat. “You are a comrade of Yelvin. Lord Shade wishes you nothing but a quick painful fall from a tall tree with a rope around your neck.”
“Shade’s blessing notwithstanding, this is still a serious endeavor you ask me to take. Despite what you’ve told me, it’s clear that we know painfully little about this demon. Unless there’s something else, I don’t favor my chances of survival.”
“One does not break their Seal of Love and become a Shigata because you favor life,” the man said bluntly.
Yaura felt a fire rising in her stomach. “No,” she hissed. “You’re quite right about that. Whether we favor money, however, is an entirely different matter. I will kill this demon for five-hundred pieces of gold, half of it upfront. Your demon will be dead by the end of the week.”
“You’re mad,” the man barked. “I could ransom a lord for such a sum. Merchant’s Corridor does not wish to cheat you, but we will not be taken for fools. Try again and request a reasonable sum.”
Yaura stepped forward. Rage surged inside of her, but she could not have said from where it came. “One-thousand pieces of gold. Don’t pretend you don’t have it. I know what kind of sums of money dwarves deal with. One-thousand pieces of gold, and I’ll kill your demon this very night.”
The man was silent for a time. Yaura was starting to believe he might be contemplating the offer, when he guffawed. “I see that I have wasted my time in coming here. Thank you for the audience, Lady Shigata, but—”
“Wait!” Yaura said.
“Oh? Are we going to talk seriously?”
“I’ll do it without requesting a penny.”
“I repeat once more,” the man said. “You’re mad. What would you have instead? A chalice made from diamond, with fine Tarsurian wine to drink from it?”
“I would have you make the Vow of Honesty in return for slaying Crookhag.”
Yaura could sense the man stiffen up. “You are familiar with the Vow of Honesty, are you not?”
“An interesting request,” he said. “I would have to take it up with Merchant’s Corridor. Give me the night and—”
“Why?” Yaura demanded. “What’s this got to do with them? I don’t need every merchant to make the vow. Just you.”
Now she could hear his quickened breath underneath the folds of his robe. “What possible reason could you have for asking such a thing of me?”
“Perhaps I’m mad. You’ll consider yourself quite lucky then when you’ve got Crookhag dead and all it costs you is the color of your socks.”
“Don’t mock me. Only an absolute fool would take the Vow of Honesty lightly.”
“Your only choice is to take the Vow of Honesty now or never. This isn’t an ongoing offer. If you don’t agree, I don’t want to see your face again.”
More silence.
“I will answer whatever questions you have honestly without such ridiculous stakes involved,” he said at last. “You have my word. Three questions instead of one.”
Yaura smiled. That was when she knew she had him. “Three questions any idiot could lie their way through. Not to mention an unnecessary waste. There’s only one question I have.”
“Then ask it!” he snapped. “Ask it now and I will tell you honestly.”
“You will,” she said. “But only after you’ve sworn the oath and I’ve taken care of Crookhag. This is no longer a negotiation. These are my terms, and nothing else will do. Decide.”
Yaura could practically feel the man squirming under his robes. She told herself she wasn’t enjoying that, but it was a lie.
“I’ll do it,” he said suddenly. “I’ll make the vow. What is it that you could want to know that I would have reason to lie about, anyway?”
“Very good,” Yaura said. She removed a black leather glove from her hand and put a knife up to the point of her finger.
“What, you want to do this now?” he asked, stuttering again.
“No time like the present,” Yaura said. “Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing. After all. I’m the one who has to prick myself.” She did just that. A dot of blood welled on her finger. She walked over to the man and pulled his hood down to reveal a squat middle-aged face that sniffed over a massive red mustache. He winced when Yaura put her finger on his neck and slowly traced the rune. She was about halfway done when she needed more blood and pricked another of her fingers. “See, don’t feel bad,” she mocked. “We’re all making sacrifices.”
The man whimpered as she finished the job.
“Good,” she cooed. “Now repeat after me. And don’t fail to annunciate. If I have to start over and prick myself again, I’m taking twice as much blood from you as I do from myself.”
He nodded with a look of absolute world-weariness.
Yaura began the chant, and he repeated every word after her.
“Hear me, Raeythulla, Bringer of Truth, and bear witness to my every word. By the blood that binds me and under your watchful eye, I solemnly vow myself to unadorned honesty when called upon by Yaura of the Shigata, my new master. I will answer truthfully, without attempt at omission or deception, and without intent to deceive, misshape, mischaracterize, confuse, or alternate my words when called upon. Should I break this vow, may the blood that binds me be my end.”
By the end the man was shaking, but he managed to get through the ceremony without incident. “Very good,” Yaura said. “Now stop shivering like a child. The vow only lasts twenty-four hours, or as long as I do. If you’re lucky, I’ll be dead shortly after sunset tonight. I
f you’re not, then it’s one full day that you have to worry about this. Not a bad deal, I’d say.”
“Just ask me now, please,” the man begged. “I don’t care what you want to know. I swear, I have no secrets. I just want this burden to be lifted from me.”
Yaura smiled. “My dear friend, have some respect for yourself. If we did that, then where is your guarantee that I’ll slay Crookhag for you?”
That conversation had been that morning, close to dawn right before she had gone to see the forge. Now it was Yaura’s turn to make good on her bargain. She took her time finishing her tea and waited until the sunlight glowed hot red through the window. Sighing, she watched it and wondered if it would be the last time she saw its glowing rose-colored light fade into darkness. Then she stood to leave.
“Where are you off to tonight, dear?” a cheery barmaid asked her.
She cracked a smile and patted the thrygta-pommel of her sword.
“Hunting. Then to find my friends.”
Chapter 20
Pale sunlight filled the court of Lord Jeri Dantos. While various learned men had insisted that spring was on the way, Benjiko found himself doubting that very much as he watched the largely white landscape from a window while the ceremony continued.
“Their honors, are our honors, their victories, our victories…”
Jeri was standing before his throne speaking to a crowded room full of merchants. Benjiko hadn’t been able to force himself to pay full attention as it was explained to him exactly what the ceremony was for and what was happening. He just knew Nicolai wanted him to be as public a face as possible and therefore had Jeri draw up a dozen different reasons to hold events.
“He speaks as if he’s honoring war heroes, not bookkeepers,” Brett snorted from his side.