by Cory Herndon
Fonn tugged at the vines around her wrists, which didn’t give at all. The harpy wheeled in the confined space, carefully skirting her dead sister. Fonn set her feet on the floor and readied herself, then the bird-woman squawked and charged.
The harpy never made it to the half-elf. A ball of blood and oily feathers slammed into the charging harpy and knocked her to the floor. Jarad got back to his feet, bleeding from a dozen wounds on his arms, chest, and face. He walked to the tangled harpies and picked up the one he had hurled and held it by the neck. He cracked his arm like a whip and snapped the harpy’s head back. She died instantly, and he tossed the corpse to the beetles.
The elf moved on to the third attacker—the one who had charged Fonn. The harpy’s left wing hung useless at her side, but she’d regained her feet and backed unsteadily away from the elf on one side and the swarm of hungry beetles on the other. “Stay back, huntmaster,” the harpy hissed. “Murderer.”
Jarad didn’t reply verbally but lashed out again with lightning speed and had the harpy by the neck before the bird-woman could move. “You are not here on your own,” Jarad said. “Who sent you?”
The harpy snorted and spit in his face. Jarad wiped the foul substance away with his free hand and squeezed the harpy’s neck with the other. He held her at arm’s length, which made her talons useless.
“I will only ask you one more time, harpy,” the elf said. “You will only confirm what I already suspect. I’ll make it easy for you. Did my sister send you?”
The harpy’s red eyes bulged even bigger, and she shook her head vigorously. “N-no,” she croaked through a constricted windpipe, “No, huntmaster, we—We were hunting. We found easy prey, we thought! Yes, just hunt—”
“Liar.” Jarad gripped the top of her skull with the fingertips of his free hand and twisted. The harpy’s protestations of innocence died with a choked cry. The hunter tossed another hunk of feathered meat to his beetles and scowled.
“What was that all about?” Fonn managed. “Sister? What is going on? I thought you said your matta wanted me alive. Was this sister of yours trying to capture me for herself?”
“Matka,” Jarad corrected absently. “The Devkarin high priestess. She is my sister.”
“What, she sent you to kidnap me, then sent these birdbrains to kill us both? Then I’d say no, she’s not looking to capture me anymore,” Fonn said.
“No,” Jarad said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t think she is.” His trance broke and he turned to Fonn abruptly. “She’s gone too far this time. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“I’ve got a better idea. You untie me, we both get out of here, then you go your way and I go mine,” she said.
“Ledev,” Jarad said, “we are both targets now. I don’t like it either, but at the moment my enemy is your enemy.”
“So just like that, I’m supposed to help you? I don’t even know you people! Besides, the Conclave is going to be looking for me.” An unwelcome thought struck Fonn. “Holy mother, they might think I had something to do with the bomb.”
“Ledev,” Jarad said, “a proposal.”
“Already? We just met.”
“We may be able to help each other. I do not know why Savra has chosen now to try to eliminate me, but I intend to find out. In the process, you may be able to uncover what happened to your charge. If she has chosen to move against me, she is not the matka I know. More than our lives are at stake here. The guilds. …”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Fonn said incredulously. “You’ve kept me prisoner in this hole for—How long have I been here?”
“Three days,” Jarad said.
“You son of a mossdog,” Fonn said. “I’ve got to get back to the surface. If we get out of here. Is there a ledev outpost near?”
“Not in Old Rav,” Jarad said and in response to Fonn’s questioning look added, “We are in the basement of a tenement in the undercity. There is a wojek Leaguehall not far from Grigor’s Canyon.”
“Then that’s where I’m going,” Fonn said.
“You seem to forget you’re still a prisoner,” Jarad said.
“And you seem to forget there might be a whole flock of harpies, or snake-bats, or gods know what else outside that door,” Fonn said. “Look, either kill me or cut me loose.”
Jarad considered a moment. “Listen. I don’t expect you to believe me, but this is the truth: Savra—”
“Your sister.”
“My sister Savra sent me to take you from that café,” he said. “She knew that bomb was going to go off.”
“So you saved my life to threaten me with bugs? That’s sweet,” Fonn said.
“Think about it,” Jarad said. “The fact that we’re both standing here should be proof enough I came prepared to shield us both from the blast.”
“That’s a good point,” Fonn said. “Is there another one?”
“As I said,” Jarad replied. “We may be able to help each other with our respective problems. Indeed, I think they stem from the same source.”
“Why should I trust you? Or you trust me for that matter? Frankly, I wouldn’t mind knocking your teeth in.”
For the first time, the elf sincerely smiled. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Cut me loose, Devkarin,” Fonn said, “and you might.”
The pale elf lifted his mask again and looked Fonn in the eye. “I think you’re more practical than that.” He slipped behind her, and a second later the vines slipped from her wrists. The elf backed away as she spun around and took a wild swing that missed completely. Her second blow landed in his fist. He grabbed Fonn by both wrists. “Stop that. Listen. I know someone who might have some idea how my sister knew about that bomb, maybe even if she was behind it. I think there’s a good chance of that. He can also tell me which hit-gangs are looking for me, and for enough gold he can get them off both our backs. I’ve been waiting for her to try something like this.”
“Are you crazy?” Fonn said, trying with all her might to pull free. “I’ve got to get to the Unity Tree. They’ll be looking for me.”
“You’ve been asleep for three days,” Jarad said. “If I release your wrists, will you let me show you something?”
“Depends.”
“I’ll take my chances,” the elf said and released her with a light shove. Fonn raised both hands palm out, and he nodded. Jarad reached into a pocket sewn into the side of his leather pants and pulled out a folded piece of crisp, new parchment. He handed it to the ledev, and she unfolded it like it might contain another swarm of beetles.
Beetles, she realized, would have been preferable. The parchment had been ripped at the corners where it had been nailed to a kiosk in Guildpact Square, no doubt. Most of the poster was taken up by an eerily accurate woodcut of Fonn, from the front and in profile. Beneath her own unsmiling portrait was a similar woodcut of Biracazir the wolf that clearly showed the sigil on the unique identification tag her mount wore on his collar. Fonn read the words at the bottom of the page in a stunned whisper. She’d suspected this was possible, but to see it clearly printed was a brutal shock to her spirit.
“Wanted for questioning in the ongoing inquiry into the murder of Sergeant Bell Borca. If seen, please do not attempt to apprehend but contact your—What?” She crumpled the paper in one hand. “What is this? I don’t even know who Bell Borca is.”
“You may not know this,” Jarad said. “I imagine you have spent most of your life outside this city, on the roads?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Fonn said.
“There are many different classes of murder in the city,” Jarad said. “Most aren’t even against the law so long as the guilds see no interruption in trade.”
“Teaching civics now?”
“The only kind of killing that is always against the Ordinances is the killing of a wojek,” Jarad continued, ignoring her. “It overrules all other considerations. I assume this Borca was the wojek at the table, speaking to your charge.”
�
�How long were you sitting there?”
“Long enough to find out you don’t eat meat,” Jarad said.
“This is ridiculous,” Fonn said. “They can’t think I had anything to do with this.”
“But they obviously suspect you,” Jarad replied. “Do you know how your Selesnya Conclave interrogates Golgari prisoners?”
“The Selesnya Conclave doesn’t take prisoners, let alone—”
“Your education has been spotty,” Jarad said. “Your quietmen are quite effective at extracting information. I’ve seen the results dumped along the rim of Grigor’s Canyon, and I’ve killed more than my share of friends rather than see them continue like that.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he said. “Do you want to take the chance that I’m not? They will destroy your mind to learn the truth.”
“That’s—that’s crazy,” Fonn said, but her gut told her not to be so sure. And Jarad was right—though she was born here, she hadn’t been back to the city in decades. Her experience with how the Selesnya Conclave operated in the city was largely a mystery to her. A ledev didn’t need to know the workings of the holy collective. She simply needed faith and a blade. It was her duty to return to the Selesnya Conclave and accept whatever interrogation, punishment, or decision they chose to render. It was her duty as an enforcer of the laws of the road to turn herself in to the wojeks and explain the circumstances. And odds were, if Jarad was telling the truth, there might not be enough of Fonn left after that to bring Bayul’s true killer to justice.
On the other hand, the man who had kidnapped her, held her prisoner for three days, and threatened to let beetles consume her flesh now wanted her to join forces with him and launch their own investigation of sorts.
What will it be? Fonn asked herself. Play the noble guardian like she had her entire life and possibly give up her mind in the process? Or trust Jarad, who in addition to whatever else he’d done also allowed beetles to live in his hair?
An even better question: Even if she simply left on her own, could she find her way to the surface without his help?
“What is your decision?” Jarad asked. “The harpies will only be the first. There will be more. Either we stick together and get moving, or eventually one of her assassins will get through.”
Fonn sighed and put her hands on her hips. “All right,” she said. “Who’s this source of yours? Where do we need to go?”
“He’s an Orzhov information broker,” Jarad said. “He’s never steered me wrong before. We can get there via the canyon lifts.”
“But can we get to the canyon lifts without running into another flock of them?” Fonn said, jerking a thumb at the rapidly shrinking pile of harpy corpses beneath the thick carpet of insects.
Jarad kicked over a cracked stone block with one foot to reveal a small trapdoor without a handle. He pushed down on one side, and the door popped open with a click. He reached in and pulled out a familiar sword and tossed it to Fonn, who caught the hilt in her right hand. “That’s the question,” he said.
“Sounds like you already know the answer,” Fonn said and took a few experimental swipes in the air before she slid the sword into the scabbard at her waist. “I’ll say this once—if I think for a moment that you’ve been lying to me about any of this, the truce is over.”
“This isn’t a truce, ledev,” Jarad said. “This is necessity. Are you through making threats? I want to get to the restaurant before the dinner rush.”
“Yeah, I can see how you’d be hungry,” Fonn said.
“Not to eat,” Jarad said. “Though now that I think about it we might as well do that too. I imagine you’re famished.”
“If not to eat, why are we going to a restaurant?”
“Not just any restaurant,” Jarad said. “This one is run by my Orzhov information broker friend. We’ll learn what we can from him and go from there. If you wish to part ways at that time—”
“Fear not, I won’t pass up that chance if I can help it,” Fonn said. Her stomach growled like a—“My wolf!” she gasped. “Where is he? Did the bomb—”
“I do not know, but if he was outside the wall he may have survived. Don’t you ledev have some kind of empathy about that sort of thing?”
“You know, a lot of people think that,” Fonn said. “Just keep an eye out for him, would you?”
* * * * *
“That settles it, Phaskin,” Kos said. “There’s no way you’re not giving me this case. Be reasonable.”
“Everything you’re saying proves my point,” Phaskin said, not without sympathy. “You’re not thinking of your own health. Stanslov’s got the case, and that’s the final word on the subject.”
“Stanslov doesn’t care about this case,” Kos said. “And he’s not half the investigator I am. That’s not arrogance. It’s the truth, Captain, and you know it.”
“Lieutenant Stanslov is not working in a vacuum,” Phaskin said. “We’ve assembled a task force as well. It’s being taken care of, Kos. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“We? Are you investigating too?”
“As a matter of fact,” Phaskin said, “I’m supervising the task force.”
“You?” Kos said. “What, I go into a coma and everybody else goes insane? You’re not an investigator!”
“Lieutenant, perhaps you should consider getting some rest,” Feather said.
“Stow it, Feather,” Kos said. “Captain, you—You’re getting a promotion. You’re going to be a shift commander. For gods’ sake, Captain, I’m going to have your job in a week! You’ve got to let me have this. If Zunich’s daughter is involved—Wait, what about her mother?”
“Dead,” Phaskin said. “About twenty years ago, according to the report I saw. Suicide.”
Kos felt a familiar darkness settle around the edges of his soul. A rainy night, fifty-seven years ago. He’d promised to look after Zunich’s wife and daughter. In the aftermath of Zunich’s death, Kos had not been able to bring himself to even meet them, although he did check on the official records a few weeks after the case was settled. Zunich’s wife, a Silhana elf, had taken the child to live with her at a Selesnyan convent.
“Captain, my partner,” Kos said. “Not yours. Mine. You’ve got to give me this case. I’ve got a duty. I can—I can talk to her, learn how she’s tied to this.”
“You’ve never even met her, have you?” Phaskin said. “And you should be thinking about the partner who just died, not the one who—”
“That’s not the point,” Kos said. “You and Stanslov don’t belong on this one. I do.”
“So you’re saying you don’t think I can handle the job?” Phaskin said. His face flushed red, a sure sign Kos was making him angry.
“Captain, with all due respect, you’re no better at detective work than Stanslov. You’re both administrators. In fact, I don’t know why the brass didn’t promote Stanslov over me. The point is, you have no business running this investigation,” Kos said. “Just deal with the bureaucrats and let the real ’jeks do the work.”
The words were out before Kos, in his weakened state, could think to stop them.
Phaskin smiled.
“That,” he said, “is insubordination, Lieutenant.”
“Are you joking?” Kos said. “I was almost blown up. You’re going to bring me up on charges now, too? What, you want to court-martial me? I take it back. If that’s what you want to do, you’re not just wrong for this investigation; you have no business running this Leaguehall.”
“And that seals it,” Phaskin said. “Thank you, Kos, you’ve made this so much easier on me. Effective immediately, you’re suspended without pay. Keep going and I will file charges.”
“You’re suspending me?”
“You’re suspending him?”
“You heard me,” Phaskin said and smiled mirthlessly. “Constable Feather, I believe you’ve got scrollwork to get back to. And I’ve got an investigation to run.”
&nb
sp; “Just like that,” Kos said. “What is it, seventy-odd years I’ve given the League, and I point out the obvious once and you’re suspending me?”
“Kos,” Phaskin said. “You are suspended. Consider it a vacation. Come on, Constable. We should leave this civilian to recuperate.”
“Sir, perhaps I should stay here for a while longer and coordinate strategy for the task force.”
“You want to join him on suspension?” Phaskin asked. “He has nothing to do with the task force, except as a witness.”
“Then perhaps I should take a statement from the—the witness,” Feather said.
“I don’t have time to argue about this. I’ve got a meeting with the brass in fifteen minutes. You want to stay here, spell that guard out in the hall, but he stays here, alone.”
“Why is there a guard posted outside?” Kos asked.
“It was to make sure no one tried to finish the job on you,” Phaskin said, “but I’ll be adding ‘Keep Kos in his room’ to those duties. Do you understand me, Constable?”
“Yes, sir,” Feather said. “Lieutenant, I shall be in the hall if you require assistance.”
“Thanks,” Kos said. He felt very tired, very old, and completely betrayed by Phaskin’s petty administrative maneuver. Wojeks didn’t treat other wojeks that way, especially when a dead partner was involved. He barely acknowledged the angel and the wojek captain as they perfunctorily wished him a swift recovery and left. He heard them exchange some muffled words outside the door, then one set of footsteps departed—Phaskin, leaving Feather behind.
He was alone in the room with his thoughts, and they were the worst possible company he could have found. He hadn’t been particularly fond of Borca, but the man had been his partner. There was no investigation more sacred to a ’jek than the investigation of a partner’s death. That was why it was enshrined in the Guildpact Statutes as well as the City Ordinances and the Officer’s Manual.