by Pirateaba
“I will not force you to come with us.”
“Wise.”
Ryoka sneered down at the [Butler]. He raised one finger, cutting off her next words.
“However, I must caution you that Lady Magnolia did not send just me.”
“What?”
Outside the inn, the doors of the carriage slowly opened. Ceria saw someone emerge from the carriage, but it was not Lady Magnolia. Not Magnolia, and yet a tiny bell in Ceria’s head—her [Dangersense]—rang the instant she laid eyes on the woman.
Ressa, the head [Maid] in Lady Magnolia’s employ, stepped through the doors, staring around the room full of silent people as if they were specks of dirt and she had a dust cloth. She stopped, her black and white dress swirling around her as she met Ryoka’s eyes across the crowded room.
The older woman did not smile. She didn’t frown either; she just looked at Ryoka with cold eyes, weighing her up and down and finding her wanting as before. Ressa’s face was implacable as she looked Ryoka straight in the eye and spoke.
“Lady Reinhart is expecting you.”
3.10
Yvlon Byres knew the answer before they said it. She was not a silver-tongued socialite, but she had learned to read people’s eyes as a child. She had learned to dance with words before she had picked up a sword. Of course, she’d left that world behind to become an adventurer, but some things never faded.
Now she sat still and kept her face still, hoping that she was wrong. But the [Healer] just shook his head as he tapped on the silver and black metal that had become part of Yvlon’s body.
“I’m sorry Miss Byres. But I don’t believe the metal can be removed.”
“I see.”
Yvlon’s tone was light and free of negative emotion. She looked the man directly in the eye; an honest [Noble] would do no less. Feeling free to speak, the man went on, speaking candidly.
“I am not a high-level [Healer]. Perhaps one with a Skill might be able to deal with this…affliction. Or perhaps a [Bone Surgeon], although you would have to find a Gnoll tribe’s [Healer] with such a rare class. As it is…I can do nothing.”
The woman stared at her arms, at the metal that felt so alien and heavy on her skin. There was no pain—only a sense of invasiveness. She could feel the metal in her, and in truth she had expected no other answer from the man.
“What of the exterior?”
The tall, broad woman standing next to the [Healer] cleared her throat. She was a [Blacksmith], and she touched the cold metal with familiarity. Yvlon didn’t mind the intrusion, although the [Healer] looked askance. But the [Blacksmith] only saw metal, and how it could be shaped.
“That I could cut away. The pieces below the skin—if that is anchored to bone I won’t touch it. Normally we’d use a saw or snap the metal in two—”
“No.”
The man hurriedly interjected and the broad-shoulder woman nodded placidly before continuing.
“—But with the right blade we could cut the metal. It’s warped; lost a lot of its strength in the melting. An enchanted dagger would cut most of it off and we could sand the rest smooth. It’s not easy, but it is doable.”
Yvlon looked at the [Healer] to see his opinion. The man nodded reluctantly.
“It would certainly allow the skin to breathe and prevent much of the possible infection. But even so, the metal has bonded with bone. Your arms—”
“I understand. Thank you.”
She couldn’t bear to hear any more. Both man and woman exchanged uncertain glances. At last, the [Healer] spoke again.
“I’ll leave you to get dressed.”
“And I will see if I can find a blade good enough to use. It will have to be enchanted—Dwarven-craft weapons might work, but even that would involve sharpening…”
Their words fell on deaf ears. Yvlon waited until they’d left, smiling politely and thanking them for their time—and paying them for their efforts. Then she sat back in the small room the [Healer] had examined her in and reached for her clothes.
She had still worn a breast band of course, but she had had to take off the clothing on her upper body to expose her shoulders and arms. Yvlon gazed at them now, and saw the metal. It had once been her armor, but now…
It looked almost like a scab. A dirty, discolored plating of metal that ran from her shoulders down to her hands. It wasn’t one unsplit seam either; jagged cracks had broken around her joints, allowing her to move her arms, albeit with difficulty. It was heavy. And as Yvlon stared at her arms, her shirt in one hands, her eyes filled with tears.
It was a moment of weakness. The only one she could afford, when everyone’s eyes weren’t on her. Yvlon dropped her shift and felt her eyes sting as the world blurred.
Cool composure. Politeness at all times. It was the mark of a Byres, and she had kept the mask up. But she hadn’t dared invite her friends, the other Horns of Hammerad. She hadn’t wanted them to hear the news, see the looks on their faces.
Her hand were trembling, but all Yvlon saw was metal. Ugly metal. It wasn’t beautiful, not like the silver she had worn, the silver which she’d been so proud of, her family’s colors and fortune—the name she had taken for her adventuring groups. It was ugly and tarnished and black.
Just like her.
More tears trickled down her cheek. Yvlon wiped at her eyes clumsily, feeling the hard metal brush against her eyes.
“Oh no. Not this. Honor and hearth. Please, not…”
It wasn’t fair. That was what she wanted to say, but wasn’t it what she deserved? And she’d been the only one with a weapon. Ksmvr had been down, Pisces and Ceria’s magic had failed—
She’d done what she had to do. It was her duty, and she’d been prepared for death. But not this.
“Not this.”
Her arms. The metal was so dull. Yvlon shook again. Strong. She had to be strong. If she let her friends down—
Would they think less of her? Abandon her? She had failed once. How could she tell them? What could she say? She’d already demanded almost all the gold they’d earned. What about this?
“I don’t know.”
It had been so easy a month ago. She’d been so sure. Yvlon pulled her tunic over her head, slowly, clumsily. The [Healer] had offered her to help, but this she had to do herself. The fabric was far too loose for her comfort, but it was the only way she could get it over her arms. She couldn’t even raise them fully over her head; the metal dug too much into her flesh to let her.
Part of Yvlon just wanted to sleep. To go to sleep and forget. But then she might dream she was in the pit again, imagining she was one of her long-dead ancestors. Or worse, she might dream of Skinner, the crawling monster with crimson eyes and the undead that struck down each of her friends in slow motion. Yvlon shuddered. Her eyes filled again.
Someone hammered on her door. Yvlon sat bolt upright. In an instant, her eyes stopped stinging, and she used her shirt to scrub at her face.
“Enter.”
When the panting young man pushed open the door he didn’t notice Yvlon’s red eyes; he only saw her arms, and even that only held his attention for a second. He stopped and bobbed his head awkwardly to her, as if she were his liege lady instead of a common adventurer.
“Pardon, Miss Yvlon, but there’s trouble at The Nobleman’s Disgrace!”
“What?”
Yvlon said the words and then remembered; that was the inn they were all staying at.
“What trouble?”
“I don’t know. A coach arrived—a fancy noble’s coach, one of the ones pulled by magic! And a man and a women came out, and then they said they were going to take a Runner away!”
A Runner? Yvlon’s brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of everything.
“Who? And what does this have to do with us?”
The young man could only gabble on as he tried to explain things from his limited perspective.
“The Runner? Her name was Ryoka Griffin—”
“Ryoka?
”
“That’s right! And she said she weren’t going,and the woman insisted, and then your Captain—the half-Elf—she said she wasn’t going either and folks started drawing their swords!”
Yvlon didn’t wait to hear anything else. She was out of her chair and pushing past the surprised young man in an instant. Her grief, her feelings of pain and regret—all of it she gladly surrendered to adrenaline and the need for action.
“My sword—”
She didn’t have one. Yvlon snapped at the young man.
“Get me a sword!”
She charged out the building and onto the street, running in the direction of the inn. She didn’t know why Ryoka was here, but she had saved Ceria, and if the other Horns of Hammerad were going to fight, so was Yvlon. She would not let her party die again.
—-
Sometimes Ceria wondered if she could ever have a peaceful life. If she quit casting magic and stopped going on adventures and just lived in a quiet place somewhere for the rest of her life, wouldn’t that be worthwhile? She’d never have to fight monsters and she wouldn’t wake up with bugs crawling in her mouth while it rained. She could be happy.
But the flaw with that idea was that even if Ceria didn’t get into trouble, her friends would. Like Ryoka, and Erin for example. The trouble with those two girls was that they tended to attract monsters and chaos like a tower attracted thunderbolts in a storm.
And it seemed like they were getting better at it, or at least Ryoka was. Ceria stood warily by her friend’s side, staring at a tall, austere [Maid] standing in the middle of The Nobleman’s Disgrace. Despite the countless swords, daggers, and other weapons being pointed at her, the woman appeared completely unconcerned. And Ceria’s [Danger Sense] was going off, warning her in no uncertain terms.
To be clear, it wasn’t the Horns of Hammerad, Ryoka, or even Ressa or the [Butler] who had unsheathed their blades. Rather, it was the clientele of the inn, the revelers who’d come to bask in the presence of the Horns of Hammerad, hear stories and get drunk.
Ceria agonized. How had it come to this? She’d just said that Ryoka wasn’t being taken anywhere against her will, and these idiots had drawn weapons. On a servant employed by Magnolia Reinhart!
And now this servant was demanding that Ryoka went with them again. Ceria gritted her teeth as the young woman standing by her side glared at the maid she’d called Ressa. The half-Elf knew her friend was stubborn, and she had no idea why Magnolia Reinhart wanted her, but she hoped she’d at least be tactful—
“Fuck you. I’m not going.”
If Ceria could have closed her ears off to not hear that, she would. Was Ryoka insane? Ceria was no native to this continent, but she had heard so many stories of the Five Families and their influence. You did not refuse their requests without good reason.
But it appeared that Ressa had fully expected Ryoka’s refusal. The [Maid]’s expression did not change; that was to say, she continued looking like Ryoka like a filthy insect that was about to be smeared on the ground.
“You have no choice. Magnolia Reinhart has requested your presence. You will come with me.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Feel free to try.”
What could they do? Ceria looked around the inn. The other patrons were looking at the [Maid] and her, clearly waiting for her instruction. If she asked them to she had no doubt they’d throw the maid out of the inn. And then Magnolia Reinhart would probably burn down the inn and throw them off a cliff.
It had to be said again. Ceria stepped forwards in front of Ryoka protectively. Pisces, staggering slightly, took her right side, puffed up with alcohol and bravado. Ksmvr didn’t do the same—because he was flanking the [Maid], ready to charge her. Ceria could only hope he’d wait for her to make the first move if it came to that.
“If Ryoka doesn’t want to go, she’s not going.”
Again, the maid only flicked her eyes at Ceria and the other Horns of Hammerad dismissively. It was as if she couldn’t see how outnumbered she was.
“I would advise you to stay out of this matter.”
That was it. Ten words. Ressa knew they were adventurers; she had to know that. And she also knew the mood in the inn was against her for all her mistress’s influence, but she was still warning Ceria. That made the half-Elf hesitate, but what could she do? Let Ryoka be abducted? No.
She thought fast.
“In that case, we’ll go with Ryoka. If you take her, we’ll be right by her side.”
Ryoka blinked. She turned to Ceria at the same time Pisces did. But it was Ressa who spoke. Her eyes focused on Ceria’s face and then moved to Pisces and Ksmvr. Her eyes lingered longest on Ksmvr, although there was not a hint of expression in her face or tone.
“Absolutely not.”
“My orders were for Ryoka alone.”
“Why not?”
Ceria challenged the woman, trying not to flinch from the cold stare. Did she have some kind of intimidation Skill? It almost felt like she was staring at Skinner again. But she held her ground despite the sweat running down her back.
“If you really want Ryoka to go with you at least tell us why.”
“She knows why.”
Ressa looked back at Ryoka. Ceria looked at her friend and saw a faint grimace cross Ryoka’s face. There was some history here, she knew, but she didn’t have time to ask for an explanation. Ceria changed tack.
“Then reassure us. Ryoka is our friend; at least promise us she’ll come to no harm while she’s with you.”
That would be simple enough, right? If they could nail her down to a promise or—
“No.”
It felt like everyone blinked when they heard that word. Ressa’s face was smooth, though. She shook her head.
“No promises. No bargaining. Ryoka Griffin will come with me. Or I will be forced to bring her against her will.”
“Oh really?”
Pisces’ slightly slurred voice ran out. He took an unsteady step towards Ressa. The [Maid]’s left eye twitched as she focused on him, but she didn’t make any other move. Pisces pointed at her, sneering.
“You seem quite confident, Miss Maid, that we will so obediently roll over and accede to your Mistress’s wishes. But the good people of this city are not so spineless as to obey even one of the Five Families’ minions when they come here to abduct an innocent Runner.”
His words seemed to have the opposite effect that he had intended. Half the people in the inn shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the Five Families, and they seemed to realize they were pointing weapons at a servant of a Reinhart. Their blades lowered almost as one, although most still kept them out.
Pisces, oblivious, kept going.
“And as to your presumptuous statement—I feel obliged to point out the obvious. You are outnumbered and I very much doubt your [Butler] is a master of arms. To quote an oft-repeated phrase, you and what army will take Ryoka Griffin away?”
Ressa made no immediate response. She just stared at Pisces with contempt. Meanwhile, Ceria and every person in the inn slowly filled in her unspoken reply.
What army? What army would back Magnolia Reinhart? It was more like a question of which army wouldn’t mobilize at her word. Every garrison of every major city in the north would back her if she so ordered.
Across the bar, someone slipped out the back. Ceria saw the movement, and then saw weapons slowly being sheathed, and people starting to back away. Drunk bravado had had a moment to sober, and now people were correctly realizing that this standoff was not something they wanted to be involved in.
Pisces seemed quite oblivious to this. He didn’t notice as more people began abandoning the tables around him and retreated from being active participants in the discussion to mere innocent bystanders, standing at the far end of the room. Meanwhile, the maid was waiting. Just waiting.
She wasn’t even really listening to Pisces or her, Ceria realized. Ressa was just waiting for Ryoka’s response again. And it was cle
ar that saying ‘no’ a second time wouldn’t be a wise idea.
“Ryoka?”
She murmured to her friend. Ryoka was breathing heavily, and her jaw was clenched. She had something in her hand—a potion? Maybe a weapon of some kind, an alchemist’s weapon. Ceria wished she could tell Ryoka not to use it at any cost, but she had no idea what Ryoka’s relationship with Magnolia was. What should she do? If she—
“Ceria!”
Someone shouted her name. Ceria jerked, and then Yvlon rushed into the inn, a sword in her hands. She looked around for an enemy wildly, spotted Ressa. She froze in place, and the color drained from her face.
“Miss Ressa?”
“Yvlon Byres.”
It was remarkable how the [Maid] didn’t react to Yvlon’s appearance. She just stared at the woman, noted her arms, and dismissed her in an instant.
“Put the sword down. Lady Magnolia has requested Ryoka Griffin’s presence.”
“I—”
Yvlon might have been expecting trouble, but she was clearly thrown by Ressa’s presence. Thrown into a barn door, by the look on her face. She wavered, but then gripped the blade more firmly with both hands.
“No.”
“What did you say?”
The maid’s voice was cold. Yvlon’s was just as chilly.
“Ryoka is my friend, and Ceria’s. If she doesn’t wish to go with you, I will back her. Even if it means defying Aunt Magnolia’s request.”
“That is Lady Magnolia to you. And you would be well advised not to involve yourself in this, girl.”
The two women locked eyes, but Yvlon refused to back down. Ceria vaguely remembered—the Byres house was one of the Reinhart family’s branch houses, weren’t they? They were definitely subservient in some way.
“Yvlon—”
“Say the word, Ceria.”
Yvlon’s arms trembled, but her gaze was square on Ressa. The woman only sighed; she seemed more irritated by Yvlon’s refusal to budge than worried about the sword aimed at her. She turned back to Ryoka.
“Well? Will you come peacefully?”
Ryoka was visibly hesitating. She bit her lip as she glared at Ressa. Ceria was tense; she didn’t know what was coming next and she feared whatever answer Ryoka might give. But then she saw Ksmvr raise his third hand.