“That’s a bit out of our price range. Do you have anything...less quality?” asked Terran.
He knew he’d said the wrong thing as soon as he finished because the halfling blacksmith looked like he was about to cough up a hairball.
“I do not make less quality,” said Graffel, holding his hand to his chest as if he were wounded. “That you would even dare suggest such a thing is heresy. Heresy!”
During the whole ridiculous exchange, Zara continued to maintain a blank expression, only slight eye movements even suggesting she was paying attention. Terran checked his friend’s ears to make sure they weren’t stuffed with cotton or wax.
“I cannot take this anymore. You are upsetting me, which will affect my work,” said Graffel. “Shoo. Begone. I cannot bear the sight of you anymore. Take your beast and your cat with you on the way out.”
Flummoxed about how to turn this around, Terran took a step towards the door when Zara said, “Lot of expensive goods in this place and not a single guard. How interesting.”
Terran paused, mid-turn. Zara had her arms crossed as she stared back at Graffel with disdain.
“I am a prominent member of high society in Dagrath. The city guard would apprehend you, throw you in the gladiator rings, and watch you fight to the death if you dared touch me or my goods,” said Graffel with chin raised.
“Oh, I have no interest in touching your ‘stuff,’” said Zara, using his mocking air quotes. “But what I cannot determine is how none of the criminal elements in this city have waltzed in to deprive you of your ‘art.’”
Graffel’s mouth pinched to a point. He blinked rapidly. “I...I don’t see where you’re going with this.”
Zara tilted her head, stroked the red braid hanging down her shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe I’m a big dumb redheaded berserker, but I see this one of two ways. The first is that you’re in bed with Estabario. Maybe as his fence, or something less savory, because there’s no way he’d let valuables like these just sit here without wanting a piece.
“The second option is that all this gilded crap is just that, crap. These aren’t jewels or gold, maybe high-quality materials, because they have to hold up, but you’re selling a fiction to your high society, and if that were to leak out, it would ruin you,” said Zara.
The rapid flaring of the halfling’s nostrils told Terran that at least one of the two, or possibly a mixture of both accusations, was true.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Graffel.
“Maybe you do, or maybe you don’t, but I bet we could be convinced to forget about this discussion for the low, low price of four bars of your best steel,” said Zara.
The inflated persona of Graffel Lumperdunken reduced three sizes. The halfling shoved his handkerchief into a pocket and trudged into the back, the illusion of the flamboyant artist shattered by Zara’s keen analysis. When the smithy returned, he shoved the bars of steel into Terran’s gut.
“Don’t come back. I never wanna see you again,” he said in the common diction of the city thugs.
You have completed the quest “Acquire four bars of steel from Graffel Lumperdunken.”
You have gained experience and increased reputation in Dagrath.
You have gained the Street Smarts perk.
Perk: Street Smarts
+3 to urban encounters
Wisdom from JJ Bittenbinder to help you survive the rough streets
Outside, the shop, Terran applauded his friend. “How in the Abyss did you figure that one out?”
Zara lifted a shoulder. “Like I said inside, it all didn’t add up. Plus, his demeanor was a little too over the top for me. It was an act to sell his crap at inflated prices. I’m sure the quality of his smithing is high, but not high enough for those prices.”
“Let’s drop off this steel with Granite. It’ll be dark by then, and we can pick out three places to stake out for the Tavern Killer,” said Terran.
“Are you sure splitting up is wise?” asked Luna.
“Probably not,” said Terran. “But we’ve got a lot of ground to cover and if we pick one place to watch a night, it’ll take us weeks, maybe months if we’re not lucky. And I figure any one of us should be able to handle the Tavern Killer. Parkour skills notwithstanding, we’re all kinda badass.”
“Until we get knocked out from behind, or we run into a cadre of shadow morphs,” said Zara. “But I get your point. We’ll split the party.”
Using the list of taverns and inns that hadn’t been hit by the Tavern Killer for at least a few weeks, they split up, heading to different locations of the city. Terran gave the steel to Zara to drop off at Granite’s on the way to the Drunken Steed, while Luna trotted off to the Flaming Imp. This left Terran to head to Palo’s Potent Potables, which specialized in colorful drinks, not that he planned on partaking. He needed his head clear for the stakeout.
It wasn’t just to cover more ground that Terran split them up. He wanted to be alone for the evening, or more appropriately, he didn’t want Zara and Luna around, because he hoped that his solo watching might entice a certain ex-girlfriend to visit.
Chapter Twelve
The patrons leaving Palo’s Potent Potables entertained Terran as he crouched on the roof of a nearby general goods store. They left with smoke leaking out of their ears, or illusionary birds flying around their heads. One big fella kept belching tiny fireballs, laughing hysterically as each one exploded, while his friends scattered to escape.
There’d been a time when he’d joined Kingmakers that he lamented his choice after he was split from his friends. Now he was in the middle of a small city, and he’d split them up so he could hopefully have a discussion with his ex-girlfriend, an NPC. Terran knew this was a possibility, his trainers had said as much before he went into Kingmakers. Reality was an illusion, maybe even a hologram from a multi-layered galactic computer, but no one could truly know. It was best to commit to the illusion, believe that everything in Kingmakers was real.
But what if that’s what happened to Grimchar? He’d been a player once, well, was still a player, but had lost his Offworlder status and had become part of the game. Was that what this ascension meant? Either way, Terran couldn’t be that selfish. He’d joined Kingmakers with the intent that it would be a lifestyle, not a life-and-death battle for control. But wasn’t that how every system eventually broke down? He’d read the reports of Earth before their ship left its atmosphere—constant battles for supremacy that eventually wiped out a good portion of the populace. Even the messages they’d received as the ship headed away suggested they hadn’t learned. Someone was always trying to be the one on top, even at the expense of many lives. Terran had thought they’d escaped that, but human nature was eternal, because the gods and the Trio proved that they would have to fight the same battles in Kingmakers.
Lost in thought, he almost didn’t hear the scuff of a foot from behind him until it was made a second time. Terran spun around to find a cloaked figure, half in shadow, but he didn’t need to see her face to recognize her lithe figure.
“I could have killed you if I’d wanted to,” said Chanterelle, scowling. “But it would just send you back to your home. Only a temporary setback.”
“It’s your home, too,” said Terran, resisting the urge to reach out to her. He wasn’t sure how he was going to feel seeing her again, but the connection was real. He missed her.
“Was my home,” said Chanterelle. “I know better now.”
The Rock Leaf Elf had always been intense, but the effect of the Nightblade and joining the Shadowbane made her spooky, as a faint shadowy mist rose from her limbs as if she exuded night.
“This is just the effect of the Nightblade,” said Terran. “You wouldn’t say that without it.”
“Wrong, Offworlder. The Lady of Shadows has shown me the truth. You Offworlders come here to rule. You take control, make us your slaves, your playthings, while you go about your game,” said Chanterelle, hands at her sides. Though he s
aw no sign of her weapons, Terran knew they were only a twitch away.
“How is that different from what the Shadowbane wants to do? Doesn’t she want to rule?” asked Terran.
“She gave me a choice,” said Chanterelle.
“The illusion of choice,” said Terran. “The Nightblade clouds your mind. Makes you blind to what she’s done to you.”
Chanterelle held out empty hands. “I no longer carry that weapon. It is no longer necessary.”
“Then why are you here? If not to kill me, then what?”
“Offer you a chance to join the Lady of Shadows,” said Chanterelle.
“Yeah, and why would I take that? That big dumb ball of shadows called the Exalt already tried that,” said Terran.
Chanterelle blinked, looked away. “You came into the temple, killed our people. How did you expect that the Exalt would react?”
“Come back to Gneiss Glen. If you don’t have the Nightblade, then you’re free to rejoin,” said Terran.
“I am her champion.”
“You can renounce it,” said Terran.
“No. You don’t understand. I choose this path. She showed me what lies ahead,” said Chanterelle.
“Lies is right.”
“No!” Chanterelle made a fist. “While we bicker on Belavar, the Howling Wind gathers strength on Moranne. Their rule would be catastrophic, just as Grimchar’s would have been had he ascended. Which is why the Lady is willing to reach out her hand in friendship. Together, you would be able to unite these lands, prepare them for the eventual assault that will come from afar.”
The Howling Wind had been the group that his friends had barely escaped in the starting area, near the Winding Canyons. The rest of their cohort had been captured. Who knows what had happened to them. In some ways, he’d been lucky that the hag had cursed him. It’d gotten them away from whatever atrocities happened on the other continent.
“This is just a play to rule. If she wants to help, then stay out of my way, and when the time comes, if we can trust each other, we can repel the Howling Wind together,” said Terran.
“Divided we will fail,” said Chanterelle. “We might fight back as one people.”
“Under the Lady of Shadow’s rule,” said Terran. “I saw what she was doing to people in the bowels of the temple. It wasn’t pretty.”
“You know so little about this world. The Lady of Shadows has been here since near the birth of existence. She knows how to protect us. You would fall beneath the hordes of the Howling Wind,” said Chanterelle.
“There’s no way. I cannot trust her. I’m sorry, it’s not going to work,” said Terran.
Chanterelle softened her stance, stepped closer, and pulled back her hood. Her high cheekbones had always been as sharp and beautiful as finely wrought daggers, but joining the Shadowbane had deepened the smokey haze in her eyes, polished her ebony hair like a jewel.
“I still yearn for you, as misguided as you are,” said Chanterelle, the corners of her lips tugging upward. She reached out, fingers hovering a hairsbreadth from his chest, eyes searching his. “Join me. We could be together in shadow.”
The ache to reach out and pull her to him was like a fire in his belly. Memories of mornings laughing together, limbs entwined in the hammock, the press of naked flesh—these were a beacon in the darkness of his mind.
“I miss you, I want you, but I...I can’t,” he said, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see her disappointment. “These battles have taught me I cannot trust these so-called gods, former Offworlders who’ve somehow corrupted the system so all the power flows to them. The Lady of Shadows is no different.”
Pain wracked Chanterelle’s face, and her lips curled in anger. “I loved you.”
Before he could defend himself, she clawed his face, hot pain across his jaw. When he opened his eyes again, holding a hand to his new wound, she was gone. The rooftop was empty as his heart.
“Stings,” he said, probing the slice across his cheek. From the corner of his eye, he saw smoke drifting out of the wound, suggesting a deeper threat. A quick check of his character status showed an icon, but as he tried to get more information from it, the picture of a black droplet faded away like a shadow in the light. The disappearance worried him because it wasn’t the normal way that debuffs affected him. Normally, when their time was up, the icon would blink, showing that it was almost ended, but the black droplet faded away.
“Oww,” he said, touching his jaw. She’d clawed him good, but he supposed it could have been worse. Had she the Nightblade and more inclination, she could have run him through with her former weapon. But why had she given it up?
Meeting with Chanterelle had been a failure, except for one thing. He was certain that she wasn’t the Tavern Killer. His former girlfriend was taller, lithe. When they’d seen the killer standing over Della, the figure had been shorter, wearing different clothing. While appearance could be changed, height was much harder to mask.
His solitary watch proved long and fruitless. The only thing he learned as the night passed was that the drunks of the city were the only ones out late as they couldn’t deny their addictions. This left him too much time to think about Chanterelle, missing the press of her body against his, the heat from her gaze, and the shivers beneath her touch.
He also thought about the Lady of Shadows’ offer. Not about accepting, but the danger that lurked beyond the shores of his continent. He knew her request for what it was—self-serving—but that didn’t make the danger from the Howling Wind any less. The only thing keeping them safe for now was the difficulty of crossing the ocean, or at least he hoped it was keeping them safe. But for all those dangers, his struggles were immediate. He needed to acquire the book from Estabario, which was proving more difficult than he thought.
When the activity on the streets died down, Terran returned to the Golden Kumquat, finding his companions already there, looking weary from the long stakeout. Della rushed to his side, cradling his face.
“Are you alright? What happened to your face?” she asked.
“An alley cat caught me when I was climbing on the roof,” lied Terran.
The innkeeper accepted his version of the story, but Zara raised an eyebrow in his direction. He wasn’t sure if he was going to tell his companions the truth, but they weren’t going to press him for the moment.
“Are we really going to sit on rooftops for the next few weeks?” asked Zara when Della was in back frying them up bacon and eggs.
“There’s something that keeps bothering me,” said Terran.
“The ‘claw’ mark on your jaw?” asked Zara.
Terran tilted his head. “The pattern we talked about earlier. How the killer doesn’t visit too often, no more than once a month, bouncing from place to place, but also pulling off the attacks without getting caught and knowing the best escape routes. How do they have that much knowledge of the city and streets? Could it be they’re a guard on patrol?”
Luna had been drinking from a mug of beer set on the wooden floor, but she sat on her haunches, furry gray eyebrows knitting together in a V.
“Or are they on a collection route?” asked the lynx.
The three of them shared a glance.
“It could be one of Estabario’s gang,” said Terran, nodding. “Della was attacked the day they visited. I bet we could check the other spots and find the same pattern.”
“Do you think he knows?” asked Zara.
“Estabario?”
Zara nodded.
“If he does, then this will be way more complicated, but I’m going to guess that he doesn’t. This kind of random killing doesn’t seem like his sort of thing. Based on what we know from Graffel, Estabario has his fingers in bigger schemes. Plus, the Tavern Killer is hurting his protection racket,” said Terran.
“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” said Zara as Della arrived with plates of steaming food.
After eating, Terran was heading to the back room to spend the night with Della w
hen Zara grabbed him.
“You saw her, didn’t you?”
Terran squeezed his lips together. Nodded.
“Anything I need to worry about?” asked the redhead.
“Nothing immediate, other than the Lady of Shadows has her designs on ruling this continent,” said Terran.
Zara snorted softly. “Got it, so just the run-of-the-mill maniacal villain complex.” Her gaze fell to the claw wound. “And that?”
“A parting gift.”
Zara nodded. “She still have feelings for you?”
“It’s complicated.”
Zara nodded towards Della’s bedroom. “Be careful.”
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, they headed straight to the Pit to wait for Estabario’s collection gangs to leave on their daily rounds. Two groups left, but they stayed with Flinty Tim’s since his had been the one to visit the Golden Kumquat. Terran wasn’t sure if the rest of his group was the same as last time, but it was a place to start.
Flinty Tim meandered through the city like a dog who’d drank too much water, having to stop at every little stall and vendor along the way. Terran gathered he liked the attention that was given to him as a member of Estabario’s gang, especially when the vendor offered free samples, some of which he shared with his group. The gang lackey made other stops, including dropping bets on the evening’s gladiator matches, which included a bout between someone or something called the Rock Swallower and Heavenly Death—who was the current champion. But by the end of the day, his gang had stopped at Digger’s Dive and the Arch Nemesis to collect protection fees for Estabario, then returned to the Pit.
“Which one you wanna watch tonight, or are we splitting up?” asked Zara.
“I think we should stick together,” said Terran. “Getting the Tavern Killer isn’t going to be easy.”
“Don’t tell me I have to love tap this dude,” said Zara, crossing her arms.
“Nope,” said Terran. “Unleash the fury.”
Zara kissed the umber-colored muscle of her demon arm. “She’s been waiting to be let out.”
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