It was getting dark, but there was still enough light to get around without a torch. Luc found himself heading to the temple next. Brother Hamis was sweeping the entryway, gathering dust and stray leaves in a heap. He lifted his head just as Luc strode through the gate and made his way up the path.
“Welcome.” It was his standard greeting for everyone.
“Brother,” Luc replied. He paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m…I’ll let you lecture me, if you want to.”
“Why would I do that?” Hamis asked.
“The things I’ve done…” He swallowed.
Hamis set the broom down and gestured. Sheepishly, Luc made his way into the temple, where he picked a seat closest to the doorway. There was another patron there, sitting close to the altar. Hamis lit one of the candles behind them before he settled beside Luc.
“I spoke to Tom sometime after your father died,” Hamis said, folding his hands over his lap. “He told me everything he knew—about what you’d done, how you tried to help those people and tried to save him at the same time. Most wouldn’t have.”
“Most would’ve been a lot smarter.”
Hamis smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. “It is not always so simple, is it? Right or wrong, what one ought to do or not do. For every decision we make comes a hundred consequences we didn’t foresee. But I think I don’t have to tell you that there are ways you can keep true to yourself even if your surroundings dictate otherwise. These people you’re with…” He placed a hand on Luc’s shoulder. “I knew Jak very well—never had there been a man I was prouder to call my friend. And I know it would bring comfort to him, wherever he is, to see his son bring a spark of light in what could be such a dark and cruel world.”
“The life-wheel…”
Hamis shook his head. “A part of me refuses to believe that the gods could be so unforgiving. I’m convinced that our souls linger, somehow. Here, at least.” He touched Luc’s head. “Here.” He dropped down to his chest.
The rune glowed a little. Hamis pulled away, an expression of surprise on his face. “On that note,” he said, “I think there’s someone else here who wants to speak with you before you go. Professor Mila?”
Luc felt himself freeze at the name. He stared at his feet as Hamis drew away. The other patron strolled down the aisle.
“Hello, Luc,” Mila said. She took a seat and gestured at the rune. “I found some material that could help you with that if you come by my office tomorrow morning. I don’t believe it will be a problem while you’re here in the Kag, but if you intend to travel to Dageis, it would be beneficial for you to know as much as you can about their techniques.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thank you,” he repeated. It felt like an odd thing to say.
“Do you blame me?”
Her words took him by surprise. He glanced up sharply at the old woman, her face half-hidden by her spectacles and the shadow of her greying hair. “I don’t know,” he managed to say. He cleared his throat. “Maybe I blame myself.”
“I don’t see why you would. It was nothing you did in particular.”
“But it was who I am that made it impossible in the first place. What I am.”
“Things you cannot change, in case you haven’t realized it by now. We cannot all be everything, and we certainly cannot control what we are born into,” she replied. “Your brother, Alun, with his clubfoot. Had he gotten it into his head that he wanted to be a carpenter instead of a builder, I would tell him the same thing. Would it be his fault that he cannot climb a ladder and wield a hammer at the same time?”
“This is different.”
“It isn’t, Luc. Even your honesty and your candour—they may come as an inconvenience, but you cannot help how you look at the world anymore than you can change the colour of your skin.” Her voice was almost kind. “I am not telling you that you are fated to accept something lesser for yourself. You may continue to resist it, as is your right. You may still think that the splendour of joining the king’s army far eclipses what it is that you do now. I wouldn’t blame you—you’ll meet enough people who will think the same thing. But what do you do? Do you continue to shake your fists at the gods who deny you glory? Sometimes we find ourselves where we are most needed. Sometimes it isn’t where you expected. But for every one of us who find ourselves leading a group of mercenaries, or painting masterpieces in the basement of a run-down inn, or teaching in a small town academy in the middle of nowhere…” She smiled, taking his hand.
He bowed. “I didn’t realize.”
“You could be rotting in a gutter somewhere. Your bones could be at the bottom of the sea. You must not have been the only child in that ship that day, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the only one left alive. And maybe you’ve decided that it ought to mean something, that you were destined for great things if only you could do better, be better, anything but yourself…but that is asking for too much from a single man, Luc. Too much. You are not made lesser by your circumstances. It is how you respond that dictates your worth.”
Mila patted him one last time before turning around to leave. Alone now, he stared at the altar, her words digging a hole into his heart. He decided she had it right—that last, bitter truth. Not destined for glories. Thinking about it stung, but somewhere in the trenches, between the shadows people overlook, perhaps even someone like him could be of use. Not for him to decide, after all. It felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
He said his prayers and his goodbyes, and then went up to the inn to the raucous laughter and open arms of his comrades and the life he had chosen.
Epilogue
Even with King Elrend’s name posted on nearly every announcement outside the taverns, you wouldn’t believe Lionstown was in Hafod at all. A few hours by ship from Port Bluetree was nearly a world away. The influx of traders and immigrants—mostly Forrehsi, but also Jinsein, Tohltowners, and the occasional Dageian—had turned the city into a cultural hub. Artists thrived here…plenty of them, really, with poets, painters, and sculptures taking the forefront—as well as scholars, philosophers, and scribes. Even after months, Luc had yet to get used to it—it took too long just to find a restaurant that sold a proper goat stew, for instance, nevermind mutton pie and a good, honest ale that didn’t have strange fruits and spices in it. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had a good roast beef—most of the places did something with tomatoes, olives, butter, and some sort of sauce made of anchovies…which tasted great, just nothing like Old Bacher could’ve done with a spit and just a bit of salt.
Settling there had been an interesting experience, to say the least. Luc had managed to rent a building overlooking the sea towards the mainland—not the other way around, which would’ve been a lot more expensive for some reason. He didn’t know why that was, and the Lionstown locals tended to look at him like he had an extra head if he ever had what they considered silly questions, which seemed to be just about everything. He had learned the art of asking without asking…a Lionstown thing, one of the many quirks he had to quickly adopt to stop people from trying to trick him.
But still, it was a good building. Their landlord tended to want rent early and made too much of a fuss if the men hung around the street brandishing weapons in the middle of the day, and it got a little cold in the evening which made Luc worry even with the relatively mild winters in Lionstown, but it wasn’t too bad. There was a kitchen, a cramped but serviceable dining hall, storage for their arms and weapons, and an office for receiving clients—one of the many advantages of having a registered enterprise with the kingdom. Which also meant, of course, that they didn’t have to take any jobs that broke the king’s laws, assassinations included.
There was also a chamber they had filled with bunks and hammocks. Most of the mercenaries preferred to spend their days in the inns or brothelhouses, especially right after payday, but some days it wasn’t possible and i
t helped them keep an eye on everyone. They had added another five recruits to their number since arriving in the city—Lord Draigar’s recommendation was helping get word around and Luc found himself receiving at least a client every day. They were small jobs—usually security for merchants and other businessmen in town for a few days, but they paid well enough. Luc could afford his own flat a block away from the office. He didn’t think he needed it—he spent the first few weeks sleeping in the barracks with the others—but even he had to admit that it felt good to come to his own home at the end of the night.
He had written to Alun a few times. Shona still seemed fond of him for some reason, so that was good. Ceri, Alun had reported, had come home at least once and might be getting married next spring. She was climbing through ranks pretty fast—a natural officer, her superiors said, and if she continued the way she was going, becoming a general wouldn’t be too far off. She had already been promoted at least twice since basic training, both times which resulted in a grand celebration in that little farming village he used to call home. A twinge of jealousy at that, but Luc was learning to control it, and he was genuinely happy for her. And anyway, even without people singing him accolades, he had more than enough to keep himself busy. Little things, adding up. He still hadn’t quite gotten rid of of the nagging feeling that he could do so much more if given the chance, but he was learning to get through it one day at a time.
Another evening rolled by like the blink of an eye. Luc finished writing up the contract for a client who wanted to hire three men to shadow his assistant during Duke Cowall’s ball—reasons classified, as always—and wandered off to add another log to the fire. The embers crackled, and he wondered if he should stay to finish up another contract. He really wanted to hire a scribe, but they didn’t quite make enough for him to afford that yet, and none of the others had the patience with their letters like he did. He’d tried with Hana once and she had butchered the words like nothing he had ever seen. If someone had told him in the past that being a mercenary required more paperwork than swordfighting, he would’ve laughed.
There was a knock on the door.
“We’re closed,” he called out.
“A fair job of keeping up appearances,” Ylir’s voice replied from the other side. “Well done, Luc.”
He cranked the door open. “Don’t just—” he began, before finding himself speechless. There was a child standing beside him, a little girl no more than eight or nine years old. He didn’t even need to ask who it was. Her face, though young, was familiar enough. She had the same eyes that would be emblazoned in Luc’s memory for all of time.
“Cate,” Luc murmured. “This is Cate, isn’t it?”
“Uh, yes, unless I made a grievous error,” Ylir said. There was a bundle in his arms, one that he seemed to be carrying uncomfortably. He nodded towards the door. “Go and make yourself warm, child.”
The girly shyly stepped forward, walking past Luc and straight for the fire.
“What else do you have there?” Luc asked as Ylir followed her.
“Right,” Ylir said. He shoved the bundle into his arms. “Here.”
It was an infant, barely more than a few days old from the look of it. It stared back at Luc with wet eyes.
“Er, what do you want me to do with this?”
“Raise it, throw it in the fire, I don’t know,” Ylir said. “It was foisted on me on the way here.”
“It? You didn’t even check the gender?”
“I believe I was told it was a boy.”
The infant gurgled. Luc adjusted his hold, afraid he would drop him at any moment. “I’m sorry,” he said, still confused. “Why the hell was he foisted on you, and why are you giving him to me?”
“I was led to believe that your former associate was this child’s father. The mother was a servant in an inn a few days north of Crossfingers. I’m sure you remember the incident—you were uhh, a witness to the child’s conception.”
“Oh,” Luc said. He glanced at the child again. It was fair-skinned, dark-haired. The nose…like Tasha’s eyes, he thought he would recognize that nose anywhere. “Jona’s son.”
“Was that his name? I wanted to refuse, but the poor woman had walked all the way to Crossfingers looking for you. I happened to have been staying there at the moment and…well. It’s a small town. They all pointed at me. What else was I supposed to do?”
“You’re really asking me?”
“It was rhetorical.” Ylir crossed his arms. “There must be an orphanage here somewhere. I suppose you could sell it. Dageians come by here quite often.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Frankly, I’m not sure.”
“Rhetorical question, too.” The infant began to cry. Without thinking about it, Luc draped him over his shoulder, patting his back. The last time he had held an infant was back in the village when Ceri’s mother had given birth to her youngest sister, and she had taught him—for probably no reason other than that it would amuse her—how to rock and swaddle them.
“See,” Ylir said, looking pleased in spite of himself. “You’re a natural at this.”
“Fuck off. Have you been feeding it?”
“Of course I have. Well—the villager I hired to carry it did. Goat’s milk or something. I brought some. But she told me it would be better if I found a wet-nurse. Where do you even get a wet-nurse?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Do you?” Ylir asked, turning to Cate.
She stared back at him without replying.
“She doesn’t like me,” Ylir said. “Takes after her mother, I suppose. Oh, well. It’s all on you now, Luc. Do whatever you need to.” He strolled over to Luc’s desk and slumped into his seat, exhaustion on his face. “You’ve done well here the last few months,” he continued, glancing at the contracts. “A marvellous front, just like I asked.”
“A front I intend to keep,” Luc replied. The infant had fallen asleep. Jona’s son. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. A part of him wanted to drop the baby and run screaming, but it was, admittedly, a very small part. The rest of him felt oddly comfortable.
“I can respect that,” Ylir said. “We’re walking on eggshells here right now, Luc, and the last thing I want is for Yn Garr Industries to look like they’ve been associating with criminals. We’ve got some big things going on. I won’t need your services…yet…but when that happens, I expect your full support.”
“I don’t know how much I could fully support you again unless I know what you’re up to,” Luc replied. “Things didn’t exactly turn out great the last time.”
“You seem to be doing all right.”
“You know what I mean,” Luc said. “My father, Ylir.”
Ylir’s eyes hardened for a moment. “You think I asked that…whatever his name was…to kill him?”
“With you? Anything is possible.”
“A mere farmer’s death wouldn’t have done me any good,” he replied. “I asked the man to create a distraction to keep you and Roena away from the rest of it. Gave the son of a bitch the bit and he took the reins.”
Luc took a deep breath. “So my father’s death came down to your carelessness.”
“It wasn’t carelessness,” Ylir said. “Lack of foresight, maybe. I didn’t realize—are you angry with me for that? It wasn’t my intention. You can see why I want you to work for me. I have to deal with men like that all the time. They’re no better in the Boarshind, either. Baeddan’s allowed them to get out of hand. The way they treat you sometimes, you wouldn’t think you were the one paying them.”
“Baeddan’s still in power? I thought Tasha sacrificed herself so you could be rid of him.”
Ylir grimaced. “The pieces have been set. Iorwin launched an investigation from Hafod, sanctioned by the king, which allowed me to coerce Baeddan to release Cate here. The old man knows he has enemies—he just has no idea where they’re coming from. He’s unhinged—won’t be long before he makes a fata
l mistake. In time, we’ll seize control. In time.” He bent over the desk to gaze squarely at Luc. “I suppose I owe you. I’m not allowed to tell you everything, but…I’m heading up to Gaspar soon on the Aina’s Breath, my master’s personal ship. Fast little vessel.”
“What are you doing there?”
“We’re trying to foster good relations with the Gasparian lords—Al-ir and Barun, to be precise. Barun seems willing to work with us, but Al-ir is notoriously unpredictable. K’an Mhagaza is a shrewd man and getting into his good graces is difficult, at best. I’m not sure what to do when I get there, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. The important part is that we want their cooperation so we could continue with our mining operations.”
“Mining operations,” Luc said dryly. “All the way in Gaspar. Right.”
Ylir smiled at him. “How careful do I have to be with you?”
“I’m not the sort of man who will betray you for coin, if that’s what you’re saying,” Luc said. “You and your little tricks and your ka-eng…that’s nothing to me in the end, I suppose. But if you want my loyalty, I’ll need yours.”
“That is a lot to ask for.”
“I need you to ensure that my people remain safe,” Luc said. “These children…”
“I wouldn’t hurt children.”
“Wouldn’t you, now? Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” He snorted. “Maybe your promises won’t do much, but I’m not going to have my men sacrificed again because of your little games. Work with me, Ylir. Maybe you can’t tell me everything, but trust me enough to figure something out before you start meddling with our lives.”
He didn’t know what he was doing. Trying to threaten a man who had everything when he had nothing didn’t seem like the smartest thing to do. But he saw Ylir smile. “Trust you,” Ylir repeated, as if they were words he was hearing for the first time. “It’s all I ever ask from the people I employ.” He got up and made his way too the door. “Until we meet again, Luc apn Jak.”
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