by Rob J. Hayes
“Someone mind tellin' me what the fuck is goin' on here?” came the Boss' voice from the doorway.
Betrim glanced once towards the Boss and the look on the southerner's face was enough. Never had he seen a more stern, disapproving and plain angry face than the Boss was wearing. Betrim put away his weapons and stepped back from the situation, slumping down against a wall, the grin slipping from his face to be replaced by his standard expressionless mess of scars and burns.
Green didn't take the hint. Seeing that Betrim had put away his weapons he made for a rush. The lad didn't get very far. Bones grabbed hold of his sword hand and pushed the boy in the chest hard. Green let go of his sword and found himself rolling arse over head into the corner where he lay on the floor breathing heavy and still coughing blood. Bones tossed the sword towards a wall.
“What happened to Green's nose?” the Boss asked.
Bones spat and then sat himself down on the floor. “He pissed off the Black Thorn. Told him not ta long ago but the boy don't listen well.”
The Boss looked at Betrim. Betrim avoided the gaze and shrugged as if the whole thing didn't matter a damn. Fact was he felt a bit disappointed; he was looking forward to shutting Green up for good.
“Henry, fix Green's nose,” the Boss said and Henry skipped off towards the prone boy, grinning as she went.
“I don't know what you two got against each other an' I don't give a fuck. It stops, right now. Once we're done with the job you two can carve each other all ya like but if anythin' like this happens again 'fore we're done I'll personally hand ya both over ta the slavers guild. Good?”
Betrim nodded once. “Aye. Good.”
Green howled in pain as Henry reset his nose with a loud crunch. Fresh blood ran down into his mouth and again the boy started hacking up red spittle.
“Good as new,” Henry said as she stood up. Her hands were painted red with Green's blood and she stared at them with an odd fascination. Betrim remembered her looking at his blood in the exact same way, laughing just after she'd stabbed him. She looked pretty good naked as Betrim recalled even after she'd planted a knife in his side.
“What's the job?” Betrim asked from his section of wall. “And when do we get paid fer the last one?”
“As soon as Swift gets back,” the Boss said rubbing his temples with his fingers. “We got another job lined up from Deadeye.”
“Boss, this ain't...”
“I don't wanna hear it, Thorn. We need ta do it so we're doin' it.”
Betrim nodded but he was far from convinced. Fact was working for Deadeye was about as dangerous as jobs came. The bitch had a nasty habit of choosing not to pay folk and killing them instead or least that’s what the rumours said. Though the rumours also said the Black Thorn had once burned an entire village to the ground murdering everyone in it. Betrim knew first hand rumours were often made out of shit.
“What's the job?”
The Boss ground his metal teeth together and his scowl deepened even further. “We've been hired ta kill a member of Chade's rulin' council.”
The Arbiter
It was never going to be the most comfortable of places but it was spacious and well situated and empty save for a lot of old crates; a few barrels, some rotted through and on the verge of collapse, some still serviceable; and any number of rats, many of which seemed to be verging on the giant variety. It had been occupied by some of the homeless folk that infested the city of Chade but Thanquil had seen them off. He needed privacy as much as space.
Jezzet stepped up beside Thanquil and looked around the open room. Even now she held herself like a taught bow string, ready to snap into action any moment.
“You paid money for this place? Why?”
“The Inquisition paid money for this place. We have a safe-house in the city but sometimes Arbiters require complete privacy and since I'm the only Arbiter in Chade I have my privacy.”
“Except you brought me here.” Jezzet pointed out. She walked over to one of the old crates and lifted the top to look inside and then replaced it. “Might want to get rid of that one, something died in there.”
From the smell of the place Thanquil had to agree on that account. “I suggest you move your gear here and keep it well hidden.”
Jezzet narrowed her eyes at him giving her an odd cat-like appearance. “You expecting we'll need to make our way from Chade in a hurry.”
“Couldn't say. I like to be prepared though.”
She snorted. “As long as I don't have to crawl through a sewer. Mind if I swing a sword around a bit?”
“Not at all.”
Thanquil looked around the room for a suitable target. A small warehouse built of cheap wood with a small loft and a rotten ladder leading up to it. He spotted a plank of wood, no more than two foot long and a third as wide. Picking up the plank he placed it on top of a rotted barrel and walked away from it, measuring out seven paces before turning. He pulled the device that shot metal balls from his belt and armed it; measuring a small amount of black powder into the barrel and then rolling one of the small metal pellets behind it.
Thanquil took careful aim at the plank of wood closing one eye to stare down the barrel. He found himself nervous with the thought of pulling the trigger. He'd seen black powder in action before and it was known for being volatile and destructive. Even the alchemists who made the substance handled it with extreme care. People had been known to blow off limbs by mistake when experimenting with the stuff.
Wincing, Thanquil pulled the trigger on the device. Nothing happened.
“Told you. Folk in Chade love to swindle people such as yaself,” Jezzet said. Thanquil glanced at her, she was stood in a low crouch with her sword reversed in her left hand, the blade pointing down her arm but her eyes were on him and the ball thrower.
Remembering the man who had sold Thanquil the device he pulled back the tiny hammer on top of the thing and aimed again. Again he pulled the trigger.
BANG!
Thanquil felt the recoil travel up his arm. Smoke was issuing from the end of the barrel of the device. He turned to find Jezzet sprawled on the floor with eyes as wide as the moon and staring at the ball thrower.
“What the fuck was that?” she asked in a panicky voice.
Thanquil forced an uncertain smile onto his lips. “I...uh... I think it works.” He placed the device on top of a nearby crate and approached the plank of wood he'd used as a target.
“Aye. Seems like.” Thanquil saw Jezzet flow to her feet as she spoke and joined him to look at the target.
An arrow or a crossbow bolt would have stuck in the wood, maybe the head would have penetrated through but the shaft would have stuck. The plank of wood had a small, round hole in it where the metal ball had hit it. The pellet had burst through the target, splintering it on the way in and out. Of the ball there was no sign. Thanquil estimated it had hit the plank of wood no more than half a foot from where he had aimed.
Jezzet looked at the target through her wide eyes and then eyed the ball thrower. “How do they put so much power into something so small?”
Thanquil was still looking for the little metal ball. “It's not the device; it's the black powder that has the power.”
“A pinch of powder did that?” She looked sceptical. “I don't like it.”
Thanquil wasn't sure he did either. Such a weapon could be terrible in the wrong hands though he thought it unlikely black powder would ever become readily available. The thought of an army all armed with such devices sent a shiver down his spine.
Giving up looking for the pellet Thanquil replaced the target on top of the barrel and retrieved the ball thrower. Jezzet retreated to a safe distance and watched him as he sprinkled a bit of powder into the barrel but this time wrapped the metal ball in a strip of paper from his pocket.
“What's that?”
Thanquil grinned at her. “A rune.” The one he'd chosen was a fire rune, he had to admit he was more than a little excited about seeing the effects
; assuming the whole device didn't just explode in his hand.
“Magic?”
“Aye.”
“Seems to me it's powerful enough without your witch hunter tricks.”
“I don't much like being called a witch hunter,” Thanquil said as he placed the ammunition into the device and again took aim at the target. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jezzet place her hands over her ears and wished he could do the same. Again he cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
This time the plank of wood burst into bright orange flame. Thanquil stood grinning, Jezzet stood with an open mouth as the fire started to consume the plank of wood.
Still grinning, Thanquil turned to Jezzet. “It worked!”
She was standing with open mouth, staring at the flaming target. “You got one of those little rune things to put the fire out?”
The fire was spreading, moving from the plank of wood onto the rotted barrel and the flames were growing all the while. Last thing Thanquil needed was to burn down the place.
It took a good few minutes and Thanquil's coat had the distinctive smell of wood smoke by the time he had smothered the fire. Jezzet hadn't helped, she had returned to waving her sword about in dangerous arcs, slipping fluidly from one stance to another. Sometimes the strokes of her blade seemed to spin around her body and at other times they were darting, jabbing motions.
Thanquil had trained with one of the Inquisition's most renowned weapon masters but never had he seen anyone move with half as much grace as Jezzet Vel'urn when she practised with her blade. He'd watched dancers, both men and women, who had trained their whole lives but didn't possess the same fluidity of movement. He'd seen cats run along fences no thicker than a rope's width without the same surety of feet as Jezzet showed.
“How does it work?” she asked as she slipped from a two handed stance with the blade pointed downwards towards her back leg into a side on stance with her sword pointed in front of her, extending from her right hand as if it was another part of her body. She tried a few practice jabs and then made parrying motions, all the while dancing back and forth on the balls of her feet.
“The device is just a barrel in truth. It focuses the explosive power from the black powder and forces the metal ball to go where you point it,” Thanquil explained.
“I meant your magic.” Her blade flicked from one hand to the other, each seemed as sure and as deft as the other.
“The rune is transcribed onto paper, or wood, occasionally stone. When the rune is broken its power is released.”
Jezzet stopped her practice and wiped a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead. “So anyone can write these runes? Seems dangerous.”
Thanquil shook his head as he sat himself down on the floor and leaned his back against the rotten barrel. “The rune itself is a guide for what form the power should take, the energy to power the spell is taken from the person who inscribed the rune.”
“So when you write that little scribble onto paper... you put... power into it?”
“Yes.”
“Can anyone do it?” Jezzet asked as she slipped into a new stance this time with her sword in her right hand and a small dagger in her left.
“No. Only those with what we call potential and even then only after a great deal of training. There are other types of magic. Blessings and curses are used by chanting words with a variety of effects. Charms such as the one you wear.”
He watched as Jezzet rubbed her left wrist with her right hand. “A dangerous operation,” he continued, “to have a charm sewn into the flesh.”
Jezzet nodded. “My old master's idea. Said he didn't ever want me losing it. Last thing I need or want is a child.”
Thanquil nodded. “There are other types of magic too but each type has a counterpoint. Blessings grant... attributes, curses take away. Runes offer a burst of power, charms are a constant effect.”
He had no wish to discuss magic any further lest the topic turn to the compulsion. Thanquil pushed himself to his feet, closed the distance between him and Jezzet in three easy steps and drew his own sword.
His sword was no longer in his hand; Jezzet held the length of steel in her left and her own blade was pressed against Thanquil's neck. He wasn't even sure how she'd done it it had happened so fast.
Jezzet backed away and looked at his sword; a long slender single edged length of steel with plain hand guard and charms engraved all the way down the blade. Her own sword was shorter but not by much, lighter by the way she held it and double edged with no guard.
She snorted and tossed his sword back to him; he caught it and dropped back into stance. “You're sloppy and slow but the sword is good steel.”
Thanquil didn't wait for her to finish speaking. He came on again; the first attack a wild downwards slash which she stepped away from and then he sent a jabbing thrust at her chest. Jezzet caught the blade on her own and, with a flick of her wrist, sent Thanquil's blade out of his hand and spinning across the room.
“You really are quite good with a sword,” Thanquil said as he collected his blade from the floor and approached Jezzet again.
“Any blade actually. You're not.”
“No, my arms master always used to tell me I was passable at best.” Thanquil ran at her swinging. Jezzet reversed the grip of her sword, stepped under Thanquil's swing and his own momentum carried him onto the flat of her blade.
“That's three times you should be dead. How have you survived so long?” Jezzet mocked but she was smiling at him.
“I'm an Arbiter; we don't tend to fight fair.” This time Thanquil feinted left, side-stepped to his right and flicked a quick thrust towards Jezzet's head. His feint hadn't fooled her for a moment; she stepped with him, ducked his attack and swept his legs out from under him.
Thanquil hit the ground hard, his breath rushing out of his lungs in a coughing wheeze. A moment later he found Jezzet on top of him with one knee on the wrist of his sword hand and the other knee pressing down on his chest making it even harder for him to draw a breath. Her sword tip hovered just above the bare skin of his neck.
“I doubt it's wise for a small woman like yourself to get so close to an opponent.” Thanquil wheezed in a small voice after sucking in some air.
“It's not,” the woman on top of him replied with a grin. “Unless I'm the stronger.” She pushed herself off him knee first causing him to cough again and then she danced backwards and waited for him to stand back up.
“I don't think I stand a chance against you,” Thanquil said as he struggled back to his feet.
“You don't,” Jezzet replied, the smile still playing on her lips. “But a bit of sparring will do us both good.”
He lunged, parried a lazy flick from her blade and then he slashed with all his strength. Jezzet caught Thanquil's blade on her own, twisted her wrist and stepped in close to him. He found his own blade unnervingly close to his neck. Jezzet's blade was almost as close and she almost as close again. He could smell her she was so close and she smelled clean, with a hint of sweat. It was a marked improvement from the day he had met her. His heart was beating too fast, though whether it was from the sparring or her closeness he couldn't tell.
Then she stepped away and backed off again leaving Thanquil to wonder why the hell he had decided to spar with her in the first place.
“You could at least give me some tips as you keep killing me,” he said, dropping back into stance again.
“Don't pick a fight with a Blademaster,” she said with a wink.
“Wait, you're a...” But she was already on him, pressing the attack.
The BladeMaster
Jezzet didn't like it. She didn't like the whole damned situation. She didn't like the shoes, she liked the dress even less, she liked the people that would be attending even less and what she liked least of all was the idea that those people might be looking at her.
It wasn't the first time she'd been to a fancy ball. D'roan used to love parading her about on his
arm, those times though she'd still been dressed in leathers. The folk at these sorts of balls saw what they expected, in leathers they'd seen her as a savage to be avoided and ignored; in a dress they'd see her as one of them.
But you're not one of them, Jez. Just remember, if anyone looks at you funny kill them.They'll be plenty of cutlery of lying around.
The thought of stabbing someone with a spoon made Jezzet smile, she wasn't even sure such a thing was possible. Maybe if it was a really sharp spoon.
“You look happy,” Thanquil said from beside her. She'd let him dress her up like some blooded lady but when he'd tried to take her arm she'd very nearly twisted it off.
“Ever killed anyone with a spoon?” she asked him.
“Uhhh...”
“Me neither, but I'm thinking of trying.” That shut him up, gave him that, 'is she serious?' look.
Jezzet padded along the line in sandals. It was good to see the fancy folk have to queue. With D'roan they'd been no standing in lines. Everyone knew him; everyone feared him and so he walked past the lines and past the servants with the lists at the entrance and Jezzet walked with him. She'd never admit it but it had felt good, being low-born and all and walking past all the blooded and rich folk as if they were nothing.
Her dress was a chore and no mistake. A dark blue silk-like cloth, but not silk, wrapped around her body so tight it constricted her and so loose it left her feeling naked. It covered her chest and back and for that she was glad. It clung to her torso in such a way that left little to the imagination and somehow managed to make her breasts look bigger than they were and without showing off any cleavage. From her hips it started to fan out a little, not much but enough to provide an ease of movement she was glad of. The dressmaker had assured her the fabric would twirl with her as she danced and dazzle every man in the room. Jezzet had almost hit him for assuming she would dance.
The dressmaker had despaired over what to do with Jezzet's hair but she had no time for it or him. Short and spiky was how she liked her hair; it never got in her eyes and needed no maintenance. She'd seen women take hours brushing their hair until it gleamed in the light. Seemed like a waste of time they could better spend learning to stab people, a far more useful skill in the wilds.