He knew it was a risk, but Hern saw an opening to speak. He didn't plan on letting old men bicker over his fate. 'There was a third attacker, he was as skilled as a master, and he is the one that did this to me.'
He waited for a reaction, a response of any kind. The room had fallen deathly silent as each of the council of masters realised that if this implication were true, the attacker was most likely among them.
It was some time before the Arbiter finally spoke. 'You will explain yourself now, or face death for your heinous implication.'
Hern decided he had better start recalling something, fast.
It had been a long day, twelve sanctioned exhumations and five off the books. None of them had put up much of a struggle, many were entirely oblivious as he slipped powdered death into their goblets.
There was more satisfaction in the subtle and silent work, it felt more of a craft than a crude garrotting or the messy last resort of spilling blood.
His disdain for bloodshed came more from the inconvenience it caused than any ethical dilemma. He had long ago put to bed any qualms of assassination, instead choosing to focus on the motivations and possible repercussions as his master had taught him.
His train of thought stopped dead. Two figures behind him, poised to strike, weapons drawn. Two scimitars, most likely poisoned. They planned to make quick work of this then.
There was no doubting that these were operatives, their barely detectable approach indicated an utmost economy of movement. So they knew who they were approaching and were using all their skill to do so. Good, perhaps in their fear they would err at a crucial moment. He didn't sense any trepidation, just a quiet confidence at their target's impending demise, far too smug for their own good.
He made a show of scratching the back of his neck and checked his wrist strap from the corner of his eye, all the while maintaining a steady pace down the alleyway. He still had enough for a four star spread and some blinding powder if things got desperate. He was naturally frugal with his resources and had little left on his person after a long day. This was not how he wanted to be caught. They had been tracking him a little bit too well and had unfortunately chosen an admirable time to strike.
They sprung noisily toward him as he unleashed a volley of stars to greet them, catching them off balance. They dove in mid-flight and managed to evade them, sweeping their curved blades toward him in a feint before ducking into a roll. Hern had seen this all before, their desperate evasion gave him time to extend his staff and call their bluff with a frontal assault. They leapt to their feet and deflected his blows with the flats of their blades.
Seeking a way past him, one darted up the side of the wall and attempted to horizontally vault his staff. He spotted the threat and smashed the first man in the face with an extended thrust before taking out the second operatives attack with a swinging blow to the back of the head. The man didn't get up.
He offered his first opponent a grin before sending the staff behind his defences and crushing his windpipe.
He noticed the man on the floor settling into a crouch a fraction too late and cursed him as the scimitar knocked his hasty block out of his hands. The staff clattered to the ground as they eyed each other patiently, trying to anticipate the next play.
Hern knew the blade was by his foot and that the staff was tantalisingly close but out of his immediate reach. The operative facing him shared this knowledge and they both stood perfectly still, waiting for the gurgling asphyxiation at their feet to cease. The death rattle signalled their motion and Hern violently kicked dust into the other man's eyes, giving him a small window of opportunity to kick the scimitar up into his hands. They met with a ring of steel on steel, a deadly struggle from which a single poisoned scratch spelled an inevitable end. In the heated blur of motion, Hern spotted the cut he had made on the man's cheek, a tiny red smear trickling down to his jawline. He shifted into a defensive posture, parrying every increasingly aggressive lunge.
The efforts grew erratic over time and the man's grip weakened, his sword hand started shaking and when the convulsions hit he dropped his guard altogether. It wasn't until he stopped twitching that Hern let his own defences drop. He swapped sword for staff, the transition saved his life.
Searing pain arched up his back as he swung the staff out into thin air. He swirled about on the balls of his feet, but it was the malevolent rage he sensed that saved him.
He deflected the blade at the last possible moment, letting the remaining force lodge into his shoulder. He brought the staff up in a counter as it bit deeper into him, hearing a cry and falling to his knees as it was wrenched free of him. His staff clattered to the ground and he closed his eyes tightly, awaiting the final blow.
It never came.
'So you are telling us that one of our own masters attacked you?'
Hern dared not smirk at the presumption. 'No Arbiter, I am merely saying that the person attacking me was as skilled with a blade as any master I have encountered.'
The voice from the far left bristled with rage. 'We know exactly what you're implying, there are no others as skilled with a blade. This is blatant treason hidden in diplomatic nicety.'
The far right voice countered indignantly. 'Your witness is a liar and there are many that could stand amongst us in their skill with a blade should they decide to deflate the pomposity of your claim. There can be no death here on such shaky grounds.'
Hern stood patiently as the less vocal at the table muttered among themselves. He couldn't tell if it was the weight of his life in another's hands or the sheer length of the debate that slowed time to a crawl.
The Arbiter finally spoke. 'I have considered every viewpoint and have decided to stay your termination. We have no proof that such wounds could be caused by anything but a master, yet we also concede that you made no attempt to imply that.' There was a pause, as if the Arbiter had yet to come to a conclusion himself.
Now we would see how far the rot had set in, yes indeed.
'However, your past history with the council and your flagrant attitude towards our rule leads some of us to question the validity of your account. You are the most talented operative we have and by all rights you should be a part of this council. We shall both punish you and provide you an opportunity.' His gavel hammered down. 'You are to be banished into slavery. Return here a free man and you will have won your place.'
Rotten to the core.
26
Garth
'You're not going after it?' Garth asked, baffled at the uncharacteristic display of sense.
'That's right, I fully expect it to lick its wounds and then come after me.'
Thom smiled, all those years of tracking down the beast's trail, yet now it was tracking him. What he would have given for this opportunity twenty years ago.
He would admit to none that those long years had taken a greater toll on him than the scars showed. He felt time chipping away mercilessly at his wounds, the sense of powerless frustration constantly pushing him into further reckless pursuits. He lived in constant fear that he was chasing lengthening shadows of a past gone by.
'You intend to bring it to Escana?' Garth said, helping him mount the horse.
Confusion cut through Thom's grimace as he found the reins. 'What? Of course not! I would not be so selfish as to endanger the entire population.' He turned the horse on the spot. 'No, the Urian guard take a much dimmer view on such incursions these days. It wouldn't dare strike within their walls. Unless it moves faster than a horse and heals quicker than a priest I'll be safe enough.'
Garth stared at him sceptically. 'And what if this thing sneaks into your room and cuts you up in the night as you sleep?'
Thom shook his head, shouldering the small pack Garth had handed him. 'I will make it clear to the Justice that I'm a marked man, he won't let a soul in as I rest. Besides, you know I'm a light sleeper.'
Garth frowned. 'Don't mistake this for my usual concern for your well-being, you're not just chasing criminals her
e or saving some damsel in distress. This phantom you're chasing, I wouldn't attribute it mortal characteristics. It's an unknown Thom, and unknown is dangerous, you of all people should know that.'
There was something in his tone that stopped Thom from a quick riposte. Perhaps he was making too many assumptions. Who knew what this thing was capable of? One certainty was that not enough caution would see him dead.
'You're right as always,' he sighed. 'I'll be careful.'
Garth watched as Thom spurred his own horse forward. He hoped the ploy would work, that El-Vador had been listening carefully and would follow Thom to certain capture. The smith's thoughts were scattered when he realised in the galloping of hooves that he had just given Thom his mount. The knowing smile Thom flashed back at him as he headed off had Garth cursing every step back to his home.
In spite of that it proved surprisingly pleasant and uneventful, the kind of walk he would have relished years ago. One of the trade wagons had eventually offered him a lift and had spared him walking through the night. It was a small price to pay but the endless wagging of the horseman's tongue was little help in distracting him from the twisted and bloodied metal that awaited him.
It didn't matter to him what reports said, the war on the eastern front wasn't going well. He had done repairs before in war time, he had never seen quotas this bad. Nor had he had to scrub the blood off each and every piece.
His concern over Thom had already cost him time that he didn't have and things were going to get ugly if he couldn't meet their demands again. He wasn't looking forward to the prospect of smithery all night, especially the complaints he'd receive from his unfortunate neighbours.
The amount of material from the front line that was beyond salvageable was what shocked him most. Often he'd find broken claws still lodged within the armour at hideous angles, or a cuirass that was so bent out of shape that it may as well be scrap metal. He didn't envy the poor soul with the task of cutting the corpses from it. Yet still came the party line that his efforts were helping them win the war, the gold bits for his service were scant consolation for hearing the blatant lie that travelled across the land.
He managed to find a word in edgeways with the driver before the wagon sped past Escana, he was still recounting the same nonsensical tale that Garth had been nodding to the entire journey. The palpable contrast of the silence that greeted him was swathed in an apprehension that seemed to grow with each passing step. He put it down to being the dead of night, a fear of which he had never quite shaken off. A single pale lamp in the square cut through the dark, guiding him to the path home, he chided himself for the sudden dash he made toward the door when he caught sight of it. He didn't know how long he had kept his back to it, trying to breathe evenly with his eyes tight shut before recalling that his time was at a premium and no man would care for his excuses. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, aided by the moonlight from the single small window he could afford. He quickly lit the lamp at his bedside table and carried it out back, no sense in tripping over armour in the dark.
It was then that he realised he wasn't alone.
It wasn't his mind playing tricks on him in the faint light, nor the previous sense of foreboding that brought him to that conclusion. A faint chuckling seemed to start in his own head, breaking out into full blown laughter as he searched frantically around the room for a source.
'And so the mighty General arrives home to smelt and smelt and smelt until his arms are weary and he's bent over double by the constant, mind-numbing demands.'
Garth knew that voice. He said nothing, instead taking no small amount of time to scan the room.
'Oh no, you won't find me, not with that pathetic sight of yours. My quarrel with you is your quarrel in me, my dear General.'
The lamp was snuffed out as if by a breeze.
'Alas, that isn't the true nature of my visit. We must get down to business first, the dull tedium of bureaucracy has since had word that you know of my existence and has thus sent me out like some errand boy to deliver a message to your lumbering self.'
In spite of his fear, Garth couldn't help a bold smirk. 'An enigma such as yourself held in thrall by the council?'
'Alas, small minds and small words seek to goad and distract. I am a large part of an altogether bigger picture, one that even you should be aware of.'
Garth felt the tip of steel press down on his back as if from a great height.
'The council in their wisdom have decided that you are not working hard enough. Should your efforts not improve they shall be sending some of their enforcers around for a quiet chat with you. I doubt even one such as yourself would be stupid enough to fail in comprehending what this portends.'
The steel pricked him, forcing him to remain completely still.
'Now we move on to other matters. Your unfortunate actions that have resulted in my wounding and your decision to ignore the uncharacteristically wise words of your friend Thom and stay out of business that is beyond you.'
The bolt dropped into his hand. 'This is yours, I didn't particularly want it. In fact it would be fair to say that many wouldn't appreciate it at all.' The air around him seemed to grow tighter.
'It's been a long time since I have felt any pain, your malcontent put an end to that. I now seek to exact retribution.'
Garth summed up his options with the quiet calm of someone who knows they're probably about to die. He glanced around the room, he could possibly make a grab for one of the swords lying in the pile, but would more than likely impale himself on something if he dove for it, his smithy didn't afford him much space to manoeuvre in. This was all assuming he wasn't cut to ribbons before he could move. He couldn't help but recall what this thing had done to Thom's arm in a matter of seconds.
'I know what you're thinking. You're entirely wrong,' El-Vador said, humour sparkling in his voice. The steel was lifted from his back, Garth turned on impulse, there was nothing there. He picked his way through the room carefully, wondering if he was being toyed with. When his search revealed no further intrusion he started to inspect the workload for the night. The mound of battered arms loomed in the corner of the room ominously. He picked up a gauntlet and nearly dropped it in surprise. He rummaged through the pile to be certain, still hearing the creature's laughter echoing in his head. Everything was fully repaired.
27
Jakob
Jimmy's eyes lit up as he leapt onto the huge tree stump. 'We're nearly there,' he crowed, gesturing at the bend in the road.
Ella smiled wearily. 'Brace yourself Jakob. He's going to talk your ear off right up to the Justice's mansion.'
Jakob chose to ignore the jest. The prospect of seeking an audience with Lord Kelgrimm briefly soured their mirth but the foreboding vanished as they rounded the corner.
Rolling pastures stretched out for miles along the coastline, linked together by a web of smaller roads branching off from the main route. They were but a minor distraction from the deep blue panorama of the horizon. They had finally reached the ocean.
Clusters of housing dotted the landscape as the road sloped down to sea level, winding steadily towards large stone walls that jutted out dominantly in the distance.
As they drew closer Jimmy revelled in the smallest details lifted straight from his childhood. The crying gulls and passing carts of kelp were drenched with nostalgia and steeped his senses in a childish jubilation that brought a spring to his step. Jakob couldn't help but know this because of the amount of time Jimmy spent explaining everything to them. Both he and Ella were too drained to do anything but humour him as his skipping and youthful grin became increasingly irritating.
The gates grew more ominous to Jakob's eyes with each passing step. What if they had avoided pursuit only for it to ride ahead and inform the Urian guard? What if this bandit had been unable to stop them after all?
'So what do you think, Jakob?'
He realised that Jimmy had indeed been giving him a running commentary the whole time.
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'I'm more worried about that guard than anything else,' he said, pointing ahead at the unfriendly looking bearded man with a spear.
Jimmy raised an eyebrow at this. 'There weren't any guards here last time.' He shrugged eventually. 'Perhaps it's just to stop any illegal trade.'
His musings failed to inspire confidence in Jakob. Ella had gone very quiet as they came to the gate.
'Halt,' the guard said simply, barring their entrance without further preamble.
'We seek an audience with Lord Kelgrimm,' Jimmy said.
The guard chuckled mirthlessly. 'Doesn't everyone? I'd love an audience with him to discuss why I've been placed out front to deal with fools and vagabonds,' he spat out the last word with particular distaste.
'So the Justice cannot dispense his namesake?'
The man eyed Jimmy's questioning with disinterest. 'There are too many that seek justice, Lord Kelgrimm cannot attend to them all.'
Jakob shrugged. 'That's quite fine, it's clear you're doing your job correctly. Stop quizzing him brother, otherwise we shall never find time to sell the woman.'
Everyone turned to face him in confusion. 'This young lady is in my possession, she is my business with Urial.'
'No, Jakob, Don't!' Jimmy shouted, looking aghast. Ella didn't betray her thoughts.
The guard's face crooked up a smile. 'You are aware that sex trafficking is entirely illegal here are you not?'
Jakob realised his error now and tried to put on his best confused frown. 'It is? In Daelovia it is legal, and as a guard it is your sworn duty to sample every piece of the purest merchandise that passes through these walls is it not?'
The guard's look soured. 'Or I could just haul you to the dungeons for attempting to sell her to me.' As he advanced on Jakob, Jimmy raised his arms and swiftly cut in. 'I think you misunderstand my brother. This is not an attempt at trafficking, we Daelovians just have different customs and are merely passing through to the port and wish to gain entrance by whatever means necessary.'
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