Desiring space, Luke retreated a few steps from the City Lord, Ophelia Cyrn. Sooty had begun to become agitated. Shifting an eye to his companion, Luke placed a soft hand over his most trustworthy friend.
“We’ll be fine, buddy.”
Xera interjected, “I want soft pats, too. It’s rough being a sword wand sometimes, you know?”
Wayfinder released an audible tick with his needle, “Lass, askin’ for our dear Reaver’s tender love is going to have to come at another time. Around someone less powerful.”
“My, distracted from our discussion already, ‘Rune’?” Ophelia twirled her twisted wand, moving a gaudy but functional set of a table and chairs between Luke and her. She unfurled her arm toward the roundish marble table, “Seat yourself. We wouldn’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, my dear masked guest, now would we?”
Too late. Luke stifled the rest of the thought, believing the time for complaints was long gone.
As Luke and Ophelia took a seat, the refined woman flicked a finger across the marble table in a nearly bored manner, “A fair warning to you, young Defier, your mask’s properties are tested to the limit near one such as I. It’s far from infallible. Why the twisting of gears within your compass almost sounded like words. Isn’t that quite something to witness?”
Luke experienced his heart rate ratcheting up. The previously slightly elevated rate shot up with a single ba-dum.
Letting off the pressure, Ophelia aimed for a different angle of conversation, “My wand and tome are an artifact as well, suited best to Sonic Bards, Lenardis. He prefers music to speech; however, you shan’t hear him say a thing.”
The tome released a flood of musical notes as if to agree to Ophelia’s words.
Interrupting the City Lord’s flow, a flash of inspiration hit Luke, “My mask isn’t failing. Lenardis allows you to connect to other artifacts nearby. Is it the same for you, Xera?”
Acknowledged directly by Luke, Xera’s words were now clear as day to all within the room, “That floating book over there feels funny to me, is that what you mean, master?”
Trying to pierce Ophelia’s veil, Luke’s blue eyes bore into the woman’s well structured impassive expressions. A hint of doubt could be deciphered at the edge of her eternal smile and knowing gaze.
Luke smirked, allowing a hint of mirth to be conveyed over the mask’s natural voice changer, “It is, Xera. Good Sword-Wand.”
“Praise me more. I like it!” Xera shook from her sheath.
Palming his mask, Luke slowly slid it off, “That’s quite manipulative of you, City Lord. Trying to get me to believe your tier may be the issue for this mask, rather than you wielding one of the numbered.”
Fanning herself with a hand, Ophelia demurely responds, “What is this? Are you certain it is wise to reveal your last card so willingly, Luke Wallace? The dashing new Defier is actually the night terror, Rune? The city will simply be in an uproar. That is, unless…”
Ophelia faked an impassive face, leaving the unsaid words and intention up to Luke’s perception.
“That we make a satisfactory deal.” Luke finished.
Returning to her smile, Ophelia slowly nodded, “We’ve arrived at the same page, Luke.
“I bet Lenardis would’ve preferred the word ‘note’. Your terms? Desires? Goals?”
Resting one leg on top of the other, the City Lord paused her mind games, “The immediate goal is to ensure my domain, that is, Sylen, survives the coming Tide. In that, I’m sure I already have acquired your full cooperation. No, it is the days, months, perhaps years after the Tides effects that you come into play, Luke.”
“Defending against the Tides is a requirement to the Defiers in Sylen, right? I’ve nothing to say about it, I’ll be standing there to the side of the other eight. And how do you see me coming into ‘play’ after the Tide is over?”
“Join the Duchy. You will remain under Musai’s tutelage, loyal Defier as ever to him, in addition to swearing under my niece, the Duchess, Katherine Elaria. Stationed to Sylen, but to heed her call whenever unavoidable.”
Breathing slowly, Luke allowed ice to slowly coat the air, inching toward Lady Cyrn’s face, “Serve your Duchy, all but betray Musai, for you to cover up my previous mistakes. Preventing the three major gangs and two noble families from learning I am Rune.” He tapped a finger over his chin, “What do you think, Sooty? Is she looking down on us?”
Sooty, no longer under the mask’s illusory effects, had returned to magnificent plumed self. The crow hopped off Luke’s shoulder, perched on the table edge, and cawed while expanding her wings outwards.
“I think so too, Sooty. Our City Lord is taking us both as fools.” Luke’s mouth tightened and furrowed his brows. An iron glint appeared from icy eyes. “What good is keeping this trail open to finding my father if I remain chained to the Duchy? Can you guarantee my dad is still within the Duchy’s borders? You can’t, can you?”
A flash of annoyance broke on Ophelia’s face before allowing it to be smothered by her practiced smile, “My condolences if the terms make you feel that way, Luke. Perhaps a renegotiation is in order? Mind you, do not mistake my leniency for unlimited chances at refusal.” A sharp musical sound wave arose from Lendaris’s pages, shattering the ice building between the two. “I abhor to use force. Neither of us would see it come to that, surely?”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Maintaining eye contact, Luke said, “Putting myself on your shit list isn’t preferable either. Do you have a different offer, then?”
“Must you be so crass with your words, spell sword?” Ophelia rubbed her temples, “Gaining favors with those rebellious nobles won’t come easily should your words fail to become honeyed and measured.”
“Fuck em’. Iona insisted I try to become valuable to them, if it’s more trouble than it’s worth, then why bother?”
“Only the ignorant or the foolish would hold that opinion. In this troubled city, only your mentor, Defier Musai, and I could fearlessly face the Pyrite’s Patriarch or the Miel’s Matriarch. Either could crush your puffed up ego to smithereens would they bother to.”
“Instilling fear to regain the conversation, City Lord? I’ll ease up, what makes the two of them untouchable?”
“Those two pompous noble heads have invoked a special, absurdly expensive ritual, much to my disdain. Each gaining half a tier, an artificially created step between tier four and three. What is it you hunters call it, the quasi-stage, I believe. Achievable only under special circumstances and at great cost beyond mere materials.”
“A great cost? Why haven’t I heard of this stage or ritual before? Awfully convenient. But you’ve misassessed me, Ophelia. I-“
The City Lord’s features scrunched up, “You dare you call me by my first name? Learn your place, youngling, if not for my misgivings with Musai, I would-“
“Kill me. Right? I’m an unpleasant new factor to the sphere within Sylen. I cause messes, upset the city’s powers before the Tide, force myself into Thundergast’s home, threaten the underworld, and am clearly about to butt heads with much more. Collectors in the city want my companion, the Pyrite’s favored son wants my head, and my night outings have caused you a new an unneeded headache this close to the next monster invasion. It’d be the simplest to get rid of me.”
Pausing, Luke took Xera within her sheath and placed the sentient weapon upon the table. Using the conversation’s momentum, he aimed to keep the City Lord off balance for longer, avoiding the fate of becoming someone’s puppet yet again.
“I know my position, Ophelia, better than you might think. But no matter your words, you won’t harm me, all for one rumor.”
Closing one eye, Ophelia tried to swallow Luke’s constant prodding and disrespect, “And what rumor would that be? My patience wears thin.”
“A plain iron sword impaled the City Lord before you. Etched to his forehead in blood was the word ‘Coward.’ Found a day after the last Tide. Over a decade since that murder, the public has forgotten it. I’d imagine the current City Lord never would.” Luke peered up to the vaulted ceiling while leaning back, “What was the excuse? An apostle did the deed? Or was it a diplomat?”
Snapping a finger, Ophelia had Lenardis close up and lay in front of her on the table, “This rumor protects you how? You, a mere transfer to this world a year ago? Those events transpired years before you stepped foot into Ludus or the Duchy.”
Palming his cheek, Luke’s heart relaxed, “Playing ignorant are we? You’re aware Musai trains me. He’s fond of calling the last City Lord a coward. Musai also happens to be the greatest swordsman in this city, perhaps this Duchy. The evidence isn’t definitive, but my instincts show me the connection. My master, Musai, killed the last City Lord, disappointed in how he handled the last Tide or perhaps his treatment of the Defiers. Now, what would such a man do to you if you killed his newest Defier? What happens to those who uproot his saplings, Ophelia?”
“Preposterous, your claims are unfounded and supported by rumor. Unlike that last City Lord, Musai would fail to mark me with the same ease. This is quite uncalled for, Defier Luke.”
“But he would mark you. Thinking he’d do so, you arrived at the same conclusion as me upon becoming the newest City Lord. Musai cares little for politics, those who harm ‘his Defiers’ or fail in their duties against the Tide will pay dearly. He’ll make sure of it. What will it be, Ophelia, another offer of servitude and puppetry to me?”
“Your needless antagonism towards me does you no favors, Luke. Can you not see I’m aiming for mutual gain between us?”
“I do, that’s why I remained here instead of walking away. Skill with the tongue hasn’t been my best suit, now that the situation has been made clearer, does your offer change?”
Breathing out lightly, the City Lord spoke, “I applaud your youthful ignorance, but I shall bend slightly for you on account of the insignificant chance your words are not unfounded. Support the city’s crucial tower teams when possible in the future, owe me a favor I may use at any time, and answer my summons should I need you again. If your father’s trail leads you away from my domain, these terms will not prevent you from leaving in search of him.”
Mumbling, Luke tried to define the rest, “In return, you cover any connections between ‘Luke Wallace’ and ‘Rune’, giving me another chance to use him to see if either great noble family has any connection to my dad’s disappearance.” Clearing his throat and shoving out his hand, Luke continued, “We have a deal, Ophelia, ah, City Lord Cyrn, I mean.”
Shaking Luke’s outstretched hand, Ophelia kept her grip on him, “Before you are to leave, Luke. I suggest an adjustment or two to your ‘Rune’ persona.”
Raising an eyebrow, Luke gave City Lord Cyrn unsaid permission to expound on her suggestion.
Ophelia’s smile became natural as she let go of Luke’s hand, resting the now free limb on her lap, “Stop using Ice with that identity unless you’ve no choice. Or perhaps learn to change ice into water. Using a sword as you do is also a risk, I believe displaying a different sword style is the minimum you must do.”
“Stopping the use of the sword and learning a new style would be difficult, but if I avoid public combat as Rune from now on…” Luke began to be lost in thought and ruminations; eventually, he found his gaze settled back on Ophelia, “I’ll figure something out.” Luke rubbed his fingers over Xera, “Adjust yourself slightly when I’m ‘Rune’, Xera. That’ll have to do for now.”
“Revealing more of your capabilities to me, Defier?” Ophelia’s green eyes observed Luke like a predator.
“A woman who can figure out who ‘Rune’ is, will also learn what Xera is as well. Her identity will be public knowledge before long.” Luke slid back on the mask, and Xera reformed into a plain white sword with a simple red gem inlaid to its center.
“Are we done with the talking, Luke? You could use me to skewer that grouchy lady over there!” Lucky for Luke, with the mask on, Xera’s words were heard as incomprehensible nonsense by the City Lord. Luke responded to Xera, “Yes, we’re done. But no, the time for action will come later, Xera.”
Drowning out Xera’s response, Luke said, “City Lord, is that the end to our business?”
Flicking open Lenardis, Ophelia had the tome float again before ridding her space of the table and chairs. The woman turned her back to Luke and waved him off, “Take your leave ‘Rune.’ My influence on you will be minimal before the Tides hit. Go about your business, and try not to make as obvious who is under that mask.”
Bowing with an arm under his stomach in a show of faux manners, Luke made for the door, “Until next time, City Lord.”
After Luke shut the door, an audible boom reverberated, reaching his eardrum causing it to bleed and rupture.
Clutching the worst of the two ears, “Warning taken, City Lord. We’re leaving.”