The colosseum dominating the north end of the plaza stood covered in festival glitz and glam. The decorations so overwrought that the massive, ordinarily spartan structure almost seemed welcoming. Banded iron and studs with a velvet veneer. On the south end, equally decked out and equally imposing, stood the recently acquired Stormhawk house. The building's lack of charm more than made up for in sheer square footage.
House Stormhawk had come out ahead - they all had – with every guild destroyed for their benefit. Good fortune raining down from on high and the rising water flushing the discarded remnants into the gutters. The vast majority shrugging and moving on, with only the stupidly stubborn still struggling against the tide.
This is nerve wracking, standing here in the middle of everybody. They're looking at me, they can see me, but there's no panic, no denunciations. The person they think they're seeing isn't me.
The plaza full beyond bursting and despite being well past sundown the doors to the colosseum still shut tight. Most people chatting in small groups, but some others mingling throughout the crowd sharing greetings, news or light hearted challenges. A good number drunk. One of Shaker's men standing in front of the entrance announcing something, and that piece of information quickly being relayed through the crowd at the speed of gossip.
“...they said soon, just setting up...” a man wearing the colors of House Mink says.
“...not going like last year, they're doing something different...” says another.
“...damn it, pulled some strings to get off work today and we're just standing around...” A third.
“Bobby!” A woman's voice, a bit off in the crowd.
The delay mostly met in stride, with a few grumbles. With only eight contestants remaining, out of hundreds, any rivalries had probably already been settled over the past cycle. Well, assuming any former contestants even bothered to show up tonight. Seems like a genteel looking group, soft and well mannered, polite laughter and manicures. Completely at odds with the weather stained gear, calloused hands and scowl of one Robert Barnes. It's no wonder he'd hit the road within an hour of being eliminated from the tournament.
The other noteworthy group among the crowd, the newbies. Overeager, overexcited, heads pumped full of pixie dust and self-importance, and then sent on a one way trip out here. No refunds and no returns.. Most in small clusters talking amongst themselves, but a few of the more outgoing attempting to ingratiate themselves.
“Hey, Bobby!” The voice calling again, closer.
The crash of a loud gong reverberating once, twice, interrupting the idle chatter and drawing attention to the northern end of the plaza. The colosseum portcullis standing open, framing the man, just past middle age, who'd been entrusted to oversee the general operation of the city and its residents. Both inside and outside, those within and all those now without. Harold Shaker.
“My friends,” his amplified voice broadcasting clearly throughout the now quiet plaza, “I apologize for the delay this evening and I beg your forgiveness for taking a few moments more. For the past nine years we've worked, lived, built, and struggled in this, our home away from home. We've endured hardships and setbacks, but also accomplishment and joy, and through it all we have persevered. Looking around tonight I see familiar faces, as well as some of the newer ones who have only recently joined us for this great undertaking. Seeing you all here I'm reminded how blessed I am serve beside you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
A polite, scattered and, mercifully, brief applause breaking out. Shaker waiting a moment before continuing.
“I am happy to report,” Shaker pausing again and clearing his throat, “that for the last year we have exceeded expectations and, as a result-” a murmur rising from the crowd, “As a result.” Shaker elevating his already amplified voice to compensate. “Settle down. As a result we have been granted additional-”
At that, the murmuring of the previously lukewarm crowd exploding into genuine cheers and applause, swelling to fill the plaza. Shaker holding out his hands, begging for silence.
“We'll get to that. We will get to that in due time. In due time. But. First.” The additional emphasis causing the cheering to momentarily subside. “But first we have to finish the festival!” The crowd, still heady from the previous announcement, responding with even greater enthusiasm, and then Shaker continuing with his spiel. Congratulating the competitors. Congratulating the Houses. Congratulating his own staff on how smoothly the tournament had gone. But as he went on and on, the buzz of conversation in the crowd continued to grow.
This is awful. Should've been smuggled in a shipment, even if that was going to be a more cramped. Should've bribed some of the guards to look the other way, even if that was definitely more risky. Hell, should've gone crawling underground, even if getting lost doing that was significantly more likely. Anything would've been better than being forced to stand here listening to Shaker while being surrounded by these people. Beneficiaries of the least honest type of thievery: the kind morally justified by the stroke of a pen. They're so over the top excited to see what they're going to get this time around it makes me want to puke.
“...for the final event we're doing something a bit different this year.” Shaker's amplified voice nearly being drowned out by the crowd. “I don't want to ruin the surprise, but it was only possible thanks to the assistance of some of our more adventurous members.” The buzz from the audience increasing. Shaker spending a long moment looking at the crowd, scanning briefly, person to person, conversation to conversation. Signaling to his staff inside the building and then the gong ringing out half a dozen times, bringing all of the conversations to a close. Shaker holding up his hands once more.
“My friends, I know I've given you a lot to think about, and I know you're excited, and we'll get to that. But not tonight. Tonight, please show your support to the competitors who've worked so hard and please enjoy the finals. We're hoping to be ready soon. Thank you.” With that Shaker reentered the colosseum and in his wake speculation ran rampant through the crowd.
Okay focus. Inhale, exhale. Get through this and then get inside. One step at a time. Go right and then, okay, that's blocked. Try and move to the left. No. Maybe go through there. Right there. No, blocked again. Try and move around them. Nope. Have to wait. There's too many people. Relax. Don't stress.
A hand on my forearm suddenly making that impossible.
“Bobby. There you are.” The same woman's voice from earlier. A threatening mezzo. Not at all quiet and not at all pleased. Tall. Ample bust and healthy hips. Her outfit practical and modest, especially by festival standards, the only splash of color being a stylized white wolf's head on a field of green on the clasp on her cloak. House Koln. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Bobby, huh? Same House as Barnes, and knows him well enough to call him by some childish nickname. Normally that'd be not so good for him and irrelevant to me, but right now, wherever he is, he's probably better off.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Bobby,” her mouth abandoning any semblance of a smile, “you left without telling me, without any means to get in contact, and you really left me in a lurch. We had a meeting today. They wanted to talk with you – I told you I needed you to come with me – but you left anyway and I had to cancel. Now you're standing here like it's no big deal.”
Barnes had been the best choice of the bunch. Napier didn't even make it past the prelims. Sebas was currently cooling his heels in jail after killing some guy, and then Hawthorne, against all odds, made it to the final round. But Barnes? Lost two days ago and then left the city with full packs. The ideal choice for impersonation: similar build for the illusion and totally out of the picture.
“First,” the woman says, “you need to apologize, and then you need to fix it.”
Her voice, which started several decibels higher than necessary, had gotten progressively louder with each statement. Some people nearby turning toward our little drama and snickering. Damn it. Not even inside the arena - not even to the door - let alone inside and at the vault, and already a problem. How would Barnes deal with this? No, doesn't matter. He ran off to who knows where without even bothering to fill her in and wound up screwing me.
Flicking my wrist to break her hold. The woman, almost seeming to sense my intention, trying to pull away, but too slow. Grabbing her arm and yanking her forward, bringing us face to face. She's wearing armor. Definitely out of place in this crowd. Pretty and has some fight in her. No, stay focused, she's much more trouble than that whore back at hotel.
“Control yourself.”
A tableau of emotion. Indignity at being manhandled, fury at the demand, and then a rueful pout as she realized she couldn't pull away.
“You still owe me an explanation.” Trying to claw back some dignity, but the demand made at a reasonable volume. “Bobby, I don't know what's gotten into you, but I know you must've had your reasons, okay? You should've told me before disappearing in the middle of the night - especially if it was important. Now let go of me, you've made your point. Please.”
Dragging that please out of her almost makes up for her initial outburst. Not completely, but almost. That should be enough, she'll probably behave herself. Releasing her arm.
“I swear,” the woman muttering. “Hold on a moment, I need to check something.” Clasping both hands in front of her and starting to whisper a quiet, urgent, incomprehensible chant.
Spellcaster. Of course she is, and of course she's got something up her sleeve. Yelling at Barnes like that, she has to be in some sort of leadership position. There's still time to stop whatever it is she's doing, but there's too many people around to do anything too overt.
The woman speaking a final word and then freezing in position. Staring vacantly ahead with her hands locked together. Pupils dilating, larger and larger, filling the iris and extending outward to completely fill the white. Her jaw moving, speaking soundlessly, then closing. Then resuming. Stopping. Ten seconds. Fifteen.
Those eyes. She's just staring. Hello, anybody home? Doesn't seem like it. Oh, she blinked. Hello? Hmm, don't think she can see me. Well, probably not. There goes the mouth again. She talking to somebody but what's she saying? C'mon lady, sound it out. E-nun-ci-ate. Dang. Should've done some more prep on House Koln. Knowing who this woman is – and what, exactly, she can do – would really help right now. And why're they taking so long to set up? Shaker, you bastard, where'd your punctuality go? Could've taken my time.
The woman's slack face filling with life as she suddenly inhaled a huge breath and put her head back. Haltingly untangling her fingers. Opening and closing her palms a few times.
Those eyes are still completely black. Creepy.
“Alright I spoke with-” the woman beginning to say before stopping short and giving me a quizzical look. “Who're you?
Did it fade already? Not even a half hour. Should've sold the scroll.
The woman's pupils quickly shrinking and, after blinking repeatedly, going back to normal.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” she says, “Bobby, that's strange, you looked like someone else for a second.”
It didn't fade - that's good - but she saw through it. Briefly. Wait, with what she was just doing and now seeing through the disguise...
“Yeah? Do you think I look better now, or worse?”
Stupid. Don't flirt. The scroll didn't expire so stick to the plan
“Bobby, what're you- You know what? Never mind. Listen, I really need your help for this, they want to do the meeting tonight. Right now, in fact.”
“What about this?” Gesturing vaguely at the crowd. At the colosseum. At the tournament. At the prizes for the winner of the tournament just waiting to be snatched up with no one the wiser.
“Director Shaker said there was a delay.”
“Yeah, among other things.”
“Well,” she says, “from what I was just told whatever it is they're doing for the finals is taking longer than they thought, so we should have time to meet now.”
No point in arguing. Not really winnable, anyway. Just play along, deal with her and then double back. “Okay, if they want to do it right now then I'm ready to meet up with them.”
The woman's expression changing, but not showing relief. Searching my face, her eyes full of worry. Oh, hell. What caused that? Isn't this what she wants, to meet with these people? Isn't that why she was so upset with Barnes to begin with? Or maybe what I said triggered something and made her realize he's not me.
“Bobby,” the woman saying, “I want to apologize.” Squinting my eyes to prevent them from goggling. “I'm sorry for yelling at you. I didn't realize the tournament meant that much to you. If you really don't feel up for the meeting then we can reschedule.”
Wait a second. No. We're going to head off to that meeting and you're going to be put out of commission en route. Don't dangle that in front of me and then rip it away.
“We need to go. It's important. You said so yourself.”
“That's true, and you're right.” The woman hesitating. “Bobby, what you said before, you know I can hear when people lie. If you really don't want to meet with them tonight I can reschedule.”
Augur. Can't lie in her general vicinity or she'll know. Definitely explains why she's going to be meeting with clients, and definitely adds a wrinkle. But what was my lie... oh, saying ready to meet with them. Should've said ready to go. Alright, this is still doable: the best lies tend to have every appearance of being true, with a misunderstanding here or an omission there greasing the way. Maybe she thinks Barnes left town because he didn't make the tournament semis. That sort of makes sense, but that's probably not why he left. He didn't seem all that upset when he was walking out the gate a couple days back.
“Then you know we need to get going. I'm not going to argue with you about this.”
“Bobby, you just-” The woman shaking her head. “You know what? You're right. Let's not argue about this.”
Following her lead south, in the direction of the merchant district. Maybe they're getting a contract with one of the plantations near where they've set up, or a caravan route. Whatever. Plenty of places to do this. Get a couple blocks away, take care of her, and then head back.
Getting to the south end of the plaza and the woman making an unexpected turn. Walking up to one of the bored looking door guards leaning against the building, a half full mug of beer sitting by his foot, with two empty ones beside it.
Why's she going here? Oh shit.
“Hi, we're with House Koln.” The woman smiling in greeting. “We've got a meeting with Mr. Owens. He should be expecting us.”
“Yeah?” The guard hiccuping and giving her a once over without even bothering to glance in my direction. “C'mon in.”
Dammit. Her meeting's with Stormhawk. Bail now and blow my cover, or keep faking my way through? The woman just inside the doorway looking back and quirking an eyebrow. Ignoring my remaining good sense and following her across the threshold.
The interior of the new Stormhawk house still retained most of the aesthetics of the former guildhall, with the one obvious addition a full size statue of a man with a confident expression and his right arm raised in victory. Aside from that statute - that thing - it looks like everything else is basically the same. Bare stone floors with a few strategically placed rugs, wooden surfaces and railings with maybe a new coat of varnish, the dining hall, just to the left of the entryway, still several long tables with benches, the lights in the common areas still shining with the same enchantments and, finally, the swords, axes and other instruments of death still bespeckling the walls. Passing by the statue - sensibly keeping an eye on it - and then through a set of double doors out into the bonfire lit central courtyard.
Huh, they got a lot of people. Last year Stormhawk had, what, fifty? There's got to be at least three times that just out here. Add on all the others – inside the House, in town, outside of town, or at work, all the way outside – and they're doing very well for themselves. Gotta hand it to them, they've got their priorities straight for this whole festival. A bunch of the other Houses are out front shuffling their feet while waiting on Shaker to get the doors open, and here they are having a party. Tables full of food and four or five different casks of booze. Heh, and it's still early but they're already staggering around spilling about as much as they're drinking. This Koln woman wasn't expecting all this. Trying to stay unruffled but that sour look making it clear she's annoyed as hell.
Our guide leading us through the scrum to the northern side of the courtyard, to a table with four men. Davos, Karson, some other guy – probably Owens - and then head of House Stormhawk, Lane.
Three of the men in conversation but the fourth, Karson, brow furrowed, ignoring everything and sharpening his sword right on the table. Deep thinker, that one. He definitely came with the house. Woke up one day and found Stormhawk moving in, and then decided to go along with it.
Owens giving a flash of recognition at our approach and directing us to sit with an extended arm. “Holly!” The man half yelling his greeting in order to heard. “Nice to finally see you again in person.”
“Phil.” the woman, Holly, replying. The woman staring at the table in abject disgust, but then taking a seat. “It's good to be here, thank you for inviting us. This is Rob Barnes.”
“Good to-” Owens starting to yell back, but the rest of whatever he'd said being drowned out by a particularly noisy bit of shouting. Owens turning to Lane and saying something, and then Lane lifting his right hand up and moving it in a series of lazy gestures. Placing his palm flat on the table.
Around us, encasing us, five paces wide and five paces tall, appeared a translucent white dome, causing the laughter and the noise and rowdiness outside its radius to shrink to a whisper. The dome becoming clearer and clearer, vanishing from sight, but the peace and quiet remaining.
“Oh, excellent.” Holly clapping appreciatively. Her mood visibly rising as mine sunk.
More spellcasters. Know for a fact Davos and Karson aren't. Lane, certainly, knew that already, but fortunately he's not the type that throws fire and lightning. Owens? Dunno, but he's probably that variety.
The vulgar flash of magic briefly attracted the attention of the rest of the partygoers, but their carousing resumed only moments later. Davos reaching into his cloak and pulling out a pouch and his pipe. Out of habit my hand reaching to get my own, but letting go of it. Davos may recognize my pipe. Does Barnes even smoke? Such a pain.
“Holly, nice to see you and, Rob, good to meet you.” Owens taking her offered hand, then mine. “I reached out to you because a lot of things have changed over this last year.” Which was your doing. You and the rest of them. Greedy bastards. “We've got our new setup, and we've got a lot more work. And recruiting has been going great - really great, actually – but since we moved here we found can't keep up with all our clients anymore. New location and now stretched too thin, even with all the additional manpower. We've got some clients out closer to you that we've had for a long time, and we're on good terms with them, and we still want to help them, but...” The man shrugging.
“...but your guys don't want to make the trek out there for a couple of accounts,” Holly finishing.
“That's definitely part of it.”
“Oh,” she says, “in that case, we'd be delighted. I don't know why we had to have a sit down for that. I guess if you write some letters of introduction we'd be more than happy to take it from there.”
“That's not exactly-” Lane entering the conversation “-I mean, it's more than that. There's a potential of things getting unstable around here. That's the main reason I wanted to set up this meeting. We want an alliance with your House. We want your votes.”
“That may be,” Holly choosing her words delicately, “asking a bit much. Don't you think?”
“That depends entirely on which clients we're ceding to you,” says Lane.
Looking back and forth from Owens to Lane before glancing at me. Giving her a noncommittal shrug.
“What are you suggesting?” she says.
“Now it's only a handful of clients,” Owens launching into what had to have been a prepared speech, “but I think you'll find that-” Holly motioning impatiently for him to get on with it. “Two out by the Reach, a mine and logging camp, and then a nearby town. The town processes the wood and ore coming in and gets it ready to send here. Typical protection contract.” Owens smiling genially. “Generally nothing too dangerous around those parts.”
That last statement making Holly narrow her eyes. “How big's the town?” she says.
“Not big, several hundred.” Owens pausing, probably waiting for a followup that didn't come. “Now, I know it doesn't sound like much, so far, which is why I saved the main client for last. Melder.”
“The botanist?” The words spilling out of my mouth in surprise.
The man giving his most sincere salesman smile. “The same.”
Melder. Legitimate genius. One of the few with the talent to live up to the mission outside and, inside here, enormously wealthy. An entire plantation.
Holly about to ask something but Davos speaking up first, “Barnes, the reason we wanted you here, the reason I specifically asked for you be here, is because I've been on patrol down by Melder's estate. Gotten to know the area real well. It's been my assignment for the last eight months.” Your only assignment then, turncoat. “From what I've heard you're the one responsible for finally killing that giant wolf. I was looking forward to fighting against you in the tournament, but then you went and got yourself knocked out early. So, to be frank, I don't know that you lot can handle what we're offering.”
He can't be serious. Resentment for losing his assignment? No, more likely some kind of ploy. They dangle a contract with Melder as a carrot and then pull back a bit to extract some concessions on a too generous offer. Scum.
“You've got to be joking. The tournament? Those sanitized bouts don't mean a goddamn thing. A dirty sneak like you should know that.” Not doing a great job keeping calm. Back off. “Look at Karson, that sword's as big as him. In the tournament you gotta fight him toe to toe while handicapped by some rules, but that ain't how it works normally so don't pretend like some tournament fight counts for anything.”
Karson taking his eyes off his weapon for the first time since we'd gotten to the table and giving me a fixed, level stare. “Come at me in the arena, or here, or wherever. I'll lay you in the dirt.”
The tense moment being broken by Lane suddenly erupting with a belly laugh. “That's great, too funny,” he says. “Rob, Holly, I think this arrangement is going to work out real well.”
Karson looking at me for a long moment, letting me know he was entirely serious and that nothing had been forgotten. Davos clenching his pipe between his teeth, clearly annoyed by my brushoff. Owens smile had cracked a little ways back, but with Lane laughing it off he'd managed to fix it up. Holly meanwhile had gone from thinly disguised panic to placid serenity.
“Alright,” says Owens, “in that case, I think we're almost set. Holly, in a couple days let me know if your leadership is on board and, uh, Rob, strange question, but Chalky says that you 'look and talk funny'. What do you think he means by that?”
Chalky? “What do you-” Oh shit, what a thing to miss. Probably been sitting there on the table the whole time. Ugly little thing with vicious needle-like teeth and jagged claws, roughly the size of a cat. Chalky? Guess it's kind of white - more of a nasty pus color than anything. Wonder which type Owens is, the one that rots you from the inside, or the one that can rip you inside out.
Noticing that it had been noticed, the demon on the table favoring me with a wide, toothy grin, and then chittering at Owens.
“I wouldn't take anything that thing says at face value, Phil.” Holly says. She'd seen my instinctive look of revulsion and stepped in. The scaly thing on the table letting out more noises. Sounds like an insect. A scarab. Sending my skin crawling.
“I know he may not look it,” says Owens, “but he's surprisingly reliable. It was such an odd thing for him to say.” Owens giving me a stare to rival Karson's from earlier. “Well, Rob, why do you think he said that?”
The dismissal dying in my throat as the entire sanctuary wobbled, hit from the side, briefly becoming visible again. Turning to see what had caused it and a surge of hope filling my chest. A person had tried to enter, only to be rebuffed. Rath, my boy, excellent timing. Thank you so much for ignoring my advice.