“Both of you, be safe.”
Stacy and Abigale saying their goodbyes.
“Oh, Abbey,” Abigail turning around. “Congratulations on nearly hitting your goal. I think you should keep at it once you do.”
“I'll consider it.” The girl looking off in the direction of the still open storm drain. “Good luck.”
Raising my hand in acknowledgment and farewell. Turning to look back at the now visible House Solstice.
A manor house, grey, three stories with a steepled roof. The building similar in design to House Ishtar, and of a similar size. Both essentially rectangular with some jutting sections here and there. No fence surrounding this one but clearly none needed given the enchantments. The main differences are a connected circular tower on one side, five stories, and a free standing greenhouse. We'd waved at the people inside the greenhouse going about their business and had gotten some waves back. They'd been amused to see us come wandering up. Tempting to talk with them right now, but no real need. Their eviction is still to come. Need to speak with the Council about that. Hopefully after this morning that plan is ready to go. Need to strike while the iron is hot.
Quarter to ten. Never enough hours in the day. Especially today. Heading out with Julie in about an hour. Need to grab a new weapon, need to order new armor for down the road, need to head across the city and keep chipping away at that wall and need to press my advantage with Stormhawk while Lane is at work and they're still in disarray. Can't do it all. Need to get changed first. Coming here in this outfit was mostly a waste of time, but not the worst thing. Still on speaking terms with Stacy and Abigail and there's House Solstice over there. A success, everything considered. Jogging in the direction of my apartment. At least it's relatively close.
Changing into my field outfit, backup set of armor, waterproof boots and brown cloak. Hood up. Locking the door and heading east, then moving alternately north and west toward the town square, head on a swivel. No one especially paying me any attention. Catching pieces of conversation here and there, gossip about the harbor and Stormhawk. Getting to the bank a quarter after.
“I'd like to withdraw twenty gold.”
“Ms. Macarthy,” says the teller, “there are currently some questions outstanding with regard to your account.”
“Yeah, some fines, I know. How much?”
“I'm unable to say at the moment. There are conflicting reports.”
This is definitely a first.
“I've got an okay enough balance so I doubt twenty gold will be the difference. Do me a favor and nothing will happen.”
“Are you certain you're in a position to be issuing threats, Ms. Macarthy?”
“I wonder what kind of conflicting reports come out of what's going to happen here.”
The teller taking a few extra moments to think, but then placing twenty gold coins on the counter. “Thank you for banking with us.”
Off to the pawnshop.
The eternal question. Knife or hatchet. Taking a look at the knives. Waving away the slinking salesman. It's not here, but that one's not a bad alternative. Going to the hand axes. That one should be okay. The weapon one solid piece with a leather wrapped metal handle. How's the weight? This is nice. Turning to the salesman that had been shadowing me.
“How much for this one?”
“Fifteen fifty.” In his typical unctuous manner.
“How about fourteen.” Dang, took that personal. Practically threatened to kill the family pet. “Between you and me, I'm going to be in the market for quite a bit in the near future, there's been a little war that's been brewing and it's finally starting to bubble over. Going to send you guys a number of customers looking to buy their stuff back.”
Considering me for a moment. “Very well. Fourteen.”
Back to the town square, armor shop. A couple people here already. Ignoring the line, earning some looks - hey, in a hurry - getting a passing apprentice's attention by grabbing him with the shield.
“Two sets of light leather, no helm. You have my measurements. I'll be here in two days.” Handing over three gold and waiting for my change.
Weapon shop.
“Give me your best quality basic knife and torso sheath.”
Tossing the silvers over and feeling the balance on the knife. Adequate. The door opening behind me and a man walking up to the counter next to me. Glancing over, Stormhawk emblem on his cloak. Putting Tracing on my whole hand. Turning ninety degrees away from him. No one else, only him. Turning back and glancing up, my face mostly hidden by my cloak's hood. He doesn't look familiar.
“I'm here to pick up,” he says.
“Certainly, one moment, sir.” The blacksmith handing me the sheath and then heading into the back room. Coming back with a sword. That's decent material, right there. It must have taken him months to save up for that, only getting paid two fifty to three a cycle. Arm out slightly, Rune Trap on him. The blacksmith handing over the sword, hilt first. He took possession of it, which makes it not the blacksmith's responsibility any longer. Now to get him to lose possession of it.
Stealing, by itself, is simple. It's the getting away with it part that's always more complex. Pickpocketing isn't against the law, unless you end up getting seen or caught, and then it suddenly becomes illegal. Strange, but that's how it seems to work everywhere. Extortion is better used on people who aren't really equipped or able to fight back, but usually it's easier to get those people into the sewers where time is no object and real leverage can be applied. Of course, once they're down there it's possible to simply take whatever they're holding by force. Trickery is a much broader category. From fooling people into accepting a fight to the death, to having them simply give you things, to having them give you things while also feeling good about it, to the real long term cons, dating and marriage.
“That's a nice sword.” Reaching out with my hand and touching his arm. Wearing chain. “That must have set you back. How much?”
“This was almost four,” he says.
“Four? Hey, if I wanted a knife, like this,” waving the knife at the blacksmith, “made out of that same material, how much?”
“For that kind of weapon, with that kind of material, I'd charge two thousand eight hundred.” Ludicrous. That's why the pawnshop is always a better bet even if they don't always have what you want.
“That's crazy. Look at the size of this knife and look at the size of that thing.” The Stormhawk guy chuckling, but the blacksmith nonplussed. Turning back to the guy. “How's the weight on that sword?”
“It's a bit lighter than steel.” The guy taking a step back and holding it out.
“You mind if I get a feel?” Putting the knife down on the counter and holding out my hands. Give it to me. You know you want to hand it over.
“Oh.” Hesitating. “Well, okay, I guess.” Bringing the sword horizontal and taking a step forward.
“If you'd like to get a feel for the weight,” the blacksmith says, “I've already got a knife made out of that material in back, Ms. Macarthy.” At the sound of my name the Stormhawk guy's eyes widening and his mouth slightly opening. Activating the Rune Trap to keep the surprised look. Retrieving my new dagger.
“That's a shame.” Giving him a slight smile as his eyes follow the point of the knife. “Looks like he opened his mouth and you're going to suffer for it. I wouldn't have done this otherwise.” My widening smile letting him know that particular statement is a lie. “Tell Lane my ransom is one hundred thousand silver. He pays that and you guys will stop getting punished. Every.” Light slash to his cheek. “Single.” Light slash to his chin. “Day.” Slicing his nose.
“Ms. Macarthy,” says the blacksmith, “I'm going to be forced to call the watch if you attack other customers.”
“I'm just checking the craftsmanship on this knife. I need to make sure it was a good purchase.” Without any further delay sticking the knife into the Stormhawk guy's left eye, only an inch, giving a quick twist, then slowly going all the way back around. His scream audible, but not very loud. “This is pretty good.” Showing the blacksmith the stained point.
“You've made your point. Please leave.”
“I can't have this one somehow getting ahead of me. I'm planning on giving his House a visit real soon.” Repeating with his right eye, turning the knife in the opposite direction. Another scream, but less oomph behind this one.
Walking to the door and looking at the blacksmith. Raising my finger to my lips. “I'm letting you off easy. I should torture you all day. You deserve it.” Opening the door. Pausing. Slamming the it shut. The only sound a choked inhaling and exhaling of breath. The blacksmith glaring at me, but not opening his mouth again.
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Waiting another twenty seconds, or so, and the paralysis ending. Life coming back into him and the sword dropping from his hand. Good boy.
“Help.” Blubbering. “That fucking bitch blinded me.” Knocking him flat with the shield, producing an actual satisfying yell this time. Grabbing the sword from the ground and walking out the door, laughing. My laughter abruptly cutting off. A group of Stormhawk nearby, off to one side, probably waiting for their friend. Glancing over in my direction, but no sign of alarm. Hurrying across the plaza and heading into the town hall.
“I lost the key to my locker. I need a replacement and I'd like to change the lock.”
Paying a gold for the replacement key. Opening it up and storing my new sword. Removing my cloak and putting on the new sheath, over the shoulder and then looping around my middle. Rune on the knife, rune on the hatchet in my belt loop. Twenty five minutes until meeting time. Change the color of my cloak? Nah, brown's fine, won't stand out.
Back outside, eyes peeled for that Stormhawk group. There they are, and it looks like they found their friend. Cupping my hands around my lips.
“Hey, Stormhawk.” The group glancing around, trying to find me. Being short does have advantages. “One hundred thousand silver. That's my ransom. Tell Lane.”
My shouts getting the attention of more than them, people looking at me and looking at them. One of the members of the Stormhawk group catching sight of me and pointing. Flipping him off and running north while dodging through the crowd. Then east into the general store. Getting a plain pack and some pouches. Shit, completely forgot, the herbalist. Out of the general store at a dead run. Hitting the herbalist, getting some leaves and a tin of green goop. Heading west, south of town square, jogging. Getting to the West Gate almost ten after. Harper there, waiting. Her outfit substantially different from the last time. Blood red cloak and a proper field outfit underneath.
“Hi Lucy, you look like you're having a busy day.”
“Yeah.” Trying to catch my breath. “I know it may be early but I forgot to bring lunch. You want to grab it now? I'll fill you in on everything I've been up to. On me. You need to know before you head out.”
“Uh, sure.”
Heading to a nearby restaurant and starting to explain the basic situation on the way over, with only a few omissions. Getting lunch and doing my best to answer her questions. Finishing up.
“Okay, I'm pretty clear on everything,” she says, “but why did Stormhawk grab you in the first place? You haven't actually answered that question.”
“Because I'm Macarthy.”
“You did say that. Is that really why?”
“That's the reason. That's both the long and the short of it. You still up for heading out?”
“Maybe,” Harper sitting back, chin in her hand, “but if the place we're going to be heading is so bad that no one else would be stupid enough to go there, why are we going there?”
“Three reasons. First, we got you. You can see stuff coming near us before it gets near us, and that's the biggest risk factor dealt with. Their patrols won't be able to catch us unaware. Second, we got me. I've got something that's going to make some of what's so dangerous about them significantly less dangerous. And third, they're rich.”
“What do you got?
“Let me see your feet. Or your gloves, either one.”
Starting to reach out her hands, but then raising up her foot.
“Oh, you're wearing boots.”
“This is what the man running the shoe store recommended. I wanted something different, but he was very insistent on me buying these when I told him what I needed them for.”
“He's a true craftsman, and he takes what he does very seriously. Bet they're comfy, right?” Harper shrugging. “They're certainly a more practical choice than this red you're wearing.” Her eyes narrowing. “I like the look. Stylish. Imposing. But you're going to stick out like a sore thumb.”
“I want people to see me coming.”
“Is that right?”
“I was talking to James about it, our situation, the way people see us. In here, with what I can do, I figure if I can't dress like a badass, then why even bother?” Harper giving a dismissive wave of her hand. “I've got a question, sorry if it's personal, but out there, what do you do?”
“Maintenance.”
“On what?”
“Everything. Mostly the equipment, but all over the base.”
“That sounds-” Pausing. “How do you like it?”
“It's work. Better days and worse. I've got no real complaints.”
“Because you're entirely focused on here, aren't you?” Gesturing with my hands in reply. Of course. Harper letting out a sigh. “I envy you. Watching you last cycle, I don't know, you seem like you've achieved zen. I guess you've somewhat answered my question how. You know what they have me doing?”
“What's that?”
“You know those real awful tasting bars, the ones we eat for meals? I help to make those. That's my current duty. Before I came out here I spent my entire life studying in school. Undergrad I majored in biochemistry - I was actually valedictorian of my class. I was applying for doctorate and med programs and I saw one of those advertisements for the Academy and I figured, why not, with all the applications I'm filling out, may as well apply for that, too. Half serious and half not. It was fun imagining that I'd come out here and make a difference.” A single, mirthless laugh. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. When I got accepted my boyfriend tried to talk me out of it. He wanted us to start a family, but I convinced myself he wasn't looking out for me. I let their propaganda get in my head - I guess that's all I've done my entire life - I thought I wanted something more and this seemed like such a grand adventure. Turns out he probably had my best interests at heart. I'm so stupid.”
“No point in kicking yourself too much over what you can't change.”
“I guess.” Harper looking away. “So this place you want us to go, it's incredibly dangerous and from what you've said you've managed to make everyone angry. I guess we did, this little conspiracy of ours that I also let myself got roped into. If I go out with you today it'll probably put a target on me.”
“Probably.”
Harper staring at the table, squeezing her hands, then making her choice. “Fuck it. I'll go with you. I've got nothing better to do.”
“Real happy to have you.” And incredibly relieved. Reaching out my hand and Harper clasping it. “Remember, if anyone does come there's no such thing as a fair fight. All that matters is winning. The sneakier, the cheaper, the more underhanded, the better the odds of winning, and that's all that matters. Us walking out and the other guys not.”
“So what's this thing you're doing?” Wiggling her boot.
“This is the sister spell for what you got last cycle. I'm going to need your other foot for the first one, as well. This one is spell resistance.”
***
Harper holding up two fingers. Pointing slightly off from our current trajectory.
Our first contact with the spider cultists at the bottom of the winding path leading up from the forest floor to their sprawling compound above. Two Cultists in ragged robes, one wielding a mace and the other a short sword. Rushing in and screaming incoherently, without any regard for their own safety. Knocking into each other in their mad rush and making themselves easy kills. The cause of their malady becoming apparent, malformed visages, multiple eyes, fangs and spindly limbs. Gifts from the temple. The sword the one had been carrying is valuable, but nothing else noteworthy in their possession. Disjuncting one, producing a yellow stone with some black. Starting up the path.
Harper holding up three fingers. The second patrol, three this time, two Cultists in rags and the third in finer, runed robes that started making sounds. Phlegm filled hisses. No mad rush from these Cultists, the two approaching split apart, weapons drawn, a dagger and club. Waiting to see which would make the first move and then a feeling passing over me. The one in robes pointing at me. No need to wait, these guys are easy. Walking in, blocking the club with the shield and seeing the other's dagger thrust coming, but not particularly feeling the need to dodge. It's a nonlethal strike. Taking the hit in exchange for the hatchet tearing open its throat. Bit of pain in my gut, but not too bad. What even is pain? Life is pain. The one still standing pulling back the club to strike again. Probably won't even hurt. No need to use the shield. Hell, if it does hurt, good.
“Lucy!” My name sounding shrill – why does she sound so upset? - followed by the beginnings of a creeping incantation.
Wait, something's wrong, should probably block that club. Intercepting the hit with the shield. Looking over at the one in robes. It's pointing at me again and its mouth is moving. Which one, the one with the club or the one in the robes? The club one is right here, but the one in the robes is probably the more dangerous of the two. The club pulling back for another hit. Shouldn't worry about it, it's not aiming for a vital spot, it's the one in the robes that's the issue. The club hitting my arm, almost causing me to drop my hatchet. It doesn't even hurt, feels tingly, more numb than anything. The one in the robes mutterings cutting off, getting a look of pain, and blood starting to come from its eyes. All of its eyes.
The pain from the dagger still stuck in me, the ache in my arm and the taste of blood in my mouth – had bitten my tongue - all of a sudden sharpening and seeming much more significant. Blocking the next club strike - also aimed at a nonvital spot, they're trying to capture us - with the shield and hacking repeatedly at the Cultist. Harper completing her second chant, different from the first, and gesturing at the robed figure. The streams of blood coming from all eight eyes becoming markedly worse, and the thing letting out a horrid gurgle as everything starts pouring out of its head.
Getting the pouch with the leaves and taking one. Chewing. Watching Harper go over to the one she'd caused to bleed out all over everything. The girl removing a glove and collecting some of the blood. Rubbing it between her fingers. Muttering something. Her hand drawing designs on its face. Raising her hand again, studying her dripping fingers and making the barest touch to her open mouth. Looking back at me, her tongue lightly flicking. Seems to be gauging the taste. Sublimating my immediate judgment. Swallowing the leaf and the pain in my shoulder, stomach and tongue beginning to recede.
“The Acolytes are a problem,” she says. “Further ahead the Cultists should be more heavily armed, and more grotesque. Fortunately, their next prayer isn't scheduled until sunset so any missing patrols probably won't be noticed until later in the afternoon. Give me a couple minutes, I need to do something.”
“Do what you need to do.”
Harper opening the robes on the Acolyte and producing a knife from somewhere. Slicing its clothing open, exposing the torso, arms and legs. Wiping her hands mostly clean and getting a book from her pack. Turning to a page, studying it and starting to make shallow incisions.
“According to what I've been learning,” she says, “there are the lines of motion and energy on the body. On this one it starts here,” poking the center of the chest, “and flows through the limbs. It doesn't have to be able to listen,” making some cuts on the head and connecting them to the chest, “but letting it do so makes it easier to command. It doesn't really need to see, either, it senses lifeforce.” Looking back at her book. Making a few more cuts. “This is the first time I've done it on something this large, so bear with me.”
Picking up her book and beginning to chant. A low murmur rising and falling through each verse. A cascade growing in intensity. Tossing the book to the side and making a small cut on her own finger. Adding a few drops. The prepared corpse starting to twitch as it entered unlife. Repeating the final verse.
Rise from the Grave, Hungry and Blind
Rise to Feast on All Others of Your Kind
Rise from this Empty, Desolate Earth
Rise Against Your Depraved Land of Birth
Rise from Death, Seeking to Avenge
Rise to Slake Our Thirst for Revenge