“Mind if we catch a lift?”
Windward again, the same caravan we'd encountered last cycle, plus two additional wagons. The draft horses labored breaths misting the air as they continued plodding eastward along the road. Undoubtedly the same bodyguards as last time, as well.
“Hey, you're out here again,” says the merchant.
“Could say the same to you.”
“Wasn't my choice. Long day double timing it out to Cress, one very long day there, and now a long day back. Should've been my off cycle, but it was an emergency. Feel free to hop in back.”
Harper giving a wave and then the both of us heading back. There they are, the same merchant and same two lugs from Stormhawk, and another one of their friends. Guess the extra wagons demanded additional manpower down on the road to Cress.
The lights of the lantern hitting us but no visible looks of alarm. The merchant giving a friendly greeting. “It's you two, nice to see you again.” Gesturing for us to climb in.
“How's it going.” My attention very briefly touching on the three from Stormhawk. Showing my teeth and giving a slow wave with an open hand. Noting the dried blood that had accumulated under my nails and around the cuticles. Wait, dried blood? No, that couldn't be. It was dirt, only dirt, reddish brown, flaking dirt.
My new fighting style is still entirely a work in progress. While Carve enforced my hands down to nearly my elbows making them solid, and viciously sharp, a little sloppiness when making a strike could cause a single finger to snag painfully if it hit a noticeably harder material than the other fingers. As a result, open handed clawing swipes, while so satisfying on a visceral level, were mostly unsuited for fighting anything that was better armored than Swamp Moccasins.
My first instinct against more heavily armored targets had been more akin to boxing – jabs, crosses and hooks – but my lack of strength and limited arm span didn't really make it very effective. A solid punch against a King Snapper had little effect, the impact of the hit maybe cracking the shell, but the reverberation hurting my shoulder. It turned out better to blade my hands, to use chops on harder spots and straight spearing thrusts at the softer parts. The smaller surface area with the same momentum had allowed for better penetration, and with my fingers kept tightly together the individual snags had been minimized.
So better now, late in the day, but very much a work in progress. It'd be tremendously helpful to find a Monk to spar against, to help to shave away some of the rough edges and temper some of my more instinctive wildness. Then again, unpredictability and savage intent in a fight always keeps them guessing, even if the cost may end up being an inevitable, stupid mistake. Can't win all of 'em.
“We really appreciate the lift,” says Harper, and both of us getting in. Harper going right, squeezing between the merchant and one of the Stormhawk members. The ones on the left, the two guards from the previous cycle, also moving a bit apart and offering me a seat on their crate. Quite a few more boxes than last time, the view to the front completely blocked.
“You guys got a lot, it looks like.”
The merchant smiling broadly. “Having wagons when basically all the ships in the harbor went up in flames ended up paying off - and it's all thanks to House Stormhawk.” The three members of House Stormhawk scowling at the compliment.
“I told you,” says the guy across the way, his voice sounding familiar, “that wasn't us. It was Macarthy's crazy sister that did that.”
“Didn't you say that she actually was Macarthy?” The guy not sure how to respond, and the merchant laughing. “Look, I know you guys don't like hearing it, but as far as I'm concerned, you three and your House are in my good book. I'm going to make a killing on, uh,” the merchant biting his tongue after realizing he was now in mixed company, “I mean, as bad as that terrible tragedy was, there are silver linings to-”
Harper starting to laugh at his attempt to downplay. “That's great.”
“Happy to hear you're doing well, and happy to run into you again.”
The mood getting ten degrees less tense.
“Well, thank you, thank you,” the man saying, now much more at ease. “Happy to run into you again, as well. What do you girls usually do out here coming in this late?”
“Lucy here,” says Harper, pointing at me, “usually has some morning thing on her agenda so we don't even leave the gates until like noon.” At the sound of my name the one sitting next to her blinking twice in rapid succession, and then his eyes meeting mine. He looks somewhat familiar. “So today was the swamp down south of here, and last cycle,” Harper's teeth flashing, “was the path leading to the Spider Temple.”
“The Spider Temple, huh?” The merchant putting his hand to his chin. “So that's where you got those sacks of weapons. You're definitely spirited. I'm impressed. What House are you two with?”
“Well Julie, here, she – you didn't actually end up joining Solstice after you guys marched on Wyrmsblood, did you?” Harper shaking her head.
“That rumor is true? You marched on Wyrmsblood?” says the merchant.
“Seems like it, but I only heard about it today. Julie was actually there.”
All eyes going to Harper and the girl preening under all the attention, enjoying her newfound infamy.
“It's entirely true. Fuck those people and fuck that piece of shit Parnell.” Her pronouncement prompting a guffaw from the merchant, and a friendly pat on her shoulder.
“That's great,” he says, “I'm happy to hear you've been doing good, too.”
Her thunder stolen, Harper managing to swallow her surprise at his nonplussed, friendly reaction. “Thank you.” The momentary pause in the conversation stretching out some, and then a bit more. The guy across the way shifting, trying to slowly move his hand near the hilt of his weapon. Looking straight at the guy and clearing my throat.
“Lane agreed to a ceasefire. If you even dream of attacking me right now I'll make your night hell. Believe me when I say that I really don't want to, but I'll have to. You guys have been out of town for a bit and I'd much rather not do anything like that over a misunderstanding.”
The mood in the back of the wagon getting ten degrees more tense.
“A ceasefire?” Skeptical, but his hand no longer reaching.
“Yep, I'm basically on house arrest at Haven, and offering restitution to those I've harmed. They don't really have that tight a leash.” Feeling the sudden need to adjust my collar. “I might even be crazy enough to say they sympathize. Besides, I got nothing against two of you, you guys weren't even here last cycle. Which only leaves you.” Pointing my finger at the guy across from me. “You're one of Nico's friends, aren't you?”
“I know Nico.” His answer evasive. “And, for what its worth, I think they did you dirty. I don't care what your brother's done, taking it out on you because of him is low. And, if you actually are Macarthy, as doubtful as that is, I can see being a little upset about the whole situation.”
“You were one of the ones guarding me.”
“Not very well, apparently.” Offering a self deprecating smile. “That's why I got stuck doing this milk run. But maybe you actually are Macarthy, and not just his crazy sister,” the man shrugging, “so I don't really feel all that bad about it.”
Sitting in silence for another minute, the horses harnesses jangling with each step and gusts of wind coming in the only sounds.
Stolen novel; please report.
“If you actually are Macarthy's sister, or even Macarthy, somehow,” says the merchant, measuring his every word, “I'm going to have to ask you to get out once we hit the gate. But since you've done me a favor, even if inadvertently, I'd like to pass along a warning. I'm sure you know, but quite a bit of damage occurred in the harbor. We weren't really affected – only two ships, and one of those empty and due to enter drydock for repairs; all our others were out of port. My understanding is that Four Corners suffered more substantial losses. Not even mentioning the ships lost, the insurance they sell for the cargo probably ended up biting them very badly. So watch yourself.”
“I,” stumbling with my response, “I appreciate you letting me know and I appreciate the ride. If you could, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“What's that?”
“Have any of you ever seen Bruce Chambers's house?” The men glancing at each other. “He's one of the head honchos at Four Corners. It's very nice. It's this manor located right on the corner of where the inner wall hits the outer wall, so the northwest corner of the noble district. I was wondering if you could pass a message along to him - I assume you can talk to somebody that knows somebody. Could you tell him that I'm interested in making restitution to Four Corners but, unfortunately, my current schedule is completely overbooked. Tell him that if he can't wait, that if he and his people start to get antsy, I'll demonstrate to him that some red in a ledger, or a couple crates getting gone, isn't really what loss is.”
“I'll pass that along.” The merchant looking away briefly. “According to this guy here you've got some sort of electricity power, but from the description, is this actually what he's referring to?” A crackling barrier momentarily filling the air in front of him, his Runic Shield appearing, a controlled grid of energy.
“Yes.” My shield flashing briefly in answer, brighter, but not a controlled grid, instead a shifting field of arcing, crackling lines and spikes. “The system thought I was quite suited for it, and then played this little joke on me. It's been a very interesting experience, to say the least. It's given me something of a new perspective on life.”
“Master Savras is back to teaching classes, then?”
“If you can even call them classes. You should pay him a visit some morning.”
“Wait, hold on a second,” says the guy from Stormhawk, breaking in, “the system played a joke on you? Are you really saying that you're actually Macarthy?” Nodding at him and the guy shaking his head, flabbergasted. “How is that even possible? What's going on?”
Everyone in the wagon leaning in, Harper just as intrigued as the rest.
“Quite a lot is going on. The first big piece of news is that way back when the Bonneville wasn't destroyed en route. It made it here.”
***
Getting to my feet and turning to follow Harper out of the wagon.
“If I run into you again on the road,” says the merchant, “and you need a ride, you're welcome to it.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Hey Macarthy,” the guy from Stormhawk saying, “I'll mention it to Nico, but no promises.”
“Anything'll help. Thank you.”
Getting out of the wagon and the two of us giving them a muted farewell wave. Stretching our legs as the wagon train rolls on.
“What do you want to do for dinner?” says Harper.
“There's an inn over by Stormhawk that's pretty good. There're some people there I need to visit, some old friends. How do you feel about doing a little work right now? ”
“What do you mean, 'work'?”
***
The Red Lion. Looking at it now, this is a pretty good location and this is a pretty nice place. Not the spiffiest or the fanciest, but it has that authentic homey appeal. Maybe that's what threw me off the last time, it'd seemed so nice to reconnect with people who were not exactly on friendly terms the prior times we'd chatted.
Coming in through the front door, definitely later than dinner and a couple hours before the midnight rush, but the barroom still somehow about half full of Stormhawk and their groupies. Some friends in here. New friends and old friends.
There's my old friend Nightfall, serving drinks from behind the bar. What a sad waste of talent. Maybe that was part of the reason he lashed out. He'd gotten bored. There's probably a rash of that going around. And there's Rath sitting at the bar, turning to take a look given the sudden change of conversation. Hey, Rath, how's it going. Next to him, Davos, also turning to look. Well, this confrontation was due eventually. Oh, and off to the left, one of the men who'd helped Diane from my class. Guess they got to talking and he joined up with them. Giving him a nod in greeting. Maybe-
Some movement to my right and an unnecessarily loud curse aimed my way making me shift my focus. Oh, there's him, he's a very new friend. Name unknown, but our last meeting left him minus a sword and minus some eyeballs. Fortunately, it looks like he managed to grow them back.
“Don't!” The girl sitting next to him yelling. A member of the Pact also sitting at the same table. Having an Empath on hand sure is handy, looks like there's no reason not to add a little flair to this spanking. Already twenty in the hole, what's another five hundred in fines?
The guy standing up from the table. Wobbling a little. Drunk. Reaching for something. He got himself another sword, looks like everything worked out. On his feet, unsteady and sword out. Good for you trying to stand up for yourself, that's usually the right response, but you really should've read the room, first.
“Babe, don't do it.” His floozy staggering to her feet, as well, probably even more drunk than him.
“Don't do it,” the member of the Pact reiterating, but not to the guy with the sword. His comment clearly aimed at me.
“Fuck you. You didn't spend the time regrowing your eyes because of some cheap shot.” The guy waving his weapon and advancing on me.
“As soon as she touches you, it'll be-”
The straight thrust coming straight at my middle. Deflecting it to one side with the shield and then walking in. Grabbing his wrist with the shield and giving an upward wave causing the guy's sword to fall to the ground. Giving his face a good swat with the shield sending him down on his back, screaming bloody murder and minus a hand. A little splotch of something hitting my face. Giving the room a gander.
“I will not consider that a violation of the ceasefire.” My magnanimous offer met with outright disbelief and hostility. A short phrase softly being said by the nearby member of the Pact making my blood run cold. Oh no, please resist.
The white ripple from his pointed finger homing in on me unerringly, hitting my bloodied hand and the energy creeping into my arm. Please resist, please resist. A quick convulsion, my arm shaking uncontrollably, my bones creaking, but then fading, leaving a lingering ache and a sensation of pins and needles. Bones bruised but unbroken. Internally breathing an enormous sigh of relief.
Gritting my teeth to try and ignore the pain and using that arm to point at the man on the ground . “Help your friend.” Turning back to Nightfall, who hadn't moved a muscle, but who didn't look all that perturbed. Rath now looking surprised, but clearly trying to fight back a smile. Davos, next to him, also surprised, but then frowning. Studying me.
A sudden flurry from Harper. The girl grabbing a full mug off a table and then throwing the contents at empty air to my right. No, not empty, Widow appearing, dripping beer, with a overly long sharpened stilletto in hand.
“Widow, I'm only here to talk.” Giving her my best smile, and basically the entire room taking that as the cue to start grabbing their weapons. Shit. This situation calls for a class A bluff.
“Wyrmsblood learned their lesson.” Yelling at the top of my lungs. “Do you want to be next?”
My toothless threat not really connecting, their wounded friend bleeding on the ground making them see red. Still grabbing their weapons and still getting to their feet. Shit.
“Alright, you lot,” Davos putting on his drill sergeant persona, “unless you're helping him sit your asses down. That's an order.” Some momentary dissension, some cursing, but then the men resheathing their weapons and retaking their seats. Still very much on edge and ready to dogpile me. The Empath putting his hands on the bleeding man. Breathing another huge internal sigh of relief.
“I assume you've all heard of the recent tragedy at Wyrmsblood, so please believe me when I say that I'm choosing to negotiate because, rather than burning this hovel to the ground, I'd much rather come to some sort of understanding. I just want to have a little chat with the owners here and explain what they will forfeit for their misbehavior. Nothing crazy, Nightfall. I completely understand why you thought you may have had a chance, but let me tell you something, you never did. What I want from you most is information. I want the name of the ship that was chartered and the name of its captain, and then...” Gesturing with my bloody hand and feeling the sudden urge to get my pipe. Probably not the best idea with my fingers being this sharp. Maybe a metal coated pipe, that should be easy enough to make, or maybe little metallic pads to go on my fingertips to help pick things up. Hmm, metallic pads, the pipe sounds doable but how would those things even stay on my fingers?
Coming back to my senses and realizing that my hand had been spinning for a bit, and that no one seemed interested in volunteering information on the ship, or it's captain. Maybe they don't know.
“Well, if you don't know that, then maybe you can offer something else. You must've had quite the nest egg saved up to buy this place.” Still no response. They're making this very difficult. “Not saying nothing isn't helping anything. I came here to try and let you all off the hook, not fight, so do me a favor and work with me or you won't be giving me any choice.”
“Alright, Mac,” says Nightfall, putting down the rag he'd been using to clean the bar, “if that's actually what you're interested in, I'll hear you out. What do you want?”