When General Richard Renard walked in, two of his scrappers came with him, full Ironmonger robots.

One of the kneeling servants took in the second robot, plucked his stunner from his side, and slammed it into the knee of the multi-jointed thing. There was an angry cloud of sparks and a crakzzzzzt, and the robot Ironmonger dropped to the floor of the tent, smoking and unmoving.

“You filth! Touching one of my—”

Before he could continue, Tosh held up hands to get his attention.

“Peace, General Renard. My servants were only following orders. Only one of your . . . machine servants . . . may attend you.”

Renard’s face reddened. He then stopped and took a deep breath. “Very well. I would ask you to reactivate it so I might send it out?”

Tosh nodded to Tyla, who warily moved her baton to the chest plate of the robot and touched it again. As soon as it activated, it grabbed her by the throat and squeezed hard.

“Do not do this,” Tosh said, one hand squeezing so tight his nails dug into his palm. “You do not need to—“

“I am sorry. My Ironmongers are a bit touchy,” Renard said. He then turned and gave a whistle at the robot that was choking Tyla.

The robot dropped her, and when Renard jerked his head toward the tent flap, the robot moved. Yet, the head remained watching Tyla as she knelt, gasping for breath.

“I would like all of your servants to disarm,” Renard said.

“That’s not going to happen. We have seen what will—“

“No, they attacked my property. The filth of the humans touching my precious Ironmongers is an insult to—“

“Be at peace,” Tosh said, though he wasn’t sure if he was saying that more for Renard’s benefit or his own.

Renard relented and agreed to most of the servants being disarmed. The burly servant guards were allowed to keep their batons.

Renard then looked at Tyla, who had recovered and was kneeling at the tables, waiting to be given an order. Tosh watched in disgust as Renard’s eyes undressed her, the small smirk on his face making Tosh uncomfortable.

“I want this one whipped.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Tosh said.

“Then we do not have a—“

“Tosh!” Azal shouted in Tosh’s ear. “The vehicle they arrived in tried to smash into the tent. It has wrecked itself, how is that possible?”

Tosh gave a small grin at Azal’s words. “General, could you tell me why your vehicle tried to ram into the tent just now?”

Renard’s face turned crimson. “I-I-I-I have no idea . . .”

“Of course you don’t. Please, see that you do not ruin the family tent or the family servants.” Tosh gave a hard glare at Renard, then looked at Tyla. “Make sure the equipment is still holding, please.”

Tyla nodded and rose without using her hands. She pointed to two other servants, a man and woman, who also rose with ease and followed her into another portion of the tent.

“They will be monitoring the tent and the field. I think we should get the meeting underway. What do you think, general?”

The general let out a low growl, then coughed and said, “Very well.”

Tosh looked at Renard and smiled.

"I'm glad you could join us, Tosh,” Renard said without disdain, surprising Tosh.

Tosh offered his hand. “A pleasure.”

"It is a pleasure," Renard said. He took in the tableau before him. "Where is your family?"

"I will be speaking with you on behalf of my family," Tosh said. "Is that going to be an issue?" Tosh asked, raising a manicured eyebrow.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Renard looked Tosh up and down. "If I must deal with the likes of you, I shall.”

Tosh shook his head. "Yes, you must deal with me." There was a note of triumph in his voice. Renard Renard was a well-known bigot who’d dealt with the du’Vaul Family for some time. For a while, Renard was more pliable and easier to manage. With the death of his wife—Tosh’s cousin, Kimya—the general grew unreasonable, or at least more so. His Ironmonger army needed something that only Tosh's family could provide. It galled Renard to have to deal with Tosh since he was, in Renard's mind, a perversion of the natural order.

All because of the forsa crystal, the small gem that allowed an artificial-like intelligence to be created. The forsa crystal dealers that had come before Tosh's family had all been destroyed in a horrible fire that everyone knew was set by the Ironmongers. It couldn’t be proven, yet the rumors were enough to make Tosh and his family take precautions. For years, they had done so to prevent the same fate as those on Shatterspike.

As if there is such a thing as that? Tosh shook his head, adjusting his glasses on his face. Have to make this deal. Focus on that. He hated using his glasses, yet with the structure’s power dampeners on, Tosh's implants wouldn’t work. He needed glasses for the moment. It helped to conceal the earpiece comms with Azal, comprised of a special material to cut through the distortion field. Yet, even at the best of times, there was static from Azal when he spoke. But it was also to prevent any of Renard's robots from firing any kinds of weapons in the habitat.

Renard walked to the table, settling into the small ladder-backed chair with a grunt and a loud creak of the wood.

“Let us begin, shall we?” Tosh asked, while settling into his own chair with less noise.

“It is a pleasant time to meet you, Tosh,” Renard said.

Tosh did not detect any hatred, yet he saw that Renard did seem to sit like a coiled spring, ready to leap into action at any moment. Or try to kill me.

“Yes, it is.”

Renard smirked.

"What is your true business?" Tosh asked, eyeing Renard.

“I’ve come to make a peace offer of sorts,” Renard said. “You give me your skills for the special job, help negotiate this deal, and I will forget your debt to me.”

“I don't have a debt—”

“Your cousin owes me one,” Renard said with a smirk.

Tosh gave him a hard glare. A memory sparked of his cousin, caused him to grip the table hard. His heart hammered in his chest. Gritting his teeth, he whispered under his breath, “Monster. You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

“And yet I do,” Renard said his smile become colder. Folding his hands over his chest, he said, “And I know that you loved her. Therefore—”

“Spare me,” Tosh said with a flick of his hand. A small dagger appeared in his hand. “I should cut you down for speaking ill of the dead alone. This meeting’s done.” Tosh stood up, and the two robotic guards watched, impassive as ever.

Renard gave Tosh the same horrid smirk. “Grown a spine since last we met? Maybe they grafted some balls to you, eh? She isn’t dead, you fool.”

Tosh didn’t rise to the bait though he bit his lip to stop himself. However, curiosity prickled his spine. After a handful of heartbeats, with Renard staring and watching him. Tosh asked, “What do you mean?”

“Kimya. She’s not dead. Not anymore at least,” Renard said with a satisfying grin and an eyebrow raised.

Tosh cocked his head, the dagger wavering in his hand. “Speak.”

“I had Kimya chambered,” Renard said, fiddling with a coat button.

Tosh stabbed at the ancient wooden table. His hand shook, gripping the silver filigreed hilt harder. “She didn’t wish for—”

“As her husband, I can do what I wish to her. Is that not your way?” Renard asked, head titled to one side.

Tosh gritted his teeth to not scream, his voice nothing were then a harsh whisper. “It was my father’s way. Not mine, not hers.” He wanted to murder Renard, no matter what the Family du’Vaul wanted. Blood boiling, for a moment he thought he heard his companion Bors’s battle song running in his head. For only a moment, Tosh savored the sharp tang of wanting to draw blood before banishing it.

“She belongs to me! I can do what I wish to her and her body,” Renard snarled, his calm mask slipping.

Tosh wanted to cut this man’s heart out. “I’ll not allow you to goad me into anything.”

“Even for your sweet, lovely cousin?”

Tosh let out a breath, hand slipping from the knife. “Even for her.” Tosh felt his chest empty when he spoke those words. Standing, he turned and walked to the edge of the tent. “I will not let you goad me more. I’m done.”

“What about for a chance to make a name for yourself? As the male heir apparent to the du’Vaul House?”

Tosh stopped, hand gripping the flap of the tent. “Explain!”

“The minor job. Get me to Shatterspike and help me gain enough forsa crystals. We have a deal? Your name’ll go down in the du’Vaul history as the one who reclaimed Shatterspike, and the lost forsa crystal mine.”

“And my cousin’s debt? And my fee?” Tosh asked, turning to look towards Renard.

“Kimya’s debt will be wiped clean, and you will get triple your asking price.”

For a moment, leaving still tantalized the idea. Yet, he knew he couldn’t. Tosh’s shoulders slumped. His tongue grow thick for a moment, then swallowed hard. “What is your business at Shatterspike?”

“So glad you realized it before I even stated it. The reason I liked you, Tosh.”

“You were saying?”

“I get a stipend from the recovered crystal mine. Once a year. Ten—no, twelve—crates of raw crystals.”

“How do you propose we get in?” Tosh asked.

“I have a contractor working on that. I’ve heard tell you have done some wild things as of late and could get to certain places that are restricted from normal travel. Possible?”

“Possibly,” Tosh said, trying to remain neutral. “I have someone I could contact.”

“How do we contact them?”

“Need a moment,” Tosh said, he sent a message to Azal to return and to bring something from the saddlebags.