“I don’t know which is worse.” The guard mused. He was leaning against the stone wall opposite the cell in which Vash lay. “The pure-blood elves with their noses in the air, or you half-breeds pretending to be one of us.”
Vash groaned and spat out a mouthful of blood. He worked his tongue around his mouth and was relieved to find all his teeth still in place. Nothing felt broken, but everything hurt. The guards were very good at their jobs. They brought him in bleeding, but not broken.
The guard chuckled and bit into an apple. “You think that little hood of yours was going to keep us from noticing you?” He said around a mouthful of fruit. “Inquisitor Glauch has a lifetime of experience ferreting you types out. Rumor is that he can smell an elvish bastard from across a midden heap.”
Something twinged in Vash’s side as he rolled up into a sitting position. Dislocated rib. Vash thought. Better than broken..still hurts like hell.
The guard was trying to get a rise out of him. Likely, he was bored and was told not to beat on the prisoner unless he caused trouble. If he thinks I’m going to defend the ‘family honor’ of my elvish half, he’s dumber than he looks.
“Now to my mind, there’s not much difference in smell between a half-elf and a midden heap, but that’s why they have Glauch, I suppose.” The guard took another bite, juice dribbling down his chin.
“Part-elf.” Vash corrected, wincing. Speaking caused a twinge of pain from his ribs that was hard to ignore.
“He speaks!” The guard said with feigned amazement.
“Part-elf, some of us have less than half blood, but still get the damn ears.” Vash said, tentatively stretching one side.
“No one cares.” The guard said in a flat tone. “Doesn’t matter what we call you since you face the headsman tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Vash thought. That’s awfully damn fast.
Something must have shown on his face, because the guard grinned, an ugly gap-toothed expression. “That surprised you, huh? There’s been a standing execution order for you and your friends for months. You really pissed off the wrong people.”
That was true. He and the others had been walking a fine line between tolerable crimes and outright rebellion against the Duke. Things came to a head when Byar led an assault on the Duke’s palace. Iona had tried to talk him out of it, but there was no talking to Byar when he was in that sort of mood. The razing of Ragpicker’s Hollow had been the last straw. Just to recover an old tablet that they had stolen. Guards like this grinning idiot had burned shacks and tents. They had beaten bloody any pointy-eared person who dared show their face. In the ashes of their former home, Byar had sworn an oath of revenge on Duke Adolus.
The attack had gone wrong right from the start. Guards were in the wrong places, making it impossible to sneak past them and requiring more bloodshed than usual. They cobbled together the plan at the last minute so not everyone knew their roles. Vash’s group got separated early on, though they succeeded in drawing the guards away from the inner keep, where Iona and Byar were trying to kill the Duke and the Lord Inquisitor.
The guards blocked their escape route. Cornered in a guest apartment, they made their last stand. Vash had survived. Jak, Quin, and Pya hadn’t been so lucky. Quin took a sword through the gut, they left her bleeding on the balcony. It had taken her a long time to die. Vash had seen her desperate, terrified eyes in-between beatings from the guards.
“I guess we did.” Vash said, his voice raspy.
“I’ll never understand you people.” The guard said, tossing the apple core into a pile of dirty, wet straw. “City full of opportunity and you decide to steal, extort, and kill for a living.”
“You’re right.” Vash said, grimacing. “We should really leave that to the experts. Like you.”
“Clever.” The guard said. “You’ve got a clever mouth on you.”
Vash grinned. “Funny, that’s what your wife said, too.”
The guard’s face went red. Vash’s smile widened. That’s it. Stop thinking and just get pissed off.
There was a jangle of keys, the door opened with a screech of rusty hinges. The guard stomped across the cell, fury on his face, grabbing Vash by the front of his tunic and hauling him to his feet. Vash grunted in pain as his rib jostled and shot a spasm down one side of his body.
“Guess we hurt something when we brought you in.” The guard growled. “Makes this easier.”
One meaty fist struck Vash’s side. The rib flexed and grated. Vash had to concentrate hard to keep breathing. He focused on the pain, compressing it into a ball in his mind and throwing it like a stone into a vast, deep lake. Calm fell over him like a blanket. Iona had trained him to focus through the pain, to dissociate.
You won’t always be sitting in a quiet temple with incense and pretty music. She had said, slapping him across the stomach with a switch. More than likely you’ll have to use your Talents when you’re being stabbed, beaten, that sort of thing.
Vash’s Core thrummed. He let his mind sink into the well of power he drew on to fuel his Talents. The form for Enhance Body floated into his mind and he latched onto it like a lifeline. Warmth spread throughout his body, dulling his pain. It was still there, just muffled, like a bell wrapped in wool.
“You got something else to say about my wife?” The guard asked, breath a foul mix of apples, stale beer, and onions.
Vash coughed, waiting for the muscle spasms to stop. He let himself go limp, leaning hard against the guard. He shook his head, feigning more pain than he felt. “Just…does she always speak elvish in the throes of passion, or is that just with one of us?”
The guard roared in fury and punched Vash hard across the jaw. Everything swam for a moment, and Vash worried he might have gone too far. Come on you oaf, you know this dance as well as I do.
Another punch to the face. Vash saw stars. Fist to the ribs, knuckles digging in hard enough to make Vash cry out. Then the guard finally did what Vash needed him to do. With a grunt of anger and effort, the guard flung Vash across the room.
He rolled, controlling his momentum until he came to a stop by the bucket that served as the cell’s chamberpot. Vash groaned and turned his head. He looked through half-closed eyes, measuring the distance to the open cell door, his own position, and the guard. He groaned for added effect.
The gap-toothed guard spat into the filthy straw at his feet. “They said to keep you alive until the execution. They didn’t say you had to have all your teeth.”
Good boy. Vash thought. He groaned again and made a show of trying to push himself up. Then he sagged back to the straw.
“You ain’t so tough.” The guard muttered. “Wear some scary masks and stab people in the dark? I can do that. Nothin’ special about—“
Vash waited until the guard reached down for him. He flung a wet clump of filth and straw into the guard’s face. Brown sludge splattered the guard’s face, and he staggered back a few paces. He lashed out with one foot, catching the guard behind the ankle and sweeping his legs out from under him.
The guard landed with a whoof of expelled air; the breath knocked out of him by the fall. Vash completed his turn, grabbing the bucket and upending the vile contents directly on the guard’s face. The guard heaved and gagged, panicking and trying to clear the filth from his mouth and nostrils. Vash swung the bucket, which collided hard with the guard’s temple, sending him crashing to the ground.
Vash grabbed the ring of keys off the guard’s belt and scrambled out of the cell, slamming the door closed with another rusty screech. After a quick search, he found the correct key and locked the door.
“Sorry to be leaving.” Vash said, grimacing as his rib shifted again. “But you’ve been an excellent host.”
Gasping and gagging, the guard struggled to his knees. “Come back here, you filthy half-blood son of a bitch!”
Vash paused, contemplating finding a weapon and dispatching the guard. That would take too much time. Anyone could come in. Vash had to leave quickly. He didn’t want to face the headsman the next day.
Turning, Vash was about to bolt when a tall, broad figure stepped in front of him. “Vash?”
Vash was already striking out with one fist, looking to incapacitate and run. That the man had called him by his real name didn’t register. He had to get out of there. The man moved to block. A thick, muscled forearm moved with surprising speed, swatting away Vash’s attack.
Damn, he’s fast! Vash thought, kicking out with one leg, aiming for the knee, but the man shifted and his kick landed on his thigh. He remained still, only exhaling an annoyed sigh.
“Vash, it’s me — “ the man began, but Vash was on the attack again.
You want to play, big man. Vash thought. Let’s play my way.
Warmth blossomed in Vash’s chest as he drew upon his Core. He called to mind the form for Agility of the Cat. Mana flooded his body, increasing speed, heightening reflexes.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Vash landed a blow on one of the big man’s pressure points. That got a reaction. The man missed the parry and hissed in pain when Vash’s strike landed. He didn’t go down, though. Any normal person should be rolling on the ground, begging for their mother.
He has Talents.
Vash felt a pulse, an echo of the thrum he felt when drawing upon his own Core. The big man was using a Talent, magically enhanced abilities. Not as complex as spells, but the powers they granted gave their wielders considerable advantages over normal folk. Something which Vash had taken advantage of many times.
No chance to avoid the fist. They were too close, and the big man’s Talent made blocking a laughable notion. Vash doubled over, a solid strike to his stomach. The man’s powerful fist, solid as iron, struck with the force of a forge hammer. Vash was flung back several feet, landing hard on the slate floor and sliding to a stop only when he collided with the opposite wall. Lying on the floor, he clutched his stomach. His lungs had apparently forgotten how to draw breath.
“That’ll teach you, little shit!” The guard said, his voice croaking as he fought against his instinct to retch. The stricken guard struggled to his feet, a furious scowl contorting his face beneath streaks of brown slime.
“Enough of that.” The stranger said.
Blinking, the guard glanced back at the big man. “Who the hell are you?”
“Corwin Walker, Wayfarers Guild.” The stranger said, reaching into his shirt and presenting a bronze medallion.
Corwin? Vash thought. No, it can’t be. He looked up and studied the big man standing in the doorway. He’d put on muscle, a lot of muscle, and he stood straighter, making him seem taller. But the face was the same. The same mischievous smirk, the same mop of floppy brown curls. What the hell is Corwin Walker doing here?
“So what?” The guard spat.
“I need a word with your prisoner.”
“Who? Him?” The guard frowned, looking at Vash. “Why?”
“Wayfarer business.” Corwin said, tucking the medallion back into his shirt.
“He’s due to visit the headsman in the morning.” The guard said, stubbornly. “Duke’s orders.”
Corwin grinned, crossing his arms across his chest. “I just came from the Ducal Palace. Things may have changed. Might want to look into that. In the meantime…” Corwin looked at Vash. “I need a word with your prisoner.”
“We’ll see about that.” The guard said. He pulled on the cell door, which was still locked tight. He felt along his belt, then looked up at Vash. The guard held out a hand. “Keys.”
Vash handed over the keyring.
The guard sorted through the keys, found the right one, and unlocked the cell. Walking out, he looked down at Vash. “You don’t go anywhere. You and me are gonna have a conversation once this is sorted.”
The guard headed for the door and tried to push past Corwin, but since Corwin was now the human equivalent of a brick wall, had to squeeze past him in a kind of awkward shuffle. The door creaked as the guard left. Vash and Corwin were now alone in the row of cells.
Silence descended.
It had been two years since Vash had seen Corwin. A lot had happened in that time.
“Looks like they’re feeding you well.” Vash said, sitting up against the wall.
Corwin quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, so you do recognize me. I was afraid I’d tracked down the wrong snarky part-elven asshole.”
“Hey, it’s not like I expected my boyhood friend to show up and ruin my escape from prison.” Vash said.
“Fair.” Corwin shrugged.
“Why are you here ruining my escape from prison, by the way?”
“We heard about Ragpicker’s Hollow.” Corwin said.
The flames, the panic, and the screams welled up in Vash’s memory. He walled off the emotion, slipping a mask of callous indifference in its place. “And?”
“The Wayfarers put out a quest. The Grandmasters wanted the truth about what happened. My master and I were in the area, we took the job.”
“And what did you find out? Let me guess, a group of elvish half-breeds were running a criminal empire out of the shacks, tents, and shelters of the Hollow? They stole some ancient trinket vital to the Duke’s stability, and when the Duke sent in his troops to get it back, these same criminals burned out their poor neighbors to escape?” Vash asked, proud that he only let a small amount of his bitterness and contempt slip.
“Something like that.”
“Didn’t occur to you that the Duke’s story might be entirely bullshit?”
“Not to me, but my master has a healthy distrust of authority.” Corwin said.
“I see.”
“So we did some digging.” Corwin said. “Came across a family. They had gotten trapped by the fires. Nice folks, the father got hurt, wife was trying to corral three terrified young kids. The Duke’s troops were blocking every way out. They told tell of a young guy, much like yourself, who brought them through the fire. Got them across the river.”
“Lucky them.” Vash said. The ache in his stomach was beginning to subside. One of the side-effects of using mana was quick healing. He kept an eye out for an opportunity to scramble past Corwin. Maybe if I can distract him…
“Their description reminded me of my old friend Vash.” Corwin said. “Especially the Vagabond brand, not many folks are walking around with that one.”
Vash didn’t respond, carefully keeping his face neutral.
“Then there was the attack on the Duke’s palace. Lots of these elvish troublemakers got themselves killed, most scattered if they could escape. But there was one they captured. Imagine my surprise when I found out who it was,” Corwin said.
“Surprised you recognized me, haven’t heard from you in, what? Two years?” Vash said.
Corwin looked self-conscious. “To be honest, I didn’t know what had happened to you after we left Durron’s Ford.”
“Kicked out.” Vash corrected. “They kicked us out, Corwin.”
“I went to the Guild, the Wayfarers, I mean. To see if I could do something. The lodge here in Sathsholm wasn’t very optimistic,” Corwin said. “You and your friends really kicked a hornet’s nest.”
Maybe ask your friends about how part-blood elves get shoved into slums, forced into hard labor for pittance. Vash thought, his blood roiling. “Well, we tried invited the Duke over for tea and to talk over our differences, but he burned our homes down.”
Corwin had the decency to look ashamed again. “Anyway, there’s an old statute, part of the charter of the Grand Alliance. A prisoner can volunteer to join the Wayfarers as part of a quest of the ruler’s choosing. If they do, then their sentence is mitigated. Well, so long as they remain a member in good standing with the Guild. The Duke has set a quest for you. You just have to agree to join. And I said to Jabez that we’ve needed a rogue anyway, so I came to see…” Corwin trailed off, letting the awkward silence descend.
“Came to see what, Corwin?” Vash asked. “Came to see if I’d forgiven you for letting Kat drag us into that stupid job? Or maybe you came to see if I’d say ‘I told you so’ about Nyx? By the way, I told you so about Nyx.”
“They branded me too.” Corwin said, brows drawing together like thunderclouds. “I was a vagabond for months. Couldn’t stay in any town more than two nights. I was cheated, robbed, and beaten with no place to turn, same as you.”
“Not the same.” Vash said, anger welling up inside. “You’re at least human. These — “ Vash gestured to the pointed tips of his ears, “—mean I get run out of town before they notice the vagabond brand. For the gods’ sake, the guards took my shoes before chasing me across the river back home. You went north with you ma’s sewing money. I went south barefoot and penniless.”
“I’m sorry it fell out that way,” Corwin said, meeting Vash’s gaze. “I wanted to make amends, and this gave me the opportunity.”
“Yeah? How do you figure?” Vash asked, leaning back against the wall. Completely relaxed, you can let your guard down, big guy.
“It’s not a bad life.” Corwin continued, noticing the look on Vash’s face. “You do some good. Earn some coin. The best part is, so long as you’re part of the Guild, they wipe out your vagabond status. Rise to the rank of a full Wayfarer and you can leave the Guild freed from the vagabond mark.”
I’ve already got a ‘Guild’ of my own. Vash thought, sourly. A clean slate, though, no vagabond mark.
“How long does it take?” Vash asked.
“Depends on how hard you work.” Corwin shrugged. “Five years, maybe more. I’ve still got pretty far to go, but I’m not complaining.”
The door creaked open. A balding man with a stocky build strode into the room. He wore a gray tunic slashed with green, the colors of the Duke’s Inquisitors. Vash’s guard friend followed close behind, a wide grin on his rat-like face. The Inquisitor, who was apparently in charge, stepped in front of Corwin. He took a moment and sized the younger man up.
“Wayfarers.” The Inquisitor scoffed. “Glorified pest control for superstitious farmers up in the mountains. I am Inquisitor Jacen Glauch. My man says that you are here to discuss my prisoner, that right?”
“That’s right. I need his expertise for a quest.” Corwin said.
“This one’s bound for the headsman.” Glauch said, face neutral. He spoke as though this was a natural fact and not in dispute. “Duke’s orders.”
“The quest comes from the Duke himself.” Corwin said. “He’s making a show of mercy while currying favor with the Collegium Arcanum.”
“The only problem plaguing the city that I’ve noticed.” Glauch said, turning his gaze towards Vash. “Are the half-breeds that keep showing up on our doorstep. I’d thought that we were rid of the problem when we dealt with Ragpickers Hollow.”
Vash looked back into those cold, gray eyes and recognized them. He’d seen Glauch before. The Inquisitor had been wearing a helm that had obscured most of his face. He had been commanding a squad of crossbowmen on the riverside ramparts. They had been shooting refugees who were fleeing from the fires in Ragpickers Hollow. Glauch had stood out in front and pointed out fleeing part-elves to his men. It had taken all of Vash’s skill to get one family safely across the river.
“I’ve got the order right here,” Corwin said, still smiling affably. He took out a folded paper sealed with emerald wax. The Duke’s seal was plainly visible.
Glauch glanced at the paper. For a moment, Vash thought he was going to refuse to even look at i. Eventually he plucked the letter from Corwin’s fingers. Glauch broke the seal and scanned the letter within. His face remained impassive, though he read it over several times.
“This is merely a delay.” Glauch scoffed. “This one could never uphold the standards of any Guild, even one as…open as the Wayfarers. He might as well submit to the headsman now. Spare me the trouble of tracking him down again.”
The entire time, Glauch didn’t even glance at Vash. The conversation was with the other real person in the room, the other human. He felt anger rising again and took a deep breath to steady himself.
“That right, Vash?” Corwin asked. “Are you bound for the headsman, or are you coming with me?”
Vash considered the situation. He could wait and gamble that the Iona or another Eth Mitaan come to rescue him. They hadn’t come when his team was cornered in the palace. Not when Quin was bleeding out on the floor in front of him, or when Jak had taken a crossbow bolt through the chest, and certainly not when Pya’s rope had been cut and she had plummeted fifty feet to the cobblestones below.
The weak get eaten. Vash recalled Byar’s favorite saying.
It wasn’t likely that anyone was coming for him. He could try to escape on his own. However, only having one night made things difficult.
Corwin was waiting, a question in his eyes.
I can always run once we’re away from the city. Vash thought. I think I can ditch a few adventurers.
“What the hell.” Vash said, getting to his feet. “A little adventure might be good for me.”
The Inquisitor held up one hand. He turned slowly to face Vash. Those cold gray eyes bored into his own. “This is a temporary reprieve. Creatures like you can’t help what you are. You will fail at your quest, or you will fail as a Wayfarer. It doesn’t matter, when you fail, I will be there to bring you back for the punishment you know in your heart that you deserve.”
Vash held Glauch’s stare. Blood thundered in his ears. It would be so easy to reach out and snap the Inquisitor’s neck. He had done it to guardsmen before.
The punishment you know in your heart you deserve.
Glauch’s lips twitched in a parody of a smile. He saw something change in Vash’s eyes. “Step out of line, just once, and I will have you.”
“He’ll be good.” Corwin said, putting a firm hand on Vash’s shoulder. “Won’t you, Vash?”
“Of course.” Vash said with a winning smile. Play this game in the street, Inquisitor, and we’ll see who gets the punishment they deserve.
“You can trust me.”