Sneak
The Grey Crown, The Grasping Isle
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Image by Marko Blažević, Unsplash Licence
M’ster Rove scratched the side of his head while he spat into the undergrowth.
“Just in time too. Was beginning to think we didn’t have any other choice but to gut her. Didn’t know she was hiding that much skill with a blade. Agile little thing.”
Sneak was split as far as emotions went. On one side, he felt pride to be praised by such a great man as M’ster Rove. But on the other, he felt worried about Trïeste and why she tried to attack them. It didn’t add up. And Sneak was very good at adding things up.
“Thanks, M’ster Rove. Sneak does not know what happened to Trïeste. Sneak says we wake Trïeste up and ask what Trïeste is feelin’. Things are not right, like a bird trying to sing a fish’s song.”
Mistress Ayuen stepped forward, staring down at the downed woman, shaking her head.
“I agree with Sneak. I want to know what came over her.” Moisture glistened in the corner of her eyes, which she wiped away with the back of her hand.
“We shared tent, food and drink alike. I wouldn’t have dared to guess that she was the one that... well... Guess we now know how they found us this easily.”
“Yeah. Appears that way.” M’ster Rove grumbled. “And the way she just tried to get past me and Sneak... She was after just you, Ayuen. Damn it, she could’ve been the one that tipped Prado or the Yrus at Tinkersong off.”
The Herhor launched into a cascade of swears as he stopped onto a couple of embers still glowing amongst the leaf litter.
“Why didn’t I bloody notice it before?”
Sighing, he sheepishly looked at Sneak. “No insult meant Sneak, but I thought the informant might’ve been you.”
Sneak thought back to the conversation he’d eavesdropped on at the river. He nodded his head towards Master Rove, smiling a crooked smile at him.
“Sneak takes no offence, M’ster Rove. Sneak heard that Trïeste woman talk at the river about makin’ Sneak take the blame. All planned by Trïeste, yes. Sneakier than Sneak. But she did say somethin’ about her mother and her better not bein’ hurt...”
“Damn it.” Master Rove sighed, glaring daggers at the woman laying on the ground. “Ayuen, Sneak, keep tabs on her. If she regains consciousness, knock her lights out again. I’m getting some ropes in the meantime. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
Both Sneak and mistress Ayuen nodded, with mistress Ayuen quickly loading up a bullet into Floryshia. Sneak sat himself down next to Trïeste, keeping watch in case she was waking up prematurely.
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It didn’t take long for Master Rove to return, two coils of sturdy rope in his hands. With practised and efficient movements, the Herhor bound Trïeste’s hand behind her back. He fastened her feet together too, immobilizing her completely. The man’s eyes shifted to Ayuen as Sneak waited quietly. “Ayuen, could you get some water from your waterskin? It’s time to wake her up and hear the truth straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Yes, of course. I will be right back.” Diving into her tent, it only took mistress Ayuen a moment to return with the requested item. Sitting alone with Trïeste and Sneak, he looked over Trïeste’s unconscious form. It looked different than usual. Something had left her. Tension, most likely. She looked more serene than she ever had, lacking either that childish grin or cold stare. Like as if she had been wrestling with a Bovnaz, but had finally cast off their influence. Sneak moved Trïeste’s hair behind her ears, and the woman let out a soft groan, stirring at his touch. Her hands tensed and relaxed rapidly. Dreams or nightmares, perhaps? Next to Sneak, Master Rove tensed up, narrowing his eyes and putting his hand on Stormgrinder.
Fortunately, she didn’t wake up before Mistress Ayuen came back with the water.
Sneak figured that Trïeste wouldn’t be able to talk well while laying on the ground, so he propped her up against a nearby tree. There, that should be enough. At least she didn’t have to writhe around on the ground like a freshly salted eel at a fish shop.
Some hushed deliberation occurred between mistress Ayuen’s and Master Rove before they all huddled together around Trïeste. They had taken away all of Trïeste’s weapons and alchemical gadgets, the crystal orb laying next to the poet. Unstoppering the waterskin, Master Rove poured all of the liquid onto Trïeste’s head while Sneak was holding her legs down.
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The effect was immediate, Trïeste’s eyes shot open, her muscles instantly straining in a flight reflex. It was only through her bindings that they were able to avoid a bad case of appendage-in-face. When she had calmed down, Sneak let go of her legs and removed himself from her side, his anger and sadness simmering under his skin.
“I am afraid your efforts are wasted, Trïeste.” Mistress Ayuen said calmly, looking Trïeste straight in the eyes. “If you wish to see the next sunrise, you should behave yourself and tell us everything. Which party sent you and why did you comply?”
Trïeste finally stopped resisting, glaring at them with empty eyes. She softly huffed, shook her head, and then finally spoke. Her voice was leagues different from the voice Sneak had gotten used to. It was serious and empty. As if she’d given up on life and hope altogether.
“It’s over for me, Ayuen. Better to kill me off immediately. Saves you the time, saves me the time.”
Master Rove let out a low growl as he raised his hand to bash Stormgrinder’s pommel into Trïeste’s face, but mistress Ayuen raised a hand, shaking her head. She turned to Trïeste again, her eyes cold and calculating, seemingly boring into the other woman’s skull. A shiver ran down Sneak’s spine, nothing to do with the coldness of the night.
“I’m afraid that is not going to happen. Tell us if your employer is paying you or has some dirt on you. We’ll make you a better offer. How does that sound?”
Trïeste looked at mistress Ayuen for a second. Then out of nowhere, the alchemist started laughing. There was no mirth in it, no amusement. Just disbelief, frustration and sadness. To Sneak, it sounded eerily like a starving hyena.
“Naïve as always, Ayuen. Unfortunately, I’m not getting paid in hands. You’re right on the dirt part though. And why the fuck not, I’ll spill some of the beans. It’s not like you can offer me anything anyway. I’m not getting out of here alive with your little attack dog and fuck-buddy keeping watch.”
Master Rove raised an eyebrow, but Sneak found it unworthy of response. Neither did Ayuen. They were waiting for her to continue, patiently. Trïeste looked at them in turn, shaking her head and sighing.
“Not even allowed the simple fun of seeing you frustrated, huh? Well then. My situation is very simple. First, I’m not a Vysari. Not fully anyway. More like half. My father was a Yrus. Worked in Marlight together with my mother and me. A happy little family of alchemists and fighters. My father was a rather high-ranking officer on the Yrus side of things, and as such got asked to help my current... ‘employer’. A council member named Siandra. All was well for a while.”
Mistress Ayuen had taken her booklet and was scribbling away furiously, but she looked up with wide eyes at the mention of the name of her true enemy.
“Siandra? I know that name. My uncle Eligor spoke of her once or twice. A radical person by the sound of it, but nothing too much out of the ordinary.”
She uttered a short stream of curses and grunted. “Damn it. Guess she was the patient and longer-term sort of person, then.”
“Heh. Yep, she’s a tricky one.” Trïeste said, continuing her story. “And a malicious bitch of the highest order. My father didn’t want to cooperate with burning down the city he loved when he caught wind of what his charge was planning. Tried to get out of there but he was already in too deep. Killed him before he could leave the room. Brought me and my mother to her room to show his lifeless body. Next thing I know, I’m blackmailed into doing her dirty work. My mother is kept hostage. I disobey, and my mother dies. I fail, and my mother dies. Simple and effective. Now guess what just happened. So just get it over with.”
Sneak’s eyes narrowed when he heard this. Was this an attempt to get Rove on her side? From what little information he had caught from the Herhor, he had parental troubles too. Sneak hoped the news didn’t rattle them much. They had no use for sacks of moist pebbles now, they had to stay strong.
But he needn’t have worried. Master Rove slowly nodded and seemed to stay on guard, but mistress Ayuen’s expression softened up, understanding and empathy glimmering in her eyes. Sneak felt his muscles relax as the hope of this turning out alright began shining in his soul.
It was in this moment of weakness that Trïeste decided to move against them. Suddenly, she threw her arms forward to Ayuen, growling like a feral cat. The Pyrn poet stumbled backwards in shock as she tried to avoid Trïeste's sudden assault, but she fell with a yelp. As the adrenaline started to flow through his veins once more, time seemed to slow down for Sneak. He raised his arms and dashed towards Trïeste, but the distance was too great. He wouldn’t make it in time.
Trïeste’s hands were a mere seventeen centimetres away from Mistress Ayuen’s slender, delicate neck when two rugged hands gripped Trïeste’s. If gazes could create an inferno, the way that Master Rove was looking at Trïeste could’ve set them all ablaze in an instant. He had been vigilant, the opening that their prisoner saw not being an opening at all.
“You shouldn’t have done that, little wretch.” He growled, his voice low, aggressive and almost predatory. With a great sling of his arms, he threw Trïeste against the tree, the Half-Vysari hitting it hard. Sneak saw the breath getting knocked out of her lungs. Master Rove stalked towards her, Sneak taking up position beside him as he gripped his daggers tightly.
“One should not mess with M’ster Rove. Even Sneak learned that.” Sneak whispered, his dagger’s point barely breaking Trïeste’s skin in what was hopefully a clear threat.
“Oh please, spare me your Herhor worship,” Trïeste said, visibly having trouble catching her breath. “I’d rather die. Plus, it’s not like I’ve got anything to lose by trying.”
“Then you can just stop acting like a failing little bitch and just spill the beans.” Stormgrinders tip shone in the embers’ glow, aimed at the traitor’s heart. “The woman on the other side of that orb has probably heard all of this anyway.”
“You dense gruf Herhor.” The expression on Trïeste’s face was contorted and mocking. This was the ugliest that Sneak had ever seen her.
“The orb only functions when you’re holding it, Rove,” A silent voice said behind them. While Master Rove and Trïeste had been verbally fencing, mistress Ayuen had recovered and now stood behind Master Rove with a loaded Floryshia in hand. “Siandra probably doesn’t know specifically what happened here, in all likelihood.”
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Map made by Mark Evegaars, writer of this story