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Lord Storm Nattas
Business with the Guild
Part II
-A shadow in the fading light-
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A bell rang above his head the moment he swung the door open. Lord Storm Nattas paused, his heart thundering in his chest, to calm himself down somewhat, while examining the seller’s bench and the many wooden hanger stands. Everything inside the shop pedestrian, but for the quantity. Ranging from the many rolls of fabric, stacked on top of each other on the counter, thin silks and thicker fine wool sheets, to rolls of rough hemp and smooth cotton drapers, even fuckin’ leather, Storm thought impressed. The assortment of colors striking.
You’d be happy to find such a well-stocked store in Cartagen, ecstatic even.
The girl behind the overflowing bench, cute Issir face, black skin unblemished, boyishly cut white hair and uncommon honey-colored eyes –for a pure-blooded Issir- offered him a small smile, half-charming and half-taunting that caught Storm off guard. He almost tripped over his feet and went down right there, in front of her counter.
“Well…” Lord Nattas said, after recovering his balance. The fit girl, she couldn’t have been more than eighteen, wore a tight dark-red silk bodice. The cords at the front reaching her navel and extra fuckin’ thin, which was fine for the time of year, but gave Storm a clear view of her hardened nubs, framed in the light coming from the windows, which forced him to pause again mid-sentence. “…that’s a lot of fabric,” he managed to say unsure and rather lamely.
“Who do you seek?” The young woman asked him and seeing her up-close, Storm realized she was a bit older, than he’d originally had thought.
Who, his mind told him coolly, not what.
Right.
He opened his mouth to answer, only to realize there was a man standing at the far edge of the counter, next to a wooden stand, clad in a black outfit, soft boots and wearing a leather vest over it. The Issir man had typical white hair as well, made into thin braids and left loose at the nappe. He’d a large scissor in his hands, which he closed when Storm noticed him and flipped it once, before leaving it on the counter, next to his left hand.
“That’s Ard,” the girl said, in her brusque Lorian accent.
“This is Griet,” Ard added in the lighter Common of the Issir, with a half-grin. Older than Griet, but nearer to twenty than thirty, clean shaven and green-eyed. Wiry, but appearing fit and quite dangerous.
Storm felt as if he’d just stepped into a trap.
“Obviously I’m not here to buy a carpet,” Nattas jested, absent other ideas. “Assuming you folk sell them as well.”
“Not proper, for the weather,” Griet said.
“Drapes are all the rage,” Ard added.
Storm snorted and stared at the door across from him, leading to the back of the store.
“Do I need a password?” He queried.
Griet glanced at Ard, before turning her head on him again.
“Who do you seek, Lord Nattas?” She asked again a hint of razz in her voice. Storm visualized himself riding her naked lithe body hard, next to the beach. It was a powerful and vivid image.
He cleared his throat one time.
“I want to speak to Maja,” Storm said finally cutting to the chase.
Neither Griet, nor Ard moved at his words. Other than a flicker of annoyance in the man’s eyes, their expressions reminded Storm of that bland-faced Mister Barlow.
The moment dragged, Nattas feeling a sweat rivulet trickling down his arse-crack, his mouth dry from all the riding and feeling thirsty, hungry and fuckin’ aroused of all darn things. Just as he was about to start cursing and threatening them with violence from his –hopefully still waiting outside in the cruel sun- men, the door leading further inside the store creaked opened and an old lady of Lorian descent, long grey hair down her shoulders, a bit stooped forward from all the years carrying on her back, walked inside. Dressed in a new light-yellow summer dress that hang on her body a bit snuggly for her age, she approached slowly and stood next to Ard, caressing his hand once, as if to reassure him.
Storm thought she looked over sixty.
“Lord Nattas,” the old lady said, “Speaks the truth children.”
Storm stared into her old eyes shocked. Then at her lined face. He could recognize those freckles in the dark bottom of Abrakas seas and there was plenty of light inside the store.
Fuck.
“Bring him a chair and the good wine,” Maja ordered them and reaching inside the front of her dress daringly, the wrinkled skin on her neck shocking, got a strange amulet out by its chain. Gold and silver it was, dominated by a fiery orange, strangely marked agate gemstone, as big as an egg and flashed once, when she caressed its smooth surface.
“Yes Mistress,” Griet and Ard said and went to do her biding, but all Storm could watch was Maja absorbing all the light, her skin and face glowing, while the store got smaller, until the light faded again and everything returned to normal.
“That’s fucking magic,” Storm croaked, properly impressed and young Maja chuckled showing Regia’s Master of Secrets her pink tongue, while letting the amulet drop inside her impressive bust again.
“Just an enchanted amulet, dear Nattas,” she corrected him, the dimples on her cheeks almost enticing enough, for Storm to forgive her trying to murder him.
Twice.
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Maja had a small scroll in her hand, a missive. She rolled it between thumb and index finger, then reaching behind the counter got a bronze plate out and a holder with a thin lit candle on it. Storm watched her enthralled burning the tiny scroll and then putting the candle out.
“You were expecting me,” he said, when she finished.
“Uhm.”
“Well?”
“I thought it will take you some time to act,” Maja said pushing back on the bench, her right leg kicking out a bit for balance, rich curly hair framing her face. “More time.”
“Situation has deteriorated,” Storm replied, trying to keep it professional.
This woman is a vicious murderer.
Keep that in your bloody head!
“Indeed.”
“That’s a good trick there,” Storm said. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“I did it for you,” Maja replied and casually pulled a very thin long knife out of a roll of fabric, flipped it in one hand, used the other to gather her long hair, then twirled it around in an elegant bun, the knife turning into a hair stick. “You love this face.”
“Bah, I’m not a big fan of freckles,” Storm countered.
Maja chuckled. “Now, we both know that is a lie.”
It was.
“They grew on me,” Nattas admitted. He was a weak man, when it came to alluring women.
“It is how I look,” she explained, looking away.
“Hah, nah I don’t buy that,” Storm said, but seeing her face, he added. “That would make you close, or over sixty.”
“I never talked of years, Lord Nattas,” Maja explained. “I’m younger than you by the way.”
That didn’t make any sense to him.
“Where did you get the amulet?” He asked, but she clicked her tongue and pushed away from the bench, moving gracefully alike a dancer.
“Who came from the Guild?” Maja asked him, her tone changing.
“Robart Barlow. Quite the fucking character,” Storm replied, dropping the matter of the amulet for a moment.
“He’s in Alden?” A hint of surprise there. A thread of something else behind it, Storm didn’t know of and probably shouldn’t concern him.
Although it did.
All secrets are valuable.
“Obviously. It’s where I met with him.”
Did it matter?
“What did you tell him?” Maja probed professionally, to cover her interest.
“I gave him a couple of names,” Storm replied watching her like a hawk. He’d known her, lived near her for a time, but also he was seeing her for the first time unvarnished. Storm was seeing the real Maja now.
The Assassin.
She had given him another name.
Faerith K’lael.
“Gordian and a Knight,” Maja said. Storm remembered the small missive she’d burned earlier. A bird had come from Alden then, he thought. No magic there. Just a good ole network of agents. But not all information was passed on it seemed. “What do you hope to gain?” She was disappointed with him.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
In a sense, Maja had made the first step back in his Alden house. She could have refused, or simply refrained from visiting him. The assassin had skin in the game.
Use it.
“What does it mean, the name?” Storm asked her instead and Maja sucked the side of her left cheek in, her eyes examining a roll of white silk fabric. Funeral colors.
“Fading Light,” Maja replied, with a grimace. “In the old tongue.”
“Which tongue is that?” Storm probed, unwilling to let go.
“The Empire that was.”
“Does the Guild traces its roots—”
Maja stopped him. “It doesn’t.”
“Where did you get the amulet?”
She chuckled at that. “Ah, your brain is your most attractive quality, dear Nattas.”
“Call me Storm,” Nattas teased her and then added, this time half-teasing half-serious. More serious, than teasing. “I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent lover.”
Maja stared at him for a good moment.
“A good lover gives freely Storm; all you do is take, what’s on sale.”
Nattas blinked, the rebuke cutting him deeply.
“You hate me again now?” Maja teased in turn, seeing his reaction.
It was a ploy. She was trying to deflect from his questions.
“I respect the truth, when I hear it,” he said simply.
Never was a bigger untruth uttered, with a straighter face.
“Why those two?”
“I have my reasons,” Storm deflected in turn.
“What else did you say?” Maja asked.
To Mister Barlow was her meaning.
That was twice, she’d sneaked in a question about him.
“Who is running the Guild?” Storm asked and Maja grinned like a cat that had just gulped down a fat canary.
“We all serve the Fading Light.”
Storm didn’t.
“You,” he pointed out the implied.
“It’s just a title, dear Storm.”
“Now, we both know that is not true,” Nattas deadpanned, without batting an eyelash.
Maja raised her brows in acknowledgment and Storm checked the empty store for a moment.
“They won’t come, until we finish,” she reassured him.
“Do you trust them?”
“They are my pupils.”
“I don’t remember them from that first attempt,” Storm noted, bringing the conversation back where he wanted.
“Ard was there, Griet is new.”
“What happened to the other guy?” Storm probed and a flicker of sadness flashed in Maja’s eyes.
“He served loyally, let’s leave it at that.”
How about we don’t?
“Who killed him?”
“Ah,” Maja grimaced, an attempt to hide emotion and turned her back to him. “Your brain is an asset, dear Storm,” she added and then turned to stare at a frowning Nattas again, all that weakness wiped away. “You don’t care about those two.”
Hmm.
“I won’t insult you pretending, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You are surprisingly kind, for a callous bastard,” Maja retorted.
“I don’t mind them gone,” Storm deflected. “But it is no pressing matter. I have time.”
“No you don’t,” Maja replied. “You’ve tipped your hand.”
“They are small fish,” Storm insisted. “No one will care, if they’re gone.”
“Does Barlow know I’m involved?” Maja asked.
Ah, no beating around the bush anymore.
He thought of the bland faced, creepy man back at the Horned Hen.
“He suspects it. What does it matter? He works for you. You run the Guild, right?” Storm asked and Maja stepped close to him, their noses almost touching.
“Some shadows, no light can penetrate, dear Storm and certain secrets are deadly,” She whispered next to his ear. “Who are you after really? Name your real mark.”
Storm stared into her eyes for a moment, thinking how fate had brought them to this place and this time. If Maja’s late pupil had succeeded in murdering him back then, this conversation wouldn’t have happened. A touch of luck had changed everything.
Also that was a very kissable mouth, for such an old-looking woman.
Magic crap filters removed of course.
Nattas sighed deeply, then shook his head at the absurdity of the last couple of weeks and told her.
If a rock can’t bring down the hornets’ nest, drop a big fuckin’ boulder on it.
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“That was a fuckin’ great trout fillet. The second time I liked it best,” Titus said, for the fifth time that day. “Crispy and well done. Seasoned and wit enough garlic on it to make a god-darn difference.”
“It brought me a bit of indigestion,” Secundus muttered, half asleep on the saddle and Storm groaned not wanting to hear the conversation start all over again. Not when they had almost gotten back to Alden. While riding was nice and it helped exercise his leg-muscles, it was also darn tiring and uncomfortable to his backside.
After a while, no matter where you placed your bloody arse, or how, it hurts the same, Nattas thought sourly.
At least the night had given them a reprieve from the infernal heat and it made the return trip more pleasant and faster. The latter probably guilty though for his current discomfort.
“Plenty of light beyond Maiden’s Bridge,” he noticed.
“Them boys on the East Gate are burning the King’s oil wit enthusiasm,” Titus replied. “Is it the summer festival yet?”
While Lorians celebrated several festivals during the summer months, in concert with many tourneys of course, Titus was referring to Naossis Indiscretion the myth behind Bacchanalia, or ‘Wine Days’ for the common folk, celebrated once in the second day, of the second month of summer and again on the last day of the last month of summer. An old Empire holiday of mindless fun and sexual deviancy that had survived until their days in some Lorian cities, though with a different name. Beyond the Shallow Sea and in the lands of the Khanate, the old name had remained unchanged.
Valimae Lilt.
“That’s not until next week,” Secundus corrected him, himself well-versed in the off days, as all former soldiers.
“You sure?” Titus probed and burped loudly.
Storm rolled his eyes and stared at the bridge and the people with torches going over it, despite the time. It was at least three hours after midnight. One of them standing nervously at the side facing the road to Illirium and well… Rosebush, Storm supposed and shifting from one foot to the other, to keep himself awake.
“That’s one of our boys,” Secundus noticed, his eyes sharp as fuck for the amount of darkness about them.
“How can you tell?” Storm asked, moving on the saddle and squinting his eyes.
“It’s that darn hat wit the stupid feather. That’s Petronus,” Secundus explained.
Right.
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“Lord Nattas,” Petronus started, when they stopped in front him taking him by surprise, as despite his efforts he’d fallen asleep, right as they reached the bridge. “Mister Sudi wanted me to…”
“Wait for us here?” Storm helped him patiently, although he was already bored and too tired to continue this for much longer. Three days of ‘vacation’, when two of them are on the road, is no bloody vacation at all.
“Yes. There was a row in court yesterday,” Petronus explained. “The King got mad and ordered they’ll be no celebrations this summer.”
“Fuck!” Titus cursed, justifiably devastated at the news. “No. No damnit! No!”
Secundus just smacked his lips pensively.
Storm snorted and stood up straighter on the saddle, his back killing him.
“What was the row about?”
“The Queen wanted the Priests of Uher stopped, milord.”
Ah, Miranda. It’s not the time to plead your case.
“What did the King say?”
“He wasn’t happy, milord,” a group of people waiting by the East Gate started walking towards them. “Some heavy words were used.”
“What words?” Storm hissed, seeing the robe-wearing group approaching, torches in hand. “Damn it you fool! What’s the King’s order?” He growled seeing him fidgeting like an idiot. Sudi had sent this fool to tackle them before entering the city for a fucking reason.
“He kicked Naossis priests out of the city, milord,” Petronus blurted out shocked. “The whores ain’t happy.”
What?
Why would he…
“Who suggested it?” Storm snapped, seeing the Golden Spears heading straight for them.
“Magister Gordian milord,” Petronus blurted out, his thin body shaking that darn feather on top of his hat dancing left and right. “He insisted they are working with the infidels. He was extremely zealous in his words, gossip says. The Queen had to back down.”
Abrakas you son of a whoring goat.
Fuck you.
“Lord Storm Nattas?” The first of the armed monks said stopping a couple of meters from the mouth of the bridge.
“Yes!” Storm barked and the man blinked taken aback, his face hardening right after. “Who are you?”
“Lord Nattas,” the man continued, disregarding his question. “You were seen inside the Horned Hen two days ago. Several people have come forth as witnesses to this undisputed fact.”
“So what?” Storm snapped angry. “I’m not married!”
Gordian wasn’t after the whores, or anyone else really.
No you don’t, Maja had warned him.
“It’s a brothel,” the monk said accusingly.
“I was in the venue on official business,” Storm deadpanned and staring into the square faced monk’s eyes, he added sincerely. “I did not fornicate with a whore, for the duration of my visit.”
Several of the monks snickered to his words.
No one seemed to believe him, despite Storm being truthful for the most part.
“A judge will decide that,” the leading monk replied, not explaining how a Judge would know. “Lord Nattas, you are under arrest for debauchery and sinful deviancy in the eyes of Uher.”
“Chief?” Titus queried, looking for instructions and Storm closed his eyes wanting a minute to think this through, which was a huge problem, since all he had was a short second.
They weren’t there to arrest him. Not so far from the city’s gates, in the middle of the fucking night. It appeared that years after Storm had given up the warrior’s garbs of his youth and stepped out of the arena, he would finally get the chance to prove himself a warrior, with a fight to the death.
Good Grief.
No spectators.
No big-titted noble lasses screaming his name, wet between their thighs.
No glory and titles to be gained, nor coin.
No prize, other than the thin chance to keep his life.
Abrakas you piece of dry shit of a deity, I fuckin’ denounce you.
Swallow a tentacle and die.
He’d a sword on his saddle, amidst the leather bags. It was a good blade Storm hadn’t used, since he had it made years back. Roderick always told him, the lessons learned well, stuck with a fighter forever.
If the old sadistic fuck had lied, Storm was about to find out.
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