I’ve tried scrubbing at the knuckles of my gloved hands a few times now but it’s clear I’ve left it too long, the blood’s there to stay, short of soaking them whenever we get back to … wherever our planned destination is right now. I don’t know why I’m finding this such a hard thing to let go of, they’re just little spots and dashes, nothing too major, and with this shade of leather it really doesn’t show all that much. Besides, I’m a fighter, getting blood on me really shouldn’t bother me at all. And yet …
Taking a breath, I prepare myself before raising the sword again. It’s been hanging at my side from my right hand since I picked it up again after helping Gael, I haven’t been able to bring myself to look at the blade, especially since I saw … well, I’ve really been trying not to think about it. But now I can’t help myself any more, I guess I have to know. So I swing it up to catch what little of the light from that strange hanging magical globe I can, and hold that breath for a beat more before I finally look at it again.
The blood’s almost entirely gone now. First time I looked I thought I was just seeing things, convinced I was being an idiot when I thought that I could see the blood speckling the crystalline steel fading ever so slowly. As If it was being drawn into the blade itself. Like the enchanted metal was feeding on the blood. Maybe I even went out of my way to convince myself I was just imagining it. But then I looked again ten minutes later and it looked an awful lot like there really was less blood there than before. And now …
My sword is a fucking vampire. That’s the word for it, I remember my father’s stories. They’re a rare thing in the Day Lands, I’m told, so much so that there are some who question if they’re even real, and certainly none in our company ever encountered one before that we know of, so perhaps they’re right. But probably not. I have heard that that they’re seen sometimes in Tektehr, because their nights can be so long, especially in the far north. Apparently they don’t like sunlight. They’re undead, like liches, but of a different order. Rarer, because they’re far harder to create, I suppose. Just as monstrous, at least.
No, it’s not really a vampire, it’s simply like a vampire. I imagine it’s part of the enchantment, my father said once that blood has a power all its own, which is why it’s such a strong ingredient in certain kinds of magic, and so the sword simply absorbs the blood to keep itself strong. It’s not designed to make me any more comfortable though, clearly.
Letting that breath go at last, I raise the blade a little more, bringing it close to my face, so I can examine what little blood’s left up close. I wasn’t imagining it before, I really can see it shrinking, although it’s so slow it’s almost imperceptible. Suppressing a shudder, I bring the blade up to my ear, but I can’t hear anything of this slow but clear hunger in the blade. No slurping, at least. That might’ve been a little too much for me.
There’s something else, though. Subtle, but it’s there all the same. A hum, high-pitched, resonant. Mostly pleasant, but a little ghostly all the same. Strange enough to make me a tiny bit uncomfortable to be listening to it.
Letting out another, more tired sigh, I swing my sword around and slide it up alongside its scabbard until I can start to gently guide it home with my thumb, going slow so I can be careful not to slice my fingers open. Mostly just because it’s so scarily keen, but a small part of me, despite the fact I’m pretty sure the sword isn’t actually sentient, really isn’t keen on letting it get any kind of taste for my own blood along with my enemies’. Only once the ricasso has locked tight into the throat am I finally able to breathe a little easier again.
Not that it really makes much difference. My head’s been a mess since the fight ended, I came up here ostensibly to keep watch but mostly I just wanted to try and clear it, but it really hasn’t worked. It’s all I’ve been able to do to stop myself peeling off my bloody gloves and punching the bricks with my bare knuckles. Gods know it might even feel a little better to smash my fists into mangled meat and splintered bone right now. But not for long …
That fight alone wasn’t enough to rattle me, not really, I managed to keep my shit together through it even though I know the ruin’s because it’s the first real piece of violence I’ve been involved in since that night in the mountains. But it was worse seeing Gael down after, that triggered what I’d been able to hold back before then, I think. It wasn’t a big deal, not really, from what I’ve seen and heard since it’s clear Krakka’s been able to work his magic on them well enough, but still … I’ve only known that half-elf for a few weeks, but I’ve really come to care very deeply about them, and seeing them like that hurt me badly. But that’s not what’s really working on me now, though.
I keep seeing their faces, hearing their voices and words, and worst of all I keep reliving each of their deaths. Roe, the best friend I ever had, he’d been one of my mother’s closest even before he was mine so he was more like family for me really, like the closest uncle I could have ever wanted. And in the end he sacrificed his life to keep me from having to fight my own mother, so he wound up dying by her hand himself instead. Garnon, moody and arrogant and far too smart for his own good sometimes, but I always knew he had my back, that I was one of the only people that didn’t make him feel like an outcast and a failure half the time because of the shit that happened in his past. His death was so inglorious, cut down by an unknowable monstrosity before he even knew what hit him, and he never even got to set right what was most wrong in his life before he went.
Tarrow’s still the worst of it, though. Like always, whenever I think of all the deaths from that night, and there were so many I wish I could’ve prevented, some by my own hand … every single time it’s his that cuts me deepest, a wound that never heals, always nagging at me a little, even on those days when I can just about forget about things for a little while. Like it’s infected, this wound, and it’s going to kill me someday. I’ve seen others suffer wounds like that in the past, it’s awful to watch. I always feared one for myself, and now I have one it’s inside my head, which makes it so much worse.
Gods, he was too young for that. Still a boy, really, not even an adult yet, and I pulled him into that fight. Sure, I knew there was no way he would ever let me keep him out of it, but still, he was there because of me, because of the choices I made, and it cost him everything. It cost him his head, cut from his neck by Ashsong as he tried to protect Gael, I remember, and so his life too, before he’d even had a chance to live it. Because that’s what it really cost him. All the years he had ahead of him, decades of life and love and adventure and most of all the chance to become something more than just another bandit. I saw greatness in that kid because he was more than a little like me, but he never got to be it.
Gael only got hurt, okay, they only got hurt … but they died in their last fight, and even if Krakka was able to pull them out of the darkness with the help of his goddess and very nearly all of my own strength too, they still died. And now, seeing them torn up again, even just a little bit, just a broken shoulder … that fucking broke me again.
Looking down at my hands, I realise they’re shaking badly, mostly because they’re bunched into the tightest fists I think I’ve ever made. Gritting my teeth hard, I fight to force my fingers open again, but it’s a slow, hard job to make it work. When they’re open again my hands are shaking even worse than before.
Thorin … get it together, Shay. You’re embarrassing yourself. You were raised to be a fighter, to be ruthless, to laugh in the face of danger and let grief roll off your back like water off a duck’s wings. Except that wasn’t what my father wanted for me. He wanted more for me than this kind of life. Even my mother admitted as much to me in the end …
A hand touches on my shoulder. It’s soft and light, the touch delicate, hesitant even, but it still shocks me, it’s so sudden, or maybe I’m just too wired right now. I jump away and round on whoever it is, and my instincts are sharper than my mind right now but I’m there enough to react according to the immediacy of the threat, if that’s what it is. So I don’t bother trying to draw the sword again in the time I have, instead slipping the knife from the small of my back as I tighten into a ready stance. I’m baring my teeth as I do it, so my face must look pretty fierce.
“Whoa! Shay! It’s us! Chill!”
Gael stumbles back in surprise, their eyes as wide as I’ve ever seen them, hands up in clear surrender, and they’re so unbalanced by their shock they’re already starting to fall backwards. Thankfully Kesla’s followed them, so she’s close enough behind to catch them before they topple, propping them up in the time it takes them to regain their composure. The look she gives me could be reproach if it wasn’t almost as startled as Gael’s own, and now I can see there’s plenty of concern in both of them too.
Looking down at the knife in my hand, low but ready, I deflate, my legs starting to go as I fall back against the wall. Kesla’s too busy propping Gael up to help me so I land before either of them can right themselves enough to spring to my aid, but by then I’m already sliding down the wall, dropping into a crumpled crouch. Suddenly it’s really hard for me to breathe, I’m gasping for air and I drop the knife as I bring my hands up to my face, barely registering the clatter as my weapon skitters into one of the gutters.
Finally my lungs start working again but I still keep pulling in great panicked breaths all the same. Letting my head drop into my hands I just stay as I am, gulping up air and praying I’m not about to start bawling, and I only vaguely notice when someone drops down on my right before slender, wiry arms wrap around me. Gael, I presume. Not that I really took Kesla for much of a hugger anyway.
For a time they just rock me gently, shushing me a few times but mostly humming some low, tuneful melody that sounds vaguely familiar to me, but for the life of me I can’t place it. Maybe it’s something my father used to sing when I was very small … it feels like that might be it. Whatever it is, it does its job, I start to calm again, and my breathing slows down, eases off. Eventually I allow my hands to fall away as I let my head fall back into the wall.
“So …” I eventually catch Kesla’s sigh on my left “Rough day, then.” Turning my head slow, I find she’s crouched down against the wall there, pretty much mirroring my own position with knees drawn up and arms propped over them, hands dangling between. She gives me a smile which does seem awfully tired.
“I’d say so, yes.” I manage to croak out after a few moments. Thankfully I didn’t start crying like I worried I might, but my face still feels warm and I’m sure my cheeks are flushed, my eyes hot now. Looks like I came close. Looking to my right I find Gael’s not so much crouched as pretty much slumped against me, arms tightly wrapped around me, head leaning on my shoulder. It’s kind of adorable, really.
“Yeah, well … I been there myself, trust me. Sometimes a fight’ll just … mess with you. You reckon you’re okay, then something’ll happen to just shake something loose and once it’s done you’re trashed.” Kesla flaps her hands vaguely for a moment, something like a shrug to it, but not, and cocks her head. “Never lost it during a scrap, which is the trick, I guess. Long as you can keep it together while the fight’s on, don’t matter too much what happens to you after.”
“I suppose that’s what adrenaline’s for, then.” My voice continues to rasp, so I dip my chin and have a crack at clearing my throat. It works some, at least. “Then you just rely on your instincts, and muscle memory.”
Kesla watches me for a moment, then nods, her smile a little more shrewd now. “Fighters fight. Outside o’ that, we can be a bit of a mess.”
Nodding along, I look down at my own hands again. The spots and spatters of blood still staining them, mostly visible because of that weird magic light. Gods … I feel the tightening in my throat again, the cold chill riding through me again, the sickening lump dropping in the pit of my stomach. My breath doesn’t hitch yet, but I feel it wants to. I lick my lips, finding them suddenly to dry.
“My sword drinks the blood of my kills, apparently.” I say in a very low, small voice, almost just to myself.
Even so, Kesla’s brows shoot up, and she regards me for a few more moments. “Really? Wow. That is … weird. I mean, that Stormshield fella said it was a strong enchantment, and Gael says blood’s got power. Makes sense if you think about it.”
That makes me frown, the way she’s just so cool with it. “It’s bloody creepy, is what it is.”
“I seen some way hairier shit in my time, Shay. There’s warlocks and liches and shit you wouldn’t believe. Not to mention some o’ the shit Yes has run into in her time, I been pretty lucky in some of my encounters compared to her.”
“How do you mean?” That’s definitely peaked my curiosity.
Kesla looks at me for a moment, seeming a little warier now. She’s a few more answering, too, finally sighing before she carries on, looking down to her hands now as she starts to pick away at the cut-off fingers of her gloves. “I dunno … well okay, not exactly. She’s always been pretty private about it, really. Most o’ what I learned about her past’s been accidental, really. Shit she’s let slip in passing, observations on a hunt, or when she’s recognised something a little different, usually something hairy. Most what we know ‘bout her past at all is just that she came from Tektehr, mostly cuz she was running from something. It’s still very much home to her, I’m sure of it, cuz o’ the way she clearly still misses it. But she never talks about it, and I don’t pry.” She looks up again to find me watching, and sets her face a little. “And you shouldn’t either, okay?”
Blinking, I take a breath, finally nod. “Of course. I promise.”
Mirroring my nod, Kesla laces her hands together, her expression softening again. “Good. There’s times it’s hard enough getting Art to listen to that advice, but then he’s mostly a cat deep down. Little idiot can’t help himself.”
We stay as we are for a few more moments before Gael finally lifts their chin enough to look sidelong up at me. “How are you feeling now?”
Regarding them for a long moment, I finally give the warmest smile I can muster as I reach up and give the hand that’s lightly gripping my shoulder a good squeeze. “Better. Thanks for that. Good job.”
Leaning forward for a moment, Kesla plucks my discarded knife from the gutter and settles back where she was before reaching into her coat pocket and, after a moment’s rummage, pulls out a small rag. “You’re welcome, of course. Any time you wanna talk about it, we’re here. Any one of us, it don’t matter. We’re all here for you. We won’t press, but … y’know, might do you some good getting it off your chest eventually.” She takes a moment to inspect my knife, which is now slick and a bit stained from the runoff in the gutter, and starts wiping it down.
I know what she’s getting at, of course. She’s picked up on exactly what’s been eating away at me since the fight, I suspect she’s been picking up on it all along, here and there, whenever I’ve been a little off in our time together since the Reaches. Now I get the feeling Gael has too, which gives them a good deal more credit than I did before, which I’m feeling a little bad about now, truth be told. They’re certainly bright enough to have picked up on it, I don’t know why I never expected it of them. I guess mostly I’ve just been wary of Kesla in this.
It's strange really, once I think about it. Sure, we started out in a very different place – I remember full well how I felt before we came to our uneasy truce, which eventually led to me leaving with them. Before all that, when we were still trying to steal the cargo the Creeping Bam were transporting, I’d marked Kesla as my own personal nemesis in the endeavour. Certainly we weren’t going out of our way to kill them, because that was never the way we did things, but … I’d marked her as a true enemy all the same, someone I wasn’t just determined to kill, but I was actually looking forward to it. I saw a worthy opponent in her, someone I’d feel genuinely fulfilled in defeating. And now … gods, this is so weird for me sometimes, the way things have gone since.
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Truth is, I like her. She’s always so refreshingly honest in everything she does, the whole time I’ve known her she’s never been afraid to speak her mind, and I’m beginning to think she might not be scared of anything. In so many ways she reminds me of my mother. A little rougher around the edges, maybe, but then I understand she’s the daughter of a soldier who himself came from a long line of soldiers. I know exactly where she’s coming from so much of the time. Even though the way she actually is means that much of the time I don’t have much idea what she’s actually thinking. She must be quite a gambler.
She’s very easy to talk to, but a lot of the time I find we tend to just fall into comfortable silences. It’s a strange thing, to be so immediately at ease with someone I’ve known for such a short time, and more so someone who, so recently, I wanted to cut to pieces with my sword. I mean Gael was easy, Art too. But Kesla … somehow I just like being around her, without ever actually needing to say anything.
So I take another deep breath, flexing my hands for a long moment and trying to ignore the bloodstains, and when I turn back to her I’m feeling all right again. Seeing that cool, easy half-smile still touching her lips seems to do that. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Glancing sidelong my way just as she finishes her final polish, her smile opens up a little again. “Fair enough.” She scrunches the rag in one hand while flipping the knife over in the other with a surprisingly careless little flick which is nonetheless one of the deftest motions I think I’ve ever seen, and holds it out to me, handle first. “Just so y’know, I’m here if you wanna talk. About anything.”
Again, I give her a long look before I take the knife back, clean as a whistle now. Yeah, she definitely wants to talk about it, that much is clear, but like she said, she won’t push. I have to smile at that. “Okay.”
“It’s a good knife, by the way.”
Again, I can’t help blinking. “Oh … yeah. It is.” I want to sit forward so I can slip it back home in its sheath, but with Gael still all wrapped around me the way they are it’s not going to happen.
“Nicely balanced.”
“Yeah, it is.” After a moment I let out a sigh and add, gentle as I can: “Gael, can you let go of me now?”
They lift their chin and turn those big, impossibly bright blue eyes on me again, and it seems to take them a moment to realise what I mean. “Oh! Sorry. Yes, of course.” Gael scrabbles to plant themselves into something resembling a comfortable position as they disentangle me from their arms, and I can’t help grinning because they’re suddenly so flustered it’s adorable. As I lean forward to slip the knife back in place they continue to crouch there with uncharacteristic awkwardness, hands curled around their knees like they don’t know what to do with themselves, and their blush is back in a major way.
“Gael, you don’t have to stay down here like that if you don’t want to.”
Their eyes flicker from mine to Kesla’s and as I turn to face her she nods, leaning forward onto her haunches now as she starts to push herself upright. “Yeah … reckon we’re done here, anyway. Might be best we make a move.”
Pushing myself upright too, I stoop again to pull Gael up after me. “Okay, so then what’s the plan?”
Kesla looks back up the alley towards the others, and the general mess. Art and his Guild friends are picking over the bodies now, and while it might be unseemly it feels somewhat familiar to me given when my own old crew used to get up to. I figure Kesla probably set them onto that in the first place, since there’s likely as much to be learned from whatever these dead idiots have on their persons as with anything else. Gael’s friend Tulen, meanwhile, is simply stood off to one side, hands together with the fingers loosely laced under her chin, chin down and eyes closed. I saw her doing this earlier, so I recognise that she’s in communication with someone. I turn back to the half-elf with a questioning look. “What’s that about?”
“Hmm?” Gael frowns before turning to follow my gaze. “Oh … yeah, we’re just checking in with Master Saxiros. She already sent a message to Madame Daste, so this is covered as much by her office as the Guild, just in case.”
“I don’t wanna head back to the hotel just yet, not with all this going on.” Kesla rubs the back of her neck for a moment again in a gesture I’m coming to recognise from her sometimes, certainly when she does some real heavy thinking. “Right … okay, so from what I can understand from our new friends there, they were heading to the temple of Minerva to get in touch with the Silver Order. Now, stands to reason that whatever was good for them before still stands. Might be a smart waystation right now, ‘least under the circumstances, don’t you think?”
Still frowning, Gael thinks for a long moment. “Well it’s one of our main outposts in the city, so yes, that reasoning’s pretty sound. We’ll have some major security set up that might be very well-suited to our current requirements, and if nothing else they’ll be happy to put us up for the night if needed.”
“Hospitality?” I turn to Kesla, who starts to smile now. “Yeah, that does sound promising.”
Nodding, Kesla turns to Gael again. “That’s it, then. You wanna go give Tulen a heads-up? Maybe she can –”
“No need.” Gael simply raises a finger in a gesture that clearly indicates they’re already on it, then laces her hands together in much the same way Tulen already has before muttering under their breath for a moment. Then they bow their head and close their eyes and grow very still indeed, and for a few moments I begin to wonder if they’re still breathing. Just as I’m starting to lean in to check they clear their throat and open their eyes again, breaking contact between their hands, and I step back quickly as they look up at me, then to Kesla. I can’t help it, I start to flush a little in sheer surprise.
“All right.” Gael smiles. “Master Saxiros says he’ll have everything set up for us in time for our arrival at the temple.”
Cocking a brow, Kesla’s smile turns a little more sly. “Did you just butt in on their conversation?”
“No, of course I didn’t …” Gael starts frowning again, looking down as they think again. “Oh gods … I did, didn’t I? Oh no, that was … shit, that was so –”
Kesla steps up and wraps her arm around their shoulders, giving them a quick, close squeeze. “Chill, I’m sure they don’t really mind. Under the circumstances I’m sure it’s perfectly forgivable.”
Gael’s eyes flicker to Kesla again, and they still seem terribly mortified, their cheeks very red now. “Yes, but … Minerva, I’m so embarrassed. I mean … gods, it’s Saxiros, that man is such a big deal in the Order, and I just cut into a private communication with him. Even if … no, that was so unprofessional.”
I shrug, scrambling to come up with a good way to put Gael at ease again. “Oh I don’t know, he seemed all right to me. A little pompous maybe, but he made it clear enough he’s on our side.”
The way Kesla cocks her brow as she looks my way makes me wonder exactly what I’m missing, but she doesn’t argue with me about it. “Shay’s right, we’re all here for the same reason when it all comes down to it, and he did say he’d make sure to do everything he could to help us out if needed. Sounds like he’s stepping up just like he promised.”
After a moment, Gael nods, seeming to calm again. “Yes, of course you’re right. It’s cool. I suppose I just got a bit worked up. I’ve been working on my own recognisance for so long now, I think I forgot what it was like actually being part of the Order.” Their smile starts to come back as they lean into Kesla a little now. “I’m cool.”
This time Kesla’s look is more amused, indulgent, and she shrugs a little bit as she lets Gael go again. The young wizard’s regaining their composure now, the way the smooth down their clothing something I’m starting to recognise as a good sign in them now. They easily reach over to pick their staff up from where they set it against the wall, and simply heft it comfortably with one hand, not the tight two-handed grip I’ve come to associate with their discomfort. So as we begin to make our way back to the others they’re certainly more sprightly again, very much the Gael I’ve become quite fond of as they fall into step beside me.
“So how are you doing now?” they ask as we walk, watching me sidelong.
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes just as surely as I might want to snap a retort, instead I consider my answer for a moment. Finally I have to concede that whatever else they might’ve wanted, together with Kesla they seem to have succeeded in their attempt as much by accident as intent. The smile I give this time is warmly heartfelt. “Better now, like you. I’m … okay, I admit it, I may still be a little out of sorts after Ashsong and … everything else. But I’m good. You don’t have to keep handling me like I’m fragile. I’m certainly tougher than you are.”
Gael’s look turns a little sheepish, and they reach for their newly-mended shoulder seemingly without conscious intent. “The fight just got ahead of me, that’s all. I think I did all right, all things considered. Kesla certainly thought so.”
“She’s right. You did.” I give them a gentle shoulder-check. “Just don’t do that again, please. For my peace of mind, at least.”
“Okay, I swear. No more stupid risks.” They take a deep breath, letting out a long, tired sigh, and I can tell the day’s weighing on them as much as on me. Kesla seems as collected as ever, but I’m beginning to think she never shows weakness, even at her worst. She could be falling-down exhausted right now and we’d never know it.
So I reach up and wrap my arm around Gael’s shoulders, giving them a little crush as we re-enter what’s now definitely become a very cold crime scene, so we both keep an eye on our feet as we step over the first corpse. Kesla’s already folding her arms as she looks down at Art and his two former Guild-mates. “All right, you find anything?”
Art looks up from where he’s crouched over one of the bodies, mostly just contemplating now, it seems. The hob, Zuldrad, and that strange young halfling, Darwyn, are stood off to the side by the wall now, the former as cool and unreadable as I would’ve expected but the latter once again looking deeply unhappy to be here. There’s a little more to the halfling’s expression now though, even if they are doing an admirable job hiding it. She almost looks startled now, I think.
“Not much at all, no.” Art straightens up out of his crouch with the same lazy ease I’d expect from someone who’s more cat than man. He’s mostly thoughtful now, but I think there’s a trace of that same disconnection I see in his one-time friend. “Reckon they been told to leave anything ain’t essential home before they came out, just in case o’ this. No keepsakes, no nick-nacks, definitely no forms of identification.”
“No clues at all, then?” Kesla sighs, shuffling her feet in very subtle frustration. “Sounds about right for today.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that.” Art turns to his old friends, cocking a brow their way.
Once again, Darwyn gives Art a cold, sharp look I’d really hate to be on the receiving end of, but she’s been glaring at him like that since she joined us and he’s never shown the slightest acknowledgement of it. With tight jaw and deep frown, she raises what she’s holding, a small, simple matt black leather satchel, which she tosses to Kesla without ceremony. “Found these on some of ‘em.”
Kesla catches the package with ease and flips the unbuckled flap open with a simply flick of her wrist before delving inside with a slight frown of her own. Stepping away from Gael, I move to her side so I can get a look at the contents too, and Gael moves round her other side to do the same, what’s left of their tiredness vanishing again in the face of curiosity.
Reaching inside, Kesla passes one of the items inside to me, then continues to rummage. From what I can see it’s a bunch of bundled leather kits, so I unsnap the one in my hands and unroll it. I recognise what I’m looking at immediately. “These are lockpick tools. Really good ones, too.”
“They’re Guild-issue kits.” Art growls, and when I look up he almost looks angry now. He casts a narrows side-eye to Darwyn, and this time she surprises me with the way she’s unable to hold his look. She sighs through pursed lips and flicks a conflicted look to Zuldrad, who merely shrugs.
“We’re surprised as you are.” The hob’s reply is as matter-of-fact as I would’ve expected.
“They’re Guild, then?” Kesla stuffs the kit in her hand back in the satchel a little more forcefully than necessary, her expression darkening by the second now. “I thought … didn’t your man Cobb say far as he knew Guild weren’t involved?”
“That’s just it, boss.” Art spreads his hands wide, gesturing to the scattered bodies. “These clowns ain’t Guild. I can tell just looking at ‘em. They’re good, an’ they’re slick, sure, but they ain’t Guild trained. But they got Guild tools, and from the looks of it some of ‘em are packing Guild blades, too.”
That … can’t be right. My father taught me a lot about a lot of things over the years when I was growing up, at least until he left, and he knew a surprising amount about the Thieves Guild. “There’s no way they could have stolen that stuff. The Guild –”
“Would skin ‘em alive, yeah.” Darwyn sighs deep as she slouches back against the wall, folding her arms tight across her chest with a particularly foul look on her face. “Only way they could’ve gotten our gear is from us. Either trade or gifted, definitely not through violence of theft. An’ we don’t do that. Our gear’s like our methods, strictly proprietary. We’re the only ones who’re allowed to use ‘em.”
“Did Cobb lie to us?” Kesla turns to look directly at Darwyn now, and I’m not surprised. Right now she’s the closest thing here to his direct representative.
“No.” She shakes her head vehemently, and the indignation in her face is very sincere. Certainly I buy it – she’s clearly as rattled by this as Art. “No. He’s sly when he needs to be, but it goes with the job. Cobb’s still a straight arrow, if he says something it’s gospel. Far as he knows we ain’t involved, so if there are shenanigans going on he’s outta the loop.”
Art rounds on her now. “But how … Cobb’s like the big brass in the Untermer firm, though. Even if it ain’t his specific division, he still knows about it. Even if it’s somebody right up top, which I doubt, no way they could keep him in the dark about it.”
“Cobb’s getting on now, though.” Zuldrad rumbles, stroking his bristly chin as he looks down at the nearest corpse, although he’s likely not really seeing it right now. He’s far away now, deeply thoughtful. “He’s getting old. Ain’t lost any steps yet, but he still ain’t gonna last that much longer in the job. He’s already talked about retirement more’n once, least how I heard. He’s got it buttoned down, but there’s folk in there know they can outlast him, an’ they reckon they can do it better.” He looks up towards Art, then to Kesla. Then me, which is surprising. “If they sense a wind-change, even a little ‘un, well …”
“Like that prick, what was his name … Yevnik?” Kesla practically spits the name, and I don’t blame her. She clearly didn’t like him an more than I did, and she has better reason not to.
This prompts the slightest eyebrow-raise from Darwyn as she looks at Art, but he doesn’t rise to it, he just frowns. “I dunno … Yevnik’s a nasty piece o’ work, but he’s Guild through and through, an’ this is some fucked up shit we’re dealing with. Even he wouldn’t stoop to that.”
“Anybody else?” Kesla’s watching Art again, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking now, but something about it makes me uncomfortable. Or maybe it’s just the conversation in general.
Art just stands there, looking down at the bodies like his hobgoblin friend, but he seems a lot more focused on them. Then his eyes flicker to the sword still jammed into the wall. I find myself following his gaze now, turning to inspect the weapon.
I was raised among orcs, there were always as many in our company as humans, and being half-orc myself I always felt a strong connection with all of them. It’s a very familiar weapon, even if it’s not really my style – my father taught me to fight with a good deal more finesse than this long, heavy, jagged broadsword is capable of, but I know their blades well enough all the same given I spent so much of my life around them. I took a close look at that one after the fight was over, and while I was still pretty rattled from … well, from Gael, I noticed well enough that there’s something a little different about it than a typical orcish sword.
Certainly it’s styled and outfitted like a typical orcish broadsword, but then that’s likely simply in deference to the requirements of its particular wielder. Even so, the steel looks to be more well-refined than most I’ve seen, the jagged edges more of an affectation than the more rudimentary by-product that tends to occur in an orc’s more down-and-dirty forge. The leather of the grip is of a much higher quality too, dark and rich. Indeed, the metal of the blade and hilt are a good deal darker than most weapons I’ve come across … aside from Art’s, at least. Something to do with the way the metal’s treated, I’d imagine. Wait …
“Art …” I turn back fast, finding Kesla’s watching me with a subtly curious look on her face, while Art’s frowning my way now. “That orc … the sword …”
“Oh for the love of …” Darwyn hisses under her breath, genuinely glaring at Art now. “Just fucking tell ‘em already.”
When Kesla turns back to Art, it’s with the languid slowness of someone who already knows the answer, but is still prepared to wait for him to speak for himself. All she does is sigh, cocking her head a little as she regards her friend now, but her expression remains stony cool. “Tell us what, Art?”
Art glares at Darwyn now, but while it’s mostly reproach, there’s a haunted look behind it. He’s really not happy about something. Whatever it is weighs heavy on him indeed. “The orc … we used to know ‘im.”
“What?” For the first time since we began this conversation, the dwarf woman, Thelgaewynn, makes her presence known again, starting to climb to her feet now, although it looks like it’s a bit more effort now than it might’ve been before the fight. Her friends have looked up now too, but remain where they are, the goblin, Brung, still very much maintaining his close guarding position to our one and only prisoner. “You said you didn’t know who this was.”
“We don’t. Not directly, it’s just …” Art sighs as he seems to deflate, looking like the day’s taken its toll as much on him now as the rest of us. “I said we used to know him. He’s been gone a long time, even before I left Untermer.”
“Who?” Kesla sighs, and for the first time she lets her own fatigue show, or perhaps she’s just had enough of all this evasion. “Art, this is important.”
“Yeah, I know it is.” His face darkens again as he looks around, and it’s not at us anymore. He’s looking at the alley itself, round the space, and into the shadows. Like he doesn’t trust his surroundings any more. “We shouldn’t talk about it here, though.”
Kesla watches him for a moment longer, then turns back to his old friends, then just looks around one last time. “All right, time to go.” She turns to me at last, which takes me a little by surprise. “Reckon you can get that sword free?”
Blinking for a moment, I look back at the sword, then back. “Um … I’d imagine so, yeah.”
“Good. I wanna be outta here in five minutes.”
As she turns away, moving to the younger dwarf now, I turn to Art, watchful now. He’s looking at the sword again, and his face is genuinely haunted now. He’s not alone – Darwyn’s stopped glaring at him, instead following his gaze like she’s trying to solve a puzzle and she doesn’t like how the pieces fit together. Turning away from them all, I head to the wedged blade, flexing my hands and giving my shoulders a little roll now as I start to limber up, just in case it decides to give me a little trouble after all. Certainly I don’t like where this is heading at all …