23. Restitution

Birds tweeted out an early morning song. The air had a cold, hard edge to it, and dew hung heavy in the grass.

Torchbearer had pulled Lace out for some extra practice. Normally, she would have jumped at the chance.

Now, she could only think about Kiren. A hard knot wrenched her stomach.

He lied to me. How could he do this?

I destroyed his home. I’m no better.

I’m such a fool. I should have known he was hiding something.

She hadn’t told anyone about what had happened. How could she? She still hadn’t processed it fully herself. She had allowed herself to trust Kiren despite all the warning signs.

It was no longer the two of them against the world.

She was alone.

Torchbearer positioned himself in front of Lace in the practice yard, arms crossed in front of him. “Now,” he said. “I think you are owed an explanation. I don’t know if you remember, but back at that hideout raid, I mentioned that you have a Primal Power. Do you know what that means?”

“No idea,” Lace admitted. She forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

“Powers are classified into different subsections by the folks up at Wiseman’s Temple. Excelerate has an Augmentation Power, since it enhances his basic bodily functions. Bloodhound has a Morphogenic Power, since it primarily alters his physical form. You and me, we both have Primal Powers, so called because we alter the very fabric of this world. Earth, wind, water, fire, that type of thing.”

“I see,” Lace said, nodding. “So, what does that have to do with the ghosts that come to me? The white flames I saw you use? Is that a trait of Primal Powers?”

Torchbearer squinted at the sky. “Functionally, I suppose you could say that, but technically, not at all. That form you called upon, it’s not a ghost. It’s an extension of the Creator’s power.”

Lace looked down at her hands. “What?”

“It may sound strange, but it’s true. Have you read through the Creator’s Will?”

“Of course.”

“Then you’ll know that when the Unmaker drove a knife through the Creator’s heart to gain dominion over all creation, our god bled out upon the soil. That blood permeated into every pore of this planet, charging it with a sliver of his being. Most may think he’s dead, perhaps even the Unmaker herself, but I believe that is far from true.”

Torchbearer held up his hand and conjured a bright, orange flame.

“That’s why you may have noticed that you can’t always summon this power. It has a will of its own. The Creator is looking for able champions to carry on the fight against the Unmaker in his stead. Those with Primal Powers are most closely linked to him, due to our connection with the earth’s basic elements. Although, I should note that not all with Primal Powers receive this gift. In fact, it’s exceedingly rare—somewhere in the range of one in a hundred Primal users.”

“Oh, I see,” Lace said. “I suppose I should be honored, then.”

Torchbearer shrugged, chainmail clinking. “Perhaps. Or maybe you should consider yourself cursed. Being blessed with the Creator’s power tends not to be conducive to a long life. Trouble follows at their heels, for power invites company.”

Lace sighed. “Yeah, I get it.”

Of course there had to be a catch.

“So, if this force has a mind of its own,” she said, “is that why it came to me while I was fighting the Beasts?”

Torchbearer nodded. He closed his fist and snuffed out the flame.

“Exactly, sirrah. The Creator’s remnant senses when the children of the Unmaker are near. That is usually when he will reveal himself to you.”

“So… is there any way to practice this? Can it be used for purposes other than fighting Beasts?”

“You are thinking of it the wrong way, I believe,” Torchbearer said. “It’s not a power you use. It’s one you borrow, channel through yourself, for whichever purpose the Creator deigns. I must confess, although I am a Primal myself, I don’t know much on the subject. I was going to discuss with Excelerate about sending you to study at Wiseman’s Temple for a few months. A bit further along, of course, once your training is in a good place.”

Wiseman’s Temple. The seat of the brightest priests in all of Aribel, safeguard of the clergy’s most profound knowledge. Headed by Sage himself.

To study there would be an honor almost comparable to serving at Paragon’s own court.

“Do you really think that would be possible?” Lace spluttered.

Torchbearer smiled through his leathery, cracked lips. “I’ll take it you’d be willing, then. I give no promises—but I’d say your chances are good. The clergy is always looking for Primals—especially ones that are already attuned with God.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“No need to thank me,” he said. “I’m only trying to further the next generation. Now, I’ve got some patrol errands to attend to. Do you have any other questions?”

“No, Master. I don’t wish to keep you.”

He nodded. “Very well then.”

Torchbearer walked off towards the gates, hand on the pommel of his blackened sword.

Lace turned around and jumped back when she saw Gantho’s gaunt, soot-stained face right in front of hers. He was grinning like a gargoyle.

Lace clutched her chest. “Creator’s blood, don’t sneak up on someone like that!”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, wiping his red nose with a dirty rag, then hooking it over his apron. “I just thought I’d wait until you two were done.”

He carried a long bundle under his right arm, wrapped in cloth.

“You requisitioned the Workshop for a weapon to better harness your Power,” Gantho said. He cracked a big smile. “Well, we always deliver. This beauty is yours.”

He handed over the bundle, and Lace took it reverently. It was lighter than she would have expected for a weapon.

“Can I look at it?”

Gantho laughed. “Well, of course! It’s yours, isn’t it?”

Lace smiled and started unwrapping the cloth.

*****

Kiren looked around the alley to make sure he didn’t have company.

Empty.

Good.

He untied the bundle of cloth off his bag and arrayed the stolen contents in front of him on the ground. Long scraps of fabric from a nightgown he had snatched off a rack, a set of pine logs he had stolen off the back of a logging wagon, a bottle of strong vodka he had taken off a hungover noble, and a flint and steel he had bought with some of his last coins.

He arranged the logs into a neat pile and stuck it through with the fabric, then soaked the whole thing in alcohol.

Pine was perfect. It would make all the smoke he needed.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

This had better work, or I’m going to look real stupid in a minute.

Lastly, he brought out a flint and iron. He struck the two together, producing sparks that eventually set the pile of logs soundly ablaze.

The fire produced clouds of billowing smoke that drifted up over the rooftops.

Kiren fought through a coughing fit and stood back from the fire.

He grinned.

Perfect.

He left the alley and took off in a sprint down the street. It only took him two or three minutes to reach the guard station near the Lodge.

The guard at the front of the place roused from an apparent nap when Kiren came running, leaned comfortably against the wall.

“Fire!” Kiren shouted at the top of his lungs. “There’s a fire!”

“You pulling my leg, boy?” the guard asked, frowning.

“Get yourself together, man! See for yourself!” Kiren pointed to the smoke trailing over the rooftops in the distance. “It’ll burn down half the fucking district if you don’t put it out!”

The guard scrambled up and looked around blearily. He hurried inside and there was a raucous tumult. Four guardsmen burst through the door, Captain Renalt at their head.

“Kiren, right?” the captain said. “Help keep an eye on the place while we’re gone, would you? Just make sure none of the detainees up and leave, somehow.”

“Sure thing, cap,” Kiren said, watching them run off.

As soon as they were out of sight he walked inside the jail.

He started when he noticed a guardsman still sitting on a chair, cleaning his nails.

“Fire, huh?” the man said. “Pretty rare thing, here in the inner city.”

Suppose it was too much to ask for all of them to leave.

Kiren glanced towards the cells lining the corridor to his left. He steeled his mind for what he would have to do.

“Yeah, it looked intense,” Kiren said, walking towards the guard. “I just hope your friends there can put it out. Maybe they could use some extra help.”

“Me?” the man asked. “Nah. Has to be at least one guard in here at all times.”

The man gave Kiren a scrutinizing look as he drew closer, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“I see. That’s unfortunate.”

Kiren reached the guard in two long steps and kicked his chair away. He toppled onto his butt with a yelp, and Kiren yanked him up by his gambeson. Before he had the chance to struggle, he spun the man around and put him in a chokehold, forearm squeezing down on his throat.

The guard struggled, trying to bat Kiren’s hands away, but he kept a firm grip. The man gurgled and choked.

He counted every second that passed as the guard’s struggles grew weaker. Every moment lost was one he couldn’t spare. If Captain Renalt and the others came back, it would be all over.

It took almost a minute until he went completely limp. Kiren lowered him to the floor and took the keychain off his belt. He rushed through to the cell block.

He found Ratfoot, Tryss, and Mug in three separate cells.

Mug showed a scarred grin as he looked at the keys in Kiren’s hand.

“I heard some commotion out there,” he said. “This what I think it is?”

“I’m breaking you out,” Kiren said, trying out keys for Mug’s cell. “Don’t get a big head over it, old man.”

“Unmaker’s tits, boy, do you know what you’re doing?” Ratfoot asked.

“I know I’m not letting you rot in prison. Listen, did she burn down the bar?”

“Who?”

“The girl. Brown hair. Short.”

“There were two of them,” Tryss said. “The older one did it.”

“And the girl didn’t do anything?” Kiren asked.

“She wasn’t there. Left before the bitch set the place alight.”

Kiren breathed a deep sigh of relief. He unlocked Mug’s cell and quickly got the other two open.

At least Lace had nothing to do it. I might be able to convince her to come around, then.

“Alright, let’s hurry up and get out of here. The guards’ll be back any second.”

“Wait!” howled a voice from further down the hall. “What about us? You’re letting us out too, right?”

Hyena stuck his big snout between the bars, sniffing loudly.

Kiren jogged over to the last two cells. He glanced first at Hyena, then Snapjaw, both clutching the cell doors, eyes full of hope.

“I’ll release you. On one condition,” Kiren said.

“Anything!” Hyena howled. “Just let us go!” He grasped for the keys, but Kiren held them out of reach.

“I want your help fighting someone.”

“Uh, look,” Hyena said. “It might not look like it, but we’re not exactly fighters. We’re robbers, y’know?”

“That’s my offer. Take it or leave it. It expires in about ten seconds.”

The two overgrown criminals shared a look.

“We’ll do it,” they said in unison.

Kiren nodded and stuck the key in Hyena’s door.

Let’s hope there really is honor among thieves. I don’t need them bolting on me.

He got the door open and did the same for the other robber. They stepped out into the hallway, looming over him.

This might go terribly wrong.

*****

Hulda came to pick Lace up and they took a private Ludenhaas carriage down to the Slog.

“Judging by the lack of Excelerate’s insistent meddling, I’ll assume you did what I asked of you,” Hulda said.

Her hands were folded primly in her lap, back perfectly straight. Every fold of her pure white dress was immaculately pressed, and her hair had been done up in an intricate bun.

She looked at Lace expectantly.

“Y-Yeah,” Lace said.

“I’m happy to see there are still some Hero prospects with a bit of integrity,” Hulda said with a smile.

“Master, there’s something I would like to ask.”

“So ask.”

“Someone I know, they said… They said that bar burned down. Did you do that after I left?”

Hulda gave Lace a long look, a growing frown on her face. The silver spear vibrated in her lap.

“I did no such thing,” she said firmly, earnestly. “Nor was I informed of it. It was likely some third party who saw their chance once I departed.”

“Ah, I see.”

The answer did not satisfy her unease.

Could Kiren have been right?

She steeled her heart and set her jaw.

No. He never deserved my trust in the first place. Whatever Hulda is doing, I’m sure it’s for the greater good. She’s an A-Rank Hero, after all. You don’t get there without virtue.

“Where are we going?” Lace asked, just to have something else to think about.

“I managed to suss out the location of this ‘Jarl’ through some of my contacts. An old member of the Thieves’ Guild, supposedly—a cryptographer. We’re paying him a friendly visit.”

The Thieves’ Guild?

Lace had never known such an organization existed.

The carriage reached the edge of the Slog and they disembarked. The roads were too narrow to allow passage.

They walked into that forlorn, sunken place. The Second Sun looming behind them at the peak of the city only made the slum feel squatter in comparison. Hulda took the lead with long, confident steps.

Lace made sure her new weapon was firmly secured on her back.

“The book,” Hulda said without breaking stride. “I need you to know how important it is. It’s not just some dusty old tome.”

Maybe I’ll finally get some answers.

“It contains some of the Ludenhass family’s deepest secrets. In the wrong hands, this information could topple us. That’s why I have to find it. It’s not petty greed. It’s a must. Without the Ludenhaas family to head up trade and security, this city is lost.”

“What kind of secrets?” Lace asked.

Hulda shot her a withering glance. “Ones which should never be unearthed, lest the balance between the five noble families topples, shaking the very foundations of this empire.”

Lace bowed her head. “I understand, Master.”

*****

It was not an easy task to shuttle such a large group, both in numbers and size, through the inner city without being seen. It wasn’t long before an alarm was raised. The guards would be looking for them.

Kiren prayed a Hero wouldn’t show up.

They stuck to alleys, moving only when the streets were clear. They made it to the wall, but they would never be let through the gate. Instead, Kiren had Snapjaw, the stronger of the two criminals, hurl them to the top of the six-meter wall, using just enough force so that they didn’t overshoot the edge.

Afterward, Hyena got on his shoulders and clambered onto the crest, then pulled up his comrade.

They got down on the other side, directly into the Slog. No guards would bother following them into the slums.

They took a breather there while they came up with a better plan. Kiren massaged his knees, which ached from the impacts of getting down the wall.

“Old man, I’ve gotta ask you,” Kiren said, waving Mug over. “What’s so fucking special about that book? Why does Ludenhaas want it so bad?”

“Funny thing, that,” Mug said with a crooked smile. “I didn’t know it when I had you snatch it, but the book itself is a fake. It’s a cipher.”

“Cipher?” Kiren asked. “A cipher for what?”

“Dunno. Do I strike you as the kind of gentleman who knows their way around a cipher? I gave it to a friend, though. Jarl. For safekeeping, you see. I didn’t trust that… thing to deliver on its promise. Anyway, Jarl has some expertise in that area. He was working on deciphering the book last time I saw him.”

“Whatever’s in there, it’s got to be something the Ludenhaas want to keep secret. Explains why that bitch has been so rabid about it.”

He gathered the rest of them around.

“Alright, everyone. Mug, Ratfoot, Tryss, you go somewhere safe, wait for all this to blow over.”

“I’ve got a brother in Small Miracle,” Tryss said. “He might take us.”

Kiren nodded. “Good. Whatever you do, don’t answer the fucking door. Hyena, Snapjaw, you’re with me. Old man, give me directions to Jarl’s place.”