“I’m so sorry, Captain Quistis.” Mertle fidgeted nervously around Quistis’s back as she worked on Vial. “I panicked. I didn’t know where else to turn to.”

The Sisters were halfway closer than the Fortress. Any of the taverns would have at least a healer drinking the night away with some of the other idle adventurers.

“Next time, you can find one of my sisters or brothers at the Guild, miss Mergara. Just call for a healer in the main hall. One will answer.”

“Mertle. Please. I-I-I panicked.”

“It’s alright. Thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

Five stab wounds neatly dressed. Bruising turning purple. A large lump on his head. Two cracked ribs, likely from the fall. Defensive cuts on his hands and arms. Vial had fought back but been overwhelmed. Taken by surprise, given Mertle’s chaotic description of what she’d witnessed.

“I require this one be mended.” She pressed her hand to his chest and prayed for the goddess’s favour. Given the cuts and the amount of blood drying on the table, he’d be out a while, at least until she got him back to her ward to mix him some appropriate draughts and get him back on his feet. The knock to his head would be the worst of it. The rest were already healed to scars. Bloody lucky to be alive, given the fall off the roof with those injuries.

“Tough lad,” she commented under her breath.

The elendine fretted all around her, wanting to speak and yet not disturb her, restless and spooked. Quistis could hardly blame her.

“Will he be alright?” Mertle asked.

“Yes. Your intervention likely saved his life.”

Wounds had been dressed meticulously with spectacular competency. If there was a flaw in the aid Vial had received, Quistis couldn’t spot it. More than meets the eye, the smith. And that went likely double for the elendine, despite everything they’d learned of her.

I have earned no name.

She’d been mulling that one over and over in her mind all night. Likely, she would’ve gone to sleep and wake still thinking on it. Elend were not treated kindly by the aelir. Being denied their name wasn’t uncommon, of course, but the way she’d said it. To earn a name, one must perform extraordinary duties to their aelir household. Their questioning hadn’t been concerned with this point and they hadn’t wanted to waste the window of opportunity presented by the venom… but maybe they should have.

“This woman,” she said while looking around the cramped, crowded workshop. “What colour were her eyes?”

Mertle brought over a bucket of water and a mop and tried to wash the blood off the floor. Vial groaned on the table, coming to from his brush with death.

“I… didn’t see, captain. She was all dressed up in shadows. Scared me silly. Well… sillier. You understand.”

“I do. Any other details you remember aside from pale and scary?”

“She wore glasses?”

“Almost every experienced channeller out there suffers from poor eyesight. Comes with the territory and them abusing their limits.”

So, Mertle couldn’t pick the channeller out of a crowd probably. At least, as far as her admission went.

“And you said that the smith chased her off?”

“Oh yes. Yes. He came out with his sword and shield, shouted at her to leave the man alone, and then charged. Tummy’s very scary when he’s riled up like that.”

She found that very hard to believe. Anyone attacking a Storm Guard openly wouldn’t just… take off. She rested her eyes on Mertle while the elendine scrubbed the floor clear of blood, still wondering what to really make of her.

Barlo was with the smith, both outside in the snowfall, investigating the scene for absolutely nothing of worth. Their presence there was damning. Truth of the matter was that Vial had been discovered and now they’d have to explain his presence there. Lovely talk to come, of course.

“Please look after him while I talk to my colleague.” She excused herself and walked out of the stifling heat, into the biting chill of early morning.

Barlo was up on the roof. The smith watched him with crossed arms, a pile of snow building atop his shoulders. His goggles made his eyes look too large for his face, what with his thick, square jaw and meaty, shaved head. The thick sword he wore, blade as wide as Quistis’s calf, lessened the comedic effect.

“I’ll assume there’s nothing to follow?” Mertle had described shadows like moving tar. There wouldn’t be a trail left behind.

Barlo let out a low growl of annoyance, “Little”. He jumped off the roof and landed in a snowbank stained with frozen blood. “This be Crepuscular work, of course. Probably our same one. Opportunity attack if I’m any judge to call it.”

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

“Against one of ours?”

“Aye. Which… best we talk when we get back. Lad’s hale?”

“He’ll pull through. Nothing permanent.”

“Best you both explain why we nearly had a dead Storm Guard in our back alley, fallen off our roof with more holes poked in’im than southern cheese,” the smith said.

Aside from the odd analogy, his tone betrayed absolutely no amusement. Quite the opposite. Smith Toh’Uhm had nothing of Mertle’s chaotic, easygoing attitude.

Barlo gave her a long stare and walked by, “Your call, your problem.” He ducked through the too-low doorway and headed inside. “Up and at’em, Vial. Sleep on yer own time an’ in yer own bed.”

A small crowd of rubberneckers had gathered to crowd the entrance to the alley, murmuring loudly. Excellent timing with people moving in large groups across Valen with the changing of the night shift. Rumours would be flying by the end of morning, and they’d range from the stupid to the absurd and the downright disturbing.

A demi living outside of Nen. Rare sight. And rarer still, Barlo had educated her, to find one working with an elend, on Vas of all places. Toh’Uhm was as skilled with a field dressing as any soldier she’d ever trained, had a keen sense of observation, and wielded a tone of voice that, were she a less seasoned soldier, would’ve turned her insides to water. Not someone to lie to.

Even his sword’s hilt, worn, old, and scuffed, told an impressive story of the man watching her with arms crossed. And she could fit that story all too well in the vague suggestions of their first meeting. There was a scale to balance with regards to his competency.

“I believe I need to apologise.” She weighed her words carefully, picking her way forward with as much diplomacy as she could muster. “Has Mertle informed you of what our talk was about? Of what we suspect of this Sil person?”

“Involved with Cinder? Aye. She’s told me.”

“Then you understand that Sil is Bad News with all capitals, yes?”

“Innocent until proven guilty.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward slightly. “Heard that was the human way. Innocent first. Guilty only if proven as such.”

She gave him a lopsided smile and defied his unhappy glare. “Not when it comes to Cinder and her allies. Civility is a luxury we can’t afford. There was an attack on the Night of Descent. Many of my men have seen this Sil aiding Cinder.”

The smith scratched the heavy stubble under his chin, ignoring the crowd of onlookers. Many of them would man shops and carts in the Agora soon and talk about this meeting to any number of their customers. Quistis wouldn’t hear the end of this cock up for a tenday at least.

“And you suspect we’re in leagues with Cinder. Aye?”

“It is a reasonable suspicion.”

“I see.” If he felt offended, he didn’t show it. “Mertle and I were here on that night. We had customers in here that can vouch for us.”

“We know. We’ve checked. We know you had to help one with a fainting spell that may have also been our doing.”

“Aye. Heard of your other cock-up. Sounds to me like Cinder’s had you chasing your tails and laughing about it.”

What hurt the most was that he was right. Quistis could only offer a tight-lipped smile.

He waggled a finger at her, “We will submit to your investigation in any way you need us to. But we will not be spied upon. We left the Dominion to be away from that kind of nonsense. If it happens again, I will complain to the Agora’s Circle and put this matter into their very capable hands.”

And they, in turn, would raise it with Valen’s Council, and what a wonderful tempest of crap would stir up once Falor’s momentary popularity faded. Warning taken to heart.

“Understandable.” She resigned the point without a fight. It was already difficult to justify this kind of interest in two respectable merchants that had been openly cooperating with them without complaint. If Mertle ever figured out they’d drugged her for questioning, that would be more than enough reason for Valen’s Council to skin Quistis alive. Over coals.

With nothing else to be gained from the alley—or anything at all for that matter—they headed back inside. The forge’s heat was a wall that she had to push herself through. Vial was up on his feet, shakily held up by Barlo’s meaty arm around his shoulders.

“Captain.” He offered her a weak salute. “’Fraid I failed my mission.”

“Later.” She opened her rend and dug in for an accelerant. A bloodberry tonic should be enough for the time being. “Since you’re up and about, drink this. We’ll debrief back at the garrison and then I want you resting for a couple of days.”

“Yes, Captain Quistis.”

Mertle was sat on a large box marked with the stencil of the Enginarium. Metal ingots for the forge. She was swinging her legs looking everywhere but at her.

“Once again, I apologise for tonight, Mertle.” Quistis bowed low. “I am in your debt doubly now.”

“No, that’s alright.” The elendine refused to meet her eye once she straightened. “Just… please… let me know if you find out anything about Sil. She can’t be what you think she is. She can’t be in league with that Cinder monster. She just can’t.” The last part was a terrified whisper that turned Quistis’s stomach in sympathy.

“I will inform you the moment we know something. You have my promise.”

The smith let out a meaningful cough without giving her a look. He worked the bellows of the forge, getting his coals glowing. An awkward silence stretched in the room, punctured only by the rhythm breath of the bellows.

She gestured for Barlo to go. Vial shook off the vanadal’s steadying hand and shuffled out of the room.

“I wish you both a good day, for what that may be worth.” Quistis followed the two men without being shown out, following in Barlo’s wake.

Once out in the cold, the lock slammed home behind them. With Barlo catching up to Vial to split the morning crowd, she lingered in front of the anvil fixed outside, a hand on its pitted surface, scratching at the rust.

“Well played,” she murmured. “Well bloody played.”

Granted, she wasn’t a fan of the method but couldn’t argue the results. She bit her lower lip in frustration for a wasted night’s work, and stifled a yawn as she joined the ebb of Valen’s traffic.

On the way back, she took a small detour by the elend coffee place that Barlo had told her about—they really did have an excellent blend fit for humans—and then climbed the many stairs up to the Sisters’ hospital.