A Weapon To Rescue Lives Otherwise Lost

One of the Ninjas, a woman with golden blonde buns barely visible, said something in what may well have been Yosribdi, the tongue of Stegzi. It matched the famous Ottkir world traveler Topent Atkolta's description of a language that invariably sounded angry regardless of the speaker's mood. Then again, she might have just been angry. In response, six of the assailants dropped to the ground and unsheathed short swords in preparation for a massed attack.

“Run,” Takki suggested, and they did. Not before the Ritualist among them sent up a pretty light, of course. To the Ninjas and their high Receptivity, it appeared very pretty indeed, engrossingly so.

“You run too, and refrain from looking up.” Dirant had begun to doubt the practicality of the Fascination Ritual, since he risked entrancing any allies he happened to have as well, but it remained advisable in escape-based plans. All the more so when the single important ally had learned to keep her eyes down when he used it.

The almost eight minutes of its duration, or Dirant's Receptivity divided by eleven in minutes if he wanted to brag despite the discouraging glare of Adaban tradition, got them out of the woods and close to the track. The Ninjas adapted by turning their heads away, both their own and jerking those of their transfixed comrades, which did terrible things to their marksmanship and their necks. Even after the pretty light dissolved, they feared some similar trick and kept their distance. That hesitation kept the four safe from a concerted onslaught, and when a cart rolled by on its downhill journey to the Chunawm Metals facility, full of promising ore to be processed and less promising dross to be discarded, they grabbed the sides and clung.

“This is where a Small Fry shines! I'll never let go!” Eyanya's jubilant cry made the cart's rumbling seem a whisper.

“Oh?” The ineloquence of Millim Takki Atsa's question might be forgiven on account of her asking that while holding on with one hand and beating back throwing knives with a halberd held in the other.

“It's true. We have this ability, Tenacious Grip, that makes it so instead of using Muscle to hold onto things we use half our Muscle and all of our Verve. Seeing as that's the class's highest requirement . . . Are you doing all right, Dirant?”

“I've got him.” Hugal exercised his Small Fry advantages to maintain a grip on the cart and the low-Muscle Ritualist simultaneously.

Relieved, Dirant commented, “Thank you, and I see now Kelnsolt was right. Small Fry is an excellent class.”

“He said that?” Both grooms grinned and even blushed, something they had never done in all the time Dirant had known them no matter how much their employer, or he for that matter, thought they should have.

“He favors them in his hiring, he told me, and gave me reason to believe that opinion is not a personal idiosyncrasy.”

“Maybe I'll explore my employment options after we've escaped.”

“You mean now that we've escaped, Hugal.”

“I meant this cart isn't that fast and they are, Eyanya.”

It was true the Ninjas were keeping up pretty well with the ore hauler, but not well enough to incite any panic in the pursued. The Stegzins fell behind bit by bit, more so when the slope became steeper. They nevertheless kept up the chase over the entire distance to the camp. However the class fared in combat, it possessed impressive stamina unless only the strenuous training of those particular specimens made it seem so.

The two Small Fry attempted to match that feat of endurance with a marathon of yelling. They succeeded so well that when the camp became visible, already the hardy workers and the less physically oriented personnel along with Lord Audnauj and Onzalkarnd had grabbed weapons or weapon-like tools and arrayed themselves two ranks deep for battle. The formation parted to allow the cart through. As it did, the grooms hopped off and made a full and clear report.

“They're Stegzins, we think,” Hugal said.

“They're Ninjas, we think. Pretty interesting, right? A new class?” Eyanya was not actually asking. She knew the answer.

“That is interesting,” a bunch of workers said about the second part and Disal esIdyuin about the first part. The manager called over Mohlin laMohlay, a lawyer retained by Chunawm Metals who spoke perfect Yosribdi and was there to look over some proposals sent by a prospective purchaser in Stegzi.

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“Mr. laMohlay, tell them . . . I don't know. Stall for time the way Stegzins do it.”

Mohlin nodded, adjusted his expensive Yean Defiafi cravat, and walked up to the front line. “Dust should get along with dust,” he called out in a voice so deep and rich that its great volume seemed a natural property and not a result of panic or wrath. “My name is Mohlin laMohlay, and I will represent Chunawm Metals in any negotiation if one is required. Who is available to represent the other side?”

The Ninjas stopped when they came to the edge of thrown dagger range. That may have been a mistake, since the defenders had an opportunity to count them up on open ground and see only fourteen. Their low numbers, combined with the evident good health of the four visitors and the furtive behavior of the hostile strangers, imparted a confidence in the superior strength of the Redrin side which, for all that it may have been mistaken, was firmly felt.

Perhaps the realization of the psychological blunder her people had committed caused the blonde-bunned Ninja to sound angry, or perhaps it really was the language. Either way, she held down the mouth-covering portion of her outfit to yell, “Then let us be as dust. My name will go unmentioned for security reasons, and I will speak as the leader of this detachment. Our origin and purpose will also not be confirmed.”

“Stegzi?”

“No comment.”

The lawyer spread his hands. “I'll put that aside. Your purpose, however, well, can't we agree that it's a vital point? I want to establish grounds for an agreement.”

The Stegzin placed her hands in front of her, palm to palm. “Pardon me. That was my mistake. I wanted to clarify that the overall purpose of my detachment will not be discussed, not our proximate objective, which is, sparing you the details and decisions leading to this confrontation, to obtain eardron. We intend to ransack your warehouses for all of it.” Another Ninja approached her and said something impossible to hear from the Redrin line. “Again, I hope you will pardon me. I'm accustomed to a certain way of expressing things. We intend to appropriate your eardron. All of it. We will depart after leaving an amount of money equating to a fair market price according to our own determination.”

“Please allow me time to communicate this to an expert familiar with current eardron prices and the quantity of stock kept here.”

The head ninja crossed her arms and tapped her foot, but her response was gracious. “By all means.”

Mohlin informed Disal esIdyuin of what had been said to that point and asked for instructions. “Keep stalling.” That was the instruction.

The lawyer started gesturing and mouthing the lyrics of his favorite songs to maintain the pretense of a consultation while he struggled to think up a diversionary topic, hoping the entire time none of the Stegzins had proficiency in both Yumin and lip-reading. When he believed he had something worth an attempt, he returned to the front. “The available eardron may not be adequate for your needs. I would like to move this negotiation into a new field that may be more fertile than where we stand right at this particular moment. A long-term agreement has the potential to supply you with a larger quantity of eardron overall. How can we adjust our positions to bring us closer to such an agreement?”

“We cannot. This is again my fault for not being clear. We will take your eardron. Now.” The speaker raised her arm to signal her Ninjas, who, however poorly they compared to a Battler in a head-to-head confrontation, had by their previous exploits demonstrated a capacity for swift and sneaky action that threatened the future of the Olzenchipt Stavripdeu family's horse statue.

A horrible outcome to contemplate, which was soon prevented by a towering mass of metal armed with an ax, an Adaban armed with the ax's twin, an owl, and some jerk. Kelnsolt Aradetnaf had arrived, and along with him a host disinclined by nature and occupation to avoid violent solutions. Not only did the mercenaries outnumber the all-but-admitted Stegzins several times over, but likely each of them outmatched any Ninja on the battlefield. Seeing them, the enemy chief turned her raised arm in a different direction to signal a maneuver quite unlike what had been anticipated.

The call for retreat did not suffice to retrieve the situation for the Stegzins, since many of the mercenaries liked riding and loved bonuses. They spurred their horses and assorted other beasts into a charge against the Ninjas, forcing retaliation in the form of daggers, caltrops, smoke bombs, and illusion magic useless against Battlers but excellent against tigers. A brief skirmish resulted in a total rout for one side and complete disappointment for the other when none of the Stegzins left behind their heads as a proof of performance. The riders continued their pursuit, but more to prevent a regrouping of the enemy than out of an expectation of actually catching anyone.

The eardron was safe and the bonuses unclaimed, which counted as double the victory for the management of Chunawm Metals. The employees had the satisfaction of not being killed, and Mohlin laMohlay and his associates appreciated that almost as much. Though dealing with injuries and funerals had to be done at times, they preferred other aspects of their work, such as not doing it. Altogether the crowd considered the scuffle an overwhelming victory for the condottiero and his band deserving of a celebration, but Kelnsolt was Kelnsolt, so nothing doing there. He ordered his people to get back to their stations. At least facility manager Disal esIdyuin displayed a bit of Panache.

“Fantastic. My stalling plan worked, ha ha. No, I know. I'll tell the head office how you went above and beyond, Mr. laMohlay, and don't think I didn't notice the rest of you ready to defend the company's assets with your very lives. We're glad it didn't come to that, aren't we? Ha ha. Listen. I make it a custom to save some special menu items for special visitors. You fellas qualify as special today, so get ready this evening for some Yean mead, this kind of cold peach thing, and assorted delicacies I've built up. Now get back to work.”

“Hurray!”The workers approved of Disal esIdyuin's short, reward-dense speech, in contrast to those of Dvanjchtliv bosses who sometimes went on so long that they forgot to give their underlings anything tangible. The regular labor resumed as ordered, the laborers full of vim and pep on account of their exhilarating break and being called special.