Hatharen had a very simple rule at the core of their society. A single demand that every one of them must follow, five words that were easy to remember.
Hatharen do not kill Hatharen.
Five words, because a single word to describe the action does not exist. Humans, however, have many words for it. Murder. War. Manslaughter. All to describe different situations where one human takes the life of another, all with different punishments. An entire legal system set up so they know what to do with someone who killed someone else. The punishment for murder, generally, is death.
Hatharen, however, do not kill Hatharen. The punishment for breaking this rule cannot be death because that would also break the rule. So they turn to exile, but even this is not simple. Each stronghold is an isolated society with inconsistent contact with the others. How can one know about an exile from another?
The punishment for killing another Hatharen is branding and exile.
This, however, presents a third problem. Any wound that does not kill a Hatharen in a small number of hours will be erased after a few days. The body slowly reverts to the state it was in before the injury. Hatharen bear no visible scars to tell the tale of their wounds.
When Linara saw a hooded figure standing taller than everyone else on the street of Brimsberth, she became curious. Men of that height were exceedingly rare, however a Hatharen this far to the west seemed even less likely. The face under the hood, seen as they talked with a merchant, however, sent a chill up her spine. This person was bleeding from their face. As they talked, small dots of blood seeped out of the two lines going from the top of their nose and tracing their cheekbones. Streaks of red covered their face from the droplets sliding down the skin.
To leave a permanent mark on a Hatharen, you inflict a wound that does not heal.
The grim sight in front of her vanished, and she was slow in following. Thinking about it was unsettling, but she knew what she had seen. A Hatharen criminal, bleeding from the face, walking through a human city.
Linara found herself at a loss. Hatharen do not kill Hatharen. She never expected to meet another Hatharen here. Could that person have thought the same thing? How would they react, if they knew she was here, in the city? Should she run? Should she investigate?
Before, she had been an envoy from her people to the human lands. Olentor, the human kingdom she stayed in, was far from here. The independent lands had no kingdoms. Yet she still had a duty to investigate. Hatharen do not shed their duty.
The branded Hatharen’s name was known to the people, but that was the only information Linara got. Humans turned tight-lipped at the mention of him. Zasthagel. Linara hated that kind of pretentious name. Roughly, it translated to the color of light during the sunset. At least the humans found it sounded scary. They would not tell her where he stayed or what he wanted. Shop owners didn’t tell her what he bought from them. When she returned to her inn at the end of the day, Linara threw herself onto the bed in frustration. Someone walks around with blood constantly flowing out of their face and humans get weird about it.
She couldn’t blame them, but it was extremely annoying. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
When she woke up the next morning, Linara found the ground floor of the inn surprisingly full. Half a dozen heads turned to look at her when she entered. The men did not have the look of travelers, but they were not armed.
One of them stepped forward, a taller man with short-chopped hair. Like the others, he wore common street clothes, not meant for long journeys. “Lady Linara, g’morning. Me’n’my associates have been asked to escort you to a meeting.”
“With?”
“The boss. The one you were asking about yesterday.”
Her efforts had not gone unnoticed, it seemed. She looked across the six unarmed men. Each and every one had the right build for a common guard. Even if they were armed, she could probably take on six of them. “If I refuse?”
The speaker glanced at one of his comrades, who shrugged. Meeting Linara’s eyes again, he smiled at her. “You wanted information. We can take you to the man ‘imself, and you can get all the information you want. He wants to talk to you.”
“Fine, take me to him, then.”
The men escorted her through the city, across several streets and into the back door of a building on one of the main avenues. They waited in the entryway, pointing her up the stairs. At the top, she found a crowded room filled with bookshelves, overflowing with stacks of paper rather than tomes. At a small desk in the center sat a hooded figure. He stood up when she walked in the door, his bleeding face visible under the hood of his cloak.
“Zasthagel.”
“Linara.”
“So you know of me.” None of the people she talked to the previous day asked for her name.
Stepping around to the front of the desk, he leaned against it. “You’re a known entity, among the Hatharen.”
“So your exile is recent, then?” She asked, crossing her arms.
Zasthagel clicked his tongue. “Recent enough to know about the wondrous child of Aesuthal. Half human but a fast learner, and unbeatable in a fight. Why did you leave our people, Linara?”
“Because I’m not one of them. No more than you are.”
Zasthagel let out a short laugh. “Are you saying we have something in common?”
“A very short list of similarities. You are branded.”
He licked his lips as a trail of blood reached them. “Our people can be very cruel.”
“What are you doing here, Zasthagel? Running a band of thugs? The people are too scared to tell me about you. It does not paint you in a positive light.”
He stood up, coming to his full height, towering a half-head over Linara. “There is no artist, alive or dead, that could paint my face in a positive light, after what was done to me.” He pushed his hood back, bringing his scarring into the light. “Everyone looks upon me with fear. I am only what they made me.”
“Do I look like I’m afraid of you?”
He stared down at her, as she looked up into his eyes. She tried to imagine his face without the marking. Rough and angular, with a nose that was slightly too small. Dark blue eyes and a mess of tangled gray hair. The red blood dripping down his cheeks now drew any attention. She smiled at him.
“You say they made you like this. Do you claim to be innocent of your crime? The one crime, our most important law? Were you wrongfully accused, or did you decide this fate for yourself?”
He broke eye contact with her, walking back around and sitting down in the chair at his desk. “I am guilty, by the standards of our people. I did what I felt was right. Nothing more than that.”
Linara stared down at him, silently, looking him over. She watched as he picked up a cloth and wiped at the blood on his face. “Tell me how it happened.”
“I have a brother. A twin.” Zasthagel took a deep breath, laughing a little. “He is better than I am. He was challenged to a simple practice duel, but his opponent was angry. My brother is not a fighter. I said that I would take his place. The challenger became even more upset. We fought. We fought longer than we should have. I had the upper hand, and I attacked too aggressively. He took a chance on evading the attack. He did not live.”
Linara nodded. Hatharen training weapons were blunted but heavy. The wrong kind of hit could still be heavily damaging. Death was not impossible, but training was taken very seriously. “Do you regret killing him?”
Zasthagel looked up at her. “He wanted to injure my brother as a means to relieve his anger. He might have gone as far as to try to kill him. I did not want to be a killer, I did not mean for it to happen. But I would take the risk any time.”
Silence followed Zasthagel’s declaration. Linara couldn’t fault him, but the story felt unnatural. Hatharen did not act the way he described. “Why are the people in the city scared of you?”
“My face, probably,” He replied, expressionless.
Linara rolled her eyes. “When I ask them who the man with the bleeding face is, they give me your name and nothing else. What do you do here? Who are those men that brought me here?”
“You think I’m a criminal.”
“Yes.” She answered. She didn’t want it to be true, and his tone made her think that her accusation hurt him.
“Is it because of my face?”
“I have never heard of an exile showing up in human lands. I understand that most go north. I am curious as to what kind of life a branded murderer leads.”
Sighing, he gave her a small smile. “I am the ringleader of a small group of people that operate outside of the law imposed by the constables. My people will do work that city officials will not. Finding stolen goods, renegotiating unfair deals, enforcing fair deals, things like that. A visit from me or my people is not a happy thing, so I am feared.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“It sounds to me like you are selling intimidation.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Is it because of your face?”
Zasthagel laughed. “It certainly makes it easier. I don’t think my brother could do what I do. He handles a different side of our business. If we swapped, we would find ourselves in a horrible situation within a few days.”
His words snared her, shattering her assumptions of the situation. “Your brother is here? In this city? Even though he isn’t an exile?”
“I tried to tell him to stay, but he would not let me bear the weight of my crimes alone. I defended him, so he has shared my exile, if not my markings.”
“Let me talk to him.” Zasthagel could not be trusted, but she could at least believe his story if he did in fact have a twin brother. It was a start to knowing what sort of person she was dealing with. “I take it neither of you have talked to Taradira? You wouldn’t, as an exile, but your brother should have.”
“Who is Taradira?”
Of course. Two Hatharen just wandering around, unknown to anyone else. In a position to take over a city, possibly. Committing crimes against humans, likely. They could damage, or even ruin, the reputation of all Hatharen. “The Warden. The individual who keeps track of all the Hatharen living in the human lands.”
“We’re supposed to just give this person our information? Tell them what we do, where we go, and all of that?”
Linara nodded. “If someone needs to find you, she can help them. If you end up killed, she is the one that will let your family know. If you start causing trouble for the humans, she is the one that will hunt you down and…” She trailed off, shrugging. “Well, she would normally drag you back to where you came from, but I guess that really doesn’t apply to you, does it? She would have to find some other way to deal with you.”
“Should I be scared of this warden?” Zasthagel smiled wide, the motion squeezing his wounds, causing more lines of blood to drip down his face. The expression was very unsettling.
“She’s a mountain of muscle and, from a story I heard, fought through an entire army of beasts, alone, to return to her stronghold after a scouting mission went bad. Completely unhinged when angry, cold and calculating when not. I’ve never lost a fight, but I don’t want to be her enemy.”
The grin vanished, but the blood didn’t. “Why would someone with that sort of history be here, and not still fighting in the north?”
Linara returned an exaggerated shrug. “I’m not going to question where she wants to be. Now, your twin brother. Show me.”
He was handsome and Linara hated him immediately.
Even ignoring the scarring, Zasthagel looked like an early work compared to the finished masterpiece that was his twin brother. The way he smiled confidently at her, the look of superiority on his face put her in a bad mood as she sat down across from him at yet another desk, in a much larger, less cluttered room. Shelves full of books replaced with paintings and tapestries on the walls, the wide table clear except for a single, short stack of well organized papers and a fountain pen.
“You two certainly do look like twins.” She said, frowning. “What’s your name?”
“Raulthen.”
Starlight. “Of course.” Zasthagel stepped around behind her, closing the door to the room. She ignored him. “So, tell me about your part of this business.”
“I provide laborers to individuals that need them.”
“What kind of labor?”
“All sorts. If someone wants someone for a job, I try to provide them the best individual - or individuals - for the task. All for a reasonable price.”
“Why do they pay you for…” Linara fell silent, her eyes darkening as she looked across the table at him. That confident smile, that handsome face. Raulthen looked sincere. “You sell slaves.” He nodded. “That is illegal in most human cities.”
“Most cities outside the Independent Lands, yes. A few inside it, as well, but Brimsberth is not one of them.” His smile faded, but his expression didn’t darken. Instead, he looked bored.
Linara felt tensions throughout her body. She was prepared for Zasthagel, the exile, to be complicated. A criminal, potentially. Raulthen was not branded. He had not broken the Hatharen laws. “And are all your slaves obtained legally?”
He laughed at her. “Of course not. I have a network of contacts stretching far south to collect humans from down there and bring them to me.”
“Why?” She fought to keep the anger down. She fought to keep her hands steady, on top of the desk.
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I capture and tame humans, sell them like livestock? They are inferior and short lived, like animals. Chickens, horses, humans - what’s the difference? The fact that they talk?” He laughed again. “What came over your mother, to take one of those creatures into her bed? To give birth to a flawed, primitive beast like yourself?”
It took all of her control to remain calm. Years of training for the battlefield put to use just to talk to someone across a table. “What do you think will happen if I expose what you are doing to one of the larger cities? Or even one of the kingdoms bordering the Independent Lands? Brimsberth will not protect you.”
“You won’t tell anyone. You will protect me.” He smiled at her. “Because despite being half animal, you believe yourself to be a Hatharen. You were raised by Hatharen. You won’t kill a Hatharen, even indirectly. You can’t. It goes against your very nature.”
Wordlessly, she rose from her chair, turning around, coming face to face with Zasthagel, who stood silently behind her the entire time. His expression was blank, unreadable, as blood leaked from his wound. He stepped aside, letting her leave. She exited the building, finding her way back to an open street.
Brimsberth was supposed to be just a stop on her way back to Olentor. For the second time in her life, Linara felt defeated. She never lost a duel in all her time in the human lands, but she left the encounter with Raulthen defeated.
He was right. She could not go to a neighboring city and tell them about his organization. Her only option was to explain everything to Taradira and let the Warden sort it out. Drag Raulthen back to his stronghold, send Zasthagel north. Linara wandered from street to street, lost in misery. Could she capture them, and either bring them to Taradira, or summon her to these lands? It still felt like defeat. Linara did not want to rely on that woman at all.
She bumped into someone walking on the street. The young boy bounced off her, falling down backwards. Starting to apologize, Linara stepped forward, but a girl helped him up. A friend, or a family member? She was wearing a dirty orange scarf that caught Linara’s eye.
The same color as Ferene’s hair.
She hadn’t thought of the strange girl much since they parted ways back in Cefgras. If Ferene had followed Linara’s directions, and gone to Yonthal, she would have arrived there weeks ago. The two children scurried away from Linara as she stood still, thinking.
The answer was so simple, but Linara’s mind fought against it.
All she had to do was kill Raulthen.
Hatharen do not kill other Hatharen.
In her mind, drops of blood trailed down Zasthagel’s face. Except it wasn’t Zasthagel’s face, it was Linara’s own face.
They had never talked to Taradira. Nobody knew they were here.
Kill person. Death was necessary. Linara felt sick just thinking about it. She stumbled back to the inn. Hatharen do not kill Hatharen.
Do Hatharen take slaves? Do Hatharen look down on humans so much?
Raulthen called humans animals. He was the animal. In her room, Linara’s hand closed around the haft of her spear. She could hear her own heartbeat. Fast, loud. Her footsteps grew heavy as she retraced the path the men had led her on that morning. How long had she wandered, lost in thought? How long had it taken her to stagger back to her room? She walked slowly, weapon in hand. People gave her a wide berth, but they did not stop her. This was a city where people did not care about other people. Where buying and selling humans was normal. Breathing was hard.
The anger was there. He had insulted her, insulted her mother, insulted her father. Linara let out a laugh. Was this how Ferene felt? Was this what drove her? If Linara felt like this every day, would she turn out the same way? The haze in her mind cleared, and her footsteps got lighter.
Hatharen do not kill Hatharen.
Linara was not Hatharen. She never would be. Not the way her mother was. Not the way her family had been. They had never truly accepted her. She trained with them, she fought alongside them. She killed beasts from the wastelands till it made her sick and they looked at her with pity, not camaraderie.
But she was infinitely more Hatharen than Raulthen.
Even after leaving the place she was born, she still worked to benefit them. She worked with the humans to get the supplies they needed. She built her own reputation, and with it the reputation of her people.
She would not let her people be known as slavers.
Standing outside the building, spear in her hand, she took a deep breath.
She would do what needed to be done, for her people.
Up the stairs, into Zasthagel’s office. He wasn’t there. That was good. She wasn’t here for him. Not yet. Linara did not know what to do about him.
Raulthen must die.
Hatharen do not kill Hatharen.
Connecting hallways. More doors. One of them locked, but easily broken. Raulthen’s office, also empty. Where was he? Another door, a stairway downwards. Back to ground level. How big was this building? Linara stepped around every corner waiting for someone to attack her. Eventually, she came face to face with one of the men from that morning. He was unarmed. She grabbed him, slamming him against the wall.
“Where is your boss?”
He was more than happy to tell her. She bound and gagged him and left him behind.
Ferene would have killed him. Ferene would have killed everyone she came across. Linara had no doubt of that.
That was Ferene, though. Linara was here to kill one person, and one person only. In that way, it was like a duel. Hatharen loved duels. Human knights loved duels.
Linara never lost a duel, and this one she had already won. Raulthen tried to turn her against herself, but she won. Being a duel to the death, this meant his death was inevitable. She didn’t need to kill anyone else.
She found him in the basement, watching one human beat another with a stick. Training slaves. He smiled at her as she entered, extending a hand. As if he was waiting for her. As if he had won, and made her into his slave.
He was still smiling when she killed him.
Her spear stabbed through his rib cage into his heart. She didn’t hestitate. Hatharen do not kill Hatharen, so there was no time to hesitate.
A scream cut through the room. It wasn’t from the slave being beaten.
Zasthagel held the dead body of his brother as Linara looked down at him.
She should probably figure out what to do with him.
“He did that to your face, didn’t he?”
Zasthagel looked up at her, his face twisted in grief and confusion. “W-what?”
“He did something that angered someone, and you stepped in to defend him. You ended up killing when you didn’t want to. You did it for him. He used you, and you paid the price.”
“N-no. He…he stayed with me, when I had to leave. We came here together.”
“He hated it here. He hated humans.”
Zasthagel nodded.
“Did he hate you?”
“I loved him. He was my brother.”
“Did he hate you?”
“Go away, Linara.”
“What will you do?”
He looked away from her, back at the face of his dead brother. Linara left him there.
Hatharen do not kill Hatharen. Linara felt sick. That made sense. She hadn’t killed a Hatharen, but a monster. She wanted to scream. Instead, she took a deep breath, and smiled.
Smiling always worked. When she left her people, she smiled. The human lands held a new beginning for her. When she left the castle, she smiled. Senral would be better off if she wasn’t there, distracting him. When a man she had helped train was killed in front of her, she smiled. Ferene needed to see that smile. That girl never smiled. Probably didn’t know how. How much pain was there in her past? More than Linara’s. Linara’s mother loved her, even if the rest of her people didn’t. Linara could remember all the good times with Senral, all the moments they shared together, even if in the end, she had to abandon all hope of having more of those moments. She had no reason not to be happy. She had no reason not to smile.
So Linara smiled.