“Has he secret children?”

“Naught.”

“Mistresses?”

“No”

“Unresolved pact with hell?”

“Which hell? Yet no.”

“Hidden shame?”

“Little more than childish folly.”

“Great fears?”

“Cordelia,” the raven sighed. “Allow me to be honest. ‘Tis a business we are conducting. And you have naught to purchase with yet.”

“I’m out of options!” she hissed, growing desperate as she paced around the frozen room. “Did you not say you want intel of the Maiden? Unless we enter Kamaric’s service and his keep, we would be exposed to the einherjar, and this time without Sir Derrick to save our hides. Naught more would there be a Maiden for me to report and for you to learn! At least tell me something useful to our survival! How many einherjar are there in this town? How strong are they? How long will it take them to mount another attack and such?”

“It doesn’t work that way, Cordelia,” he shook his head, “I am invested in you and your charge as a prospect. But there is a limit to what I can offer in advance.”

“It’s just what you already know, for all sake’s sake,” she cried, “You lose nothing telling me but a little!”

“ ‘Tis shame enough to wonder at Jormungandr’s choice of servants!” he drew the volume of his voice up a notch, irritated at her insistence. “Think you information has no price? That it is a labor to value by the hour work? Tell me this, do I ask for your fatal weakness, your most exploitable flaw, will you tell me it?”

“Of course not. Unless...” she considered, “No. There are few things worth betraying one’s weakness, unless as a last resort.”

“Hearken this, I am known in elfland as the chief source of secrets, its trove of growing lore. But ‘tis not in what I provide that my service is worth, but the price I demand! Those who pour their grave secrets in my ear do so upon the trust that they shall not be divulged unless another secret is paid in equivalent, nor be prattled to the whatever ear for a pittance. But that their weakness once learned should put their enemy at equal risk. Such is how it works. And if you cannot comprehend such a simple nuance, how are you to tread this path? You are far too naive for a fey-made temptress!”

Cordelia shrugged at the raven’s annoyance. It was worth a try anyway.

“Well, you can’t tell me it,” she changed her tactics. “But as you say, it is not the matter of effort. If I pay you, it is not for the worth of legwork required to learn a secret, but the value and sway of which, is that right? Then it should not matter if you tell me some things. Things of little consequences which I may learn on my own running around town, hiding in the shadows and tasting the air and risking myself needlessly. For these would be no grave secrets that I may not learn with -- the time I do not have. For instance, whether that Chimera who fatally wounded Sir Derrick is still alive?”

This seemed fair enough to raven. He nodded.

“Is it the only einheri behind these walls?”

Silence. But then he nodded.

“Who is the chimera’s patron lord?”

“I cannot answer.”

“Have you dealt with this einheri?”

This was not something she could find out on her own; regardless, he nodded.

“What does it know about me?”

“I cannot answer.”

With an exclamation, Cordelia went to the window. There she gazed out at the town people in mid-motion, the umoving clouds, the helmed heads of the guards between the far-off battlements, the great and silent keep, the now desolate church in mourning. “This is such a small matter,” she said with ire. “And such a small town this is!” she swept her hand, “I cannot tell exactly what it is going to be yet, but my goal is great to keep with Esme so - yet for me to be stuck at this impasse! The entire race of feys thirst for my head, and here I stand pondering petty matters, the Maiden remains an oathless warrior! Can you really not give me something I can blackmail Sir Kamaric with? That I may escape the reach of this hostile einheri?”

“Do you expect something so convenient? That the man you wish to manipulate would happen to possess such ready weakness to exploit?”

“For all sake’s sake!” she exploded, throwing up her hands, resuming her pacing around the tiny room. “There is no man without weakness, no human who can’t be manipulated! There must be a fault line somewhere in his character a wedge could be driven therein and exploit!”

“You have changed from your previous conscience.”

“Mock me not. I mean the man no evil, of course, but to bid him do his duty and protect his subjects. I must make my woe known, one way or another!”

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

The raven watched her patiently.

“What are his strengths then? His virtues?” She stopped in the middle of her track, “This I can learn should I ambush him when he finally crawls out of his wife’s chamber, I think. But that would take weeks. I have not weeks!”

“Well,” Huginn sat back, placing his hands together. “How much do you know about knights?”

She recalled Esme’s impassioned speech of mixed facts and fiction, and shrugged. “Too much, and too little.”

“Then mark you this: A knight’s order speaks much of his character and prowess. Kamaric is knight for the Order of Gawain, one renowned for loyalty, honor, familial love and swordsmanship. His father was granted the title of seneschal by the late king for outstanding loyalty, a trait he inherited and some. But as the throne stands vacant and he rules his portion of the land independently, his loyalty is spent only in answer to the archbishop. There is no event by which he would be vulnerable to your blackmailing, or would commit evil deeds contrary to his religion. All this you may learn had you but asked around. That the man is a righteous lord, in the terms of your world, if neglecting in his dealing with his subjects.”

“Well,” Cordelia dropped on the bed, resting her chin on a hand. “All that is not very helpful. At all.”

He shrugged. “The way I see it, ‘tis a simple exercise for the wit. You have little hope to prevail as a temptress if this much proves impossible.”

She clicked her tongue, “Treat me not as your fool. I am already thinking of a way, only it is not one without risks. I mislike chances.”

“Make it less so?” Huginn suggested. “There’s a number of powers available for your selection. Is it not more prudent to make use of them in lieu of saving for the future?”

‘Twas true, as it stands she might choose five more powers for her repertoire. But though she had immediately taken Camouflage, she had reckoned the rest to be of no immediate use, naught that she could not simply unlock when there was an actual need for it. Future troubles being uncertain, she had elected to keep her options open, knowing she could not save them forever.

“Very well,” she said, rising, “there’s one thing I have neglected to tell you. A certain... irregular event.”

“Irregular?” He cocked his head.

“More than a bit. It recalls what you once told me. Something about existence deeper than the known lore human or fey. And this, even Mastema could not explain.”

And she told the raven of that night at the morgue, when after mocking openly the dead, she had been rebuked by a strange force. That it was like to be an einheri, a fey lord, or something else.

“The gist of it,” she shrugged. “Does that qualify as marketable information?”

The raven appeared to think on the little story. He sat as still as before, as a picture. At length, he said, lifting his face from the deep ponder, “You guess right.”

“What guess? Know you what it is? A fey or one of the unknown?”

He exhaled, an uncertainty markable in his deep frown, “Both, in truth. This is problematic by far. Imprudent, to think she would not regain this measure of influence so soon...”

“Who? So it was a fey who attacked me after all? Is it an einheri?”

“One who is not my client, and this is saying much,” he said guardedly, “A rather dangerous one. So it appears Jormungandr’s ploy is not the only major disturbance this generation - thus proving the omens - at any rate, I advise you to stay out of places where death and like elements exude for the time being. “

“And you are sure I will be safe if I do?”

“Perish the thought, Cordelia.” he waved a hand dismissively. “There is no impenetrable safety in this world for you. Not in the event you gain passage into Argenton’s keep. There is only so much a temptress without allies can do. And yours is a set of power which lives and dies by your ability to make friends and unwitting puppets, and then make use of them. And you know as well as I that the Maiden is not your friend. She is one piece of knowledge away from turning into your blood enemy.”

“I know,” she said grimly. She was the one who murdered and ate the heart of that girl’s brother, after all. “I have learned not to trust anyone in this world but myself.”

He shook his head, “Did you not hear what I said? My counsel to you is to make allies. ‘Tis a dangerous world so long as most of it is without your control. Take charge, Cordelia! Even a friend may lie out of goodwill, while an enemy’s lie could contain the fatal morsel of truth, and who you think is enemy may yet prove an ally.”

“You are full of unneeded counsels, and none I really need.” She dropped back on the bed, lay with her eyes staring at the ceiling’s beams. “Well, I’m quite done with you for now. Adieu, adieu.”

And she raised a hand, mocking a wave of farewell.

“What are you doing?”

She raised her head. “Welcome back, Esme. Had fun walking?”

The raven was gone, and along with it was the time freezing snow. The world had resumed its motion, without even a warning. Now at the doorway Esme stood frowning.

“Don’t mock me,” the girl marched into the room. “I just forgot my stuff.” She collected the wooden figurine beside Cordelia, who wondered what use a toy could have for a walk.

“You know,” she said, “I think you should call off your walk after all.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Did not you tell me, with a world of arguments, to air my brain out? Already getting lonely?”

“Somewhat, yeah.” She turned the still-raising hand to look at her clean-cut nails. “I have a better idea. Why don’t we spar? Better yet, you should teach me how to use my sword.”

This took the girl aback. And she looked at Cordelia strangely, but not uneagerly. A smile was already forming at her mouth’s corner. “Why not? But why the sudden mood?”

“Just a feeling I may have to engage in combat soon. You don’t want to?”

“A matter of fact, I do.” And she tossed the figurine back on the bed, as though it was a stinky sock, going now for their gears at the corner of the room. “Well, there’s an empty alley around back - but of course that’s no sufficient space! A garden would do, if only we can borrow one... now that I think of it there’s a place near the ditch quite empty, I think. You can have my plates, to be sure, here, take this, ‘tis not so heavy... Wouldn’t want to hurt you by accident - do you want to use my blade? Yours is rusty, I don’t think I have seen you oil it even once... And ah, no, no fighting in that gown. You may borrow one of my trews and tunics. I think the size should fit, well, at least the trews - where are you going?”

Cordelia sat down at the table, the spare parchments from their earlier effort to reach Sir Kamaric lying in rolls upon it. “Why don’t you scout out a sparring ground for us, Esme? I will be with you anon. There’s a letter I need to write to our friend the Knight Kamaric.”

“You still haven’t given up on that?” she asked, and added quite selflessly, “That’s more important I think, we can spar another day.”

“Nay,” Cordelia said cryptically. “There won’t be another day; The letter must be sent before the day is sped and so right now I must learn to fight.”