SIDE STORY: THE CAPTAIN, THE MERCHANT, AND THE WARG (PART 5)
“Our people are dying a slow death of our own making. Every day we march closer to the edge, pushed forward by the generations of tradition behind us. I cannot stop this funeral parade, slowing it is killing me, just as it did my father and his father. Please, I have struggled for you, for your people, I’ve done as the witches command and now come before you a humble petitioner. Oh mothers-three, I beg you, please, please help us!”- Confessional of Tzar Mikhal III of Gobavi.
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Mounted on the invisible horse, Alia Cat-eyes watched as her boss started to drown. A tide of guards, priests, and other officials had flooded the street, inundating the site of the now-stopped coach in a press of bodies and questions. Bizarrely little of this swamp of procedure seemed that interested in Alia or her steed. Oh, she got plenty of strange looks as she sat on a saddle hovering mid-air, but all the attention fell on Ironteeth. Everyone of some importance and many of none, wanted an explanation for the mad carriage ride and the bodies left in its wake. Thankfully the only casualties had been the assassins and the poor driver, but over a dozen people so far were sporting injuries.
Leaning on the saddle pommel, Alia listened to the growing shouting match between Ironteeth and the captain of the fourth district guard. Much was being made out of what happened but Alia smelled more politics than actual outrage. Violence wasn’t as uncommon in Vindabon as those in power would like to pretend, but it also rarely became as much of a spectacle as Ironteeth’s misadventure had. Shit like this often sent heads rolling, literally or metaphorically, and people were already working to take advantage of the situation. While Alia wasn’t so concerned for her boss, as he had a better mind for politics than he let people think, she really didn’t like the amount of time being wasted. If she’d been part of a goblin death squad operating deep in enemy territory and things had gotten this bad, Alia would have just run. Even if this dog-headed arsehole stuck about, spending all this time arguing was giving the Varganiki plenty of time to cover his tracks.
Apparently, Alia wasn’t the only one worried about this, as after cowing the fourth district captain, Ironteeth waded through the officials over to her. Leaning down from her saddle, Alia listened as her boss hissed. “Take the priests and try to find this bastard. I need to go to the city palace to settle things.”
Gripping onto Boris so they didn’t get separated, Ironteeth let himself be washed away by the crowd, going with them to the seat of city government. Spared by her perch atop the horse, Alia left the cordone and found one of the priests of Suvi’s squad waiting for her.
Tall and well-built the Priest had an easy smile and sandy-blond hair. Rune-etched horns stuck out of his headdress and he carried an unstrung steppe bow on his back. Noticing him, Alia quirked one lip in a half-smirk. “I see your boss also sent you to continue the hunt?”
Nodding the Priest got his horse to trot up next to Alia’s and offered a hand. “Priest Vict, I didn’t get to introduce myself earlier.”
After exchanging grips, Alia gestured at the phantom steed beneath her. “Can you see where the magic is leaking?”
Vict’s eyes flashed green and he grunted. “Yes, I can still see five different connections. Don’t know which is the oldest, maybe a Hierophant could tell.”
Sucking on her lower lip, Alia asked. “What about how far they are from us and if they are moving? If someone close is trying to get away, that’s a good jagging sign they're the one we want.”
Cocking his head to the side, Vict shut his eyes and whispered something in saint-speech. Dappled shadows danced across the Priest's face and then he said. “One’s maybe a kilometer to the east, and heading in that direction fast; very fast in fact.”
Clicking her tongue, Alia got her invisible horse moving. “Well, let’s track the bastard down.”
Reins in hand, Vict guided his steed into a cantor the City-warden quickly matched. While no expert rider, Alia knew the basics, and the phantom equine proved shockingly placid; a fact probably helped by the Seventh Temple feeding and watering the poor creature. As its hooves beat against the cobblestones, Alia wondered if the curse would fully dissipate, or would the horse stay invisible? Seeing the shocked looks she got while riding, Alia decided if this was permanent, she needed to talk Ironteeth into buying the horse; it was just too much fun.
Evening had come to Vindabon and traffic got worse and worse with every passing moment. Only the combined authority of Alia’s badge and Vict’s amulet parted the streams of people finishing up their day. Riding alongside the priest, watching the shadows lengthen, Alia asked. “How close are we?”
Eyes glowing, Vict muttered. “Hard to tell. Our prey is moving away from us quick as they can and-”
The Priest paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. Teeth suddenly baring in a snarl, Vict spat. “Jagged edges! I think the quarry is heading towards another of the bearers.”
Alia understood instantly and had her horse reaching a gallop a heartbeat after Vict’s. The Varganiki wasn’t running, he was trying to cover his tracks; and unfortunately whatever goblin he’d handed the curse off to counted among them. Leaning back in his saddle while his steed thundered forward, Vict held up one hand, making a gesture with his pointer and little finger. Light and shadow swirled about his hand and grew into a mirage of dappled green. Shaped like an elk’s head with antlers wide as a wagon, the illusion floated ahead of Vict’s horse letting out a bugling cry. Trying not to think of the paperwork she’d need to fill out after this, Alia followed the priest as his spell cleared the road for them.
Hooves striking against the stone, sending up sparks in their wake the two horses galloped east, heading into the eighteenth district. In Vindabon, a good rule of thumb was the higher the district number the poorer it was, and Poppelheim did little to break that standard. Dashing through dirty streets and past ill-kept buildings Alia grimaced as the smell of too many people and not enough soap wormed its way up her nostrils. Eyes darting around, she noticed the streets were practically empty, in this part of town, folk had better survival instincts and knew to clear out at any sign of trouble, which the giant glowing elk head counted as.
Shouting to be heard over their horses, Alia asked. “How far are we?”
Eyes streaming sparks of forest green that faded into motes of shadow, Vict replied. “We’re close, but so is he.”
Snapping the reigns, Alia willed her steed to be faster, things were already a big enough mess without the Varganiki beating them there. After another minute of frantic turns in streets not quite wide enough for them, Vict let his spell fade and brought his horse to heel. Alia tried to do the same, but her equestrian luck had run out, as she yanked on the reigns her steed reared up, tipping Alia’s world. Normally she’d have been able to hold on, but the split-second confusion caused by not seeing the horse’s body caught Alia off guard and she fell off the horse's back. Still, she managed to stick the landing and avoid landing her ass on the cobblestones.
A scraping noise and the sound of moving air pricked Alia’s ears. Diving to the left, she felt something whoosh past her by a handspan. Regaining her footing, Alia looked around, trying to figure out where the attack had come from before realization struck. She’d ridden this draft horse hard after it's a long day of confusion and stress. Yanking on its reigns had been an edge too much and the horse tried to kick her. Wincing, Alia revaluated her opinion on the invisible equine. Anyone without her reflexes would have just taken a hoof to face and probably lost their head.
Gingerly, approaching the horse's reigns, Alia worked to tie the creature to a nearby post as Vict had done. Seeing his unspoken question, Alia shrugged and said. “Horse is ornery.”
Letting out a snort, Vict gestured ahead of them and said. “I think the static trace is in that building, the other is approaching fast. Should we warn the goblin or set an ambush?”
Grimacing, Alia thought back to Boris. “Better to jump the bastard, rather than confronting the goblins. I doubt they’d be cooperative… or even if they wouldn’t try to fuck us over. These Varganiki are like their inquisitors, people-shaped monsters that scare them stupid. If they had to choose between trusting us or fearing them I don’t like our chances.”
Nodding, Vict unslung his bow and got to work stringing it. Alia unbuckled the hand crossbow she kept for times like this and got it ready as well. The sun had set behind the city walls and the cramped streets around them were dark and foreboding, Skulking forward, Alia took the lead, her enhanced senses giving an advantage over even the priest's magic. Slipping between shadows, Alia approached the building Vict had pointed out. Four stories tall, it was a layered dwelling of brick and wood, probably housing a dozen more families than it comfortably could. The first glowstones and candles of the evening were being lit behind heavy shutters, their light leaking from the structure along with the hundreds of smells of urban living. A slight sneer played across Alia’s face as she sniffed the air, smelling the old pipesmoke, fresh mildew, and hints of dreamsap. Vindabon didn’t have proper slums but did have places walking that path.
Crouched down in the shadow of hanging sheets, Alia watched the street, trying to see anyone suspicious. After noting the third pickpocket darting among the crowd of pedestrians returning from work, Alia amended her search to suspicious goblins. Even of those she saw a few, with maybe half a dozen goblins slipping between larger folk, all as shifty as the humans around them.
Leaning over to Vict, she asked. “Where is he?”
Instead of answering, the priest just kept looking up and down the busy street, muttering to himself. Nudging his shoulder, Alia hissed. “Vict, where is he?”
Shaking himself free of whatever magic he was working, the Priest muttered. “I can’t tell… The magic says he’s within twenty meters of us but… I can’t see him, I should be able to, this close to the horse.”
Glancing back at the two horses farther up the side street they hid in, Alia started to say. “Do we need to get closer to-”
Then movement caught her eye, a tiny flicker out of one corner that the human part of her brain didn’t even process, but the feline half did. Craning her neck back, Alia stared up at the rooftops overhead and swore. Jumping between buildings was a black blur, moving with spider-like agility over bricks, tile, and thatch. The leopard in Alia’s blood had spotted it, eager to sink teeth into some flying or climbing prey; but as the rest of the City-warden caught up to her primal instincts, she knew this wasn’t prey, but a rival predator. “Fuck! He’s on the roofs!”
Vict spun in the direction she was looking and answered her oath with his own. “Jagged-edges, how does he move like that?”
Checking the bolt on her crossbow, Alia muttered. “Paragon, has to be. Have you hunted one before?”
Slowly Vict shook his head, grunting, Alia started moving towards the building they’d been watching. “Don’t get close and don’t hesitate to kill. They’re always fast and always tougher than you'd think.”
Following after her, steppe bow at the ready, the Priest asked. “We’re abandoning the plan?”
Looking up, Alia watched as the Varganiki leaped through the air, landing on their side of the street, just two buildings down from them. “He’ll come in through the windows or chimney, we need to get to his target before him.”
Nodding, Vict said. “I think he’s on the third story, towards the building's left side.”
They were at the tenement’s front door then and before Alia could worry about it being locked a large man with tired eyes shouldered it open, carrying a crate. Practically shoving her badge into the worker’s face, Alia hissed. “Goblins in this building, on the third story, left side?”
Stunned, the man weakly nodded and only found his voice to ask questions once the city-warden and priest had already barreled past him. Charging down a dimly lit hallway, Alia found the central staircase and started climbing. The old wood creaked beneath her rapid steps and two women carrying laundry baskets squeezed to the stairwell’s side upon seeing the crossbow and badge headed towards them. While people in this part of Vindabon rarely cooperated with the guards, they also knew better than to get in their way.
When they reached the second story, Alia heard a scream and started taking the steps two at a time, the priest flagging behind her. This deep into the tenement’s bowels, Alia’s nose was overwhelmed by the stew of life and livelihoods all about her. Unable to clearly sniff out the Varganiki, she pushed herself faster, reaching the third floor just in time for a new unmistakable smell to reach her: blood. Skidding to a halt, Alia shut her eyes and sucked in a great lungful of air, not to tell the scent’s origin, that was easy enough, but to center herself for what came next.
Tensing and untensing her back muscles, Alia focused on the slight stiffness along her upper spine, where a wereleopard’s fangs had pierced. Feeling the scar and the magic within it, Alia let out the breath she’d been holding and felt a ripple of energy run up and down her spine. Back arching like she’d been struck by lightning, Alia felt the world slow down around her. This was the secret of her people, the true power wrestled from a fell god’s curse and cultivated by generations of werefolk. While she couldn’t turn into a leopard, Alia could, for a time, move fast as one.
Exploding forward before Vict could even ask why she stopped, Alia became a blur of motion, accelerating to speeds a destrier would struggle to match in just four strides. Tearing down hallways, literally kicking off walls to change direction, Alia reached the smell’s source. It was a rickety wooden door probably salvaged twice over judging by the warped edges. Pushing off the creaking floor, Alia slammed into the door, splintering its latch and sending her into the room beyond. As the stink of blood fully enveloped her, Alia noticed three things about the small apartment she’d entered. First, the window was open, its shutters beating a slow drum beat against the frame. Second, there was a dying goblin on the floor, his life spilling out around him and dripping through cracks in the floorboards. Third and most importantly, four other people were in the room, and only one of them was wearing a fucked-up mask.
Crossbow raised, Alia loosed the bolt at the Varganiki while shouting the city watch battle cry. “LEX AETERNA!”
With liquid grace, the killer leaped out of the bolt’s path and grabbed one of the room’s other occupants who screamed. As the quarrel struck the apartment wall, Alia rushed forward, shortsword in hand, ready to run the Varganiki through, but who he’d grabbed stopped her. Clutched to the foreign assassin’s chest, dagger to her throat was a goblin child. Not a meter away from the girl, a woman, probably her mother screamed and lunged at the Varganiki, only stopped by the teenage boy beside her, his eyes fixed on the blade threatening his little sister.
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Chest heaving, killing edge ready, Alia snarled. “You hurt her, you die badly.”
The Varganiki shrugged, raising one shoulder in a disturbingly casual gesture. Harsh growling words escaped the killer’s mask. “Bring me the one you call Boris Tamvo. I will exchange his death for the whelps, and then accept your blades.”
Fangs bared, Alia tried to guess if she was fast enough to kill the cockbiter before he hurt the girl. As if he could see her intentions, the Varganiki brought his dagger closer, letting the edge kiss the child’s throat, letting a single drop of blood flow free as she whimpered.
With his point made, the Varganiki barked. “Bring me the one you call Boris Tamvo or I’ll take the whelps head and the rest of her family.”
Glancing next to Alia, he then said. “And tell the pagan priest to back away, or I’ll cut the girl’s nose off.”
To her shock, the air beside the city-warden flickered and Vict appeared, slowly releasing his bow’s draw. She hadn’t been the only one with extra tricks, he’d turned himself invisible and caught up with her, hoping to ambush the Varganiki. Noting down that the assassin could sense people even she couldn’t Alia said. “I can’t hand over one citizen for another. But if you let the girl go, we’ll take you into custody, and from there we can negotiate something with Gobavi. No one else needs to-”
With a flick of his hand, the Varganiki brought the knife to the girl’s ear and sliced it off. Blood sprayed out and the girl screamed, a sound answered by her mother. The teenage boy fought hard to keep his mother back, tears streaming down his face, dark eyes boring into Alia with a silent plea. Letting the dagger rest on his hostage’s cheek, the Varganiki said. “Every time you try to negotiate, I cut a piece off her.”
Glancing down at the cooling corpse on the ground between her and the Varganiki, Alia said. “I’ll have word sent to my commander, Captain Ironteeth”
The Varganiki sneered. “The dwarf? Yes, he can answer my demands.”
Not daring to turn away from the killer, Alia gestured at Vict to get help. After a moment’s hesitation, he complied. Between the two of them, Alia stood the best chance of stopping the Varganiki; she wouldn’t be fast enough to save the girl but she’d put the fucker down before he went for the mother or son. As Vict disappeared out the door, City-warden Alia Cat-eyes waited, ready to be a savior or avenger.
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Staring up at the high table, Ironteeth watched as Graf Louon took his seat. This was the worst part about going before the city council. Being close to that pyrite-eyed prickle-ass always made his beard itch; a mutual feeling judging by how the Graf’s eyes narrowed upon seeing Ironteeth. Striking his gavel and officially starting the meeting, Graf Louon said. “We are here to discuss the incident that occurred in the eleventh district involving Captain Arkaz Ironteeth of the city watch, an out-of-control carriage, and two unknown assailants.”
With that, the demand for explanations started, and Ironteeth knew the accusations wouldn’t be far behind. At this point, any hopes of keeping the Varganiki matter secret was scrap, so Ironteeth told all he knew. News of goblin assassins armed with fae witchery loose in the city went over as well as could be expected. The mix of shock and rancor that spilled out after this revelation made Ironteeth glad they’d managed to kill two of the Varganiki just because it would prevent anyone from denying what happened to him. Then as the reality sunk in, much as Boris had feared, the initial reaction on the council was calls to seek out any and all goblins with any possible connection to the Varganiki.
But thankfully cooler heads, and louder voices, prevailed before any orders could be given. Ironteeth in particular shouted himself hoarse, pointing out all the problems a spy-hunt might cause. But ethical considerations weren’t really what kept things from escalating, that honor fell to political expedience and international considerations. While war with Gobavi was a near-constant affair in the east, Vindabon wanted to avoid getting entangled with that particular mess again. Memories of the disastrous Louon campaign hadn’t faded completely and few people of importance were interested in funding another expeditionary army, especially the Graf himself. So to preserve coin, prestige, and civic peace, the powers of Vindabon were looking for an easy way to solve this mess.
After nearly an hour of testimony, debate, and probably some backroom deals Ironteeth wasn’t privy to, the city government had decided upon their solution. With the official blessing and backing of Vindabon, Captain Ironteeth would continue his investigation to apprehend the remaining Varganiki and expose any collaborators the assassin might have in the city. On the surface, this seemed to be a typical example of city bureaucracy turning its mammoth gears to little effect; as they’d spent precious time coming to the decision to have Ironteeth just do what he’d been doing. But, despite what he liked people to think, Ironteeth understood politics and knew he was being set up as a potential cursegoat. He’d either make this problem go away or be blamed for letting it get out of hand. A fact that made him glad he’d sent Cat-eyes to continue the investigation while he was tied up with bureaucratic string.
But as the official writ for Ironteeth’s investigation was being drafted, that small comfort turned into a gut punch. A frantic page burst into the room, carrying a message for the council chair. As Graf Louon unfolded the note, Ironteeth watched with a sinking feeling as the slag arse’s eyes widened with every line read. Golden pupils snapped to the Guard Captain and Louon handed the message to his colleagues before saying. “A situation is developing in Poppelheim. Captain Ironteeth, one of your subordinates tracked down the missing goblin assassin. But instead of apprehending this ‘warg’s head’ she has gotten us into a hostage situation”
Lead filled Ironteeth’s belly but he didn’t let it show on his face. “I’ll head there at once and see what can be done.”
Graf Louon held up a hand. “The assassin is holding an immigrant family hostage and has demands. Ones we as a city cannot meet, but your… source can.”
A servant collected the message from one of the councilors and scurried forth to the Captain. Reading the cramped missive, Ironteeth felt something in his jaw creak as he clenched his teeth in fury. “No. No, we are not going to do this!”
Louon raised an arched eyebrow. “That is not your decision to make, Captain Ironteeth.”
Gilded eyes fell upon Boris and the merchant sucked in a breath. “Ah…. I am the price?”
The Graf simply nodded and a weary smile cut the goblin’s face. Snarling, Ironteeth jabbed a finger at Boris. “I won’t have the sickness of Gobavi in my city! Do not do this, we can find another way, Vindabon is not so weak to let our enemies decide our options!”
Voice like ice, Louon asked. “Your city, Captain?”
Glaring up at the polished noble, Ironteeth spat. “You of all people should hate this jaggery! The goblins killed your slagging son, you shouldn’t be letting them-”
“ENOUGH!” roared the council chair, flames flickering out the side of his mouth. “Boris Tamvo is a citizen of Vindabon and while he is afforded the city’s protection, he is also within his rights to sacrifice himself for the greater good; as the statute of Ingol’s Field dictates.”
Arms wide, Ironteeth shouted back. “Goatshit! That law is about ensuring a dead soldier’s family keeps their pension, not this… this slag!”
Boris put a hand on Ironteeth’s shoulder, making the dwarf whirl about. Still smiling, Boris said. “I will take risk, but will not be sacrifice. Big difference in that, Captain.”
Slowly nodding, Ironteeth understood what Boris was saying. “What do you propose?”
Looking down at his hands and the rings decorating them, Boris said. “What I’ve wanted to do from the beginning.”
Offering his palms out to Ironteeth, Boris smiled and the captain stared down at the rings, seeing them properly. “Is…. is that?”
Boris bobbed his head in confirmation and the captain let out a long breath. “Fine, let’s make preparations and do this idiocy.”
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Ironteeth hated how far the smell of blood traveled, even at the tenement’s bottom story he could still catch whiffs of the murder and mutilation waiting for him. Staring up the staircase, he asked. “Ready?”
Boris adjusted his coat and nodded. Slowly the goblin ascended, step by step, the old wooden stairs creaking with his weight. Ironteeth and the squad of guards he’d hand-picked for this followed a little behind, unwilling to make the stairway bare all of them at ounce. All around them, the tenement was empty, its occupants evacuated, and in their place grim-faced watchmen and tense priests waiting for the other boot to fall. After a small eternity, they reached the third floor, Ironteeth watching as Boris walked down the hallway ahead of them.
Glancing at his subordinates, Ironteeth hissed. “This bastard’s a paragon, he can take a beating and keep on coming. Don’t try to take him alive, and don’t do anything stupid; we’re here to cut off his escape routes and pile in once the moment’s right.”
Grunts of affirmative reached Ironteeth as he watched Boris approach the open door and the familiar woman standing in it. Alia Cat-eyes had her blade drawn and was completely focused on whatever was in the room before her. Eyes flicking down, Ironteeth saw the red stain on Cat-eye’s boots, where she’d stepped in blood. A faint noise reached the Captain’s ears then, one that took him a moment to recognize, it was someone crying, but with no energy left to properly weep. Clenching his jaw, Ironteeth not for the first time wished he had someone to pray to in times like these.
Boris approached Cat-eyes, nodding to her, and eliciting the faintest twitch of regret. Alia was probably blaming herself for things getting this far; Ironteeth certainly was. Stepping up next to his subordinate, the Captain looked into the apartment and the horror awaiting him. A cooling corpse lay on the ground, its blood a clotted stain. In one corner was a woman so pale and drawn she matched her husband’s body, while a boy barely old enough to have whiskers clutched at her, trying to support her and himself. But in the center of the tableau was a sight that made Ironteeth remember the hate he felt watching Milda burn. A goblin in black robes and a horrid mask clutched a little girl to him, knife at her throat. The child was missing an ear and carried three ugly scratches down the left side of her face. Eyes fixed on her severed ear that lay on the floor, the girl shivered, her skin ashen.
For a moment no one spoke, as the Varganiki eyed the newcomers while they digested the monster’s carnage. Arms wide, Boris broke the silence as he took a step into the room. “I am here.”
A noise halfway between a growl and purr escaped the Varganiki. Pointing his dagger at Boris he rasped something in gobish. Letting out a breath, Boris took another step forward and answered in his mother language. Now less than two meters apart, the two goblins regarded each other, and a few more words were exchanged. The only one Ironteeth recognized was ‘traitor.’
Then fast as lightning, the Varganiki tossed the girl aside and lunged forward, his dagger aiming for Boris’s throat. Instead of flinching away or even accepting his death silently, Boris stepped into the strike, catching the blow right in the gut, where it struck the dwarven-steel breastplate Ironteeth had scrounged out of the armory. With a paragon’s strength, the Varganiki drove the dagger through the metal and into Boris’s belly. But this was good dwarven steel, and only the knife’s tip sunk into the merchant’s flesh. As the blade kissed him, Boris reached out as if to hug his would-be assassin. Breath shuddering, he whispered a word, a magic word, one linked to the enchantment on his rings.
Storing force is one of the simplest but most dangerous runic techniques. It was how Ironteeth made his thunder-stones, trapping a few hammer blows into a pebble and letting all that energy out at the right moment. As dangerous to make as they were useful, these trinkets pushed the Captain’s skill in rune smithing to the limit, but he’d always been a shoddy runesmith. Boris, as a successful merchant in one of the greatest cities on the entire continent could afford someone a little better. In an act of paranoid brilliance, Boris had turned a nervous tic into a potent weapon. His rings were enchanted so every time they were twisted a little bit of the energy was stored within them. Days, weeks, and months of fiddling had built up an impressive stockpile, one now spent as Boris gently pushed the Varganiki.
A noise like thunder exploded through the apartment and Ironteeth’s ears rang as a great cloud of dust filled the room. Deaf and coughing, the Captain rushed forward, axe-hammer at the ready, and nearly stepped on Boris. Lying on the ground, unsettlingly close to the corpse of the Varganiki’s contact, the Goblin stared up at the ceiling, the wind knocked from him, his pupils showing a clear concussion. Putting himself between Boris and where he’d last seen the assassin, Ironteeth felt his jaw fall open as the dust started to settle. There was a hole in the brick wall, a large hole created by the Varganiki’s body.
Stepping to the new ‘window’ Ironteeth adjusted his beard to filter the brick dust and look down at the street below. Splayed out like the goblin he’d killed not long ago was the Varganiki. Teeth flashing, the Captain spat. “Got you, you bastard!”
No sooner had those words left his mouth than the killer started to twitch. Eyes widening, Ironteeth sucked in a breath of incredulity as the paragon goblin spasmed. Rolling onto his belly, the Varganiki slowly pushed himself up and started to stumble down the road. Turning from the hole, Ironteeth swore. “SLAG AND SOOT! How tough is this bastard!?”
Barking orders, Ironteeth set the priests and healers assembled on the goblin family and Boris while leading his guards down the stairs. Cat-eyes was ahead of them, literally leaping down the staircase as she hunted her prey. A snarl escaped the City-warden as she flew past them “He’s mine!”
They reached the tenement’s front and Ironteeth saw Cat-eyes dash after the Varganiki as he hobbled into a nearby alley. Before Alia could close the distance a loud crack and equine shriek cut through the night. Skidding to a halt, Cat-eyes stared at the alley and did the damnedest thing, she started to laugh, a deep gut-busting, borderline hysterical laugh.
Finally catching up with her, Ironteeth started to ask what was happening when he saw the corpse. The Varganiki lay on his back, neck at a strange angle, a fresh contusion covering his face. Deeper into the alley was a harness, floating in the air and nickering loudly. Softly, Ironteeth said. “Slag me… did the horse…?”
Alia managed to catch her breath long enough to spit on the corpse. “Yes, after all that, the jagging horse got him.”
Shaking his head, Ironteeth muttered. “You never know how justice will be served.”
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It had been two days since the last Varganiki died and Ironteeth finally got out enough from the mountain of paperwork he’d been buried in to visit the Seventh Temple. Knocking on the clinic room door, he waited until an accented voice said. “Enter”
Boris lay in a bed too big for him, his hands, belly and head wrapped in bandages marked with spells of healing. He’d broken most of his fingers and had his bell rung like it was a high holy day but the merchant was still alive. Managing a smile on seeing Ironteeth, the goblin rasped. “Good to see you.”
Grunting, Ironteeth pulled up a chair. “They managed to reattach the ear. She’ll have scars, both inside and out, but it could have been worse.”
That killed Boris’s smile and he shrugged one shoulder. “Poor child. Her father bullied into helping a monster and murdered to cover a trail. I’d offer her brother a job, but… well.”
Ironteeth crossed his arms. “You’re really going to leave Vindabon?”
Boris let out a breath. “It has to be done. I have the resources to start again somewhere else. If I don't, more killers will come for me, and this all might repeat.”
“Or they might just kill you,” muttered Ironteeth. “Better to stay here where we know of the threat.”
Head slowly cocking to the side, Boris replied. “Perhaps, but my presence would hamper the Orphange’s work. The Tzar will know about me, and what I’ve done here, that endangers the cause. I’m a wealthy goblin, I can go somewhere west, get a new name, restart my business, and maybe open a new branch of the Orphanage in a few years.”
Ironteeth scoffed. “After all this, you still want to give more to your cause? From what I’ve seen you’re spitting into a deep shaft and expecting to make it a well.”
Eyes meeting the Captains, the Merchant said. “With enough time, enough goblins, and enough spit, we can fill a well.”
Leaning back into his pillows, Boris muttered. “It is either that or accept my motherland’s doom. I cannot bring myself to do that, so I must keep spitting.”
Rubbing his forehead, Ironteeth grunted. “Well, when you decide where you’re going let me know. I might have contacts in the guard there, and it would be good to send word if another warg-masked slagger is sniffing around.”
Boris made a non-commital noise and changed the topic. “What of the horse?”
That got a snort from Ironteeth. “Well, its owner showed up asking for it and he slagging broke the curse.”
Seeing Boris’s look of surprise, Ironteeth explained. “See, he was the only one who remembered its name. Cat-eyes says he came up to the stables, called out for ‘Rolf’, and like that, we could see the horse again.” Ironteeth snapped his fingers for emphasis.
“Curious” muttered Boris. “I assume it won’t be destroyed for what happened?”
Ironteeth shook his head. “No, horses kick mangy predators to death all the time.”
Accepting this, Boris straightened himself up a little. “I must thank you Captain Ironteeth, for everything. You saved my life and Queens’ know how many others. The Varganiki deserved what you brought down on them, and I know many souls sleeping in the Beyond will rest easier knowing they’ve been avenged.”
Making a noise deep in his throat, Ironteeth nodded and then worked to dredge up words. “Thank you, as well.”
One of Boris’s ears twitched. “For?”
Refusing to meet his odd ally’s gaze, Ironteeth said. “For explaining all I saw at Milda and… and showing me your kind can be better than what I thought.”
Silence reigned for a long time before Boris whispered. “Of all the freedoms my people are denied, that is the cruelest one. The freedom to be better than what is expected.”
Ironteeth shrugged. “Maybe that can be the first you help win them.”
Boris smiled. “Maybe.”