Chapter 10

Lions

Ferjis watched with a scornful glare. The woman looked utterly unbothered, as if the group of men hadn't been harassing her for the past few hours that he'd been there. He supposed it was her job to pretend it wasn't happening. But luckily for her, it wasn't his. Waiting for the next time she came around, he gave the group one last chance to redeem themselves, though he held very little faith that they would.

And as certain as the sun was setting that evening, the young lady approached the table only to be immediately groped by one of the older men. He looked so old in fact that he could've been one of Ferjis' ancestors. The withered bastard had no right so easily harassing someone ten times younger than him.

But what really made Ferjis stand from his seat, was the look of disdain that finally escaped the waitress. But even then she hadn't moved. So he moved for her. Striding over to the table, his heavy golden plated armor thunked against the wooden floorboards. The entire tavern seemed to shake as he stopped just before the young lady.

Gently laying a hand on her shoulder, he guided her away from the table, and gestured with his head for her to step back. Her face, and all the surrounding patrons, went white. Slowly she took several backwards steps until she bumped against the bar. He had startled her, and for that he felt a tinge of regret. But after looking at the table before him he saw a group of men looking unwavered. Now that made him angry.

Reaching to his chestplate, he pulled off a coin from one of the slots. Its design was that of a lion's head, which closely resembled the helmet he wore. The mane came down in brilliant golden waves, acting as protection for his neck. The face plate was the lion's mouth, frozen in a perpetual gaping snarl, ready to tear into its prey. The eye holes were wide, admittedly acting as a weak point in the armor. But it allowed the men sitting at the table to truly see his rage.

The act itself was obviously deplorable. But what really irked him was the brazenness of it all. Right in damn front of him. He knew they saw him. And whether they figured he wouldn't care, or wouldn't do anything, they were both wrong.

Rubbing the coin between his thumb and index finger, he pushed it down onto the table so hard their mugs spilled. One of them stood up, cursing as ale poured out onto his lap. With very little thought, he revealed a dagger and leapt across the table. It took no more than two movements to grab the man by the arm and send him crashing into the bar next to the lady. He hadn't been ridiculously injured, but stayed down nonetheless.

Turning to the rest of the table, he pointed at the coin.

"You know what this means. One of you, pick it up." Ferjis snarled. The men looked to their fallen friend, and then at the coin. They did know what it meant. The coin acted as a waving white flag. Meaning, whoever had it could be spared from the Lions judgement. These coins were given out sparsely, and they always found their way back to their respective Lion.

The three remaining men looked at each other, and then back at the Lion.

"You think I'm gunna-?" The old man started, but was quickly cut off as Ferjis reeled back his fist and delivered a devastating blow to the face that sent him hurtling backwards. The old man became tangled in the chairs and table behind him. Blood sprayed out over the wooden beams and across the floor as his nose seemed to peel off entirely.

Suddenly, one of the scum used the chaos to reach out and snatch the coin. Jumping to his feet, he attempted to run. It didn't take long for his friend to spring from his seat and throw himself at his legs, wrapping his arms around them and bringing them both to the floor.

"You coal-eater! Get off!" He kicked at his supposed friend, smashing his nose in much like the old man. Letting go of his legs, he gripped his face as he howled in pain. With a weasley laugh, the coin holder got back to his feet and began to run to the door.

Ferjis reached down to his tool belt and pulled free a small throwing knife. Just before he could reach the door, the Lion threw the knife. It flew past unsuspecting patrons, and landed right between the shoulder blades of the man. Tensing up, he smashed against the door and tumbled back down to the ground with the rest of his friends.

"You…!" A disgruntled voice started from behind. Ferjis looked to see a red faced barkeeper with his hands to his head. "This is the only damn tavern in the village, and you just shut it down for a week! At least! You know how long it takes to get blood out of those boards? You can't! You can't get it out! I have to strip it all!" The barkeeper seemed much more upset about the mess rather than the loss of life. Though Ferjis had a hard time feeling bad for the man, as he no doubt knew of the abuse happening to his worker, and promptly ignored it. Storming over to the barkeep, he plucked another coin from the twenty or so slots in his chestplate, and placed it down.

"Bring it up with the Den." Ferjis growled. "Who knows people here?" He added, seemingly unrelated. The barkeeper looked confused for a moment, then remembered just who he was dealing with. A hired killer. The Lions weren't too rare to see, but in a village like Fernwrath it certainly wasn't all too common. Pursing his lips, the annoyed man pointed to a woman sitting alone at a booth. Her nose was shoved in a book. It looked as though she was either ignorant, or uninterested in what had just transpired in the tavern.

Ferjis made his way over, and slid into the booth across from her. The younger lady had long braided brown hair that fell over both shoulders down to her stomach. Looking up through her large circular glasses, she blinked curiously.

"Am I next?" She said flatly. A small candle flickered in the center of the table, illuminating the otherwise dark corner of the tavern. Several scrolls and books lay disregarded, some now covered in bits of wax. Ferjis laughed.

"Not unless you're Raynn Mirthorn. Do you know her?"

"What makes you think I do?" The girl raised a brow.

"I suppose I have to kill a barkeeper now." Ferjis began to stand but the lady quickly reached out and grabbed his wrist. The metal was dense, so heavy that she wondered how he even managed to lug it all around, no less, fight in it.

"Wait, sorry! I know who she is. You can't blame me for being a bit guarded. Though I appreciate your threat not being directed at me at least." She grinned, letting go of his arm as he sat back down with a thud. " That being said, I'm not exactly comfortable sentencing someone to their death. That's not typically the use of my skills."

"The sentencing part is my duty. I just need you to point a finger in the right direction." Ferjis said. There was a short moment of silence between them, before the lady extended her hand.

"Peppir. And you are?" She smiled, waiting for him to accept the handshake. Eventually he did, with a grunt.

"Ferjis, Second Mane.” He reached up and took his helmet off, placing it down on the booth seat before him. It revealed a mylian beneath. His dark blue skin and pale green eyes revealed a youthfulness that Peppir hadn't expected.

“What brings a Lion into Fernwrath of all places?” Peppir started. “Never mind that, silly question. You’re here to kill someone!”

“Not kill. Retrieve.” Ferjis corrected drearily.

“What? Why didn’t you say that earlier then?” Peppir looked disappointed rather than upset.

“Wanted to see how flexible you are. It worked.” The Lion grinned, but Peppir was quick to wave a finger.

“Hey, I never agreed. I just moved the conversation along.”

“You said you had skills. What do you mean?” Ferjis asked, seemingly ignoring her last statement. Peppir sighed, sliding a thin strip of fabric in between the pages of her book before closing it.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“I have the Art of Knowledge. Otherwise known as an Archiver.”

"I'm familiar. You can remember everything you see or hear." Ferjis nodded to himself, laying his arms down on the table.

"'Can' implies I can control when I remember things. That is not true. But yes,everything. Constantly. Every whisper, every passing conversation in the room, all consumed and organized up here." She pointed to her head. It didn't look much larger than the average person. Ferjis wondered how so much information could even be stored in a single brain. "Most importantly though…" She pressed her index finger against the book in front of her. "I remember every book I've ever read. In great detail. Perfect detail even. Including history books about the noble families of Torchill going back several centuries. Further including, your Raynn Mirthorn." She seemed a tad bit proud of herself, smiling at Ferjis before dusting off the book cover with the back of her hand.

"And?" Ferjis raised a brow.

"And I'm not sure why you'd be looking here. This place is a haven for fishermen and pig farmers. The bridge stretching across the river here is literally called pig bridge. I don't see why the daughter of a slaughtered noble family would be in such a place." Peppir looked across the tavern, when something caught her attention. Ferjis could see it in her eyes as they glinted with distress. Looking in the same direction, he saw in the dim light as the old man was wobbling out of the tavern holding his nose. Guards had come in a few moments ago and begun dragging the two others out as well.

"Perhaps she didn't want to go too far from home. All I know is my informant says she was here, so I'm here." Ferjis pursed his lips as he watched the last of the guards leave. He felt bad for having ruined the mood in the at one point lively tavern.

"Well I myself haven't seen her. But if anyone has, I'm likely to hear about it eventually." Peppir toyed with her skirt, suddenly nervous. The Lion scanned her up and down for a moment before grabbing his helmet and putting it back on.

"Let's take a walk."

Taravar looked over the town shrouded in darkness. Way past the Ridgebrook Mountains was a storm barreling its way east. He imagined the Needle flooding, the small gap between mountains being flushed away as it often had during a bad rain.

A chill pressed against his golden armor, the lookout of their ship swaying gently but not bending. He'd been up there for the past few hours, keeping an eye on the tavern that Ferjis had entered. Damn boy sure was taking his sweet time.

Eventually, though, he recognized the unmistakable golden beacon that was his fellow Lion. And he was accompanied by a young, scrappy looking lady. She wore a cloak, the hood up as though she was trying to avoid attention. Obviously it wasn't working if Ferjis had gotten his hands on her.

Quickly descending the outlook, he waited patiently at the edge of the boat.

"Took you long enough." Taravar grunted as Ferjis made his way across the dock. The young lady looked like a shrimp next to a whale when compared him.

"Had to find some help." Ferjis gestured to Peppir, who blinked nervously.

"Peppir. Sir." She reached out a hand, and Taravar was quick to pull her onto the ship, a small yip escaping her. Eventually Ferjis followed. Several other Lions stood around the deck doing their duties, though it had grown dark long ago.

"Who might she be?" Taravar demanded, as if she wasn't standing right there. Ferjis couldn't help but chuckle.

"An Archiver. Says she knows a bit about our target."

"An Archiver? I always thought those were myths. Or just smart people preying on the dumb. Guess that means our little table-turner either fled, or failed, huh?" Taravar sighed, taking off his helmet and pinching the bridge of his nose. This time the Lion was a bit older, grey hairs more visible than brown. And he was human, notably.

"Seems to be the case. Thought maybe you'd want to hear what she has to say." Ferjis looked to Peppir, who seemed utterly betrayed.

"What? Are you seriously going to put me on the spot like this?" Her sudden attitude shift made Taravar laugh.

"Ah, you didn't even check to make sure she knew anything of use? I'm sorry we've wasted your time, darling." Taravar gently placed his hand on her back, guiding her towards the bridge board. But Peppir was quick to twirl around and free herself.

"Wait! You people are always so quick to assume. I know plenty. I just want to know how you're going to make this worth my time." Her hands were outstretched, as if she expected one of them to leap at her at any moment. But the two Lions simply looked at each other, and then back at Peppir.

"Cryys. And plenty of them." Taravar spoke slowly. Reaching behind him he pulled out a baggie that jingled with the iconic sound of a collection of cryys. "To start." He muttered before carelessly throwing the bag into her hands. Which was much heavier than she'd expected. Peppir had to stare at it for a moment before looking at Taravar with a squint.

"And you're not killing her, right?" She asked bluntly.

"This is supposed to be a retrieval. It is up to this Mirthorn if she wishes to escalate it from there." Taravar looked to his companion, who seemed content with his decision to bring her along.

"Can I ask why, exactly? What could she have done? Assuming she is still even alive, why twenty years after her family's death do you now seek her?" Peppir tapped a foot, truly feeling she was justified to have an answer. Taravar only shook his head.

"You learn not to ask stupid questions like that to your employers. We don't know, and we don't care. We're each getting more cryys than we've seen in a year just from this job alone." Taravar sneered.

"An employer in a high place then, huh?" Peppir raised a brow, growing all too comfortable being surrounded by massive armor clad mercenaries. But her spirits were soon tumbled as Taravars lips grew thin.

"Concern yourself not with who hired us. Tell us what you know of Raynn Mirthorn, and where she might be hiding here in Fernwrath." His sudden seriousness brought a chill upon the little Arhciver, who nodded vigorously.

"Right. Well. Her father was a famous collector, so most think his family's death is tied to one of his more 'unethical' sources for his collection. Perhaps a missed payment, or some sort of disagreement. Some argue against this prospect though, as it wouldn't give reason to slaughter his entire family. Some point fingers at the Three Generals of Torchill. Who at the time had reason to believe that the Mirthorn Manor was hiding a relic of great value." Peppir stopped as a man dropped a barrel with a thud, rolling across the deck.

"We don't need a history lesson, just tell us where she might have hid." Ferjis urged, clearly growing more anxious to get the job over with. He just wanted his cryys already, so he could finally buy back his house in Gincrest. He hadn't liked the vague direction of the mission to begin with, but the amount of cryys promised was too good to pass up.

"Oh gods, that's who hired you, isn't it?" Peppirs face grew white as the realization hit her. Ferjis couldn't help but facepalm, sighing between his fingers.

"Magnificent, you figured it out. Now get along with it."

"Sorry, yes. Scribes had it written that she escaped on a boat heading west on the day of the assassination. It would make sense that she landed in Fernwrath, but not that she would have stayed. And certainly not for twenty years. That being said, if she had stayed, she most likely would have wanted to stay out of the public eye. Luckily for her, Fernwrath has many cabins surrounding the village in the Peppleroot Forest. I'd wager she'd have hunkered down there of all places." Peppir finished, blinking absently at the two Lions who looked deep in thought.

"Cabins. Makes sense." Taravar said at a near whisper. "Ferjis, grab Thalam and start checking the cabins on the outskirts. We don't want to make our presence too well known lest we spook her off. I'll get into civilian clothing and start asking around myself." Peppir couldn't help but chuckle, covering her mouth.

"Might have wanted to tell him that before he stormed into a tavern in full Lion gear and pummeled a group of men." It was Ferjis' turn to feel betrayed, and scoffed as he looked away. Taravar whipped his head at the Second Mane.

"You fool, I was hoping that hadn't been your doing when I saw those men dragged out. I suppose I’m a fool too for thinking you could handle your pride for one bleeding hour! The whole damn village probably knows about this now." Taravar looked as though he was going to strike his subordinate, but stopped himself.

“I was keeping the peace.” Ferjis said plainly.

“Peeling a man’s nose off isn’t exactly peaceful is it, Ferjis? I could see that poor bastard from atop the lookout for Hyvales sake!”

“The only thing poor about that man was his pockets. He was being touchy with the waitress. Sodding imp got what he deserved.” Ferjis spat back, looking down at the blood that had dried on his knuckles. Meanwhile, Peppir stood quietly watching, hiding half her face behind her book. She hadn’t seen the group of men or had known why Ferjis had done what he’d done. But she suddenly felt much safer being around him.

“Either way. We need to make this quick before word goes around of Lions maiming old men.” Taravar gave him one last ugly glare before storming off towards the captain's corridors. Cursing to himself, Ferjis rubbed away at his knuckles.

“Just had to run your mouth, didn't you?” He muttered. The elf simply shrugged, face still hiding behind her book. “Thalam! Get down here!” Ferjis suddenly shouted to a smaller looking Lion standing on the upper deck. They'd caught him staring out into the gulf. Looking at the two, the even younger Lion squinted at Peppir. His helmet was nowhere in sight Peppir had read that it meant he was a Third Mane, undeserving of a helmet yet.

Doing as sold by his superior, the young man scurried down the deck and stood at attention. He put two fingers to his heart, the salute of the Lions.

"We have our task. Search the outer cabins in Peppleroot. Do you understand? I don't know how many there are…"

"Thirteen." Peppir interrupted. "I read a book on Fernwraths history. Each cabin has its own story behind it."

"Interesting, but unimportant. So it seems we have thirteen cabins to search then. Peppir and I will take the North-west side, you take the South. Understood?" Ferjis leaned in, the aura of commanding coming naturally to him. Thalam nodded vigorously, his eyes lighting as he was finally given a real job. He had grown tired of mopping the deck and going to town to refill ale kegs. Perhaps this would be his opportunity to earn himself the title of Second Mane.

Without any further instruction, the young Lion ran down the board bridge and toward the southern side of the forest. The other two didn't take much longer to follow in his stead, toward the north.