Chapter 22 — Merciless (Part II)
Though Kesta had mentioned it, Toren was still surprised to see a whole market square with a fancy stoneshaped fountain and an uncountable number of vendors as a raised platform off to the side of the main road which cut the town into north and south halves. The effect was to create a shadowy ‘Undermarket’ in the hidden space beneath, a treacherous warren of temporary structures and tents that could be quickly removed in times of flooding—or that was how it seemed to his [Mana Sensing] when they passed along the edge of it from above.
Arriving at the shrine proved a bit less fraught with challenge than expected… not that it wasn’t tense, but with Toren tactically engaging the father and daughter in conversation about their life in Greenvale, they had gotten past the market unrecognized. At least, he was guardedly optimistic that it was so. Had Falma been marked, he was sure things would have been hairy.
The shady guys that he noted watching passersby looked tough enough for there to have been no margin to hold back. He would have had to strike to kill. As quickly and violently as possible. Maybe the new [Intimidate] skill had dissuaded thoughts of opportunism enough to make Toren’s group an unpalatable risk?
Of course, it was possible that those guys had nothing to do with the ransomers. Most likely, the market contact would have led Falma and her father elsewhere to be ambushed. An out-of-the-way, dark alley connecting to the Undermarket, if he had to guess. Yeah, with guards actively patrolling, an ambush on the above-side might have been too risky unless the guards were in on it.
Whatever the reason, they had made it inside the shrine, and the plan would succeed or fail here. Toren glanced around to make sure the Conclave guys didn’t have a man watching the inside of the shrine.
Cloaked petitioners hiding their features were praying in the open space before the statue of the reaper-cloaked Black Knight. No one suspicious looked their way or made a move to leave the shrine.
The uneventful arrival at the shrine did not bring Toren relief though. According to Old Sellim’s teaching and stories from books at the orphanage library, fae were creatures of excess bound by the laws of balance. The business success Warnel’s luck had brought him was gone. But the man still had his beautiful wife and doting daughters, even if two of the three were currently being ransomed.
Perhaps the hatter’s luck was enough prior to the ill-advised deal with the fae that the demands of balance wouldn’t seek Warnel’s family’s death, maybe just some portion of their beauty and future prospects? Yet, what of the fairy’s price?
Toren could only hope Warnel had paid it in advance. For the hatter to no longer be suffering bad luck, it didn’t bode well.
“Welcome, supplicants,” an old [Priest] greeted and approached. “Though, I suppose what brings new faces here isn’t usually a welcome matter, so you have my condolences. How may Eshem`Zel’s faithful be of service?”
Though age wrinkled the man’s face, the way the [Priest]’s broad shoulders filled out the black robe suggested a still-powerful physique. The tier-2 mana density further spoke of the man’s strength.
It was natural that the hatter and his daughter would be intimidated by the man, and it quickly fell to Toren to present their case, “Two tenants of my stead—this girl’s mother and sister—have been abducted by a group calling themselves the ‘Conclave of Shadows’ and are being ransomed… with our low levels, I fear that we will be unable to recover them without help and that terrible things will happen to them.”
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“Hmm, while I am not unsympathetic to your plight, the girl’s mother and sister don’t seem forgotten or without people able to seek resolution on their behalf…,” the priest said slowly, eyeing their reactions. “Perhaps there are others you could turn to first? Or pay the ransom?”
That the priest didn’t outright accept gave Toren some relief in regard to how well things had been going, but the feeling was complicated. Convincing the man or someone else at tier-2 to assist them was critical to attempting a rescue. Self-righteous suicide wasn’t part of the plan.
“We would make a donation, of course!” Warnel desperately offered as the silence stretched. “As much as I can afford, and I’ll have my rescued daughter convert to your faith!”
The old priest frowned and narrowed his eyes, not looking particularly pleased by the answer. “Victims who are loved and already have champions of both means and strength… though unfortunate, I’m sure-”
“I’ll take this one, Reaver Uvros,” a man closer to Toren’s age, clad in black leather armor and a black robe similar to the priest but tattered and worn open—like the statue of Eshem`Zel— interrupted from behind.
Warnel and Falma spun around in surprise to see who had spoken, but Toren returned his gaze to the old priest.
The new arrival from outside was also tier-2 and looked suspiciously perfect to handle their problems. The sinisterly-themed claymore hilt poking above his shoulder certainly wasn’t a weapon of peace and charity.
“Fine. But, make sure to have them cover any required dispensations, Reaver Yorne,” Uvros allowed, and gave Warnel a meaningful eyeing when the hatter’s attention returned. “Don’t forget what you have promised in Eshem`Zel’s presence.”
And with those ominous words the old priest quietly joined the other petitioners, kneeling to pray beside them.
“I heard you mention the Conclave of Shadows. Though the ones you seek aren’t the ones in most need, there are likely others with no one to care for their plight also enslaved by these scum,” the younger Reaver spoke up and eyed each one of them. “The blessing we Reavers bring is not forgiveness. Are you prepared to be responsible for bringing death to these men? Do you have the funds to pay the murder fines?”
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Reaver Yorne’s tattered robe fluttered behind the dangerous man like the dread shroud of a wraith as the four of them jogged through the back-ways with purpose, cloaked from notice by one of the man’s Abilities.
As Toren suspected, Reaver Yorne did have a prayer to track the mother and daughter using a bit of Falma’s blood. The surprise came from Warnel revealing that he had hidden several unfilled gold mana-coins inside the band of his belt and volunteering the coins for guarantee against the murder fines.
Toren’s plan had been to pay the fines with the fair sum of coins and other ill-gotten goods the ransomers likely stashed at the site or work off the debt with the church later—he wouldn’t be surprised if the shrine had a hidden assassination board similar to the town’s job board—but the trouble with his plan lay with the ‘ill-gotten goods’ and Farharbor’s policy regarding murder and goods detected as ‘stolen’.
That didn’t mean Toren didn’t have a plan for repurposing anything found. What could be returned to those robbed and extorted should be, but by involving the cult of Eshem`Zel, it also gave them a way to pay the fines with the ‘ill-gotten’ coins and goods, since donations to a divinity’s church tended to lose any ‘ill-gotten’ designations.
Having a back-up via Warnel’s hidden coins was of course welcome, and while still not enough to pay the ransom, the sum could be helpful in increasing their chances of surviving the jungle and reclaiming the stead—assuming they survived the current effort.
“This looks like the place,” came the whispered voice from Reaver Yorne, motioning the direction with his head while bringing them to a stop and readying his large blackened sword.
Around them, three-floor timber and plaster buildings loomed separated only by the wood plank walkway that spanned the space between the buildings. Hostels, it looked. With the time of day, there wasn’t much in the way of other people around.
In the shadows cast by the building’s facade, a wiry man leaned against a wall by the door that was probably the indicated building’s common entry. Horevi’s light occasionally flashed off the blade of the small knife the man was idly tossing and catching.
Having finished a brief visual survey of the property, Reaver Yorne turned and narrowed his eyes at his tag-alongs. Falma was peeking out from behind her father, trying to stay hidden. Her father’s face showed determination, but also fear and tension, a tension that Toren himself wasn’t immune to. Violence was about to happen.
“I have blade arts, stealth, sensing, and awareness skills,” Toren offered, keeping his voice low. “Do you have a preferred method to approach this, Reaver Yorne?”