Chapter 18 - Interlude 1

Kridick entered the open door to the lavish study and waited for his host to acknowledge him. All around him, artworks from artists whose names he could barely pronounce and certainly couldn’t read. Beauty and splendor that ill-matched the blackened heart of his host. The highlord stood on the balcony, illuminated by the wane dragons. Beyond, that balcony offered a view encompassing nearly the entirety of Dragonmaw. From the upper city, guild rows, and docks to the middle city, the canals, the unsheathings, and the downs, where a column of smoke still drifted up from the events of the day before. His host sniffed at a glass of wine the way all the fancy-to-do highlord pricks did. His other hand idly spun a card.

“Speak, mongrel. I can hear the breath whistling through that disgusting hole in your face.”

“Lord,” said Kriddick, temper flaring. It was the only greeting or honorific he had to offer the highlord of Dragonmaw. Those in his own circle knew the noble by another name. Daggertongue. Kridick was among few privileged enough to be granted his true identity as one of the steering hands of Dragonmaw itself. But it was a precarious position. The old drork knew his name was certainly on a list of loose ends, should this elf have need to distance himself from his less legitimate enterprises.

“Detestable business, the circumstances of this meeting. I thought Barrowdown firmly in-hand.”

“The downs are rarely in hand,” Kridick growled. “Barrowdown least of all. But things are settled. For now.”

The elf’s lips curled up. “The ashes aren’t even settled. Burnt-down blocks are hardly conducive to business. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“No excuses, lord.”

Daggertongue took another moment to sniff at his wine before sampling it. He watched the smoke rising over the southeast quarter. “I don't recall asking for excuses. I want to know what happened. You were there, yes?”

“I was,” Kridick confirmed.

“Was it the ways witch making a play? Hmm? Maybe a lich from the Mausoleum Planes come to visit? Or simply a drunken brawl that got out of hand?”

Kridick’s hesitation in answering was uncharacteristic. Despite his brutish appearance, the fighter-turned-fixer had a quick tongue and reliable head for the less legitimate dealings of Daggertongue’s empire. He looked at the card in Daggertongue’s hand, debating.

Daggertongue flicked the card in his hand into the air. The dark iconography of an otherwordly shape glowed on its surface. Shadows in the study deepened, and Kridick felt unholy attentions turned to his direction. One didn’t survive long in Dragonmaw’s lawless streets without a keen sense of self-preservation, and his was telling him to get gone.

“Speak, Kridick. Or I’ll tear such a hole in you as to make that revolting thing in your face seem little more than a scratch.”

The half-orc took a step closer to his host and away from the shadows, heart thumping audibly as the shadows began to hiss and reach toward the orc. It would be six steps to Daggertongue and half a heartbeat to break the elf’s neck and toss him over the edge. He’d never make it three. They both knew it. But this wasn’t his time, and when the knife came, Daggertongue wouldn’t be holding it himself. The mage was toying with him. He growled again. “Cut the theatrics. You know I’m on the inside. Full in.”

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Daggertongue withdrew his spell, and finally turned, smiling, to face his guest. The elf gestured, open-palmed, for the orc to continue. He settled back into his favorite chair. “By all means, then.”

“It was... some Seeker kid. One with the Wills, like you.”

Daggertongue sat forward, suddenly interested. Unsurprising, since the highlord had risen from the ranks of the Seekers Guild, himself. “Guild?” he demanded.

Kridick shook his head. “Not guild. That, I’m sure of. Not anymore. Don’t know why he cut and run, and I’m not looking to press. He’s got the Wills and used them to shift a fight out of odds. Ogglers didn’t appreciate the outcome. Doubt anyone else figured out what happened, but it caused a bit of a stir.”

“A bit.” The elf, normally impassive, had a hint of fervor in his eyes that Kridick marked. Hardly surprising, when the highlord rose from the ranks of the soul seekers, himself. “Where is he now?”

“In my pocket.” Kridick was quite satisfied how thoroughly he’d rolled up the kid and the blue devilborn. “Sniffers can’t pick up on Soul Seeking and that fighter’s still an underdog we can exploit. Resource like that? Going to put him to work for us. He’ll turn more coin than he cost. I’m certain of it.”

Daggertongue nodded, eyes turning down in thought. “Good. Good. You always did have an eye for opportunity, Kriddick. Just don’t mistake the opportunity for profit as an opening to outclimb your station. I need you where you are. Keep him close.”

“Within throat slitting range, lord.”

Daggertongue finished his wine. “Is there anything else?”

Kridick shifted uncomfortably. “About that other matter...”

Daggertongue’s expression darkened. “Say nothing more of it, mongrel. Keep her safe until I call for her. Until then, no one is to know. Do not give me cause to intervene personally.”

Kridick bowed, stepping back. This was already more time in the elf’s presence than was comfortable to spend. “Lord,” he said. The only farewell he would offer, as well.

***

Annalisa hunched over her small writing block, quill scrabbling at the cheap parchment by the light of a lonely candle. Her everything hurt, and the poultices on her cuts stung, but it was worth it. She was one step closer to her goal of being the best fighter in the world. If that wasn’t worth an edition of the family newsletter, she wasn’t sure what ought be.

Dad, Kurtz, Blane, Valk, Euritz, Votay, Cress, & Cierrelicus,

You may have already heard about my decisive victory against Pallithorn the Blade two nights ago. I’m sure you’d have been impressed. My goal of being the best fighter in Dragonmaw is one step closer, and practically in sight. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about all of you. I know it wasn’t easy, having a devilborn sister. But I could never have gotten here without all of you. Since you couldn’t make it, it went like this:

She considered transcribing a blow-by-blow, but in truth the fight had been something of a blur. The fight had been electric, riveting, and she found herself remembering sensations more than actions. How each blow had felt and the cold burn of the Pallithorn’s knife. Fight reports went out each sixthday. They would have read it already.

The city continues to greet me with fresh challenges, and I accept them all with chin raised, knowing they can only make me stronger. I’ve taken on additional work as a bodyguard, though doubtless my reputation as a peerless fighter will scare away any would-be assassins or thieves. My ward seems to be a bit of a pervert, where tails are concerned, but his virtues make up for his shortcomings.

At least they would once she determined what they were, she was sure. Still, Darcent had believed in her, and even increased the odds stacked against her—only to sacrifice his own providence to help her once he realized her potential. The least she could do was believe in him.

In other matters, Votay’s alchemical work continues to provide valuable medicines and potions to the Menders Guild. Euritz performed for the Lady Balisina at the Chatten hall of theatrics, Cress received an award from the masons for his work improving the canals, and Kurtz departed on his voyage to Kalash. I’ve not heard from Blane in some weeks, but I expect he’s doing well in Saltforge designing fashionable ladys’ helmets.

With all the love in my heart, I will continue fighting for everyone.

Annalisa