Chapter 60 - Interlude IV
“Mother, just let me go and kill the little robed fucker! They’re weak after that fight with the Teeth bitch.”
Mother Mayaz turned over three cards, looking down at the voice of the Wills that whispered hidden truths to her. “No, Darza, they are stronger than ever before.”
Her favored and most loyal child raged within, knuckles tight on the hilt of his acid-woven cutlass. His other hip was empty, and the boy wore it as a stinging reminder to himself that he had let Kridick’s successor get the better of him. Of all her children, Darza bore the most weight on his shoulders. Even at only sixteen summers, his great strength was, itself, a burden because it could not be applied to every task. And it would only grow with time.
“You don’t think I could do it?”
But he still had the bravado and the doubt of youth. Mother Mayaz stood and moved to Darza, cupping his face in her hands. “Oh, my sweet boy. They yet have a part to play. This I know. Margot Bethane searched long for one who fit her designs. just as I know you are surely capable of killing Darcent of Stitch Alley—if killing him was what I wanted I would send you this very night. But if I asked you to bring him alive?”
Darza turned his eyes away, scowling.
“You are a shark of the depths, hard as iron and and cold as Bitterdeep. You are not one who spares prey. Nor is he one to suffer my bondage a second time.”
A knock on her sanctum door drew both their eyes. One of her children opened the door a hair in order to whisper a name through the crack.
“Send her in,” said Mother Mayaz. She turned back to Darza. “I have news that may yet salve this open sore.”
The door opened, and a woman stepped through, still dripping water from her sodden hair. She wore a dress as if ill-accustomed to the garment, or perhaps even clothes in general. She held what appeared to be a rock in one hand, stroking it lightly with a long, clawed finger.
Darza growled, low and threatening. “What is she doing here?”
Mother Mayaz shushed him with a flat hand. “Maza. What do you bring?” she asked. “Did you find it?”
The woman smiled. Brackish brine dribbled from her mouth as she spoke. “Well, I’m no ways witch, Mother. But I have my methods. It’s but a hand’s width through stone, but it leads inside.”
Darza’s eyes widened. “We’ve been searching for months!” he pulled off his badge, the symbol of organized adventure, as though one could curate the whirlwind of violence beneath Dragonmaw into something resembling civilization.
Mother Mayaz smiled down at her child. “You need no longer spend your days searching beneath the city. It’s time for you to rejoin your brothers and sisters.”
Darza let his badge fall to the floor. “One last delve. I would be there, for this.”
“Very well, my sweet,” said Mother Mayaz.
Maza simply watched the exchange, finger stroking the object in her hand—which, one could almost swear, watched them as well.
* * *
“Where do we stand with the lackwits from the Binders Guild?”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Threadripper thumbed through his coded journal. Not that he needed it. Every detail was memorized. But one ought be sure when dealing with Daggertongue. Those keen eyes and keener ears missed nothing.
“Coming around, Lord. It seems they were rather attached to the glue—sorry—being provided by the chemists in Saltforge. But the last shipment from Saltforge failed to arrive…” he raised an eyebrow at Daggertongue’s back but said nothing. He didn’t have to. “They’ve become quite amenable to your offer. I think you’ll soon have access to their private stacks.
“And the Royal Arcanists Society?”
“Still staunchly refusing,” said Threadripper. He tipped the bottle of Crassport white into a crystal glass and held it beneath his nose, before setting it aside for the moment. Business first. “I imagine your old stomping partner has more than a little to do with that.”
“I don’t bring you here for your imagination, Jav. Quite the opposite, really,” said Daggertongue. He turned from the balcony and picked up the open bottle, grimacing. “How do you drink this swill?”
Threadripper sniffed. “I quite enjoy a good white.”
“A good white, not one grown by necromancers whose tastebuds rotted away with their cocks.”
“As you say,” said Threadripper. He tapped his cheek. “In point, necromancers are among the few who have as long to perfect their craft as we do.”
“They still have the flickering, sputtered memory of a human. Detestable creatures.”
Daggertongue dropped into his favorite chair. Even with the heat of the evening, a healthy fire roared in the hearth. It was always lit. The highlord’s chin rested in the crook of his hand as he stared into the flames. Without flames, there could be no shadow. Without shadow, Daggertongue couldn’t work his greatest assets.
Threadripper decided to move on to lighter topics. “The boy has taken Kindledown.”
Daggertongue harrumphed. “He’s ousted one soft devil. If we’d wanted the Matchbox we could have had it. Barrowdown is where the important ports are. What does Kindledown have? Seamstresses and tanners?” he straightened. “Even so, it shows promise. Foe Skull wasn’t Kridick. But I expected her to be more than a match for the pair of them, let alone her and the sump rat.”
“I’m told the devilborn did most of the fighting.”
“Yes,” said Daggertongue. He let an uncustomary smile cross his lips. “I was subjected to the entire play-by-play over the dinner table. You know, my son has taken a shine to her fighting? Perhaps I should sponsor her at the arena. For his fiftieth name day.”
Threadripper wrinkled his own nose. The thought of such a savage in as noble a venue as the upper city gave him similar queasiness as the Mausoleum Planes wine had to his lord. “Perhaps fish should sprout wings, Lord.”
Daggertongue barked a laugh. “Fine, let them steep a bit more. But keep your eyes on them. I still think they will lead us to my wayward brood. Preferably before her absence damns us all.”
Threadripper flipped through several pages in his notes until he found the missive from his spies in the middle city. “Actually, Lord, I believe I may have news on that front.”
* * *
Dad, Kurtz, Blane, Valk, Euritz, Votay, Cress, and Cierrelicus,
I’m writing you all to tell of yet another victory over my opponents in the ashen pits. The fight was something of an unorthodox affair, joined halfway through by the ward I spoke of in my last message, as well as a murderous orc lady who, I believe, was upset with him for reasons unknown. He seemed to have offended her a great deal. Perhaps he made unwelcome advances? It would not be out of character, yet I think this unlikely as she does not even have a tail, which he seems to prefer.
Annalisa paused, considering the sight of Darcent falling into the ash and the enormous orc lady jumping down at him with an axe.
Naturally, it is quite difficult to fight one opponent while performing my duties as a bodyguard against another. But I am no stranger to multitasking, and no task worth doing is ever easy. I am resolved to better improve in this regard because it seems I often find my ward pressed by foes while I am otherwise occupied. I am still learning to control my tunneling, as it allows me to be in many places at once.
She’d already come so far. Annalisa held out a hand and strained. A smooth shimmer of black appeared in the air before her, solid and implacable as obsidian. Creating the tunnels still challenged her. But if there was one thing Annalisa relished, it was a challenge.
We emerged triumphant in what I can only describe as a decisive victory—to which the crowd agreed. If any of you currently in Dragonmaw made it to the fight, whose date and location I included in my previous newsletter, and simply forgot to tell me in the interim, you will have heard them chanting my name. I hope it has done the Dunnemarshe family proud. Should you wish to visit me, I have taken up rooms at the Mop and Bucket, which is a lively public house where one can find many friends and deep tankards. Sometimes there is even music! It bears few signs of having had its door blasted off the hinges by an upset mage. I am uncertain whether that was also a result of my ward causing offense.
With much love from a full heart,
Annalisa
*** Next week is the start of Arc V - The City Beneath