Now that I’ve started working on projects other than Miys, I am going to start compiling links to each work here so that it’s easy to find and go through the parts if there are any.
Humans Are Space Orcs
The Miys <Chapters 1-100> <Chapters 101-200> <Chapters 201-233>
Nihilus Rex (Masterpost on @baelpenrose bc he updates it consistently)
Not the Chosen One, Ch. 37: Aftermath of Over-exuberance (plus announcement)
Hello, happy Tuesday my delightful critters, readers, gremlins, and other wonderful things you are. I have our next chapter, ready to go!
However. Before I post this one, I need to come clean to all of you: in the last 2 years, I have had some major life changes, and to deal with my new reality a bit better, I'm taking a step back. I will still be writing in the background, with posts being more sporadic than they already are (I know, and I'm sorry :( ). I will still be editing for @baelpenrose over on his account.
But the reality is.... I'm turning 40 this year. I got divorced last year after a year long separation from a nasty piece of work. But I was so prolific writing during my marriage because I desperately needed to escape my reality. To make a world where things were fair, people were loved and accepted, and abuse just wasn't something that was tolerated.
Fast forward to now, and.... the last thing I want to do is escape my life. I want to engage in it, be present for it. I LOVE my current life. But that also makes it harder to write, or even to have time to obsess over writing. Add to it a job that requires my full attention 8-9 hours a day, 5 days a week, and I can't even distract myself from work plotting out what happens next.
But, don't worry. This chapter isn't a huge cliffhanger or anything, and I do actually know where this story is going. It's just about making/having time to work on it. I'm not vanishing forever, just stepping back and posting less regularly. I want to try to make the chapters I post in the future double the length they usually are, kind of to make up for that.
As always, thank you all for your support. I love y'all. Stay safe, take care.
I was shoving my third pizza crust into my mouth when Kevin finally asked the question I was waiting for. I may or may not have made a note of the pizza place based solely on how good their garlic butter was.
Maybe. Probably.
"Everything okay?" He sounded hesistant at best.
"Eh compicahed," I managed around the mouthful of bread I was chewing. Vision was stabilized, legs were twitchy but functional.
"But Trey stays with you, right?" To his credit, Kevin sounded genuinely concerned. "I don't know what led to all of this, but I can't imagine anything good leads to an almost-adult staying with a stranger. And you were about to come to blows with that succubus, even I could see that."
I swallowed my mouthful, as Trey had just taken another teenage-boy sized bite of meat lovers pizza. "That's even more complicated."
A hand fell on my shoulder, and I looked over in confusion. Trey was holding my arm while holding up one finger to ask us to wait. "Give Trey a sec?" Trey nodded to confirm I had gotten it right.
Finally, he was able to swallow the bite and chase it with a soda Kevin's wife had sent. "My parents were abusive," he clarified. "Kicked me out when I came out as trans. They don't even know I have magic."
"Well, that's just awful," Kevin agreed. "Don't blame you. Although, I didn't know for sure you did, either, until just now."
"Having magic ranks just below being queer and killing babies, as far they are concerned," Trey added.
"Oh wow," Kevin exhaled, glancing over his shoulder before changing lanes. "That's beyond having messed-up priorities. That's 'burning witches to save their souls' kind of stuff."
"Pretty much," Trey agreed. "But I'm still a minor, so I need to go to school and all that, which is why Stef is going through all this to be my foster mom, legally."
The head in front of me bobbed, nodding. "Makes sense."
At that point, Trey squeezed my shoulder to get my attention. When I looked away from my food and back to his face, he looked confused but certain - that expression that people had when they knew the answer beyond any doubt, they were just confused why they were being asked the question. "And I'm apparently some prophesied Chosen One - "
"You're a teenager," Kevin sputtered, swerving to avoid a car that tried to merge into us.
"- who needs to save the world - "
"You're a Teen. Aye. Jer."
" - and I need to choose a support group -"
"This is asinine," Kevin muttered, turning abruptly into a parking lot and throwing the car in park.
Thankfully, the mouthful of garlic-smothered crust in my mouth prevented me from letting out a profoundly dignified squeak.
Whirling around, he stared us both down. "Keep going."
"I need a support group to fill the gaps in my capabilities," Trey finished. "I have a week."
Kevin scrambled for his phone before Dex carefully batted it from his hand. "Authorities won't do anything," Dexter explained in a regretful tone. "It's been tried."
"And you can't just say no???"
Trey shook his head slowly, holding up his wrist. The lights in the car and from the street signs caught the silver chain around it, glinting. "They're tracking me."
Taking Trey's lead, Dex batted at Kevin's arm to get his attention. "He has magical abilities that are considered incredibly dangerous. Being a prophesied hero is best case scenario, I assure you." Dex immediately started licking one of his back feet. "I need to get the taste of that sentence out of my mouth, please pardon me."
Kevin just rubbed his face, for once not taking everything in stride. "Okay, so the hero is - of course - a teenager, presumably so some political group can control them and avoid letting them make decisions. Plus, you can write off a teenager dying in the course of thwarting a threat as 'impulsive' and live on with a clear conscience."
I whistled softly. "Got it in one," I admitted.
"The military lets people who can't legally drink enlist for the same reason," he pointed out. "And they're always first on the front lines."
No love lost between Kevin and the mundane government, apparently.
"Can I ask what your abilities even are? Is that rude or anything?"
Trey paused, face scrunching. "I… I don't know."
"It's not necessarily rude," I answered slowly. "But some people just won't want to answer. Privacy and all that."
"OH," Trey and Kevin responded before giving each other confused looks.
Trey took the lead. "I just meant that I'm not fully sure what my abilities are. But we know for sure I can manipulate reality. No clue to what extent, or even if I can do it on purpose or only by accident."
"There is that," I conceded.
Kevin continued. "A support group. What does that mean?"
"A standard adventuring party," I interjected, resting my hand on Trey's arm, his fingers still digging into my shoulder. "Think any fantasy adventure. Ranged attacks, a tank, a couple magic users, someone to handle provisions, a steed or two, et cetera."
"That's why Stef was doing the thing with the roses," Trey added softly. "She was demonstrating why she is a fighter, not just food and provisions."
"And Dex can't be a combatant except in the most dire emergency," I admitted, heading off the question. "He is empowered to protect his territory, and to defend his wards if the only other option is that his wards die. That's it, unfortunately."
"But he's - "
"A Guardian," Dexter interrupted. "I can use my offensive abilities to guard what is mine. That is the definition my existence."
"And my definition," I added, "as a ward is to defend Dexter. Which I am more than capable to do. And thankfully protect anyone not under his purview, because - spoiler - if anyone else is about to die in front of him outside his territory? Poor guy can't do anything about it."
Kevin whistled lowly. "That's got to suck."
"You have no idea," Dex grumbled plaintively.
"So the roses actually would have eaten me?"
"I mean… They do like bone meal?" I shrugged, hands up.
"Valid." Thankfully, he wasn't even offended, just taking the information in. Finally, he turned back to the steering wheel, put the car in gear, and re-engaged the GPS to the hotel. "I need to talk to my wife. Thankfully, we don't have any kids, and my income is mostly just for fun fund stuff. The woman is incredibly brilliant and successful."
Idly, I thought that, if this were an anime, this man would be sparkling just thinking about his wife. It was cute. Nauseating, but cute.
But suddenly, my mind caught up to what he actually said. "Wait, talk to her about what?"
Trey looked at me in the same tone that Kevin sucked his teeth at me. "You need a steed," Kevin explained slowly. "My car doesn't drive itself." He knocked on the roof with one sharp knuckle. "I mean, it's already a registered safe space for magical and paranormal beings. And I already know you three. It makes sense. Assuming I'm invited, I mean. I kind of jumped the gun."
"Oh hell - "
"Yes," Trey finished, white knuckling my shoulder at this point. "Oh Hell Yes."
"You traitor," I hissed at my teenage ward.
"Stop being stubborn. Do you want to take the bus?"
Not the Chosen One, Ch. 36: Much Ado About Everything
Apologies for posting this a day late... I completely lost track of days, I'm not going to lie. It's just that simple, unfortunately.
Thanks to @baelpenrose for reminding me this morning, and to @writing-with-olive just for being there for me. :)
This chapter is super fun, and I don't want to spoil it by giving more than that. But if you read Ch. 35, you probably have a good idea of what this may be about.
Enjoy!
"Wait," Trey sputtered while Councilor Carter chuckled. "You protect him?"
I threw my hands up. "What about my powers makes people think I'm helpless?"
"I'm sorry, Stef," Trey started slowly, clearly confused. "But how is making things grow something you can use for…. I dunno, combat?"
Groaning, I dropped my hands to rub my face. "Trey. I can't just make them grow. I can make them do whatever I want."
"That doesn't help," he complained plaintively. "I've seen what you do. It's just…. growing and more growing."
"Please limit yourself to the rosebushes nearest the door," Vivica droned, seemingly apropos of nothing. "They are scheduled to be removed anyway. Failure to thrive."
"Rose - "
Carter stepped forward. "I think a demonstration would be instructive," he agreed, reaching in his pocket. "Unfortunately, I cannot let you exit the building without a tracking bracelet." When I bristled, he held it up in one hand, the other equally high and empty. "Policy for Chosen Ones, unfortunately, like I said. It is strictly for tracking, enchanted to be slightly looser than snug at all times - and I do mean all times. That way, in the event of injury, it will not constrict the limb."
"And who is empowered to remove it?" I demanded, mama bear back in full effect.
"On this plane? Any single Councilor of this jurisdiction or above, or a quorom of any full Council outside this jurisidiction. Also any magic deemed miraculous, rated at or above a moderate miracle."
"And it only tracks location?" Trey asked, skeptical. I was abundantly proud of him for talking back like that.
"On my magic, my breath, and my bones, I swear it," Carter intoned. The air charged, but he didn't drop dead.
"Let's get it over with," Trey sighed after a nod from me. At this point, even he realized how serious that oath was.
He held out his arm, and the slim, silver chain was dropped into his palm. With eerie smoothness, it slithered to his wrist of its own accord before uncoiling and wrapping around it. Once it was, I presumed, connected, it fell still and inanimate.
"It feels normal," Trey muttered. "Other than, you know, when it was moving."
"Not too tight?" Carter asked.
"It's just like you said - not quite snug, just a little looser."
I exhaled, resigned. "Okay, we have the magical lowjack. Can I show Trey why I'm not uselesss in combat?" Admittedly, I sounded very frustrated. I was desperate for something I could somewhat control, choose. Something that didn't involve lashing out. Trey didn't deserve me throwing a temper tantrum.
"Yes!" Trey answered immediately. It felt like he was in a similar boat - something resembling normalcy. Education he could understand. Having to wear a tracker, he would have to learn to understand. But not right now.
"The roses closest to the doors, Stefanie." Vivica's reminder was another balm to my nerves. Something normal in the rhythm of my life.
We stepped through the doors, my eyes sweeping for Kevin as I took several strides away from the windows. Once the roses in question were about halfway between me and the building, I turned around. "So. I'm going to start on the right if you are looking from this direction," I told Trey, who had dutifully followed me so he could stay behind my shoulder - a habit developed after I semi-blew-up my greenhouse. Not that I was complaining.
I held up one hand. "I am only holding out my hand to let you know that I am going to start. In an emergency, I wouldn't do that," I explained. "Furthest rose to the right."
Power threaded down my arm in green and gold before the plant in question suddenly became much easier to see. Kind of hard to miss a twenty foot rose bush where a three foot one had been only moments early.
"Holy shit," Trey gasped.
Dex shushed him. "She's just starting."
The bush itself started glowing, energy trailing to focus into bright crimson buds, which swelled and exploded into blooms. The blooms grew larger and larger as the bush started twisting and writhing against itself. Within minutes, roses the size of my head were at the end of vicious, reaching vines, thorns looking hungry for flesh.
"Those thorns can rip the skin to bone in seconds," I stated calmly, nodding towards them. "And I can make them move wherever I want." To demonstrate, one flower closer to us rocked in a lazy wave.
"That's wild," Trey whispered.
"Even wilder," I started before the bush started to recede, leaves shedding after a handful of seconds. Rapidly, it withdrew into itself before shrinking even further, finally leaving only a foot or so of short, stubby branches. "I can wind them back, or even kill them." Suddenly, the branches were withered twigs.
"On the left," I stated flatly, too focused to put any inflection in it. The next bush grew to draw attention. Once it was large enough to keep focus, the branches kept lengthening without leaves. Instead, thorns longer than my hand and blooms full of what looked like fangs grew in a cross hatch formation. In the end, a trellis of spikes and hungry flowers defended the front of the museum. It took maybe two minutes to force it.
Without warning, a voice shouted behind us. "Stefanie, stop!"
Deep in combat mode, I swept a hand behind me, manifesting an even thicker, more threatening trellis behind us without looking. Yes, Vivica asked me to keep the demonstration to the bushes they were pulling. But, in my mind, this wasn't a demonstration.
This was a threat.
So, in addtion to just the defense offered by a ten foot tall fence coated in six inch thorn and red roses filled with four inch vegetal teeth, there were reaching branches actively trying to bite the approaching party.
I was woozy from over-exertion, but we were safe.
"Holy…" A throat cleared. "My name is Kevin and I am a friend of Stefanie and Trey. If you are a threat to them, I will engage appropriate authorities!"
With no hesitation, I groaned loudly and dropped the trellises. "Kevin. I'm the one doing the things with the plants."
I managed to catch him pulling to full stop - not just physically, but mentally. "Oh." He rubbed his face. "I didn't think about that, but since you're a farmer that… Yeah, that tracks."
Carefully - carefully - I focused on reducing the poor, exhausted roses between me and Kevin back to their previous size. Or at least a size comparable to the rest. Out of gratitude for their response to my call for aide, I pumped a little extra vitality into them to make up for the energy I had just asked them to use. Fortunately, the roses closest to the doors needed no such care, so I just withered them to dried out husks, easier to be dug up by landscapers.
"You killed them," Kevin squeaked.
I couldn't stop the smile that tugged at the corner of my mouth. "They were already due to be removed, soon. I just put an end to their struggle and made life easier for the landscapers."
"Oh." He rubbed his face thoughtfully. "I guess that's not so bad."
"Stef, that was so cool!" Trey gushed breathlessly, mentally catching up with what he'd witnessed. "I didn't know you could - I mean, I knew you could make things grow, but - That was so cool!"
Oh, to be a teenager. Resilient bugger. He would have been growing on me if I weren't already incredibly fond and protective of him. "It's how I 'defend' Dexter," I explained, still not trying to hide my smile. I was exhausted, but in the way you felt after using muscles you hadn't used in a while; the memory was there, just had to get the endurance back. "I can explain the rest in the car, if Councilor Carter is okay with us leaving now that our ride is here?"
Carter looked at Kevin skeptically, but gave a slight bow and made an open gesture with his hand. "By all means. We will see you again soon."
He got bonus points in my mind for not making it sound even remotely like a threat, despite the chain around Trey's wrist that reminded us otherwise.
"Alright, let's go," I waved toward the hideous yet familiar orange car waiting at the curb. "I'm starving and my legs won't last much longer."
Trey's stomach growled in clear agreement, but more interestingly, Kevin lit up. Clearly we'd found something he could help with, putting him on more familiar ground.
"My wife, Sariah, told me to bring you food!" His grin was almost contagious. "Because you've been here for hours and 'if governments feed people, it's always disgusting'. She's so mindful…" The lovestruck look on his face made me queasy, but thankfully he shook it off quickly, back on topic. "I grabbed pizza on the way, I hope cheese and supreme are…" Suddenly, he looked horrified.
"Those sound perfect," Trey confirmed, ahead of us far enough he couldn't see Kevin's face.
"Stefanie, I'm so sorry, I didn't know…"
I stopped, shaking my head in confusion. "Know what? Did you get ranch, or those little garlic sauce thingies?"
"I got both but… I didn't get anything for you…"
I waved him off, walking towards the car again. "Even Trey can't eat two whole pizzas, it's fine."
"But they aren't vegan! None of it is!"
My neck popped as I turned to stare at him. "Vegan? Why would… I know it's Maine, but why would you need vegan… I'm so lost."
"You! The plants! The…" He waved his hand around fruitlessly. "The thing! I didn't know, and I didn't even think… I could have texted you…"
I held up a hand to stop his incoherent rambling, having gotten the picture. "Kevin. I'm not vegan. I'm not even vegetarian. Keep walking, and I'll prove it. The protein on that pizza is going to hold me over until we get to the hotel, the carbs are going to be amazing, and then I'm getting the biggest steak I can afford when we get checked in."
"Oh." Gods and goddesses bless the man's adaptability, he took my statement as gospel and bolted to open the car door for me.
"Why do people think I'm vegan?" I muttered.
"Too many comic books is my guess," Dex drawled, having deigned to walk beside me rather than be bounced by an overexuberant teenager.
"I'll take your word for it." Rubbing my nose, I realized it didn't itch - it was tingling. "Please go make sure Trey saves me some pizza - and maybe some extra crusts?"
Under Avandra's Eyes II: Exile's Path
Chapter VL: Right of Judgement
Thomas and Marcus finish their conversation about law, justice, and what we in the real world call 'controlling legal authority' or 'monopoly on violence' or Droit de Judgment, depending on if you are a bootlicker, a cynic, or a lawyer. In their world, it is called "right of judgement" and Thomas has opinions. Beta-read by @writing-with-olive and @canyouhearthelight
Thomas
Thomas had rushed into the fort as Marcus went in, a little ways behind the much louder man. No one paid attention to him - he skirted the edge of the massive brawl. Helped that Marcus was always messy and drew a lot of attention.
He didn't bother sparing a glance as he flung himself into an open cellar door. He slashed someone across the neck as he passed, not bothering to stop and see if the man hit the ground - he knew where the knife had hit. The thief threw himself into the shadows of the torches on the walls, concealing himself, at least somewhat, as the screams and clashes from the courtyard as men rushed up to go attack Marcus.
Damn. He'd forgotten how smooth things ran when the two of them worked together. As much as he mocked the other man's blunt approach, there was something deeply satisfying in working with him. Iris was good for sneaking with, sure, but she loved being in places that always unsettled Thomas, and she still had that fundamental core of mercy that Thomas had long since buried. Marcus was, at his core, a cold-blooded professional, even if the steel in his heart had been forged on battlefields and in the close press of a shieldwall or cavalry charge rather than in dark alleys and gutter fights.
The last man on the line of guys rushing to get Marcus fell with an opened throat, never even knowing Thomas had been there - and unable to cry out to his companions, still rushing towards the open door and towards a different kind of death. Thomas crept forward. Supposedly, this place had a dungeon or a jail from when this region actually had a feudal system, but now…
There was a sprawling table, poorly maintained, showing cracks and the signs of knife etching. A few abandoned knucklebones sprawled carelessly across it where a few men must have abandoned a game when the shouting and fighting began. He saw a half-roasted slab of meat there, perhaps something worth taking, but he knew he wasn't done working.
Following the narrow hall of the fort, he saw a staircase down, and a ladder up. He'd come back for the staircase.
At the top of the ladder, he came out onto the ramparts of the fort, and saw someone already loading a crossbow, aiming down at something in the courtyard.
No, no.
Thomas rushed the fool and kicked him, spoiling his aim. The crossbow thrummed and the quarrel clattered harmlessly off the stones across the courtyard. Thomas grabbed the outlaw and stabbed, repeatedly, as he fumbled to reload. To demonstrate that Marcus could now focus entirely on the outlaw leaders, Thomas dropped the unloaded crossbow on the ground.
But there was still the man in the basement, and he figured that Marcus had the rest of these fools handled. He clambered back down the ladder, spotting the stairs, and effortlessly dropped down the side, behind where he saw the silohuette of a man standing. He jumped atop the man, knives out and flashing, grappling hard. The man grabbed him and slammed him against the hard stone walls, and for a moment Thomas saw stars, cursing himself for an over-dashing fool for the downward jump.
The gaoler had an iron mace and a nasty knife, and while Thomas dodged the mace, the knife glanced off his leathers, only barely parried on the backslash. Thomas got inside the mace swing and shoved his knife into the man's chest, finding it glancing off chainmail underneath the guy's filthy jacket. The gaoler, his knife hand grappled, choked up on the mace and slammed the head into Thomas's chest with a ramrod strike, causing Thomas to stagger back, slashing wildly at the man's eyes.
Now both of them cursed and staggered away from each other, and Thomas recovered first, albiet only by seconds. Thomas pounced on the poor fool, slashing his neck, and left him face down in the dark of the dungeon.
He closed his eyes and focused. When he opened them again, the dark cellar was clear to see, albiet bathed in the same shade of green as everything was when he looked with Night Eyes. Nothing much was in the cells - but there were cells. some of them had cots - all looked infested with fleas. some had rust colored stains. Thomas searched the rest of the place, but soon found Marcus coming in. "Anything else alive here?"
Thomas shook his head. "Not that I've found. Cells are all empty, so they're not holding anyone hostage."
Marcus nodded. "Alright. Then we should finish up what we came for. I took the bandit leader prisoner - a few others unconscious."
Thomas looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Why would you bother?"
Marcus sighed. "Because he said something that made me angry. Said that this place was ruled by right of the sword. So I challenged him by that right. But if I take his head by that claim, I'm proving him right."
Thomas gaped. "Marcus. he'll be dead. It won't matter. And he'll still be wrong. He'll even have to face that he thought he'd be getting away with it forever because people like that think strength is only looking out for yourself. The idea that someone stronger than him would come storm his little fort for other people would never occur to him. He'd die knowing he was wrong, in a way that does matter. A trial really doesn't."
Marcus shook his head. "It will to me. Yeah, he deserves it and yeah, I could prove him wrong, a little, by just killing him myself, but he doesn't deserve to die because he lost a duel to me. Just about everyone would. He deserves it because he's a murderer, a robber, a coward who broke his oath to fight when he actually needed to but could find his nerve to brutalize people who couldn't defend themselves. He deserves it because this band of rievers have had rapists and arsonists over the years, too, if the villagers are to be believed, and he's led those men. I want him to actually have to face up to that, not just die believing he's dying because someone stronger came along. I want him to actually face the magisters and answer to them."
Thomas let out a breath. This seemed like a lot of extra effort for something that a nihilist like the self-styled baron would not understand. "Marcus. He'll still believe he's dying because someone stronger came along. He is dying because someone stronger came along - someone stronger who saw what he was doing and was disgusted by his evil. I won't pretend you're not in the right for having conquered him, but don't pretend that isn't what happened. You saw something wrong there, and you corrected it with my help. Don't act like the law that the magisters don't have the ability to enforce, with a town watch who could never have taken this fort, actually made this happen. That town watch is the reason that village hasn't been burned or outright enslaved by these fools, sure. But they were never going to deal with this problem. You and I did. And if you're being honest with yourself, Marcus, the right of Judgment in Faldrea that you'll inherit from Baldor, the right of Judgment you'd have had on either side of the Imperial-Asgarian border from your mother or your birth father, that would have been based on the sword too. Laws just dress up a rich man's blade."
Marcus scowled. "You know what dresses a blade Thomas? A sheath. And laws should force a rich man to keep his weapon sheathed because GODS know a poor man can't."
"You did for years! I did for years! And it wasn't by law! And neither of us had money!" Thomas was shouting now. "I remember the incident with that miller family and the baron when we first began traveling together. You throwing down a gauntlet. Was that the law restraining him? No. It was fear of you. And when he tried to refuse a duel with you because the law said he didn't have to duel a landless bastard, I told him he'd accept your challenge or he'd find me in his bedchamber with a dagger that night. Was that law, Marcus? OR did we make him back down at the edge of a blade? Law doesn't sheath or restrain anything for them - its the gilt on their swords, its the sheaths and peace ties on ours."
Marcus flushed. "And maybe it is. But I don't get to act like it anymore, Thomas. Because I'm going to inherit a keep. I have to act like it. I have to act like a knight, like the kind of knight Baldor is. Which means that I have to do the right thing, the honorable thing, the thing bound by law, even when I really don't want to. Even when it makes a thousand times more sense to me just to take the miserable bastard's head off. Because if I'm going to be the man who upholds the law in Torin's Run, then the oaths Baldor tells me I'll swear demand I'll be bound by that law as well."
Thomas thought about that a long time. "And I can't change your mind on that?" He hated that thought. Marcus had always been among the most pragmatic of the companions. The one he'd loved working with the most in this kind of business for that reason.
"Afraid not." Marcus said quietly. "I don't even know that I want to change it. But I can't swear an oath to uphold the law and then break it. I cannot swear an oath to protect the weak and acknowledge a yeild, to behave with chivarly and then cut down men who've surrendered. Becuase whether or not you like the law, something has to bind everyone. Even as a guttersnipe, I bet your word to your fellow urchins bound you. My oath was enough to bind me as a soldier and a mercenary."
"So why is the fact that he's an oath-breaker not enough?" Thomas pleaded.
"Because the men here are oath-breakers, too. But they aren't, because they were conscripts, mostly." Marcus said, quietly. "I'm not sure. But…I'm still responsible for being the man who holds the law in Torin's Run, and I have to act like it. Because I don't want to be like the men you've usurped and assassinated. I want my reign over that fief to come from the fact that the people trust me, not from the fact that I could take any of them or probably even all of them at once. And that starts with holding myself to the same laws that I uphold, the same way Baldor does."
Thomas sighed. "I hate it when people do things the hard way." He cleaned his knives on a dead man's cloak. "Fine. Take your prisoner back to the village. You've made your argument. I don't like it but I have to respect it, and even agree with it. I'd not raise a blade against the old man, and even if I've always loved fighting beside you, I'd always questioned you as a man who could be a ruler, same as I think I wouldn't be fit for the job. Now though…" He grunted. "Maybe. Take your prisoners back. I'll finish up checking the place out. I don't think there's anything still alive, but maybe there's something we can use."
Marcus nodded. As he prepared to leave, he paused. "Thomas? Thank you. You're a better man than you think you are. Liza told me what you did in Nemedia."
Thomas blinked. "And I heard what you did at the siege of Constantia. Who you trained."
Marcus left, and Thomas was left alone with his thoughts. He hadn't wanted to think about Sarvo again, but he was. Sarvo had claimed to be a lord for the underworld, but Thomas had known better - Sarvo was the kind of person who turned on the exact sort of urchin Thomas - and Sarvo himself - used to be. Thomas was a legend, yes, but he'd never aspired to rule the underworld of any given city. Not really. Never wanted to be the lord of one of the so-called 'thieves' guilds' that cropped up around the big trade hubs.
But…Marcus had gone from being the bastard of two borderlords, born of rape, to a general in his own right, and was now going to be a knight by adoption. Responsible for training and leading a cadre of soldiers handpicked into battle. Maybe Thomas ought to consider the task.
The thief kept walking the half-ruined fort, shaking his head. Stupid idea, honestly. He had no desire to actually run such an organization - do what with it, exactly? Maintain the kind of justice underneath the law that he always had, but deliberately teach the guttersnipes of the world how to survive properly? Pickpocketing nobility and running jailbreaks? Negotiating with wealthy patrons who wanted to see their rivals embarrassed for protection in exchange for some degree of legal protection? He could, maybe, but at what point would he be choosing between doing something he couldn't countenance to keep that protection, or refusing and seeing his people actively hunted down?
No. Becoming a crime lord and trying to inject some of his own sense of honor to the concept wouldn't work. He'd be better off staying on the move, letting the legend of Thomas Grey remain as long as he breathed - probably for years after he died. It would help more people that way than staying in one place and letting that legend become tattered with whatever he'd become trying to actually rule the underworld of any given city.
Thomas checked the cells - one of the cells did have signs of a person having been in it. The stains weren't as set, but whoever had left them was long dead.
He cleared out the rest - a new pair of boots, ones that looked like they might fit him, a travel cloak in good condition that might fit Liza, and a sturdy coil of rope all went in the bag. There was a decent knife that he added to his collection, but it didn't really compare to his prize dirks, but in a pinch he wouldn't mind using it. The rest of the gear was badly maintained. Maybe some of the clothes had cloth that could be used for patching, but the weight wouldn't be worth carrying back to strip them for that. He'd let the villagers know. And the armor - he didn't wear metal gear at all, and he trusted Marcus's assessment that what these fools wore wasn't worth taking, and the light gear certainly wasn't worth taking. Weapons were in similarly bad shape, though he grabbed a dozen arrows that Iris might be able to use.
He caught up to Marcus a while later - as Marcus was explaining the situation to the magistrate. He could hear the warrior explaining. "Yes, I took the fort he'd set up in. My companion and I. We wiped out all the outlaws - except the leader, and one of his men. I brought them back to face judgment - I didn't feel right about just executing them in the field. Its your law here, not mine."
The magisters mostly seemed suprised, and Thomas walked off. The bandit Marcus had brought on Migisi might have begged, had he been consious. But even from as far away as he was, he could tell that Thorn didn't. He heard the riever leader's defiant cursing as he walked away. One thing he could admire - the man stuck to his guns. Cursed Marcus for a coward for fobbing off the responsibility, being just another fool at the beck and call of nobility, cursed the magisters for being weak and cowardly.
Then the self-styled baron went silent, and Thomas had to reflect, as he walked back to Liza and the townhouse.
He and Sarvo, when they'd fought, had shared a hatred of nobility. But Sarvo had lived like a lord even as he'd claimed to despise them. Made deals with Silus. Even when Sarvo had ruled the underworld, claimed what Faldrea called the Right of Judgment, what the Empire called Legis Jure of the world below the law, he had acted only in his own interests. Thomas enacted similar sort of action, when he came to a town, removing criminals, but disdained Legis Jure entirely. It was armor for the rich and a chain for the poor. The claim of legitimacy, of the 'right' to proclaim and enforce laws - but as always, Thomas bitterly wondered, who decided what was legitimate? Certainly not him, even if in the underworld the only real legitimacy was whether or not you could pull something off.
And yet - they'd taught Alexander what it ought to be, and he'd shown them his theories of statecraft where it would bind rich and poor alike. how to enforce it that way. Marcus, following Baldor's teachings of law and lordship, was now acting in a similar style.
And, as he entered the townhouse, he was struck with a sense of grief. Thomas could, he knew, find a city, somewhere. Leave the Empire to Alexander. Leave Torin's Run to Marcus and Baldor and Iris. Find a city. Rule its underworld, the way he knew it should be. Take up some kind of responsibility the way Marcus had.
But he knew, even as he saw Liza's face, how little chance there was that she would ever join him in something like that.
How little Itene would want a future in something like that.
What was better? To let the myth fade away and continue long after he died? To try to keep people in check? Or to build someting that would keep things in line in one place, even if it would kill the myth everywhere else? Or to, just once, be something other than what he was?
The theif listened to his lover singing and ordered himself a drink.
He'd figure it out another day. This exile would give him time.
I cannot deny, I do sympathize with Thomas's view on humanity: once he judges someone a parasite, he wants them treated as a parasite. Dispatched quickly, without emotion, and move on.
But at the same time, his later gut check watching Liza and thinking about Liza and Itene thriving... He has a family to think about, and he doesn't want Liza to be in danger, wants Itene to grow up to be the ever ephemeral More. And I get that, too.
Not the Chosen One, Ch. 35: Cleaning Up Other People's Messes
Whew, here we go again! The fallout of Trey's testing and the previous revelations. You get Mulan references, some interesting bits of info about family dynamics and general perception of certain powers, and a pretty fun semi-cliffhanger that really sets up the next chapter.
As always, shout outs to @baelpenrose and @writing-with-olive for helping out, beta reading, and just being the best extra family ever.
The poor, unfortunate intern who had escorted us initially was unlucky enough to be on duty to escort us back to Vivica. I hadn't seen Tester Huge return, and since the rest of the group had exited the chamber abruptly by different means, I assumed this meant he was in his office, quarters, or whatever other place he had to be when he wasn't party to pissing off a dignitary from a divine realm.
Imagine my shock when we reached the front desk, only to find him leaning on it and deep in conversation with the usually taciturn receptionist-slash-archivist.
"Madam Warren." He straightened abruptly, yanking his hood back over his head.
I waved him off, weary. "Stefanie is fine. Gods know you've earned it."
Vivica twitched an eyebrow ever so slightly, reaching for a manila envelope. "These are the affidavit forms for anyone who cannot be present in eight days time, at two in the afternoon local time, to swear Support for Trey." Without moving her eyes from my face, she snagged the other envelope from the counter in front of Tester Huge. "And these are the vouchers for up to eight rooms, double occupancy, along with fifty dollar per diem per capita, for the day of and after the oaths. Councilor Carter arranged for it, as a conciliatory gesture I am given to understand."
Tester Huge waved in embarrassment. "That would be me." He held a hand out. "Councilor Shawn Carter. Shawn is fine. And I am so sorry for today, I don't know what got up - " He coughed, clearing his throat. "I don't know what my peer was thinking."
"Lying in front of both a registered Guardian and a deva?" Dexter drawled before tutting the actions. "I do not dare to even imagine."
Tester Huge - Carter - sighed. "He has… increased our efficiency to a significant degree. But his ideas are not always compatible with reality and the older magics."
"He's a technomancer," Vivica clarified bluntly.
"Oh!" The exclamation came from me, Dex, and Trey, all in sync. It explained everything - technomancers were a relatively new discovery. Even Trey's short knowledge of magic could figure out that people who rely on tech have zero patience for anything that isn't instant.
And here I was, a horticulturist on paranormal steroids, thinking a week was a rather short time to do anything.
"How many affidavits are there?" I asked, glancing between Vivica and Carter.
"Eight," Carter confirmed, relaxing now that he seemed to be on more familiar footing. "The hope is that the party will not exceed twenty, and sixteen beds should be more than enough to convince people to come in to swear oaths in person. After all, work obligations are…" He gestured vaguely, looking for the right word. "Back-burner to saving the world, unfortunately."
"Aunt Benji is overseas for a month!" Trey cried, panicking.
I whirled around, barely catching the wide eyes from Carter. "Hey," I said gently, touching the sleeves of his hoodie. "That's what one of these affidavits is for. I know it sounds crazy fast in books, but something this big takes time. We can send her one overnight, and get it back within two days. We'll send it before we even leave the city to go home."
Trey sniffed, but thankfully no tears were in his eyes. "She'll kick your ass if you don't tell her."
"She's going to kick my ass anyway," I pointed out, earning a small smile. "But yes, we're going to stop off at the nearest federal office and - "
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Dex moaned, transitioning to Vivica's desk. "Do you have an envelope, pen, and paper?"
She scoffed, offended. "What is the message?"
"I need you to write this precisely. She won't believe it is me if you do not," Dex warned. " 'Harridan. Your nephew is a Chosen and needs your commitment of Support within seven days local. Fill this out, call for me, and I may' - that should be emphasized, or she will think I will actually do things for her on a whim - 'bring this document with us. We do not know how long the journey may or may not take, as human politics are both glacial and need to be completed yesterday. Do not bother with the profanity, your sister is already quite ahead of the task.' Then put it up here and I will stamp it."
Ever the professional, Vivica handed him the paper within a minute. Rather than a paw print, he bit it. Scorch marks were left behind, but no one mentioned it.
"Seal it in the envelope, addressed only to Benji Warren, let me stamp that, and then I will send it to her."
One more bite through an envelope and folded document, and it was off.
Trey and Carter looked at me, confused beyond anything I could describe.
Throwing my hands up, I groaned. "He used the same mouth to bite the letter and prove the sealed envelope as the mouth he used to bite her the first time she pissed him off. She still has a scar she can use to prove it's him."
"The charred edges are a bit much," Carter muttered.
"Drah-gun. DRAGON. What part aren't you understanding?" Trey deadpanned.
It took every bit of thirty seconds for the overly large Councilor to lose his composure, laughing softly. "My kids love that movie. Good point, though."
"Still not a dragon," the subject in question responded drily, resuming his throne atop Trey's shoulders. "But I am hungry."
Glancing out of the windows at the front of the museum, I abruptly realized it was night. "Yeah, we definitely need to eat. Think Kevin is still on shift?"
"He gave you his personal cell," Trey pointed out. "So yes, he is on shift for us. Remember?"
Rubbing my nose and forehead, I nodded. "Yeah, you're right. I remember now. Sorry, long day and my blood sugar isn't sugaring."
"I'm rather certain that's not - you know what, not my business," Carter muttered. "I can wait with you while your ride arrives, just to run interference if needed."
"Vivica can - "
"Vivica is busy," the subject of the statement pointed out. "Let Councilor Carter be large and intimidating. He's a pyromancer, law degree. You'll be very safe."
I didn't even try to hide my confusion as I took in the enormous Councilor. "Pyromancer?" Usually, they were incredibly thin due to the calorie requirements of their powers.
"You would not believe how much I eat," he groaned. "I also try to keep it to controlling existing fires, not making them."
Trey glanced between us meaningfully before Dexter leaned near his ear. A look of dawning comprehension took over his face before he nodded. He ended up rushing for a seat and flopping down while I sent a text to Kevin before joining him.
"Any thoughts on the support party? Like, who should I ask other than you and Dex? And obviously Aunt Benji."
I opened my mouth to answer, but Carter politely held up a hand to respond instead while taking a seat with more grace than I expected. "I can certainly advise, provided you are all comfortable telling me the abilities of everyone involved."
Shrugging, I went for it. "I have plant abilities, both passive health enhancement and active growth manipulation. My sister is a seriously powerful active warder."
"Benji….Sister of Stefanie Wah - " Carter trailed off. "Wait. Benjamina Warren?"
"The same," I admitted.
He whistled lowly and shook his head. "Okay, so defense is totally covered, and quite a bit of healing and offense. Good, good. Guardian Dexter, you… well, I can look up your file, obviously, so we'll save the time and stick to what you can't do."
"Dex can do everything," Trey gushed.
Dexter jumped down to the floor, tail twitching nervously. "I can't do anything that requires thumbs…" he hedged.
"Dex," I admonished. "Tell them."
"It isn't safe here," he complained sternly.
"Vivica trusts him, I'm here, and Kevin is on his way. I think we can be honest, and Trey needs to know."
"I need to know what??" Trey asked, eyes wide again.
Dex twitched for a few seconds before I gave up the secret. "Dexter cannot seriously intend to hurt, much less kill, a mortal being unless his ward would die without his intervention and retreat is not a possibility. That's literally what I'm for. I'm his defense, not the other way around."
Under Avandra's Eyes II: Exile's Path
Chapter XLIV: Horror Hunt
Iris and Malzan get a report of a strange beast in the woods and go after it. A huge thank you to @writing-with-olive and @canyouhearthelight for beta reading.
Iris
The tracks were big, but that wasn't really the problem. Big was never the problem, not really. No, what had Iris worried was the shape of the spoor - gouging shapes of a beast that only barely controlled when its claws were sheathed or unsheathed, an issue no natural-born beast had to worry about. What was even more concerning was that it wasn't what she'd thought it was.
Initially, she thought it might be a bloodveld, but the gait was entirely wrong. Malzan had thought it might have been a Howler, but whatever this was, it was much, much too heavy.
Looking at the latest set of tracks, she looked at the barbarian, who was clearly attempting no less than her to make sense of the horrible creature they were following.
"Ravener, perhaps?" Malzan rumbled. "They make it this far north, or so I've heard told."
Iris shook her head. "No. Raveners are bigger than this, and they're dumber. This thing is leaving a trail that makes me think its almost clever. Look how it keeps crossing itself - this is a beast that's trying to throw off pursuers - or…" She examined one of the prints. "Damn! No, it's trying to lead any hunter into an ambush. No, Raveners aren't that bright. And this thing is moving around way too much."
She had hunted Ravener before, and the giant beasts were horrifying in their strength, more than capable of tearing cattle in half with single blows of their claws, but they were also incredibly dim, and incredibly slow moving - as their name indicated, they ate tremendous amounts and then went into what was effectively a hibernation. This creature was much more mobile.
Malzan thought about it. "Right, and if it was a ravener, we'd have seen more torn up trees, but I don't know of anything else that has tracks that look like that, except young ones - if we've already ruled out bloodvelds and Howlers."
"I mean, we haven't entirely ruled out direwolves, except those hunt in…" Iris trailed off as an eerie howl split the air. It wasn't that of a Howler, though. This one was unanswered, for one, not that horrible siren call of paired Howlers using their haunting calls to coordinate their attacks with each other. The second thing was that, like a Howler, this instinctively struck fear into her - but where a Howler's cry struck a primal panic into a listener, this was merely frightening, and the howl itself was less noteworthy than the echoes, which inspired less terror than grief.
There was something to it, Iris instinctively knew - some dark magic, somehow, that made her think of long-lost days of her girlhood spent by a fire and the bitter knowledge that the man who'd lit that fire would never be by her side again, that her naivete in grief meant that the woman who cooked over that fire would never understand her again. Malzan looked similarly stricken when she beheld his face, and he shuddered.
"Hellhound, maybe," he said. "I've never hunted one, but I've heard that their belling has that effect on people."
Those were outright daemonic, she'd heard legends of them, and she'd have felt, through her khym, if what they were hunting was an actual daemon. No, their quarry was flesh, and she said as much.
"Alchemist, maybe." Malzan said, darkly. "Breeding their creation with daemons."
She didn't want to think about that, but conceded that Malzan may well be right. That would make entirely too much sense.
They had come out to the woods following reports of one of the villagers saying he'd seen tracks of some strange and monsterous beast, but this…this was far beyond what they'd expected. "No point wondering. Follow the tracks further? Be ready?"
In response, Malzan hefted his ax.
Iris crept along, following the trail closely, and came to an almost immediate tangle where the beast had absolutely meant to mislead them. She cursed and knelt to examine the tracks. "One of these trails goes nowhere - and I can already see where another turns off in the brush."
"You only think like a hunter tracking prey. You're not thinking like something trying to ambush." The barbarian replied. "Then again," he said, pensive. "I apologize. It would have no means of knowing that we'd be after it. I would lead, all the same, but…"
Iris nodded, and they followed the trail she'd indicated. A lean, grey shape came out of the dark and lunged at her, faster than she could react, and Malzan wheeled and struck, mightily.
A direwolf fell away from his ax, not small, full grown, and head split at the jaws. He snorted. "Not our quarry. Half mad, to charge us. Or desperate. And they don't hunt lonely." He tensed. "I smell blood - and not hers."
Iris crouched and followed him ahead, and then swore explosively when she saw what was at the end of the trail. A direwolf's den, with the inhabitants dead, and more than dead, torn apart to the point that all that remained was splinters of bloody bone and shreds of gray fur.
And all over the hard-packed earth, the same tracks of the creature they'd been following. And now there was no confusion - whatever this thing was, it was alone, and THAT was terrifying. Wolves the size of Asgarian coursers torn apart this easily, and not just killed, not just eaten, torn apart - some of them shredded or wrenched to pieces - and the creature that did it didn't seem like it had been mortally wounded in the struggle.
Maybe, maybe…there was a blood trail leading out into the woods, accompanying the tracks, but now Iris followed, heart pulsing in a mix of carefully controlled fear, and, though she was loath to admit it, exhilaration. Marcus had talked of battle fever, and Iris had never experienced that, but she would lie to claim she didn't understand it, for she felt something similar whenever she faced some new creature, some new beast, unnatural or out of place, to hunt and bring to bay.
Unused to hunting with a partner, and vaguely aware that she ought to be somewhat kind to Malzan, who was doubtless still adapting to the company of the companions in general, she spoke. "Have you ever seen something that could do that?"
"No. Never once." The blood splatters were not small, but they weren't steady enough to imply a serious wound. "It is hurt, but not badly."
"Tough hide, maybe? Or just fast."
"With the luck of this company, both."
It was high noon, which meant they only had a few more hours to find and kill this thing if it was a flesh alchemist's creation. Then it would start hunting them.
She bent to examine one of the splatters - "No," Iris said, "This doesn't look right. Look at it, the blood is different shades - like it's different colors, here. Or different substances. There's some animals that bleed darker and brighter depending on where you hit them - hell, men are among those - but nothing has blood that looks half an oil slick."
"Nothing natural, anyway. And I think, if I had to guess, the fight with the wolves…this thing, whatever it is, cannot look purely like a predator. That, or it stumbled into their territory. Picked a fight."
Iris thought. "Could be both. Designed to terrify humans, if it's a flesh alchemist creation. Meant to scare us, not intimidate beasts." Beasts didn't posture like men, the habits Marcus had that scared off other soldiers would get him pounced on by a direwolf, after all, and she had to constantly remember when she was dealing with people because of how different the cues were.
Shaking her head to shrug the thought off, she refocused. "I can see the trail bending though - and this and the wolves' blood was still fresh."
Malzan nodded. "Could still smell the fear and rage, too."
At Iris's raised eyebrow, he explained. "When people talk about animals smelling fear, they're not just being figurative. When people panic, they literally let off a miasma of fear that has a stench to it. It doesn't last long, but it's noticable. You can smell it around the sites of fresh last stands. Fear and anger. Even above the bile, the blood, all of that."
Iris nodded, once. That was interesting. "Not long, though?"
"Not long. Less than an hour."
Iris nocked a broadhead. "We're close then."
No sooner had the words left their mouth than that horrible belling roar and howl came again, and again those mournful echoes.
The two followed close along the trail, and Iris reached out with her Chaos Empathy - it wouldn't mean anything with a beast of normal intelligence, but a beast crossbred with actual daemons…
She heard Malzan swear as something moved, and she heard something huge move on near-silent feet, from the wrong direction. But she could hear screaming in her head: the screaming of something being tortured, being damned. As she dove instinctively at the proximity to something, Malzan, with the unerring instinct of a Chimaerian, did the same. She twisted and loosed arrow into the beast that had come at them from entirely the wrong direction, and saw it bite home, already drawing another arrow as Malzan swung on a horrible, twisted limb that looked halfway like a crab claw made of charred meat as a man swings on a tree he means to fell in a single blow.
On four limbs, the beast stood - the forelimbs reminded Iris somewhat of those of a bobcat or a bear, and the beast's body reminded her of a bear, too - if a bear could be sheathed in chitinous armor. The back legs did look somewhat like ravener claws, but like something had grafted the horrid spiked hooks to the hooves of a destrier, rather than leaving them to their natural form. From the beast's body bulged other limbs - crab claws, tentacles that ended in spikes dripping in venom, and the creature moved with the agility and violence of a bobcat despite being the size of a cave bear. The extraneous limbs, too, looked grafted on, and the creature almost distorted in pain when they moved, even if it seemed at times to move them with purpose as often as they seemed to move independently.
But these were not the things that caused the ranger nor the barbarian to recoil with disgust as they renewed their attack. The creature's face did resemble that of a hellhound, but where it derived that resemblence from a squat muzzle full of horrible fangs and a jaw that looked meant to tear and crush, it looked no less like it had had some descent from a human. The eyes had certainly come from a man, and Iris knew, without being certain how, perhaps some intuition from her power, or perhaps some new knowledge bleeding over from whatever she'd done when she'd breached the Veil to kill the Harbinger, that there had been blood rites involved, that several people and beasts had been fused and their results forcibly bred together to create this one monstrosity.
She sent an arrow at it as it screamed at her.
The bow she was using had been known to throw arrows hard enough to pierce plate - granted, using arrows meant for the purpose - at over a quarter mile, and sink to the feathers in a fully armored chest, knock men off their horses in the process from the force of the impact.
With the knife-edged broadheads, it was usually enough to kill bloodvelds if she put her arrow in the right spot.
Against this, it sank to the feathers, but nothing would possibly have done enough damage - this thing wasn't natural and almost certainly had backup organs. Iris didn't doubt she'd done real damage, the problem was that this thing probably had more organs than she was used to dealing with in her quarries. She was already vaulting away as Malzan grabbed one of the tentacles that flickered towards him and severed it with one savage slash of his knife, tossing the stinger aside and unlimbering his ax. The beast bounded towards Malzan and pounced on him, even as Iris's arrow peirced the size of it's neck.
It coughed blood on Malzan's chest, and Malzan howled in pain, swinging a ham-sized fist, and threw the thing mightily from him, and once it was clear, she could see the blisters forming on his chest. He swung the ax around and cracked the chitin, ducking his leg away from a snapping claw and taking a slash from one of the bobcat claws before the ax sundered the crabclaw.
The abomination regained its feet and darted towards her. Iris snapped off a shot, internally swearing, and saw it take the creature through the chest - before diving aside.
She wasn't fast enough. The bulk of the creature slammed into her. Iris snatched her hunting knife from her belt and stabbed frantically at one of those too-human eyes, managing to get herself space at the cost of a savage cut across her chest, one that stung and burned as she staggered. It lunged and would have bitten her had Malzan not followed up with a brutal strike that drove it back and down. The blow bowed the beast's spine hard enough that Iris would have thought it was broken if the creature hadn't abruptly wheeled and kicked him in the chest with the kind of speed that such a bulky monstrosity could not have possessed. Before it could follow up, roaring to lunge at Malzan, Iris shot again, plunging an arrow into it's mouth.
That should have been the end, and it began staggering and coughing. Nothing should survive that. Nothing could survive that.
It staggered - looking like it was going to fall - but it didn't. It fled. Iris loosed twice more, striking both times, and cursed. Malzan stood, swearing. "Damnit. We'll have to run it down. Must have extra bones or organs or something. I know where i hit it. And I saw where you did."
Iris nodded. "Let's go finish it off." Nothing like that should be allowed to wander around. That was an insult to gods, nature, man, and just basic decency. It wasn't getting away.
Mmmm these two hunting together is just so satisfying. Similar to Marcus and Thomas taking the keep, there is a very good dynamic between two hunters doing their thing.
Under Avandra's Eyes II: Exile's Path
Chapter XLI: Law of Lonely Places
A huge thank you to everyone who has read and commented, both here and on Ao3! This chapter is beta-read by @writing-with-olive and @canyouhearthelight.
Marcus goes and deals with the band of outlaws he engaged earlier.
Marcus
They'd been in the village for almost a month now. In that time, he'd been happy enough working as a shepard and a stablehand. What did have him annoyed, though, was that in addition to the first group of bandits he'd attacked, there had been another raid on the sheepfold he'd driven off. One of those reivers had made the horrible mistake of declaring that the local warlord would not let this kind of defiance stand, that they should have just let them have the livestock, that a bigger warband would come back soon and take the whole flock, burn the tavern, and take a girl or two for their trouble.
He'd said all this while trying to look bold and simultaneously flee on his broken down nag, and then been suprised when Marcus, on Migisi's back, hit with a perfect saber cut that took his head and send him tumbling to earth, so if that bandit had been preparing to give the local strongman an idea, he wasn't going to now.
Still, that kind of talk was very much the sort of thing that an honorable knight ought to be proactive about. Iris and Malzan had gone off to hunt some beast in the forest that they'd heard howling, and while a lesser man married to a lesser woman would have worried over it, he had no concerns. No, though, he would want some help with this local strongman, so he'd asked Thomas to come along. Tracking them was…well, he wasn't Iris, but they weren't experts and hiding their trail, either.
He'd taken the time to recover his sword, his mail, his helm, and the new shield. Over the last month, he'd gone ahead and painted it as well, the vert field and bronze bull guardant set on his arm. Thomas was riding behind him. "So, we hit this bandit hideout and kill everyone there?"
"No. Yes. Probably." Baldor would probably have words about doing the right thing, giving these people the opprotunity to surrender. That said, if the kind of scum he'd just been fighting were indicative of the crowd this self-styled Baron Thorn kept around, Marcus honestly thought it was a waste of time. "No, actually, what's going to happen is that I'm going to go up to the front in full view, be super loud and obvious, and make it obvious I'm coming. While everyone panics and tries to kill me, you sneak in through a side entrance, find the leader, and end him. Once you've done that, start picking off anyone who isn't paying attention."
And when it was over, Marcus would check through and see if anyone had a western-empire style ax he could take. It wasn't looting if you had to do the fighting anyway.
He came to the end of the trail, and cursed at what he saw ahead. It was a run down fort, not good sightlines, which meant archers were only a limited concern, but more frustrating was that it was an abandoned fort, and even rundown that meant that some charismatic thug could always entrench there with a warband and be an outsized threat.
Yes, he could have charged in - the gate was open, and it did seem as though there wasn't a man on it. That was an option, but…
Damn. It would be more proper to lodge a challenge, and he did want attention on him to give Thomas the chance to slip in. He cantered up, then turned Migisi and trotted back and forth as he shouted his challenge. "Baron Thorn! My name is Marcus Torin! I am here to bring you to justice for the crimes of your men! I have heard tell by the local village that rievers steal livestock, steal food, kidnap for ransom, rape, murder, and have burned homes of the honest people of this area for years. I am here to demand answer under the laws of gods and men!"
This was as proper an imitation of a proper challenge as Marcus knew how to lodge - his birth father would never have bothered with such a thing. Baron Thorn would simply have been dragged out and hanged, his men's heads mounted on pikes. Archmargrave Wultian would have come with a company of troops, though. Marcus was coming with himself and an assassin. So a litle finesse, and maybe drawing the enemy out would be useful. And acknowledging the man's self-styled title might help. After all, courtesy might be galling for such a thug, but courtsey to a dead man cost nothing.
And to his suprise, it worked better than expected. A voice rang out, suprisingly deep, from a figure that stood up on the wall. "What law do you lodge your challenge under? The law here is that of the ax and the sword! There's no lord to appeal to, no king to call upon. I am the law of this land, by right of the blade."
Marcus allowed himself a small smile. That was exactly the wrong thing to say. "Then by that right, I challenge you."
He charged through the gate, sword high. There was one man in his way, who fell almost immediately, a savage wound across the face and screaming. Marcus dismounted with a flourish as Migisi cantered around the fort's ruined courtyard, then sheathed his saber and drew his arming blade. He gave a cry, and Migisi galloped back out the gates and away from the fight as Marcus continued on foot.
Two more men braced him, one with a chopped-down woodax and one with a nasty mattock. The axman was definitely the lesser fighter between the two, swinging with a heavy overhand chop that Marcus easily sidestepped and riposted with a brutal uppercut to the abdomen, slashing the man's belly open and disemboweling him. By reflex he raised his shield and stopped a blow from the mattock that would otherwise have taken him in the side of the head, and retaliated with a nasty, punching stab that took the man right under the ribs, through the heart. Marcus gave the disembowled reiver a mercy stroke, and then, spotting the other wounded man still staggering about, flailing wildly with a nasty brush knife that didn't quite have the skill or balance to be an actual falcion or scimitar but somehow seemed to have all the most ungainly properties of both. Marcus swatted the blade from the man's hand. "Yield."
The man drew a short, ugly knife and lunged, snarling, and fell the next moment. Almost confused by the desperation he'd seen on the man's face, Marcus kept going. There were probably a few more reivers in this place - and certainly, he hadn't killed the self-styled Baron Thorn. Somewhere in the fortress, someone gave a sudden, gurgling cry, and Marcus allowed himself a savage smile - Thomas was apparently in already.
A big man walked out, center-grip shield tight in hand, of a design common among some of the Pikar clans, and that had been popular with some Friedriechsarch duelists. In the man's other hand he bore an ax - and Marcus almost whooped in delight to see it. It was a Friedriechsarch infantryman's ax, of a design that had gone out a few years ago. Marcus would have to take an inch off the grip and change the wrappings, probably round off that idiotic topspike as well, but…
Well, first things first, he'd have to kill the man holding it, a fact he was reminded of as the weapon swung towards his head with enough force that it would have cloven his helm asunder had it connected, and the backswing, when Marcus evaded that connected with his shield in a way that would have taken a chunk from it had Marcus not angled the plane of iron-edged oak. A cut to the man's head was easily deflected - but Marcus was already stepping out and back in away from the man's counterstroke and his own failed strike. His hips were already set to deliver the follow up - a brutal slash that came up, under the man's floating ribs, and stopped at the spine. The man sank to his knees, shoving the topspike of the ax at Marcus's chest in a final effort, something Marcus scarce managed to block.
He took a breath, annoyed at himself for how hard it was. It was the first time in weeks he'd put on the armor, maybe he was out of practice. Never again, never again fall out of practice. He should at least have been running practice in the armor. A twitch of motion caught his gaze, and he instinctively threw the shield in front of himself, feeling an unpleasant thud as he saw the ugly head of a crossbow quarrel punch through the wood, nearly stabbing into his helmet. Marcus winced, and chopped the bolt loose. He cast around, trying to spot where the quarrel had come from, but then heard a gurgling shout, and the next moment, a crossbow thudded to the ground as though dropped from the wall. Thomas.
Already, ahead of him, a struggle - flashing knives. Thomas was engaging someone, up close. Damnit. There was a set of stairs, not good, narrow, and with a wall close on the sword side. He hated that, but he ran up, keeping his khym ready to feel any suprises coming. Unsurprisingly, someone swung a hammer out at his head as he came around the blind corner of the spiral staircase, where his sword would be useless.
He managed to get his shield between the strike and his head, and the reiver laughed as he took a stagger step back down, almost falling. Gods damnit, he always hated fortress stairs for this reason! They were built uneven on purpose, so you had to get used to them or trip while going up or down, and the fact that this set were chipped didn't help. The hammer came down again, and Marcus, once again unable to bring his sword to bear because it was too close to the wall, decided to push off on his back leg and slam up against the man with his shield. As the man stepped backward, he dropped his sword and snatched the poniard from his belt, stabbing repeatedly at the brigand, now pinned to the wall by the shield. When he was sure the man was dead, he recovered the sword and raced up the stairs, spotting Thomas disengaging his opponent and racing back into the fort.
Marcus saw two men after Thomas, and almot dived at them. One he caught in the back, deciding that honor was for people who weren't attacking his comrades, the other was dispatched mercilessly with a feint at the leg, followed by a backhand swipe across the neck.
Another reiver emerged from the fort - apparently that one had fled Thomas, or Thomas had had other things to worry about - saw Marcus standing over multiple bodies, and threw down the mattock he was carrying. Marcus, without having time to think, rushed forward and smote him over the head with the pommel of the sword, stunning the man but not slaying him, and shouted up to Baron Thorn, standing with an axe in hand, a sword in his belt, and a center-grip shield in guard, body swathed in ringmail and head covered with a cheap but effective looking helm.
"I challenge you! Single combat!"
The Baron gave a wan smile. "I accept. Come up and fight me."
Marcus cursed him for a coward. He had no doubt that the man would simply drop an axe blow onto his head the minute he reached the top of the ladder - in no small part because that was precisely what Marcus would have done were their positions reversed - but Iris wasn't there to solve the problem for him, so he did have to go up and deal with the problem. But how to…
He sighed and gripped the poniard between his teeth. He'd done a few assaults like this, and climbed quickly as he dared. When he neared the top, he switched grips rapidly, hanging one hand on and one hand off, seizing his dagger and swiping wildly at the axe he knew would come at his head, and then stabbing Thorn in the foot before heaving himself onto the tower. He drew his sword as quickly as he could while the man ripped the knife from his boot and swung at Marcus's head again, frantically interposing the blade with the weapon's haft and deflecting it such that he could roll to his feet while slashing blindly.
He didn't connect, but he had his feet, and he dared not give the self-styled baron a moment to recover, to draw his other weapon, and Marcus again wheeled towards him, flaring his khym to feel what was around him, weaving a web of steel in a series of mad strikes, moving recklessly from one strike to the next. Maybe in a full space, Thorn could have evaded the reckless assault, but in the cramped space of the tower, there was no chance. The man took a bad step back, and lost his footing, falling heavily to the wall below the tower, over twenty feet.
Marcus sheathed his sword and climbed down, then unslung his shield, and drew his sword again as he approached the wounded reiver boss, now crawling on a broken wrist and broken leg. His sword dimpled the man's chin, and Marcus felt the excitement at the end of the fight. This arrogant thug had decided that he could do whatever he wanted because he was strong enough to get away with it, and now he'd run into something stronger.
"You said you ruled by the law of lawless places. Ax, sword, and arrow, you said. I think by that law I now claim right of judgement, low and high both."
Thorn began laughing. "I've been usurped then. Fine. Get it done."
Marcus paused. Then he sheathed his sword, looking at the man who he'd already stunned. No. He didn't want to claim that right, actually. It would be easier. It would be more efficient. But…Baldor was working with the town council. The law here wasn't just whoever had a sword and the strength to swing it. The law here was what the folk decided the could live with. "The magistrate will decide your fate. You, and any men who yield."
"I'm to hang, regardless. I know what I've done." Baron Thorn grimaced in pain. "I killed some farm boy who didn't get out of the way when I wanted his flock. Broke some smith boy's hands on his father's anvil when his family was away from the smithy, because he crippled one of my men with a hammer. You're taking the long road to killing me. I know a Faldrean knight's shield when I see one. You've taken your oaths, then?"
Marcus shook his head. "Adopted son of Sir Baldor Torin."
Thorn shook his head. "No point in explaining it then. That house has never lacked for courage, and I've heard tell of you anyway. I deserted a king's army a long time ago. Couldn't manage the fear of facing the Pikar. Gathered men to me. Mercenaries, deserters. Scavenged, then stole. Then it came to murdering, when we knew that anyone who came on us would kill us."
Marcus felt disgust rising at the words. "So you gathered up men who'd do whatever it took, even pleasure in it. No courage for fighting monsters, but plenty for avoiding honest work. That town would have taken men who were scavengers, but not thieves or murderers. Some of them were deserters." There was something in him that felt pity. Disgust. Hate. A desire to see this man or his followers grow better, as he had. A desire to deny them the option.
Then he remembered where he was. Who this man had killed. Not soldiers. Peasants. And Thomas was still in the fort. There might be prisoners down there.
Thorn grunted.
Marcus turned. "I'm going to go help my companion. Make peace with whatever god you hold to."
He turned and bolted into the fortress, and as he did, he saw, from the corner of his eye, the broken and self-styled Baron drag himself to a crate by the unconsious man and wait for Marcus's verdict.
I know everyone who is following has wanted to see Stef's reaction to the recent news. Heeeeere we go, for better or worse. Let me know.
Also, let me know what y'all think about Deva Remeh. I am ambivalent.
Also, thanks to @1978sah and @dierotenixe, for your enthusiasm and support. <3 Love y'all.
Finally, to @baelpenrose and @writing-with-olive thank you for beta reading. :)
"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!" I yelled angrily, storming forward. Self-preservation was right the fuck out now. "Absolutely not."
"Language," Remeh remonished.
I walked right up to the closest tester - a large, wide man who clearly had a stern mother, judging by the way he stepped back. "Over. My. Dead. Body."
"That can be - "
Feathers clouded my vision as Remeh's voice rang out like a choir. "It can not. You will allow Stefanie Warren to proceed."
I shouted towards the ceiling so my voice could be heard, trying to avoid the feathers. "Trey is sixteen years old. I don't care if he is prophesied, destined, Chosen, or blessed, he is a child. I will be…. cast into Hell before I allow him to be forced to hare off on some stupid quest or mission."
By this point, Tester Huge was holding up his hands to fend off the finger I was waving in his face and glancing around to find another victim for me.
Tester Bullshit - the one who seemed to be the leader - seemingly volunteered. "There is a prophecy, and it's law that the subject must complete such a foretelling."
"Foretelling?" I shrieked. "Foretelling!?"
"I will fetch it," Tester Huge hastily volunteered before making a swift retreat.
Dexter prowled over, full bobcat form, larger even than usual. "Our ward will not be sent alone to his death. Not to save the world, not to save a hair on your head. Regardless of what mortal law states, magic will not permit it."
"This is correct," the deva confirmed, folding their wing so I could see. "There are provisions that must be met for any prophesied hero to succeed. If the child is indeed foretold." The word 'if' was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence, ringing like a threat.
My shoulders relaxed a fraction at the clear doubt in Remeh's voice. I started grasping at my memories out loud. "A - a party? A fellowship? Whatever - they're entitled to a support team."
That was when Tester Huge arrived, carrying a wooden box and breathing heavily. "I have the prophecy," he suggested hesitantly, holding it up.
Tester Bullshit turned, but I was faster. I dove for the box, ripped the lid up, and snatched the jar from within. Without hesitation, and ignoring Tester Bullshit's protests, I opened it.
"A changed child, born of two worlds,
Will find shelter in one, with one of the same.
Here, they will discover who they truly are
While learning growth and healing from their scars.
When towers have fallen and injustice rules,
A powerful evil will align with a king in all but name.
The child, while innocent, will conquer the wicked.
Though innocence lost, they will be whole and gifted.
Only through this, shall the magic remain whole."
Pain exploded in my knees when I fell to the floor, trying not to sob. "He's sixteen," I moaned.
Trey finally recovered enough to speak. "You want me, a teenager, to save the world?"
Tester Bullshit nodded in triumph. "Yes. Your mission will save not just all paranormals, but possibly all mundanes as well."
Tears will still pouring down my cheeks, snot running freely from my nose, when Trey burst into laughter. I whipped my head around to see him barely bracing himself on his knees to keep from falling. "You…. Oh my god, you are so far out of your mind…." A laugh that sounded close to a sob tore out of him. "You want to put the fate of the world on my shoulders??? I can't even… I can't even be trusted to pick tomatoes without adult supervision. And you want me to…." Another hysterical cackle ripped from him as he sat stiffly on the floor, head braced on his knees. "You're crazy. There's no other explanation."
"We invoke right of support!" I blurted out, finally remembering the right words.
"Agreed," Dexter yowled, still swishing his tail.
"What is Right of Support?" Trey asked.
"It is - "
I cut off Tester Bullshit. "Right of Support is a law older than this country, and is inviolable. It dictates that, if a person with magic is designated by Fate, a God, or any other Higher Power, to complete a task they are unlikely to complete on their own without losing their life, they are required to have a support group to cover any gaps their abilities do not fill."
Trey looked dumbstruck for a moment before shaking his head and recovering. "So, I cannot heal myself, shield myself, transport myself except on foot…"
"And are thereby entitled to a healer, a warder or Guardian, a Steed - though that need not be an animal in these modern times," Remeh confirmed. They stared down the testers, as though daring anyone to challenge their ruling.
"You're also absolute garbage at breaking rules," I pointed out, eyebrows raised for emphasis.
He got the hint immediately. "Oh, yeah. So I need someone to do that for me. And I can't manage a grocery list."
"Trey Miller, these are basic tasks," Tester Bullshit cried.
"And I am six-fucking-teen," Trey argued. "I'm not an adult, and you're expecting adult level stuff out of me. I need a lot of help. Not sorry."
"We do not have the resources - "
"You do not provide the party," Dex hissed. "You only do so under Council order, but voluntary support supersedes if the party agrees."
"Guardian Dexter is correct," Remeh confirmed coldly. "And both he and Stefanie Warren have declared Right of Support. Unless the child declines, the human Council need not intervene."
"I don't decline!" Trey shouted, much louder than needed. "I choose Stefanie and Dexter." He paused for a moment. "Am I allowed to choose paranormal-sympathetic normals?"
"Well - " Tester Bullshit, again.
"You are entitled to choose anyone who you believe will support you in your endeavors," Remeh cut off. "Magical or mundane, or even nonhuman."
"How soon do I need to give my Support members?" Trey asked shrewdly. I openly grinned, and even Dex flicked his ears in satisfaction.
My eyes widened as I stared at Tester Bullshit, all the other Testers having retreated around Tester Huge.
"So, I have a week," Trey squeaked out. "I need to speak to a few people. Consent is important, from what I've been taught."
"You do have a week," Tester Huge agreed quietly, nodding so enthusiastically that I was worried for his chiropractor bill. And possibly his dentist. "I will go immediately to the front desk to set up your appointment for one week from now, and explain that we need to be as close to mid-day as possible, with later being the preference?"
"Mid-day is wonderful," I assured. "And if it isn't available, later is best, yes."
I caught some muttering from Tester Huge as he left, mostly about not being able to imagine getting a teenager up earlier than humanly necessary and some level of jealously about sleeping in. Despite how awful this entire experience had been, I had to admit I was becoming fond of Tester Huge. He, at least, had a grain of sense.
Trey tugged my arm. "Is there a restriction on the size of the support group?"
Not even pretending we weren't being eavesdropped on, I turned to glare at Tester Bullshit. "Well?"
"Yes, yes, he will have the seven days - "
Even Remeh was done with the bullshit at this point, folding their wings with a crack that reminded me of a thunderstorm. "Your deliberate attempts at being obtuse are not only unbecoming, but will be included in my report as an emissary. Answer the question, as I know well that you have magics on this room that allow you to hear everything said within."
They what? I knew that Trey hadn't spoken quietly enough to avoid being overheard, but finding out that the Council Testers could hear every word, yet never disclosed this, was a blow. Don't get me wrong, I didn't expect any sort of privacy, but flat out surveillance?
"The support group is limited to the minimum number required to fulfill your needs. This requirement is in place to ensure that you are choosing your members wisely - redundancy focused on day to day tasks, multiple healers with other useful skills, etc."
The tone of the response was reluctant, but the the answer seemed to satisfy Deva Remeh. "Now. Was it so hard to just tell the full truth?"
I would have hated to be on the other end of that glare, and judging by Tester Bullshit's reaction, he wasn't too fond of it, either.
Under Avandra's Eyes II: Exile's Path
Chapter XXXXI: Guidance and Discussion
While Itene recovers, Neith and Baldor discuss faith, choices, and how best to guide Itene in the future.
A shout out to both my glorious beta-readers, @canyouhearthelight and @writing-with-olive, as well as to the commenters and rebloggers: @1978sah for comments and @dierotenixe for her reblogging!
Baldor
From inside the cage, the little boy had looked terrified, but the witch had told him, singing all the while, to take the bells off his wrists and ankles, and the moment he had, he began shaking. Yaga kept chanting, until the boy rolled over and coughed up something, some dark smoke that twisted into a solid form and lunged forth.
Baldor was ready. He caught a glimpse of claws and put his shield between that and Yaga, then swung his hammer around. It hit something solid, with a sound like the hammer striking rotting fruit, and then the claws had lashed out again, and he'd felt something foul tangle around his leg. When grappled, he'd fallen heavily to earth, snatching a dagger from his waist and striking frantically at the beast grabbing him, keeping his shield between it and his body. He'd gotten a glimpse of it though - horrible, golden eyes that burned with a feral hate - and once it had let go from the pain of the dagger in its belly, he'd grabbed up his hammer and struck it again, and again, exhulting prayers to Bahamut as he did.
A sound, like the toll of a bell, and the baelfire eyes of the thing went dark, and the oily form began burning away. He could hear the relieved sobs of the little boy, who left the protective cage and jumped into the arms of Yaga.
He heard something from where Neith was, screaming, sobbing; what sounded like relief, and then the sounds of frantic retching before the sounds of frantic gulping, praying, and…in the distance, he could hear a panicked cry, and the crack of cobblestones.
He rushed over to where Itene had been set up, but nothing was there. The girl she'd spoken with, nearly passed out, and speaking softly. Itene, passed out and crying blood, her magic candles flaring irregularly, and a foul stench in the air, the wind still pierced by eerie whistles from throats he could not percieve. These sounds grew quieter as he approached, but then faded.
The girl shook him. "She did it. Something…Something left me. Some power. I felt it. I don't know how but she's…she's a miracle. Will she be alright?"
Baldor lifted Itene near effortlessly, slinging his hammer and shield as he did so. "She should be. I'll bring her to our healer."
Neith looked up from what she was doing with the sickly girl and shook her head. "She's fine. I'll be with her in a moment."
Baldor stood there, cradling Itene awkwardly, as the girl Itene had healed looked on, and then, seemingly realized she could do something, scurried off, presumably to find Yaga.
Neith shuddered as the girl downed another potion, and then grabbed the girl's hands and prayed, her lips forming frantic utterances to Melora, in the Tamerian that the high churches usually used for sacred litanies. Baldor could make out some of them, though he was unfamiliar with some of the terms that Neith was saying. 'Mother Melora, Faithful of Love and Matron of Arts and Healers, grant now your grace to this lost child and restore her to her health and purity of spirit against the design of the dark powers…'
It wasn't a prayer that Baldor had ever heard before. In fact, the use of 'purity' was one that would probably have pissed off Liza, given that in liturgical Tamerian, that word was also used for chastity. He made a mental note to ask Neith later.
The girl jerked abruptly, back arching, and screamed, then keeled over and wretched up something black, bilious, and then coughed, once. Baldor stepped forward as though to grab her, but Neith stopped him with an arm, and handed her pure water, which she drank down. Neith poured oil into the poison bile, then lit it ablaze, pushing the girl's face away from the smoke.
"It's done. You should be able to eat again. Eat properly, I mean. Go slowly - that curse will have done things to your appetite that will linger." The girl stumbled, but looked up gratefully. Nieth held out a piece of bread, and as Baldor watched, the girl, almost gingerly, fearfully, reverently, took it, and tore a piece off. Then she ate, and the relief that flooded her face was something to behold.
Then Neith turned towards Itene. "Oh, child," she murmured. "No, she will come to no harm. She overdrew herself. Food, rest, water. And she will be fine. A space by a fire. I can give her a tonic, but in truth, she will gain more from being brought back to Liza once she wakes. I will ask Yaga what else is needed." Baldor nodded, but he needn't have waited - as though from nowhere, Yaga appeared behind him.
"The mage child did what I needed - Neva's curse was ever the hardest. I would welcome her back, and she should come if she wishes to grow her skills, but in truth, your power and that of Neith's new connection with Melora will avail me more in the coming hours with my remaining charges. I have a place for your girl to rest. Set her there, then we will finish our tasks."
**
It was some two hours later that Baldor and Neith sat, weary. Neith looked exhausted, hair bound back, breathing ragged, face drawn. Baldor's armor was stained with ash, his breastplate and shield scored with new clawmarks, and in several places, stained with something foul. Sweat streaked the surcoat underneath. The second creature that he had fought was weaker, but had continually changed form to ruin his blows until he'd finally landed a strike on it, at which point it had crumbled. Based on everyone else's reactions to it, it had been doing much worse for them, but his power as a paladin had protected him.
And he'd seen Neith bring one young boy to actual screams, until he glowed and sobbed and was left scarred with what looked like lightning burns, but he was now speaking again, and whatever vile power had been inside him was gone. The boy would live. The boy would heal, and Neith had given him salves and tinctures to treat the burns.
Itene slept by the fire. Yaga tended to her, even as Neva continued to eat and drink her fill, looking admiringly at the sleeping Itene.
"Neith," Baldor rumbled, and the herbalist - priestess - looked to him.
"Yes?"
"I heard your litany over the girl. I've not heard purity in that context before."
She shrugged. "Purity of spirit does not mean chastity - or, rather, not like that. Nor does it have much to do with sin. The girl was impure not because of things she'd done, but because she had quite literally been poisoned at a spiritual level. I was removing the impurity. That is what a curse is to some degree - a spiritual poison. It's why a higher level of healing magic, from Melora, is needed to cleanse it. Then there’s other things, like what Itene undid, where it’s closer to a spiritual parasitism – but that isn’t a curse, that’s a binding, dark power bound to you in a way that leaches from you to self-sustain. There's even more potent forces, but you'd need to be much stronger or much closer than I am to Melora right now to drag them out - things like what we encountered in the Blasted Lands. Vixen could fix it, I couldn't - and even Vixen needed knowledge from a daemonic grimorie so that she could call on the forces involved by Name to drag them out."
Baldor thought about that. "I…see. So then…Liza is chaste in the ritual context?"
Neith laughed. "No, gods no. No, she…she overrelies on her khym, and her power…it isn't one that leaves a person spiritually chaste if they overrely on it. Then again, to be very honest, neither are any of our companions. Except maybe Malzan."
Baldor took that in with a certain amount of equanimity. "I see. That is something I was taught, I think, but I…"
"Khym itself isn't dangerous. The way they use it is. Liza's awoke in the midst of pain, and she's used it again and again to relive that, to use her pain to gain power. Marcus and Thomas too. Iris is a kind soul, you know this well. But you know what she reached into, with that same kind spirit, and…well. Of all of them, I'd say she and Marcus would be in the worst danger. Marcus, because he dances with the darkness every time he fights something actually dangerous. Iris because the monsters we fight are barely the surface of an impossibly deep trench in the darkness of the powers, and forget whatever she did that got her exiled from her little village that you refuse to tell me but that I can too well guess, whatever she did to that Harbinger - there are things staring up at her from the very bottom of that trench now, her and Itene both after what Vixen did."
Baldor saw her hands move and make Melora's dove wings, probably subconsciously, but she added a seperate set of gestures - something that looked like spreading roots.
"So, tell me, Paladin." She asked, "What do you make of all of it? What do you think of the world we've entered? Where daemons are real and we're expected to deal with it?"
Baldor waved a hand. "I've lived in it for a time. Faldrea has challenged Pikar berserkers for years, and every so often they bring sorcerers down. Sometimes with monsters, sometimes with daemons. It wasn't a mystery to me. Facing Abbadon was new to me. Travelling the world and seeing more of them, that was…that was new. But even then…in truth, Neith, facing daemons, like today, is sometimes easier." He turned over his next words carefully. "I saw an honest woods witch draw an evil force out of a child, one that was put there by a band of cultists to one of the dark gods. When that evil force coalesced into a daemon, I struck it with a hammer until it went back to hell. When we find whatever cult infested a child with a daemon, I'll take part in slaying them too. No issue. Happy to do it, in truth."
Neith's raised eyebrows invited him to continue.
He did, and he saw the priestess listen without much judgement. "What I struggle with is the other things I've come to since I began travelling. Overthrowing kings. A negligent fool who was going to lose his throne regardless, yes. And to be sure, the war was going to happen regardless of what we did. But us gathering up an army of our own definitely led to more blood being shed, more lives being lost, more cities burning. Marcus almost slew his blood father, and his father was a terrible man, who was trying to kill him, but it was a situation Marcus never should have been in, and I never should have allowed Marcus to have to come close to it. Even if the end result was good. The result was good, I know - we put an honest scholar on the throne, saw him married to a brilliant politician, and then left him to his own devices with all the knowledge of statebuilding he already possessed to apply to the real duty we'd taught him." Neith stayed silent, clearly letting Baldor continue.
And he did. His oaths tugged at him, duty to Church and Crown and Keep vying with his oaths to Bahamut and commons and what he knew to be right. "And that's not getting into what happened with the Witch Hunters. I believe I did the right thing with Vixen, and I know full well that it would have been wrong to hand Itene over to the Witch Hunters. But I think I abandoned my people again. And even though the Witch Hunters clearly overstepped, having seen the ritualists of Sargonny's Dark Cathedral, having seen what foul powers sorcerers can call upon, I struggle to argue that they don't have a place. I know what my oaths obligate me to do - defend the innocent. Protect the weak. Stand against the darkness. Uphold justice. But I took oaths to my people as well. To protect them - and now I'm at the other end of the world." They were the words he hadn't dared say to anyone else, but Neith was near his own age - only eight years younger or so, at a guess. And to look at the way Malzan looked at her, she had half-raised him as much as he'd raised Marcus.
"You saw to it that they were taken care of - your alliance with the neighboring fiefs. You've found ways to keep your oaths. I wouldn't say that you have forsworn yourself."
He shook his head. "No. I know I haven't. But I…I miss the simplicity. Perhaps…Perhaps that was the arrogance of my youth. Things will never be simple again, and…"
"And you'll have to keep your oaths regardless, Sir Knight? What a terrible nightmare." Neith's voice was sardonic, but there was a kindness beneath it. "Your steadfastness is the core of your son's courage, you know. Not his valor - he'd stand and fight against a Harbinger with or without you - but his willingness to stare down the darkness within himself and try to do the right thing even when a dishonorable thing would let him claim a faster victory," she jabbed him with a finger, one that skidded uselessly off his breastplate but that he felt more surely than a dagger stroke, "that comes from what you've taught him. It will survive your death, but not your disgrace, I think."
Baldor thought about that, and nodded, wondering what that implied of Marcus. "I can believe it. I don't mind continuing to be what he needs me to be. But you, Priestess? Herbalist? Do you intend to stay on the path set by your goddess, or are you going to resume fighting as you did?"
"In truth? I think I'd prefer staying on good terms with Melora, but…for the most part, I don't feel comfortable over-relying on the good will of a goddess rather than doing good myself. I'd rather heal with potions and the power of the earth, as I was taught to do."
"I can respect that. So…most of what you do is just herbals, right?"
"Correct. I can do more if I have something consecrated, like a proper healing circle, now, but they take time to set up, and I won't always be able to consecrate ground. Proper altars take time and energy to construct, and while Melora is now willing to hear me enough that I can purify people of certain kinds of curses…yes, in truth, you'd be better trusting to my skill as an herbalist when we're in the field." Her gaze drifted towards the bed where Itene slept. "She did a wonderful thing today. I think she should be proud."
Baldor frowned, and he felt his heart pound in anger and worry. "She should. I think, though, that there is some cause for us both to be ashamed. If what you say is true, we put her in danger again, today. I can't imagine Liza will be pleased - and more importantly, Itene should have been warned about what kind of attention she'd get, and from who, or what."
Neith shook her head. "It would have happened regardless. She's strong - and Vixen had a plan for something like this for ages. Centuries, maybe. You heard the Regent - the Cathedral did something to him to make him similar. Vixen made Itene what she needed to be to grow into someone who can manage the power he can call up. She needs practice. And…" Baldor could feel the tension in the woman, even as she looked at the girl. "Don't pretend you don't know it, Sir Knight. That one is no more a child than your son was when you met him. Is, and isn't. To coddle her would not be to truly protect her. She needs guidance more than she needs protection. And it is my job, and Liza's, and yours, honestly, to provide that."
"Even though I know nothing of…" He paused, and grunted. "Hm. What I knew of swordsmanship, Marcus rapidly surpassed. He needed guidance as a man. And to know what to do with the talent he developed."
"As does Itene. I have some ideas of how to use magic - at least, Vixen gave me some ideas of how it works and there is somethign of magic in using a Meloran healing altar, and I can teach her some of it. We'll speak to Liza about it. But she should be proud."
Baldor turned that over. "She should have had a choice, though. I had a choice, before I took my oaths. Marcus had a choice - he could have fled from me, and I'd not have run him down."
"Would you truly? A young man that dangerous, with no guidance? No, though, she did - as much as you did, anyway. She made a bargain with Vixen. She was under duress, sure, of needing to help you and your companions. But she made a choice as free as any of us do - at least as freely as I made my choice to work with Vixen after dark power hit my village that my mother died trying to heal, before she and I both learned it was the wrong sort of dark power to be challenged on an altar. Certainly, she made a choice as free or more than either your thief did in becoming a thief and cutthroat, and more than your bard did in selling her body. We all make choices, and fair, just, or otherwise, we live with the consequences of the choices we make."
"But isn't it our place, Neith, that of those who already have made those choices, to keep others from making them at sword's point, literal or otherwise? No, I suppose…I suppose it is. But without us ever having a chance to stop it, I think we got there too late, or at the wrong time. She's on this side of the line now, isn't she? The side whose job is to protect others, rather than be protected by the world as a whole. Even if I intend to keep shielding her where I can."
Neith gave a sad smile. "Yes. She is. And you should." Neith, almost hesitantly, nudged his shoulder. "It's good to talk to an honest man near my own age. Thank you."
Baldor nodded. "I can say the same. Thank you for your wisdom, priestess." He turned his gaze on Itene, sleeping soundly on the cot by the fire. He'd bring her home once she woke, but for now, as Neith placed another skin of water by the girl, Baldor placed another blanket across her, said a quiet prayer over the girl, and let her rest.
The old knight refused to relent his vigil until the girl woke, and greeted him. All he could say was, "You did well. You should be proud."
I love Itene's exhausted grandparents. And that is basically verbatim what I told @baelpenrose about this chapter.
Side note: I know I was supposed to post a chapter tonight, and it IS ready to go! But I want to let this chapter have its moment, so I will post mine tomorrow. <3 Bael's work deserves its moment.
Under Avandra's Eyes II: Exile's Path
Chapter XXXX: Bells
Itene does a bit of scrying to see Joana again, but quickly gets an idea of just what her magic means.
A big shout out to @1978sah and to @aquadestinyswriting for thier frequent reblogs and comments.
@canyouhearthelight and @writing-with-olive did a great time beta-reading.
Itene
The chimes were ringing, and I was trying to focus on the chiming as I let myself listen to the wind. eventually, my vision blurred, and then blanked.
A woman dressed like Liza was handing Joanna a set of bells on a string, and Joanna was handing over a small amount of money. Joanna started, suddenly, as she seemingly realized I was there and I saw a blush spread across her freckled face.
"What're those? Remember, you're the only one who can hear me, so wait til no one else can see to answer."
Joanna jumped, then smiled shyly to the Wanderling. "Thank you." Then she wandered off, and cursed. "My lady, my girl, don't scare me like that. And you weren't supposed to see those. They were a present. And I'm not done trading honey and mead."
I could feel a blush spreading in my actual body, beyond the wind I was projecting into, at the idea of Joanna getting presents from her. "I got you some presents too. Some treasure, jewelery, mostly."
Joanna smiled. "You're too kind."
"Looks like you want me in bells of some kind…"
"You weren't supposed to see!" Joanna objected.
"If I could show you what I got you I would!"
"Exactly, but you can't, so just…"
I felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped. "Love you, have to go."
The connection broke as I started out of the trance. Neith stood over me. "What do you need?" My voice was harsher than I meant it to be. I wasn't happy to see the woman, but honestly I mostly just wasn't happy to have my scrying of Joanna interrupted.
Neith's face was somber, and then I saw something even more startling - Baldor came into her field of view, covered in his full armor. "What's going on?"
"We need help. There's someone who needs work done with magic. Daemons may be involved. Mostly what is needed is help purifying a set of curses."
I paused. "I can use my magic here?" I heart pounded with excitement. "Actually? With full permission? No one has a problem with it? I get to actually use more challenging stuff in ways that matter?" I was going to learn how to really use my newfound abilities, beyond just the scrying I'd been able to use thus far, beyond the basic earth magic that I'd only been able to use in surges of desperation so far.
"Let me grab my things!" I grabbed the candle, the vial, the chalk, and clay, and the chimes.
***
I followed Nieth to the strange cottage, spotting glyphs of the sort I'd seen near Vixen's - and feeling my insides twist at the sight. "Are we sure we can trust whoever lives here?"
Neith gave me a gentle smile. "She's very different than Vixen. She takes care of people who get cursed - no charge. She needs the help of a mage. She also needs a priest and a paladin. Apparently there's going to be daemons floating around, and I'm needed to cleanse some of the curses. there's things that a dedicated Meloran can do."
"And…can you do it? I thought Melora listening to you wasn't a guaranteed thing."
Neith scowled. "I can only hope. But I can still feel her."
I thought about that. "Okay. So I'm supposed to be doing rituals to help break curses on people that need elemental magic while you work miracles?"
"Correct. And Yaga will be casting daemons out of people for Baldor to dispose of." Neith said it as if it was all normal.
"Okay. So…Where do we start?"
A voice spoke from behind me, and I spun around. A spindly woman with weblike hair that had probably been a richer shade of yellow at some point and whose color now looked like nothing so much as dirty straw. She wore a longcoat that reminded me of a noblewoman's riding jacket from the Empire, but her legs were covered in ragged skirts that looked more eastern in origin, and beneath those, legs that reminded me nothing so much as the sticklike legs of a bird.
"There's a few I'll want you to help. There's a place, near the garden in the back. I'll clear space for the rest."
Not knowing what to do, I wandered around. I saw a girl, only a year or two younger than I was, who looked skinnier than I'd ever been. Even so, she didn't look hungry - there was food in this house, and there was food in a garden that I'd seen on the way in. When I tried to offer her something, she flinched from it, and spoke, in a voice barely above a whisper, "Not without her helping. I can't." I didn't want to know what that meant. A boy, barely six, wandered around the house as though in a daze, in a smock, wrists and ankles adorned with bells that looked like they hadn't been taken off in a long time. He clutched them protectively when I looked, and the smell on the cords smelled like healing salves.
There was one girl who approached me, quiet. She was about eleven or twelve, to look at her. She touched my shoulder, gently, and I almost shouted - it felt like she'd slapped me. I looked, and a bruise was forming on my arm where she touched me. It didn't feel like she'd meant to hurt me, she'd also jerked a hand back at the contact, hiding her eyes behind mousy hair and apologizing, but I shook my head. "No, it's alright. I just…what happened?"
"I…I'm cursed. Something was…burned into me, Yaga says. Poison that isn't poison. Magic. I was taken from my parents cart when we were ambushed on the road."
I paused. "Your parents were wanderlings?"
She blinked. "No. Traders. I think. It's hard to remember them, now. They were…Their blood was part of it, I think. What happened to you?"
I tried not to laugh. "I was put in a cage and used to soak curses for seven other people, then purified and cursed and purified again, I think. I don't know that I totally understand it. But…I use magic now. I'm not here for sanctuary. Yaga asked me to help. I'm with a priest."
The girl looked at me, an expression on her face I couldn't read. Hope, maybe. Fear. "I'm not going to hurt…"
She backed away from me, but the witch spoke behind me, and I jumped. "She's telling the truth, Neva."
The girl - Neva - took another step, then nodded. "As…I trust you. I just…is it possible? To finally have it done?"
Yaga paused. "I believe so child. For almost everyone here."
Neva's mouth moved wordlessly, and Yaga told her to take me to a spot behind the house where it would be easy to work. I was fairly sure I had some kind of idea what to do, and I began placing clay into the cracks in the cobbles, forcing my will into them as I splayed my fingers on the ground. I didn't know what I needed, and for a while nothing happened.
I needed something that would…I needed a circle that would let me purify people. That would let me use magic to draw curses from them.
I heard a series of cracks, and opened my eyes, slowly. The clay had seeped into the ground, and had seemingly widened, then raced across the cracks it had made.
Almost an hour later, Baldor stood beside Yaga as she placed the little boy with the bells in what looked like a cage of singularly strange weave. "This will let a daemon out - but not back in. I'm going to draw it out, paladin - I trust you to slay it. This poor child has been forced to play host to something I've kept trapped inside him for years because letting it loose would kill him and everyone else here. With you here, that risk changes."
Neith already prayed over another person - the scrawny girl I'd seen on my way in. And I…
I looked into the eyes of Neva as she sat in the middle of my circle and crossed her legs. I lit my candles. And I took a breath, feeling a sickening dread as the chimes I'd hung up around the clearing rang ominously. I had a flicker of intuition about her curse. I didn't really know what had been done to her - I suspected Iris would have been able to intuit what I was looking at better than I would. But it wasn't a magical wound or poison - something was actually woven into her, and I was going to have to draw it loose to break the spell.
I walked over to her and gently poured half of my distilled water over her, apologizing softly as I did so, then pricked my finger with a dagger, and put a droplet of blood into the water, and into the clay I'd made the circle with.
Then I pressed my hands to the circle and started pitting myself against whatever was in her.
And I almost blacked out. She screamed - but that wasn't what scared me. There wasn't a conscious mind behind it, only a swirling force of malevolence, of hate, of pain, and something sealed using her as a lock or anchor - but I forced the water covering her to ground the energy that she increasingly crackled with, forcing it down from her and into the dirt.
An ominous steam rose from the ground as something attempted to rise as vapor, and I pushed more force into the candles blazing around her, rage at whatever it was I was fighting - if I was even fighting a thing that could be fought rather than just struggling against a force of nature, which seemed increasingly likely.
As if through a long tunnel, I heard Baldor cry out and the clash of a hammer striking something solid, the sound of blades scraping across a shield…
I was lost in what I was doing, though. I heard ethereal screams, and the world blacked in and out around me. I smelled storms brewing, and I dug my fingers into the earth as something rent the air around me. Curls of smoke rose from my clothing, but I lived, not sure how, and Neva continued to writhe in the middle of my circle.
Power coursed through my body, and I could see heat coming off her as though from a stove. The sounds in my mind rose to a crescendo, and for a moment it almost formed words, ones I couldn't make out. I doused her with the last of the water, placing hands directly on her to channel the power through the water, and saw something rip loose from her - felt, more than saw, and with a sound like tearing cloth.
Whatever it was, the force of it kicked me loose hard enough to cast me aside to roll across the hard-packed earth. I was dazed, only for a moment, but seized an opprotunity, seeing some vapor trying to fly off and grabbing a candle from the ground and sending fire screaming after it to rake it from the air.
That foul maisma seemed to melt away, but I…I don't know if I got it or not. I don't even know if it had been there.
So distantly, I thought I must have imagined it, I heard a bell tolling.
I do know that Neva sat up, shaking her head, clothing singed at the edges, and smiled.
Then she looked at me the way I looked at Liza.
I swayed as I leaned against a tree, and two thoughts hit me before I passed out. The first was that, absurdly, any semblence of childhood was over if people were looking at me that way.
The second was that Liza had taught me better than to black out in front of people.
**
When I woke back up, Neith was standing over me. "It's okay. You ran yourself too hard but you're alright."
"Neva?"
"She's fine. You got whatever it was out of her. Yaga's looking after her."
"That skinny girl?"
"You would scarcely believe how powerful that curse was. It was starving that poor girl to death. Parasitic, in nature. I was able to sever it. And Baldor…the daemon let loose is still dissolving. It was a strong one. But the boy is fine."
"Anyone else?"
"In truth, I think Neva's the only one she really needed you for. The others Baldor and I can probably handle. And there's a few things that the three of us can probably do in combination that no two of us could do alone. Anything left, we'll ask you for once you've rested."
I rolled over. "How bad was it? What I did?"
Neith thought about it. "I won't lie to you. the curse you broke wasn't the strongest one here. But it was by far the most complicated and the most dangerous. You did something incredible, and you should be proud."
"One more thing. What was it doing?"
Neith paused. "I can't say."
I squinted. "Can't…or won't?"
"In this case, both. I promised your mom. There's things that would…there's horrible things, out there. In the deeper parts of Chaos. You knowing about them, especially with magic, has the potential to get their attention. This is…this touches on one of those things. But you did a good thing."
There was a time that would have made me angry. But after what I'd just experienced. The things I'd heard…
"I believe that."
I rolled over and let myself rest. I'd help with the other curses once I'd recovered.
Itene doing the collapse after accomplishing all of that will never cease to amuse me, but.
But.
HOW FRICKIN CUTE ARE ITENE AND JOANNA?? Let's be for real. How cute? I have cuteness aggression for them. That comic of smashing your dolls together saying "Now, Kiss"? That's me.
This is where the promise of the title starts to kick off. That's all I'll say, because this chapter came together in the way I very much prefer chapters to come together - all in a burst, fully formed, with little editing needed. Once I locked down one specific character, it just flowed so beautifully.
Quick catch up on likes/follows/comments, because I was in survival mode a bit longer than I expected (a few months longer, tbh): @twolawstofollow-yk, @an-actual-literal-egg, @experiments-in-craft, @consentk1, @garlicfriezzzzz, and, of course, @1978sah. Thank you all. If I forgot anyone, please roast me in the comments so I don't forget in 2 weeks.
Also, thanks always to @baelpenrose and @writing-with-olive for beta reading and giving feedback. You two are the best.
Once Trey's stack of possible magical events was handed over to Vivica, we only had to wait briefly as she looked over everything before she had someone come up to escort us to the testing area. "It's usually a formality," she explained to him when he looked slightly panicked. "Your abilities are rather amorphous, so this lets us determine them better. Stefanie and Benjamina didn't need it, but Helen certainly did."
"You knew Stef's mom?" Trey asked curiously, glancing around as we waited.
"I did not. However, the records are part of my job."
I shrugged and nodded. "Vivica isn't much older than me, to be fair."
He looked skeptical but wisely kept his mouth shut.
Thankfully, about three minutes later, a very harried-looking worker showed up, apologizing profusely and explaining something about a visiting dignitary while gesturing for us to follow him. The path snaked through several galleries before stopping in front of large swaths of hanging black plastic - clearly from the ongoing renovations that had the museum closed to the public.
"Our tester is through here," the guide explained, nervous but clearly reciting a script. "Once you enter, the wards will activate as a safety precaution during testing. In addition to the standard test personnel, please be aware that your test will be observed by our visiting dignitary. Do not be alarmed when you see them, as they are non-human. It is standard for visitors from other cultures to be permitted to view testing for one day during their trip."
Trey looked even more anxious, glancing at me and reaching for Dexter.
I nodded. "It is. 'Visiting dignitary' usually means delagates from a kingdom, and the testing observations are kind of a peace-keeping measure mixed with a cultural exchange. Usually it wouldn't be mentioned, but since the observer is non-human, it's just a polite heads-up so we don't offend them out of surprise."
"Correct," Dexter yawned. "Pretty standard stuff. If they were potentially dangerous, they would have made sure to schedule the observation on a day when they don't see a lot of tests."
Trey calmed a little bit at that, nodding. "Okay. Nothing to worry about, standard stuff. Got it."
"They won't expect you to be able to demonstrate anything," I assured him. "It's just an interview. The wards are a precaution in case your abilities are passive and potentially can cause damage if they get out of control - remember, some people have really destructive passive talents."
That seemed to get his anxiety about as under control as could be expected from a teenager whose entire future depended on today. After a couple more deep breaths, he gave one more determined nod. "Let's get this over with."
I gestured that he should go first, and Dexter sat tall on his shoulder as they swept the black plastic aside. Dex hissed, presumably at the wards tracing over him - not everyone had the touch Benji did, and some wards felt gross, for lack of a better term. I followed closely behind before dropping the sheeting as my eyes adjusted.
"What the hells!?" I cried, jumping in front of Trey as soon as my eyes adjusted. "Trey, stay behind me. Dex…"
"I am aware."
"Stef, what is going on?" Trey sounded terrified, and I couldn't even blame him. I had just reassured him for several hours that everything would be fine, and now I was acting like a madwoman responding to a threat.
In addition to the standard panel of five testers, there was indeed a foreign dignitary. A seven foot, winged, and beautiful dignitary.
"A fucking deva," I swore. My blood ran cold, knowing there was nothing I could do if they chose to expose Trey's abilities.
"Peace, fertility mage," the angelic being assured me. "I seek no quarrel with one who encourages life and nourishes others. I have no animosity toward the child."
We were so screwed.
"Stef," Trey tugged on my arm. "Why are you upset with the… deva? It isn't another demon, is it?"
"Angelic dignitary," I answered, absent-mindedly shaking my head. "Very rule bound, usually. Strong healers, can sense magic, change their form…. They're all up in the Bible, which is kind of ironic given how many religious nuts hate magic."
Can sense magic. So, so screwed.
To the kid's credit, he responded as casually as possible despite his voice audibly shaking as he realized the reason I was reacting so strongly. "So my mother is secretly a paranormal and all her angels are actually paranormals. Got it."
Calming down, I tried to bluff it out despite how abundantly up the jig was. "I am Stefanie Warren, applicant foster mother for this minor."
The deva did not even blink as the testers forced themselves to recover. One stepped forward. "Test applicant, identify yourself."
"Trey - " he squeaked before clearing his throat. "Trey Miller."
"And how old are you, Trey Miller?"
"Sixteen."
"Do you consent to Stefanie Warren being present for your testing?"
"Yes."
That was when Dexter spoke up. "I am also Trey's guardian. Currently I am registered as Dexter with the Coucil." He gave the location of his territory in terms that meant something to someone, as all of the testers nodded.
"And, Trey Miller, do you consent to having the Guardian Dexter present for your testing?"
"Yes."
"And you understand that neither Guardian Dexter nor Stefanie Warren will be permitted to interfere with your test?"
"Yes? Why would they - "
"Yes or no, please."
"Yes."
From there, the interview proceeded in a fairly normal fashion. The testers took turns asking Trey for more details about the incidents he listed in his intake forms, poking and prodding them, turning them over as much as possible. Trey did his best to recall details on the older ones, a bit more truthfully than I liked, but still without revealing anything that seemed to head into dangerous territory. I panicked a little when he mentioned the soup, before realizing he didn't know it shouldn't have been there.
After several worrisome but ultimately boring hours, the interview finally seemed to be winding down. The testers had to be running out of questions around Trey moving the goats and himself in sheer panic… he literally woke up, saw the branch, and was suddenly across the creek. There wasn't a lot he could clarify other than what happened after - Dex and I hauling ass to see what happened, Trey being terrified, all pretty normal stuff.
The lead tester glanced between his peers before nodding. "We must take a brief recess to confer on the results. Please be patient with us." He then turned toward the deva, bowing respectfully. "Deva Remeh, please excuse us as we discuss the test. Your observation has been most welcome."
The deva - Remeh, apparently - inclined their head slightly. "It was a pleasure to observe a human reality manipulator in person. The child is quite well-adjusted."
All I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears as Remeh so casually revealed the outcome we had dreaded the most. I sputtered. "Your Grace, he isn't - he can't - "
"I apologize, I was not aware you had ruled the possibility out. I assure you, he is quite sane and stable, and likely to remain so."
Trey fell to his knees as the testers turned to stare him down. "It's… it has to be just luck, or telekinesis. Not… Please no."
Remeh flared their wings. "This is good news, is it not?" Their eyes glowed as the testers turned their attention back. "Is. It. Not?"
"Of course, Deva Remeh - " the lead tester started.
"Lie," they pronounced, pointing with one hand. "The child and his guardians are terrified and you lie to me. You seek to harm the child."
"We do not!" the tester shouted, holding his hands up. "We do not seek to harm him!"
"You want to put him in prison!" Dexter hissed. "Or kill him humanely!"
The glowing intensified - Dexter clearly believed himself, and as a Guardian being, his word held wait that mere humans couldn't measure up to. "Does the Guardian speak true?"
"Normally, yes! But not this one!" At this point, the lead tester was shrieking in terror and the rest were cowering on the floor. "He's Prophesied! A Chosen One!"
Under Avandra's Eyes II: Exile's Path
Chapter XXXIX: A Place of Healing
Neith works as a village healer, and finally goes to see the person who she actually brought the group here to help. Beta read by @canyouhearthelight and @writing-with-olive
Neith
Neith was beginning to grow restless.
Oh, to be sure, splinting a broken arm in a village that barely had competent healers was a good thing. Finding the herbs she needed to refill some of her pouches was nice. Getting the oils she wanted to make the really ugly tinctures, or the things she could grind for poisons. Better yet, she was already beginning to work again on the kinds of things that would work as antivenoms, she was winding sutures again, she was making powders to apply to fresh wounds to close them faster.
Neith wasn't sure if she should be making poisons. Especially not ones that she, herself, wouldn't be using. Ones for Thomas's knives, Iris's arrows, Liza's cosmetics. But…if she wasn't bound to Vixen, maybe she would be happier not working with those kinds of methods, especially now that the majority of the killing could be done with or without her. And if it interfered with her Meloran vows, maybe she'd be better off leaving the slaying to others and focusing on keeping them alive.
But…curse herself, curse Vixen, curse her own vows, curse her ancestors, and curse the scars she'd earned in the last fifteen years of living this life, she couldn't quite bring herself not to mix that hemlock, that rancid oil that would preserve itself on contact with steel to guarantee festering wounds. And finally, though she knew she may regret it, even instinctively…
She prayed for guidance about it, even between cleaning the wounds of the small village. Between cleaning out the cuts and scrapes, between forcing children who had swallowed poisonous berries to chew charcoal until they had passed the poisons from their bodies….she worked on one single packet of densely packed herbs that, when burned, would create a toxic smoke capable of killing an entire room.
There were ways to destroy it, of course. To render the toxins harmless. It could be boiled with another mixture. But…she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. Not without knowing she wouldn't need it again.
But none of that was the cause of her disquiet. She liked working as a healer, and she was grateful for the chance to restock. No, what she was concerned about was the fact that she had been here three weeks and she'd yet to have the chance to speak to the person she'd actually come here to see
No, for right now, she needed to focus. A crying boy with his arm broken got a splint. An old woman, bent with arthritis, was told to lie down as Neith worked her over with needles whose use she had learned in Hansea. It wouldn't treat the condition permanently, but it would mitigate the issue for a time. At the very least, the woman would be able to move without pain for a while. She suggested heating a few solid, smooth stones and placing them in a bag as well, holding them over the sorest places on the back to help with the worst of it. A thread of twisted gut, boiled clean, served to repair a deep gash laid across a man’s leg where a fall had let the sharp edges of a stone to gouge deep. It had had to be cleaned with strongwine first, of course, lest the wound fester, and dressed in cloth damped in marigold to keep foul humors at bay. Something a village healer could have done, sure, but the old woman who’d been working as healer here the last time Neith had passed through had died, and her place taken by her apprentice, who’d still been a freckled teen last time she was here. It wasn't that the young healer was bad - but a newly-minted healer who hadn't quite achieved mastery when her mentor died was a far cry from a weathered crone and master of the craft, and even the teacher hadn't been quite Neith's peer at the art of mending.
So healing as much as she could, as fast as she could, and showing the girl a few tricks she might not have learned along the way, better ways to mix medicines, new ways to mix salves that would keep out rot, were part and parcel of things to do to make sure the village thrived after she left.
But there was someone else here that could have been doing it. Or, could have taught, if she didn't have other obligations. Didn't have to keep herself and her charges secret. But Neith had been asked to keep that person a secret unless, until, Neith found someone she believed could help, until she was out from under Vixen.
She was definitely out from under Vixen, and now, maybe, she had companions who could help do what the old woods yaga had asked.
"What's this?" She started out of her reflection as the apprentice healer approached her.
"I…I think that the last of the patients for the day are pretty well handled. All things I know how to do. And…ma'am?"
Neith paused. "You don't have to call me that."
"I learned a lot watching you today. If you want to stay here…"
Neith paused. "I'll ensure you get more lessons before I leave. But I can't stay, I'm sorry. If you really feel you can handle the rest of today's patients, I'll leave you to it. There is something I should go deal with before it gets too much darker." She and the girl bowed to each other, and Neith walked out of the healing house and headed into the forest. It was a long walk, but Neith wasn't worried. She could have asked for an escort, but…
No. No, she was being dense. If she was going to trust the others, she ought to bring one of them. Baldor, specifically. Another holy man. She found the paladin, talking to a blacksmith, and the smith seemed to be nodding. Baldor lay a gem on the table, and Neith's eyes widened. Whatever Baldor was ordering, Baldor had just spent a good portion of what he had taken from the battle of Sargonny - something that Thomas had insisted on giving him, saying that survival would require being able to pay people for their services. The blacksmith - a grizzled man with an eyepatch and a missing finger on his right hand - nodded, and Baldor pocketed the gem again.
As Neith got closer, the blacksmith said, "Of course, sir. The ax and the shield will be ready in a week. Thank you for your business."
"And on my word as a knight and paladin, you'll have the promised payment." Baldor replied. His gaze lifted to Neith. "Healer. What are you doing here?"
"Sorry to interrupt. There's someone you should meet. Something important we need to do."
Baldor's brow furrowed, but he nodded. "I see."
Leaving the smithy, Baldor followed Neith into the woods, retrieving hammer and shield, and Neith asked him about the weapons.
"For Marcus. Boy needs a new shield, and he admitted he's always preferred axes to maces for dealing with armored foes. Who is it I need to meet?"
"A woods witch. Different than Vixen. With her are a coterie of children - cursed. All of them have been touched by the dark powers, some of them in ways I don't understand. Ways you won't either. But…she asked me, if I ever met three conditions, to come back. The first was being out from under Vixen. The second was hearing Melora's voice again. The third was meeting people who might be able to help. Malzan and I alone weren't strong enough - I don't even know that strength is what they need. But maybe."
Baldor paused. "Was this the reason we were brought here?"
Neith paused. Weighed her words. "Partly. We did also need the chance to rest. I wanted everyone to have that chance. Heal the spirit as much as the body. But…yes, I did also want to speak to the Yaga. If there's any chance we might be able to help her charges, I want to."
She braced for the paladin to get angry at the deception, but instead he merely nodded. "Of course. Do you think there's any chance she'll play us false, the way Vixen did?"
Neith shook her head. "Doubt it. She hasn't used the kids ill. Last I came through, I spoke to them when she wasn't listening."
Baldor's brows raised. "I see. We'll speak then. Lead the way."
They hiked up a hill in a backwood path, one that was calm. Neith didn't comment, but she was always impressed by the knight's stoicism in the long hike - she couldn't even hear him breathing hard. The cottage's roof was thatched, and the daub on the walls was etched with rust-colored stains in the shape of glyphs. There were branches that portruded from the path to the cottage, ones that seemed to link up with the logs of the cottage itself.
Neith heard the laughter of a child from the cottage, and she rapped the door, once. "Yaga. It's me."
The door swung open, but it wasn't the yaga. It was a young girl, pale as ash, with hair dark as pitch falling over her eyes in listless waves. the girl wore a simple linen dress, and from the look of her was around thirteen years - though her arms were slender enough to belong to a younger child. She regarded them with eyes of an older woman, and then led them back into the cottage, moving silently.
Neith spoke softly. "She was here last time. I was told she had been struck mute by whatever happened to her."
Baldor winced. "Ah. And do we know what that was?"
"She looked too hard at something that can never be described," a soft voice intoned, from behind them. "Witnessing it takes a terrible toll on the mind. I suspect she wasn't meant to see it. Or if she was, those who let her assumed she would not survive it, and let her wander off, but my own power drew her here."
"And what power is that?" Neith heard Baldor ask, not aggressively, but sternly.
"I draw those who bear curses to me as a lodestone draws iron. There is old magic in the spell, as much the ancient cottage's as mine. In some ways, a curse itself, in others, a blessing - I cannot leave the cottage grounds, not anymore. I am bound here. Cannot act, myself. Can only ask others to act for me. But. I see that Neith has brought someone here. Who are you, who comes here, carrying shield and hammer, and bearing the sword and scales on the platinum chain around your neck?"
"A knight of Faldrea." Her companion's voice was somber. "And a Paladin of Bahamut. I am here to try to help. My name is Baldor Torin. I killed the Harbinger Abbadon."
The Yaga looked at him, eyes narrowing. "And never knew what you let loose, did you? And saw another death of another harbinger, recently, or I misread the magic on you. But no matter. I think there are people with you who could help, I expect. A magus, I think. Young, inexperienced, and new to her power, but strong. With her, and if Melora once more answers Neith, and with you, I could perhaps break some of the curses of the children here."
Neith caught her breath. "How so?"
"There are ways. Some of the children simply have things…stuck, onto them. I can draw them loose, but could not have dared without a paladin on hand, someone on hand capable of binding and slaying them. You have the power, in ways I no longer do, bound as I am to this place, to purify some of them of out and out curses, if you are now in communion with Melora again. And there's other, more subtle spellcraft the magus may be able to break. I know the theories, and I can do some of the rituals, but there are some…" the yaga broke off, and swore in a tongue that Neith would have sworn was ancient Sargomian, as well as a langauge Neith would have sworn no human tongue could have shaped. "Some factors that are simply beyond the grasp of a human arcanist. Some components to rituals I can no longer retrieve, since I cannot leave this place.” The Yaga looked haunted, worn with the weight of knowledge and old failures. “There were many I could help, those I treated almost immediately when they came. Rituals I could have done, when I was first bound to this place. But I think that, as roads have become less travelled, those who could bring me what I needed to continue began coming by less and less often. Now, I can only have a chance if someone resupplies me, or if someone comes who can work miracles. The last rituals I have are ones I dare not risk without aid close to hand.”
Neith was quiet. The yaga gambled a very great deal on Melora’s actual willingness to favor her again.
She took a breath and reached out to her goddess.
Tears burned in her eyes. It wasn’t strong, but the presence was unmistakable, a warmth and sense of reassurance that hadn’t answered her prayers in almost twenty years.
“What do you need me to do?”
“You? Get anything you need for a complicated healing of body and spirit. I need the paladin to get anything he thinks he needs to fight a very strong daemon. And I need the magus, with everything she has.”
Neith winced at the thought of telling Liza. But she could see the quiet figures around the house. Things haunted them too. There was more to being a hero than power – it was knowing how and where to use it. If Itene was to claim her place as a legend, this was as good a place as any to put her new abilities to a test.
Under Avandra's Eyes II: Exile's Path
Chapter XXXVIII: Life Advice
Liza talks to Itene about relationships and in-universe history. She sings an in-universe version of "Rambling Rover" (look it up) and makes reference to totally-not-Sappho. Beta-read by @canyouhearthelight and @writing-with-olive.
Liza
"I've roamed through all the nations
In delight of all creations
And enjoyed a wee sensation
Where the company, it was kind
And when partin' was no pleasure
I've drunk another measure
To the good friends that we treasure
For they always are in our mind"
The song was an old one, but it was always a popular enough choice for the end of a day. It was an easy song to sing, and almost everyone liked it and could sing along to it. She could see Thomas getting up to something from the corner of her eye, and Itene talking with the townhouse matron's daughter, but beyond that…it was just the practice of singing to keep people coming in and keep the coin rolling from the merchants. The song brought old memories to her mind - the troupe she'd lost, friends she'd made and left as she'd passed. Alexander's coronation, the victory in Sargonny and the triumphant people who had waved banners and wished them well, the ascendant Archduke and Archduchess of Nemedia and their heir apparent….and kindly old Clement, the inkeep who'd taken in Liza and her badly wounded mother when they'd staggered to his door and cared for them for the fortnight until her mother had died, then kept Liza on to sing in his tavern until he, too, had died of a pox and she'd been out on a road again.
"There's many that feign enjoyment
From merciless employment
Their ambition was this deployment
From the minute they left the school
And they save and scrape and ponder,
While the rest go out and squander
See the world and rove and wander -
And they're happier as a rule."
Not for her the toil of workshops, nor any of the Wanderlings. Travelling and seeing the world, spreading news and story, that was the way of her folk. Ideally, she'd travel the rest of her days with others who had the same compulsion, even if their compulsions put them closer to the center of stories than she liked.
Oh there's sober men & plenty
And drunkards barely twenty
There are men of over ninety
That have never yet kissed a girl.
But give me a rambling rover
From Oanae goes the roamer,
We will roam the country over
And together we'll face the world."
She took her bows, and stepped off to grab a drink. A few people offered to buy her one, and she accepted, but with the old rule. She ordered drinks that didn't exist, took water, and would take a share of the money from the house later. Maybe she'd buy some drinks herself later, but for right now she didn't want to get too drunk lest she start missing notes. Some of her companions had been suprised when she'd explained that to them, until she'd pointed out that none of them liked fighting drunk.
She saw Itene blushing a little when the tavern keeper's girl brushed her hand, though it looked accidental, and rolled her eyes. Itene was young enough that anything was going to embarrass her slightly, and Liza supposed that it was absurd to judge the girl for honest reactions - what got to Liza about it was the fact that, unless she very much missed her guess, Itene was embarassed to be having the reactions. Though, in truth, reflected Liza, Itene could stand to do a better job at hiding them, especially since they didn't know if there was a taboo against Caleran lovers here and the last thing they needed was to be run out if the matron thought Itene was making eyes at her daughter.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Thomas serving drinks, and saw a foppish merchant boy with the kind of carriage and brazen arrogance that she knew not to trust get a taste of his table. She had no doubt that Thomas had done something clever with a swapped drink, and shrugged. Thomas was always on it.
Itene gathered up some of the dishes, and Thomas began scrubbing them. Liza walked over to Itene after the matron's daughter had gone upstairs, and tapped Itene's wrist. She suddenly noticed something there - a bangle, stolen. Bronze. One etched with words that Itene had to have put there herself. Itene da Joanne. Followed by an extremely badly drawn beehive.
"Where did you get this?"
"Ah…" Itene blushed. "I had one made for each of us made out of wood before we left Faldrea. I wanted to get us nicer ones for when we got back. I stole a matching set during the sack, etched them. I'll give her hers when we get home. I…"
Liza sat down next to her. "You miss her." She shot a significant glance up. "But you are noticing others, right?" Of all the things for a young girl to do, to make such extravagant promises at such a young age, damnit. And right before a three year exile, no less!
Itene blushed. "I shouldn't be, should I?"
"You're not a sworn virgin or a eunuch. It's normal to notice, especially at your age. I wouldn't consider it faithless to look, and if you hadn't given an oath, I'd say that it wouldn't be faithless to pursue or flirt and find out your feelings for others." She paused. "Though I'd caution against doing it recklessly, if you don't know what the local customs are regarding Caleran love…"
Itene blinked. "What?"
Liza grunted - it was sometimes easy to forget her daughter hadn't had much, or any, formal education. "Calera was a city in the Kingdom of Tameria - yes, that Tameria, the one from the songs, the last holdout against the Sargomian Empire, way back when - and its most famous poet was a woman named Pelloa, who famously, among some, was involved with multiple other women. Those who are involved with same sex relationships are sometimes called Caleran lovers…."
She trailed off. "At any rate. Try to know what the local customs are about it if you're going to make it obvious you're looking." Itene blushed.
"I'm…not really looking. Like you said, I did give my oath to Joanna, so. I am bound. And even within Faldrea, there is a taboo on…Caleran relationships. Should I be worried?"
Liza shrugged. There was a part of her that wanted to encourage Itene to do what her parents had done, so many years ago. Run away, jump on a wagon with a lover, and go on the road, singing their way into the world together. Wanderling caravans didn't have rules against Caleran lovers. But…she looked again at the bangle on Itene's wrist. It was carved, not well, but with a lot of clear sincerity and painstaking effort, even if it was obvious that Itene had had no idea how to hold a metal etch. She didn't want to go on the road forever. She wanted to stay put, at least for a while. To tell stories, but to raise bees. Maybe make mead. Stay with her girl.
And…It hadn't been the same as wandering the roads with her family. But she hadn't been unhappy as Clement's tavern singer, with the old man giving her room and board for her music. If Itene was planning to play the spinster who owned a dozen or so beehives and distilled mead with her unofficial lover, who was to say she and Thomas couldn't buy a tavern with some of the treasure they'd stolen and horded over the years, settle down, maybe get a few years of peace as he grew too grey to fight with the lithe violence of backalleys. Maybe she'd learn to cook a little better, from Joanna. From Iris, even. Sing too.
Or maybe her daughter would gain a taste for wandering. Who was to say?
"I don't think so. Not in Torin's Run, but on the Penlan fief, I saw two 'bachelors' who were living as brewers. Don't get me wrong, there's spinsters who are actually just uninterested in marriage, and bachelors the same, but two bachelors living together? Two spinsters living together? That's just a Caleran couple, nine times in ten. Just don't make it obvious if there's too many Pelor devotees around. Farm gods are important, but…eh, how do I say this? As a fertility god who favors farmers, Pelor does have a certain obligation to be a little too focused on favoring only the kind of marriages that produce children for all the good little farmers to make good little farm hands."
Itene scowled. Liza chuckled. "Yeah, it can get frustrating. But the world does need the people Pelor favors. Long as they don't bother you, don't worry much about them. If they do…Marcus and Iris taught you to fight for a reason. And if that doesn't work, go on the road with her. Travel like a Wanderling couple."
Itene leaned back, as she looked at Liza and leaned against her. "I miss her. I miss…I miss everyone. I never really got to talk about it, but I miss some of the other kids I knew in the orphanage, I have no idea if they're okay or not. Probably better now. But. I'll never see them again." Itene paused, like she was afraid to speak. Like she was weighing her options before she did.
Liza gently stroked her hair, and held her, and Itene shuddered. "Don't be mad?"
Liza whispered. "Swear on the wandering star."
Itene nodded. "I want to get to a place where I know people. I'll spend the next three years running around, and I'd like to settle somewhere. Stop being kicked all over the place. I didn't want to say because I know that wandering is your life, and Thomas loves it, but…I don't want to keep doing it forever. I don't want to be left behind, but I don't want to keep leaving everyone else either. I want to find…somewhere, where things are safe. Stable."
Liza nodded, and ran her hands through Itene's nut-colored hair. "I understand."
Itene stayed in her seat as Liza kept stroking her hair and whispered. "Don't stop, mama. I haven't had anyone to do this in years. Please…"
Liza hadn't. "Who was the last one to do this, your mother?"
Itene gently grunted in the negative. "No. Actually. The weaver. She was old, but she acted like a grandmother, to me and the other girl she was teaching. That's…that's why I keep saying she was the only master I never minded. That I'd have made a fine apprentice weaver."
Liza smiled, faintly. "Will you ever tell me about your parents? Or the weaver?"
"The weaver, yes. My parents…I don't really know that I'm ready." her daughter paused. "You're not mad at me, right?"
"No. Itene. I'm not mad."
It was a long time before the two spoke, and Thomas came back from the kitchen not long after that. He sat down, and joined them. Quietly seeing the scene, he left, and brought back a few cups of water, and a warm loaf of bread for the three to share. He looked troubled, as though there was news he had to share. But not news he'd speak right now. News for tomorrow morning, perhaps. But not tonight. Even once Itene went to sleep, the teenager looking far younger than her fifteen years in sleep, Thomas only said, "I found out why Neith brought us here. I don't think it's just a place to recover. I think we're close to other people who may need our help."
It was perhaps too good to be hoped for. But she saw the peaceful look on Itene's face, and realized she hadn't let herself feel so tired, so relaxed in months. Even if it did have other causes. This had been worth it.
Thank you, everyone, for your patience with having to skip last week. With life just lifing around around here, it's been a lot. For those who aren't aware, I'm in North Carolina, USA, and the weekend before I was meant to post last week's chapter, we got four inches (~2.5cm) of sleet - something that we are not prepared for. For those not in the US, North Carolina is on a similar parallel to Spain, Portugal, Greece.... We just don't get this kind of weather often enough to have the resources ready to deal with it.
That being said, I did finish this chapter and know where the next chapter is going. That one should drop on time - next week - fingers crossed, 'lord willing and the creek don't rise'.
Thanks to @baelpenrose and @writing-with-olive for your input and help with all of this. And just for being incredible friends in general.
As soon as we walked into the Maine State Museum/Temporary Council Headquarters, I relaxed slightly. This was a realm I was familiar with, and the gatekeeper bore a comforting set of wire-rimmed glasses and a bun so crisp that the Russian Ballet would faint with envy. "Vivica," I sighed in relief. "I'm back."
She didn't even lift her head, instead grabbing a set of forms on pure muscle memory. "Stefanie Warren, approved foster for paranormals and supernatural minors," she stated in a flat, nearly inhuman tone. "Please have your current charge fill out these forms. Remember to have them list all past and present aliases, regardless of if they are legal or informal. We do not report to local law enforcement unless the charges are clearly an ongoing concern such as sheer physical violence or a demonstrable record of taking advantage of their abilities for ill gain. If the first page of the packet is insufficient, additional paper is located on the side table." She pointed with her other hand, still not looking up. "Everything else should be filled out starting on page two. If your charge is unaware of what to enter, I trust in your ability to guide them through the process. If you don't know what species of paranormal they are, I will be here to answer any questions."
I nodded, took the stack of papers, and guided Trey to some seats to the side for this exact purpose.
"She's scary," Trey muttered.
"She's incredibly good at her job," I corrected. "She doesn't need people skills, but I promise you that, when it's just a kid and no adult present, she actually has them. But you have me and, presumably if I'm here, Dexter. So any warm fuzzies from her are just inefficient as far as she is concerned."
"So, yeah. Scary." Regardless, he relaxed and took the sheaf of paper from me. Frowning, he tapped his cheek with the pen. "Do I really have to put my birth name on here?"
"It's for tracking down records," I explained. "Start with what's on your birth certificate, then any nicknames, legal name changes, fake aliases, all in chronological order. Last, you'll list what you currently wish to go by. Provided there isn't any legal reason to decline a name change, it will automatically be submitted as a legal petition for name change either when you turn eighteen, become legally emancipated, or get adopted."
"What's - "
"If you're wanted for murder," Dex interrupted. "Or something else that would get you serious jail time without adequate defense. Can't let you change your name to escape legal consequences, that kind of thing."
"At least that makes sense," Trey grumbled before starting to write, pausing every so often to think. Finally, he got to current day and froze. "Do I have to keep my last name?"
"You do not." My tone was firm but kind. "If it's generic enough, it may be easier than choosing a last name right this second. If it's unique, I usually recommend picking something boring and common in circumstances like yours. Makes it harder if family comes looking later down the road."
"I don't want to pick Smith or Johnson," he sighed again. "What are some other common names?"
Before I could respond, Vivica started reciting from her desk. "Williams, Brown, Jones, Garcia, Miller, Davis, Martinez, Hernandez - "
"Miller is perfect!" he called out, eyes wide.
I nodded, understanding. "Mnemokineses. I told you, it's intimidating at first."
"You weren't kidding, that's for sure."
Eventually, we got through the rest of the paperwork. I only had to prompt him a couple times, mostly explaining that gaps in residency were neither an issue nor unexpected given what we were petitioning for. About an hour after walking in, we were handing the first round of paperwork back to Vivica.
"Please wait here," she instructed flatly, already scanning the pages. After, she took one blink and a deep breath to continue. "You have two living aunts and three uncles who are old enough to take custody of you."
I was grateful I had prepared him for this when he simply sighed and rubbed his face. "I know exactly who you're talking about, and somehow they are all worse than my actual parents. Aunt Cindy is homophobic, transphobic, and male-centered, so I can't win there. Aunt Michelle is racist, misogynist - yeah, I know, but she is - and queerphobic. All three of my uncles are very much 'burn the witch' types, so having any ability I can't hide is going to be a problem, plus the queer thing. And I'm pretty sure Aunt Michelle's sons are going to end up dead, in jail, or both."
Vivica just nodded and placed a bright orange sticker on the corner of the first page before stapling the entire stack. If anyone was surprised, Trey hid it well. He only turned to me and whispered "Creepy."
"DMV records and obits," I shrugged. "She's great at her job."
"She checks that for the whole state?"
"Whole country," Vivica interjected, already typing data into her computer. "But just the changes."
"Every morning," I added. "Mnemokineses may be intimidating, but it also has its perks."
"And a fantastic benefits package," she supplemented before blindly grabbing another stack of papers. "While I send your information to file with the appropriate people, this set is to register and grade your abilities. Far less formal, you simply need to list every possible instance you can think of that may exceed the bounds of what would happen to someone else. Unless your abilities clearly lay in another area, as Stefanie's do, please include unlikely occurrances and err on the side of too much rather than too little. Better to risk chaff than miss something."
Trey paled and swallowed visibly. "Everything?"
"The more unsure you are of your power, the more information we need," she insisted. "Stefanie and Benjamina were very clear on their abilities when they came in, so we needed only a handful of examples - very straightforward, those two. Their mother had to write nearly fifty pages to make sure we captured everything, unfortunately. It truly does vary."
"Glacial at best," Dexter muttered from his sleeping pose around Trey's shoulders. "But Vivica is truly impressive at what she does, so more information is better."
"My gratitude, Guardian."
We navigated back to the chairs and Trey stared at the paper.
"Think back as far as you can for things that may seem like luck," Dex advised gently. "Things that made your parents or teachers thank God, or say 'if only', everything."
This round of paperwork was much slower going and plodding. Trey ended up cross-checking every childhood near miss, accident, or lack of ailment with me before writing it down. Fell out of a tree and only scraped a knee? Write it down. Never had chicken pox even when his whole class had it? Twice? Definitely. Bullies who tripped before they could grab him, snow days when he hadn't studied for a test…
About three pages in, I took over writing because Trey's hand cramped up. He rubbed it and stretched it. "The trucker lady counts, right?"
"The one who picked you up and advised to avoid the vampire nest? Eyeah, I'm already writing her down." I sighed, nodding. "That is a very solid example. Anything between that and showing up at my house?"
"When I started walking again, I always could find an unlocked church to sleep in?" He waved at himself. "Didn't even set on fire when I walked through the doors, despite what my family swore would happen."
I can't set them on fire, I reminded myself, writing the information down before jotting down the details from when he arrived at my house, including the soups that I still had no clue why they were there. The necklace that Dex found instead, the tree and hammock, the goats, everything I could think of that was a little too convenient. Once I was done, I read through the whole list, starting at the top, to make sure everything listed matched the story we were trying to tell regarding passive biomanipulation and active telekinesis. Despite my and Benji's original idea, I did end up leaving the situation with Trey moving himself and the goats in a panic, since it really sunk the telekinesis theory. The church doors were taken out, and my intervention on my back patio was tweaked to describe that I had a feeling I needed to look out the back door. The soup came out, as did the amulet - too close to luck for my comfort.
Trey looked over both lists once I finished, nodding once he saw what I kept and what didn't make the final cut. "Okay. I think that's everything." He took a slow breath and squared his shoulders before nodding again. "Once more to the dragon lady?"
I chuckled nervously, shaking my head. "If you only knew how many times I've heard her called that."
"What is it with humans calling everyone dragons?" Dex grumbled sleepily from Trey's hood. "Not everything or everyone scary is a dragon."
"Sounds like something a dragon would say," Trey accused.
Dex just flicked his tail, whacking his trusty steed in the ear.
Hey. No chapter tonight, so my apologies. I didn't get to finish it due to storm prep/unprep. I promise to have a full chapter next week.
With "The Miys", I would have rushed a chapter to meet the deadline, but as I read through it, I can spot those chapters and hate them. So I am not going to do that to people again.
Under Avandra's Eyes II: Exile's Path
Chapter XXXVII: Aptitudes and Contexts
Thomas works an evening in a townhouse and winds up thinking about how he could work in another way, after a lifetime of only ever living outside the law. Beta read by @canyouhearthelight and @writing-with-olive.
TW for someone attempting to use fantasy roofies. Thomas is there, though so the word 'attempting' is the load-bearing part of that sentence.
Thomas
It was good to smell the bubbling of soup that was actually meant to be enjoyed, rather than just keep you alive on a long march. Strange to see Marcus interacting with animals other than Migisi, too, though he supposed it wasn't that suprising that the man was good with horses. He had spent half his youth with Asgarian plainsfolk. He had been suprised to see Marcus make a good goatherd, but perhaps he shouldn't have been. It was mostly a matter of coralling them, to hear Marcus telling it, and Marcus had kept inexperienced infantry in line during drill. It had been good seeing the guy run around with the livestock, all arrognce and tension gone, his wild riding accompanied by an easy laugh and an easy smile. He'd even seen Marcus give the shepard boy a ride back to the village a few times. A handful of times, watchmen had called him when they were worried about bandits, and Marcus had casually chased them into the distance, but those were the only days the other man had even drawn a blade.
And Iris! that girl had been a marvel for the things she'd taught some of the locals about woodcraft, finding edible plants that the villagers hadn't known where to look for. Rare was the day when she didn't return to the village with a full sack of wild potatoes with an animal of some kind slung across acteon, or with a dozen kids on her heels that she'd taught valuable lessons in foraging. Hell, she spent some days showing some people how to knap arrows from flint or sharpen arrow heads from scrap metal from the forge, or straighten arrowshafts. She swore up and down she'd show people how to carve yew branches and work them into bowstaves for better hunting so they could have more consistent game.
Even Malzan had put in incredible effort, mostly with the farmers, lifting and hauling, pushing a plow. Liza had settled herself in with gusto, performing and helping cook, clean, and manage the tavern, serving drinks and food in the townhouse. Baldor was helping the town council keep track of the granary and work with the stewards, and Neith was splinting broken arms and working on anyone who needed healing. Which left Thomas feeling just…out of place. he could peel potatoes for the townhouse, he could wash dishes - could he ever wash dishes! - he could fetch water from the well, scrub any number of things with the lye that the village made.
But all of that was incredibly boring, and almost everyone else had something exciting to…No, that wasn't it. Thomas forced himself to stop being a coward and confront his actual feelings. It wasn't boredom - or at least, it wasn't only boredom, it was also shame. Marcus was a killer by trade, but a soldier rather than an assassin, but he was also a skilled enough horseman and knowledable about the beasts to be a stablehand, and his riding made him an invaluable aid to the herdsmen here as well. If he didn't wind up winning back the keep, he could find work in any village as an honest man without issue. Baldor, even if he never regained his title, was strong enough and knew enough of law and justice to find work as an arbiter, and he knew enough of assessing quality metal to find at least some work in a forge. Neith…healers were welcome anywhere, priests or not. He'd always known that Iris was by rights an honest woman who'd have preferred hunting to feed folk rather than slaying for coin, but this was one of the first times he'd seen it, and seeing the others alongside it really drove the point home. Liza could find a home, or at least a respectable occupation anywhere that needed a bard or a singer or even a historian.
But him? He had nothing. There was no worthy or honest skill he had, and what he did know was almost all applicable to the arts of theft, skulking, lying and murder. What else he could do was mostly drudgery. For years he'd assumed that was enough for him - after all, he had never believed he would grow old - but now, for the first time, Thomas Grey was forced to reflect that he wanted something else from life if he ever did live to get too old for a life as an interent treasure hunter and cutthroat. And especially now that Itene was part of his life, he wanted her to be proud of him - oh, the tale of the dashing thief made for a great story, but it was just a tale, and Itene had seen too many hard things to be overly impressed by knowing her father was a thief and murderer with nothing else to offer the world. Maybe Liza could look past it, but he didn't want her to have to.
The woman who ran the townhouse, a stout matron with short, coal-black hair and a Nistrean countenance, pounded him on the back and shoved a tray into his arms. "Get out there. Dishes are done enough, and more will be dirty soon. Your woman will be singing, you can serve drinks."
Thomas rolled up his sleeves and started laying drinks out for people. It wasn't hard, and he didn't mind it, swiping a few coins off tables and replacing them with mugs of ale, or bringing platters of food. Today there was apparently a merchant in the town, which meant that there were coins to be gathered. He had been told this before - the townhouse normally took a cut of everyone's crops as a way of baking its bread and making the stew, but anyone could eat there, for free if they lived here. Even people who lived here only for a short time could get the free meal, as long as they were working consistently in the town. Thus, Thomas scrubbed dishes and served food. Marcus and his herding. Iris and her hunting. Merchant caravans paid in coin for everything they wanted, or they offered the town a selection of whatever they were carrying, with the magisters and the traders negotiating a reasonable rate for their stay.
This group had apparently agreed to money, and Thomas wasn't complaining - though he could have gotten the town a better rate without negotiation, since from the frill these people were swathed in they could easily afford it. But that wouldn't make sense, he knew - after all, a theft from a travelling merchant by a pickpocket didn't hurt the pickpocket but could well hurt the town, if word got around. So he couldn't just go around theiving as a fast way to make money for the poor workers in the village, as it would lead to a greater shortage in the long term.
As the merchants shouted in the room, he approached and took their money, bringing back a set of tall steins of frothing ale. His eyes flicked around. Itene was still rushing back and forth between the kitchen and the taproom, bringing more things out, and Liza was strumming her lute in the corner. The matron was also working with guests, as was her daughter, who had struck up a conversation with Itene as the two girls worked.
Thomas gave a faint smile. Hopefully, Itene wouldn't get herself into trouble here.
Iris and Marcus had been in here earlier, but he could already see that they'd left, leaving a heap of meat and forage in the kitchen, one that Iris had helped cook. He was busy, now, serving quickly, and….
Hang on.
One of the merchants - not the eldest, actually; younger man, couldn't have been older than twenty, but well dressed - was talking to a young woman from the town. The girl was one he knew - she was around seventeen summers, and she had asked Liza for stories when Liza walked the town, had sometimes spoken with Itene, and was the eldest of four. Her family had come here as refugees from some kind of war in the east. There were things in the merchant's carriage that Thomas didn't like, well beyond the mere fact that he was a rich boy - the tailored doublet was haphazardly worn, as though it wasn't cared for as well as a merchant's ought to be, and he wore fine-tooled leather boots. A merchant of Xerxes' age, so dressed, would have merely been showing off wealth he'd earned from a long life of hard work in the trade, but this boy was little older than Marcus, and was travelling with a man of obvious family resemblance. Spoilt, in other words, used to fine things without worrying overmuch if he was caring for them properly.
The boy also wore a sword - which in itself Thomas could hardly fault, except that he'd listened in on Marcus lecturing Itene about swordplay often enough to recognize a few things. "'I don't care how it looks,'" Marcus had told the girl, "'you belt it on at this angle rather than the one that people say is the soldier's uniform or the duelist's style because that is the fastest way to draw your blade, and any advantage keeps you alive.'" Thomas had been careful to watch after that, and careful to make sure Itene had worn her sword the way Marcus said. This boy wore his sword in a fashion that Marcus had scorned. Even through the peace-tie, Thomas could see that the leather wrappings on the grip were still fresh, even as the pommel was bright and worn from being grabbed, the way some men did when they wanted to rattle a blade to threaten someone. The arrogant pup walked around with a swagger, as though he was used to getting his way, and Thomas had already heard him speak before the girl got in, complaining about the backwater he and his caravan were now staying in.
Which meant that while this merchant's brat spoke to the girl, Thomas watched him like a hawk. He wasn't much for honest work, but he knew how to spot trouble ahead of time.
It wasn't long before trouble came. The girl's younger siblings came in, and she looked up at their voices. The young man's hand traced the rim of her cup, and Thomas, with practiced eyes, saw something fall in. No one else would have seen it - but Thomas knew what faeling powder was, and he hated the sight of it. He walked over as the girl stood up, shouting as he did so, and the boy looked in his direction - as he passed their table, he switched the cups without breaking stride. If he was wrong about the merchant's intent, no harm done.
The matron clapped him on the shoulder as he dropped the plates back in the sink and whispered to him. "Now what was that bit of ledgermein I saw you doing?"
"Saw that merchant kid put something in Marashi's drink. That's all." he said, quietly. "If it's nothing, it's nothing. But it looked a lot like faeling powder. Don't know if you've ever seen it, but it's a drug from Eleria, pretty commonly used by…"
"I know what it does, wanderer." the matron spat. "You don't get this old as a townhouse keeper if you don't. Good eye, and good trick. He'd have to be stupid if he just slipped that in in front of this many folk, and in something as mild as red ale as well."
Thomas shrugged. "See the shape of his clothes? Doesn't strike me as a bright boy."
The merchant slumped, abruptly, and began slurring his speech. The girl teased him, lightly, asked if he had a hard time holding his drink. She wouldn't know how much danger she'd been in - though some of the other patrons were giving dark looks. Thomas smiled as the merchant boy's father grabbed him and shook him. It was perfect - no one was hurt, and the little bastard's father wasn't going to be taking issue with the village, either. He was shaking his son and calling him an idiot. Whether he knew what had actually happened or not, he wouldn't say anything, nor spread bad rumors about this town's safety. He may just assume the boy was an idiot and a fop, and choose to believe he'd poisoned himself by mistake.
Wasn't terribly heroic, but it did get the job done with no collateral damage. As he quickly grabbed a flagon off the bar from where Itene and her new friend had placed it, to pour a few more drinks for a couple of the other traders, he grinned and let himself be satisfied for a moment. The other traders he served tipped their caps to him - these were more humbly clothed, and had greeted the innkeep with respect, offered the townsfolk their wares and taken goods in exchange after a decent days' barter where they'd found good bargains to be struck. One was even laughing at the little fop.
"Glad to see it happen. Hopefully that miserable little prick gets sick enough tomorrow he takes a tumble under the wagon wheels."
The vehemence of the trader's voice surprised him. Thomas let out a neutral, "Oh?"
"Boy's been in plenty of trouble, but his father owns half the caravan, ain't going to do anything about it. It's not like the old man ain't bad enough himself, but he's got some restraint, and his worst days were in his youth. Wishing I could find another caravan to hook up with. If that boy winds up sick enough, could be the old man will finally discipline the little shit for slowing down our progress. If not…accidents happen, and this run is riskier than most."
Thomas shrugged. "He didn't just get drunk?"
The merchant gave him a shrewd look. "No one gets drunk that fast."
"That clumsy, eh?"
"You wouldn't believe how stupid that boy is."
Secure in the knowledge that whatever happened next would be easy enough, as the boy staggered out and his father berated him, Thomas collected the boy's cup from him and palmed something off his belt - and exactly as predicted, grabbed a small pouch of powder that he checked as he slipped behind the kitchen door. The boy would mention it to his father, sure, but his father would likely be just as relieved to not run into this sort of idiocy for a while, if what the others said was true.
And it wasn't like Neith couldn't make more use of a drug that destroyed someone's inhibitions than that entitled snotling.
The townhouse matron saw him tuck it away and nodded to him. "Saw that. Why didn't you tell me you were slick?"
Thomas paused. "Whatcha mean?"
"Slick. Good eyes. quick hands. Good judgement. That kind of skill, you'd be decent in this business. Keep drinks flowing quickly and easily. Keep food on tables, collect money. Memorize faces so you know whose a local and who isn't. Remain unseen to listen to gossip, though I'm sure that's a better skill in a city than a small town - but you'd be surprised what you pick up from merchants and wanderers, even here…" She waved a hand. "And keep an eye out for trouble. Keep it redirected, subtly, without causing a fuss. That isn't you?"
Thomas paused. It did sound like things he could do, he supposed, though he wasn't sure he had everything else he needed.
It was a start though. Maybe not a bad one. "Thank you. But…what do you mean, about things you've heard?"
The matron paused. "I've heard stories about you and your friends. Maybe ones your Wanderling woman wrote, but…even so. I think there's a place up the hill you ought to see."
Thomas was one we went back and forth on, how he would find his place in this quiet life. I am still inordinately pleased with the results :). After all, what better retirement for a legendary thief than to keep an eye out for all the tricks he knows while making a bit of honest coin?
Under Avandra's Eyes II: Exile's Path
Chapter XXXVI: Strong
Malzan shows off his strength to a group of farmers.
I want to give a big shout out to everyone reading, liking, and commenting. I was slightly delayed in posting this due to my usual schedule being off today, but it is up today, so please enjoy some fun times with Malzan.
A big thanks to the beta-reading skills of @canyouhearthelight and @writing-with-olive.
Malzan
Heave. Grab the bindings on the bale, and heave again. And again. It wasn’t hard work, not for him. The bales were easy to load onto the carts, and he knew full well he’d be stacking them into the silo next, but right now, his job felt simple enough – no one was asking him to do anything but lift.
Someone called him over, and he turned on his heel with effortless grace. The man who’d called to him looked at him, clearly a little nervous, and Malzan took a moment to recognize how he must look to this man – a giant, nearly orc size, with eyes that moved constantly and a tread like a panther’s. The smaller man gulped audibly as the barbarian’s gaze turned toward him. “Sir, I was going to ask…”
“No sir. That’s for knights, I thought.” Malzan grunted. The Faldreans had it, and there was a similar title, far east, in (look up not-Japan’s name) for their warrior class. “I’m not.” He slapped his chest. “You need me though?”
The man nodded. “There’s a big tree, dead one, long dead. It’s stuck in the middle of a field but the roots go deep. Felling it isn’t the issue, though I’d like to see it felled in a way that doesn’t risk dropping it on anything too important, once the harvest is in. The trick is getting the stump out, which…”
“Requires strength greater than you have.” Malzan said, shrugging. “Food and drink for the night, farmer. And I’ll need to see the tree is dead first.” He thought it was possible he could see it – the skeletal wreck of an old ash tree clawing its way up from an otherwise clear field, but broad in the middle. It would be hard to hack down, but his ax would see to it easily enough. He gestured at the tree in the distance. “That one?”
The farmer nodded. “Yes s…I mean, yes, Chimmaerian. Is that dead enough?”
“Should be. I can take it down. Should be able to take it into logs if you need it, though it’d be easier if your folk have bow saws. Should be able to pull up the stump as well. Let me finish what I’m doing – I gave the miller my word I’d get the last of the barley up before I went anywhere else.” He grabbed the last two bales, heaved them onto shoulders the size of helms, and walked towards the silo. One after another, they were hurled to the top of stacks. “Lead the way.”
The farmer led him, clearly trying to be polite, filling the air with nervous chatter. Malzan had never understood the impulse – why did civilized folk speak so much? He’d been taught to be quiet when nervous, to listen to the world around him to calm himself, to know if something was getting too close.
The man gestured to the tree, and asked if Malzan could drop it northerly, so its fall wouldn’t block the road overmuch, and Malzan glanced at it. The tree’s sweep made that likely, and he said as much. “You’ll want a good set of mules to pull it over to where a few men with saws can take it down. An axe can bring it down, but if you want to break it into more usable parts, you’ll want saws. I can manage the stump myself, I think.”
The farmer nodded. “There’s a few men I could round up with saws. Take it down. They’d be happy for the firewood. And any of us would be happy to feast a man able to pull that thing out of the ground.”
Malzan took his ax in both hands and waved the man back, baring his teeth in a slight grin. Barbarian or no, he was a young man still, and there was something to a challenge purely of physical strength. He struck the dead tree once, felt the old hardwood reverberate up the shaft as the iron bit into it. He withdrew and struck again. And again, biting deeper each time, the mighty cracks splitting the air with the impact. The ringing of the haft in his hands and the blade against the wood was a viseral thrill. Again and again the ax swung out and back in, until finally, with a series of splitting cracks and a thundering fall like a giant brought to bay, the dead tree fell, and Malzan leaned against his ax for a moment in satisfaction.
A few of the farmers - hardbitten working folk with dirt under their nails - were already bringing up a mule team to help drag the trunk from teh road, and Malzan suddenly felt a bit of an impulse. He bent his knees, looped his massive forearms beneath the weathered, dead trunk, and straightened, back burning and arms straining. The tree rolled, ever so slightly, and came to the ground again, slightly closer to the mules. For Malzan, the purpose of the feat had been more to test if he could still do something like that. His near-death in Sargonny made him want to push himself, to confirm he'd lost nothing of his strength.
The farmers gave a burst of raucous cheers as they began tearing at the tree with bow saws, binding up bundles of branches or chunks of the trunk in thick cord to take back to their homes. Malzan looked at the stump, even as a few of the farmers looked to hitch thier mules to the stump in an effort to pull it loose. Malzan once more took out his axe and began hewing at the roots he could see - there were doubtless more beneath, ones that would anchor the stump to the earth, but if they only anchored down instead of sideways as well, he could help the beasts of burden in their task.
He set his axe down and took a spade from one of the men, tearing at the earth 'round the stump, until he opened a gap that he widened further by prying until he feared he'd break the spade off its haft. Then, once more, he reached under the stump and hauled. This was much harder. The earth itself strained against him, and for the first time, rivulets of sweat poured down his back as he strained against the last unyielding roots. He heard a creak from deep within the earth, a sound so muffled that only ears bred and honed in generations of wild living could ever have picked it up, and redoubled his efforts. With a heroic effort and a defiant roar, he straightened his knees, straightened his back, and felt his thews tighten and relax. He felt something give, and nearly staggered at the loss of resistance, and heard a dozen farmers shout in awe.
Then he opened his eyes. The stump was halfway torn loose from the earth, a great ragged pit of a hole torn open beneath it. The mules were being hitched to the stump, and he took a moment to stretch. "Glad to be of help."
The man who'd initially approached him called out to him. "after that, Chimmaerean, I think you could stand a swig of decent ale. When you're ready for the day, come back to the townhouse - we'll buy you a few rounds on top of giving you meat for the night."
Malzan gave them a grin. He looked forward to seeing their reaction to just how much a Chimmaerian could drink.
He hefted his axe and slung it across his back, leaving the men to finish taking the tree down. The ax was no good for the work that remained. He had done what was asked of him, and then some. A satisfying feeling, to be paid to simply grow things, or lift things, rather than to kill.
As he walked, he realized he was heading away from the farm. It probably wouldn't matter - he could step into the woods, and come back without fear. What made him curious was the stench. It was too faint to be close - and at a guess, if it was closer it would have been a greater issue for the villagers - but it was there. Shrugging, and knowing too well what that scent meant, he followed it.
It was the scent of cooking meat, and it was the scent of rot, of dung, of unwashed bodies. Malzan would have suspected such a rural settlement would draw the creatures, but he had hoped it would not. Especially as he was already wearier than he'd have cared to admit from the work he'd done - even for him, that stump had been no mean feat. But if ogres had established a camp near the village, driving them off was needful. Their appetites were abhorrent, almost like trolls. But, where trolls were violently omnivorous, ogres seemed to be obligate carnivores. It was commonly held among his people that ogres were related to the Urken, but related in the same fashion that Pikar shared blood with humanity. Somewhere far back in ancestry, there was probably a common sire, but generations of exposure to the power of sorcery and its corruptive effects had twisted ogres into something closer to beasts, albeit ones that still used fire and bore whatever weapons they could find.
It was a long ways out, and Malzan moved as quietly as he could, but he had little reason to fear. The beasts paid little attention to their surroundings, usually trusting their stench to frighten off predators. No such advantage existed against a Chimmaerian. He found them around their fire: giants whose corpulence spoke of ravenous predation far beyond need until bellies distended at the cost of others’ lives. The consistency of the dungheaps nearby indicated that they ate far beyond their capacity to even digest properly – unlike trolls, which were merely predatory, ogres, twisted by foul magic, consumed without need.
Four of them were arrayed, and Malzan sprang among them like a wolf springing into a pigpen left unguarded. The first fell, cleft from crown to breast-bone with the ferocity of a thunderstroke, and in the time it took for Malzan to wrench the weapon free, another of the beasts was upon him. The barbarian, lightning-fast, drew forth the great curved knife of the Ghulian mountain fighters from his belt and hacked savagely, taking first a hand, then spilling the ogre’s stinking guts across the ground. He found himself seized from behind, unable to bring the weapon into play by a third ogre as a fourth came forward to grab him.
Malzan brought his boot down on his captor’s foot, the worm-pale flesh and bones giving way beneath the brass-bound boarhide, and then drove an elbow into the beast's distended gut. As it let go, he twisted his mighty shoulders and hips with a heave, throwing the ogre to the ground. The forth assailant had been taken aback by the sudden display of ferocity, and Malzan, in his fury, went at it, his axe forgotten in the body of the first, his knife already flashing.
To Malzan’s fury, the tip and curve caught in the ribcage, and he could not withdraw it fast enough as the beast bled from a heart struck open, gore fountaining. The ogre he’d thrown to the ground was already rising, and he heard and felt the whistle of wind that indicated a descending blow.
He ducked the clumsy swipe, then found the beast’s shoulder slamming into him, better than forty stone of fat, muscle and bone driving the wind from his lungs as his body slammed against a tree. Pale, strong hands with black nails clamped around his neck. A civilized man would have sought to break the hold, but Malzan knew the great strength in the ogre’s hands, and had to trust that his own was greater.
He shoved off against the tree with his foot, and locked his own hands around the ogre’s neck. A look of shock gripped the ogre’s hairless face as breath exploded from its mouth, and both combatants tightened their grips. Malzan’s iron-corded neck managed to withstand, even as the breathlessness of the violence drove spikes of dull agony through his brain like a giant with a hammer. He clung on, grimly, even as the ogre’s eyes began to widen, and it finally let go.
With a mighty breath filling his lungs, Malzan exulted and redoubled his efforts as the panicked ogre sought to pry loose his steely fingers from its neck. Its nails plowed furrows in his skin, but his grip only tightened until, with a sudden surge of motion, it went slack enough that he could change his angle. His arms twisted, thews rippling.
The ogre’s neck broke with a crack not unlike the tree that had fallen before.
Malzan gasped, rubbing his neck where the beast had grabbed it. While he’d never admit it to the others, if the contest had gone on any longer the ogre would have had him. It should have thrilled him, the rush of combat. But the closeness of it had lost the luster it had held. Sargonny had just been too close.
He retrieved his ax and knife, then extinguished the ogres’ fire. Scavengers would see to the bodies – hunger would answer hunger.
Malzan wandered back to the village, cleaning his axe along the way. When he arrived, he was greeted warmly by the farmers who’d offered him food and drink. They didn’t notice the bruises on his neck, or if they did, they did not speak of it. The blood on his jacket, they did notice, but from the looks on their faces, they did not dare ask. He wondered if it was the reputation of his people, or merely the way of things here – that the folk didn’t dare ask what happened too far beyond their village. Or perhaps, he mused, they merely trusted he had good cause for whatever he had done. Perhaps there was no darker reason.
He found a frothing stein placed in his hand. “Raise a tankard, friend.” He drank, and found a plate, heaped high with roast of some kind, laid before him.
No. This was kindness, and the courtesy of not asking what he didn’t feel the need to discuss. What was it Marcus had said? Eventually, one learned to trust in a welcome and it felt like a feast after a long time being hungry.
He tore into the food and let himself trust the honest faces around him. He could see Thomas juggling knives for some of the folk by the bar, could hear Liza strumming her trouper’s lute.
These peace time vignettes of the group make me smile every time. Especially when they quietly solve problems that could be devastating for the village and casually go back to being peaceful.
