Chapter 13: Like Wolves amidst Sheep
‘It is a strange feeling when you pretend to be someone else, for your real identity often conflicts with the one which you temporarily embrace. This is a trap that all successful infiltrators must step in and overcome.’ Philosophical Lessons from Utyirth (Volume III: Second).
1
The dispersion of the Parthans within Scyldur was indubitable, and Hephaestion based his plan, a title he refused to admit, upon its inevitability, but they always returned to their residence when their duties permitted them to – which they named Pertinax Dwelling in honor of their fallen captain.
“They simply do not acknowledge the arts,” Thalus said as he sat on one of the wooden chairs he made in the common area. Pertinax Dwelling had become full with his craft, except for Ninazu’s workbench, which the Turian insisted on making himself.
“Ease your anger with some of my fine ale,” Percival offered a mug of ale to Thalus. He dedicated a small room in the basement to brew his own mixture, a foul tasting drink that he insisted on drinking.
In the heat of the argument Thalus grabbed the mug and took a big gulp, grimacing once he lowered the drink and swallowed. “It also seems that Percival has picked up the same attitude to the arts,” he said, looking at Percival as the room burst in laughter. “Dear friend, this ale of yours is horrendous.”
“It’ll get better in time,” Percival said, taking a sip and suppressing the frown it provoked.
Drain approached his twin and peaked into his mug and at his brown drink from over his shoulder, tiptoeing. “You can torture yourself as much as you want, but please spare us and stock some ale from the local tavern.”
Hephaestion sat on his chair, a specifically requested piece of furniture from Thalus to match his proportions perfectly, and puffed on his pipe. “Does anyone have anything unusual to report?”
The Parthans shook their heads.
“This might take longer than I though.”
“It has only been one moon, captain, and we have no cause to rush,” Monolos said. “Right, Glowleaf?”
Glowleaf was resting in the corner in a half-curl. Upon hearing his name he stood and approached the Parthans, stopping when he was beside Monolos. “I cannot say for certain if there is a cause to rush, and I believe you are referring to the lack of external causes to rush the mission due to the Southern Alliance. Am I correct, Second?” He eyed Monolos with a canine expression.
Monolos nodded.
“The Southern Alliance and the Scylds have not yet engaged in battle, and it seems that neither force is willing to initiate the war. The tensions have eased significantly since our arrival.”
“Still,” Hephaestion said, “we should not rely on the situation to remain as it is.” He took a deep breath, holding his pipe idly by the side of his chair, and continued, “It is not unusual for matters to escalate quickly. Once the war begins we will have very little time to act.”
“It might be all we need,” Thalus said, “to have Naa’tas appear.” He looked around; twisting a thin piece of wood he had been carrying around between his fingers. “Has anyone heard anything of Naa’tas since our arrival?”
No one responded.
“Then how do we know he is even here?”
Silence prevailed for a moment. Ganis thought about how possible it was for Naa’tas to lead them so far from the Southern Alliance, convincing them that they were getting closer to him by immersing themselves in Scyldur.
“Naa’tas is here,” Hephaestion said. “I have no evidence other than my trust in his arrogance. He does not fear us and wants us to know it. I would not be surprised if he dismisses us as a threat entirely.” He raised his pipe and inhaled through it. The fires went out but he enjoyed the taste of scented air regardless.
“There is no way you can know that for certain,” Thalus said. He stopped twisting his wooden stick and held it by his eyes, turning it around as he scanned it.
“Think about it for a moment,” Hephaestion said. “If Naa’tas wanted to hide from us, he would not have shown himself to Ganis when she first came in Scyldur.” He lowered the pipe. “I was there and I remember how outnumbered we were. There was no need for his involvement.”
Ganis nodded. “He really doesn’t fear us. He has no need.”
“He thinks he has no need to fear us,” Percival corrected. “But he should.”
“The only people in Utyirth who support him are the Scylds,” Hephaestion said. “He is repeating the same pattern as that of the Cult of Naa’tas, surrounding himself with those who are dissatisfied enough with their condition and desperate enough to believe his empty promises.”
“I still think we shouldn’t assume that he is in Scyldur,” Thalus said.
“You are right. We should investigate his whereabouts and find where he is for certain.” Hephaestion paused for a moment and raised his pipe to eye level. “But until we find definitive evidence about his non-presence, we will proceed as if he is in Scyldur."
2
“It is a beautiful night,” Hephaestion said, approaching Ganis atop the roof of Pertinax Dwelling. A small section of it had been turned into a balcony by Thalus, enough to have three standing comfortably within it.
Ganis watched the full moon, wondering how it never changed no matter where he was. The moon itself would go into cycles of disappearing and appearing, but they were always the same cycles, always the same time. “Indeed it is.”
Hephaestion looked at the moon for some time and lowered his gaze to watch the dark streets of Scyldur, when he had his share of moon, lit by the occasional torch of a passing night guardsman. The moonlit streets were clear to him with his enhanced eyes, a privilege many Parthan runebearers had.
His eyes followed the guard casually strolling around the street, taking his duties far lighter than he should, especially since the city had at least nine foes plotting its fall. An irony, he thought, that is only known to a handful.
“Thalus was right,” Ganis said. He kept his eyes fixed on the moon.
Hephaestion tried to look back, failing to find anything of interest, but he remembered that Ganis had the Dark Gift, and its powers became stronger when the sun slept. He remembered hearing that the level of detail Ganis’ eyes could see, by virtue of the Dark Gift, far exceeded his own. He returned to watch the slow guard. “About what?”
“Naa’tas not being here.”
“Do you know for certain if he is not here?”
“Nay. Eos cannot sense his presence, but again he only could just a few moments before I could. I remember it now, from the time I fought him.”
“You did not have Eos with you at the time.” The guard had gone into a corner and behind a house. Hephaestion had nothing else to observe, until one of the many windows they could see was lit by candlelight. A woman sat by it and started knitting. He watched her work.
“I sensed something before we parted, and it made me separate from you in an attempt to draw whatever I sensed away. Naa’tas was close then, and I suspect he was watching me before we fought. He might be confident in his abilities, but he wasn’t confident enough to face me untested.”
“Then he can be killed, and by a Nosgardian.”
“Death is not the only thing to fear. Some fates are far worse.”
Hephaestion nodded. The woman in the window took note of him, smiled, and returned to her knitting. “I am growing old, Ganis.”
It was the first time since Hephaestion’s appearance that Ganis cast his eyes away from the moon, and it was for a brief moment before speaking. “What makes you say this?”
“Today there was a batch of new recruits. We had them demonstrate their endurance, and the results were disappointing.” Before Ganis had a chance to ask why, he broke his pause and continued, “They were but a little bit worse than I, and I am a Parthan Protector, given a gift of enhancement. I do not know if I will still be strong enough to contribute to the fight against Naa’tas. It worries me.”
“I trust in you, captain, and I’ll certainly feel more confident if I fight by your side. The young recruits you speak of might be comparable to you in brute strength, speed and endurance, but many lifetimes of training, by Scyld standards, will be necessary before they be comparable to you in skill.”
Hephaestion smiled, it was a forced smile, and said, “You should get some rest.”
“I’m not the one complaining about getting old. Perhaps it’s you who should get some rest.”
Hephaestion gently tapped Ganis’ shoulder, which had grown muscular with Ninazu’s treatment, and brushed past him.
3
“I have been reassigned.” Sigurd said. He entered Pertinax Dwelling and sat on one of Thalus’ chairs, grazing the wood with his armor and producing a terrible screech.
Thalus winced at the noise and started contemplating how to protect the chairs from Sigurd. He had already crushed three chairs entirely and damaged seven, of which two were beyond repair.
“Where to?” Percival asked. He was seated in a corner, fixing a string to a bow he had just finished. The wood was dark with a reddish hue; a result from an oil treatment he insisted made the wood smoother, in spite of Thalus’ and Ninazu’s suggestions against it.
“To the Holy Guards.” Sigurd eased into his chair, punishing it even further.
“What do they do?” Percival asked.
“They are responsible for the safety of priests and religious figures,” Drain said after he entered the common room. He continued to open a cupboard by Percival, revealing a collection of spirits, and poured himself a drink in a glass cup. “It gets him closer to Naa’tas, if he is indeed in Scyldur.”
“Do you have any evidence against it?” Hephaestion asked. He tilted his head up, gazing straight into Drain’s eyes and said, “Or is it merely speculation?”
Drain took a sip from the spirit. “I just mean to say that we don’t know where he is yet. I have no evidence to suggest whether he is or isn’t here.”
“He is here,” Ganis said, descending from the second tier. “He will stay here just because it will show how little he thinks of the Southern Alliance and its threat.” Ganis approached Drain and took the glass, tasting the drink and quickly returning it. “And I also believe that it is our destiny to face him here in Scyldur. There is nowhere else to go.”
“You can’t know that. There is no evidence, Ganis,” Drain said. “I neither agree nor disagree with Thalus or Hephaestion. I simply mean to say that we don’t know, and we should operate accordingly.”
“It’s the first rule of spying,” Percival added, “trust in your ability but verify your findings.”
“This does not matter anymore,” Hephaestion said. He looked at Sigurd and asked, “Where will your new assignment take you?”
“Away but still in Scyldur.” He paused for a moment. “So I have been told.”
“You will be cut off from the Ona?”
“Seems so.”
“Then it will be entirely up to you how to act.”
“Try not to keep all the fun to yourself,” Percival said. He stood up and held his now-ready bow, testing the string and aim of his new weapon. Ganis could have told him that it was not a match for Thalus’ craft, but it was decent enough to make it deadlier than any locally crafted bow.
“Now we lose Sigurd and Monolos,” Hephaestion said. He withdrew in contemplation, reaching for his pipe pocket but hesitating. He decided that it was not the time.
“Monolos?” Ganis asked.
Hephaestion nodded. “Monolos has been sent to the Hinterland Patrol, but it will not be a hindrance with Glowleaf connecting us.”
Sigurd stood up and retreated to his quarters, giving no excuse or indication of his withdrawal. Whenever his boots met the ground the wood creaked in agony. His presence alone in the dwelling called for constant maintenance, adding to Thalus’ responsibilities.
“Can someone tell him not to wear the armor in here?” Thalus said as soon as he judged Sigurd to be far enough not to overhear him.
“If it bothers you too much, you tell him,” Percival said.
Thalus looked at Hephaestion, who purposefully avoided looking back to absolve himself from involvement.
After thought of the conversation withered away, Drain declared, “I lost my transformation pills.”
“How so?” Ninazu asked, with a hint of concern escaping the obstruction on his face.
“Water.”
Ninazu shook his head and reached out to Drain’s pill pouch. With no resistance, he undid it from Drain’s belt and examined its contents. Nothing remained but a grey mush which slid through his fingers when he tried holding it. He looked at Drain, examining his face closely, and said, “This is unrecoverable.”
“This should not be a concern yet,” Thalus said. “We will share whatever we have left with Drain.”
“What concerns me is not the destruction of these pills, but the consumption.” He tied the pouch together and discarded it on a table next to Percival, throwing it dexterously towards the wall, bouncing it off and landing it on the table. “I can’t say for certain, but it appears that the transformation is slowly becoming undone.”
Drain reached to his beard, feeling its stubs and easing his arm back to his belt, clutching the buckle with his thumb.
“We will need more pills, and I have a problem finding some ingredients here. It will be necessary to get them somehow from the south,” Ninazu said. He responded to Drain’s gesture by reaching out to his own braided beard and stroking it gently.
“We send Glowleaf,” Ganis said. “He can slip in and out with little suspicion. It’s a perfect solution with Monolos sent to the Hinterland Patrol. Glowleaf could give him the ingredients needed and he to you.”
Ninazu hummed. He then looked around for Glowleaf. “Where is the Watcher?”
“He should be arriving within the next few moons,” Ganis said. “You can tell him about what you need then, but remember that they are colorblind. Your explanation would have to account for that.”
“Very well,” Ninazu said. “Let us hope we have enough time. In the meanwhile, you will need to increase your dose to counter the reversion.”
4
It was a grim day to the Parthans when Monolos did not return from one of his patrols. The Scyld patrols have been getting dangerously close to the Southern Alliance fortification. On occasion, news of minor clashes reached the Parthans’ ears, and it would be nearly impossible for Monolos to avoid joining the Scylds against the Southern Alliance without jeopardizing the Parthans’ mission.
“Flagrum claims that he knows nothing regarding Monolos’ fate,” Hephaestion said as he convened with the other Parthans in the common area of Pertinax Dwelling.
There was no merriment or drinking, just an aura of concern plaguing the air.
“I’m not concerned about Monolos,” Ninazu said. He had an empty vial in his hand which he was too rushed to stow in his vial rack upon hearing Hephaestion return. “He’s capable enough to survive, at the very least. What concerns me is Glowleaf’s mission. Without the herbs for the pills we will certainly be discovered.”
“It is true,” Hephaestion said. “Monolos is undoubtedly well, but we are quickly running out of the transformation pills, and they seem to be losing their effect. In time Monolos will return, well and all.”
Monolos entered, slamming the door behind him. He was bloodied - but most of it not his, Ganis judged from the condition he appeared to be in - and his armor was dented in several different places. Monolos has returned from a skirmish. “Those damn Enkashar have been trained too good.” He collapsed in the atrium, headfirst.
Rein rushed to him, gently running his fingers down Monolos’ neck to check for swelling. When he was satisfied by Monolos’ condition, he proceeded to remove his red armor, starting with the chest plate. “He’s in no dire condition, just exhausted.”
The others stood back as Rein tended to the beaten Parthan. He was awake,
and feebly helped Rein remove his armor with some clumsy movements.
“We got too close,” Monolos said. “The Enkashar ambushed us and killed most of the others in the patrol. I managed to escape them, but at the cost of several of their lives.” He looked around him and said, panicked, “Where is Screo?”
The Parthans looked around at each other awaiting a response. When none came, Hephaestion said, “We have not seen him since your departure.”
Monolos broke into a cry, eyes tearing vehemently, fingers clawing at the floor. The Parthans gave him the time and space for his grieving; Rein even paused for a moment and stepped back. It was the Parthan way to let one grieve in seclusion. Any show of support in such times was interpreted as an offence to the strength of character of whoever grieved, the greatest offence anyone could give to a Parthan.
When Monolos’ weeping subsided, he forced himself to stand and withdrew his emotions entirely; only his eyes bore the scars of the great grief he had just experienced. “Screo was supposed to return here immediately if we were attacked.” He paused for a moment, wiping the drying tears from his face, “He must have been shot down by the Enkashar, a grim fate for a good friend.”
“He’ll be missed, Monolos, by all of us,” Ganis said, invoking a surprised look from the others. She was not a Parthan and their ways were odd to her, no matter how closely attuned she became to the Ona.
Ignoring her comment, Monolos said, “They came on us like flies on a rotting corpse. In mere moments they killed half of us and routed the rest. I was attacked by six of them and killed three, the rest were wounded, but I know not of their fate.”
“How did you escape?” Hephaestion asked. During Monolos’ breakdown, the Parthan captain did not even bulge from his seat, patiently awaiting Monolos to grieve in peace, ridding himself of the pain within.
It was a strange moment for Ganis. He remembered how the Parthans responded to Pertinax’s death and how collective was their grief. They grieved differently then and it seemed to Ganis that their mourning was similar to the traditional Gallecian one. Ganis had many question, but they could wait for now.
“I fought my way out,” Monolos said, “and ran towards the forest. They had no horses to run me down, but I was heavy with a Scyld I decided to rescue.”
“Why?” Hephaestion asked in shock.
“Because it would be easier for me to explain my escape if there was someone else with me.”
“Where is he now?”
“Outside.” Monolos pointed to the main door.
Rein rushed to find the Scyld, disappearing in the snow outside. He returned in a moment dragging an unconscious man into Pertinax Dwelling.
“Ninazu,” Hephaestion gestured at the Turian.
Ninazu responded by walking towards the man and administering to him a few drops of a clear liquid he had been carrying in his belt. When he completed the task, he looked at Hephaestion and nodded. Nothing but silence prevailed until Ninazu was finished.
“Continue,” Hephaestion said.
“The boy was hit on his head with the butt of a spear. I instinctively carried him with me to the forest after I dealt with the Enkashar trying for my life. They stopped following me shortly after my retreat. There was no one else other than the two of us alive.”
“Why do you suppose they let you go?”
“Perhaps to tell a tale.” Monolos looked at the others, pausing for a moment at each, and said, “The Southern Alliance fortified their position fairly well. No Scyld army will be passing through them, not with their current numbers.”
“King Ragnar did his job well,” Ganis said. He suppressed a proud smile for a moment, thinking it would risk aggravating the others.
“Indeed,” Monolos said. “Screo aside, things seem to be going well.”
“Not too well,” Ninazu added, earning him a glance from the others, and a stare from Monolos. “We are running out of transformation pills and the necessary ingredients are beyond the Southern Alliance defense walls. We need Glowleaf to get them.”
Monolos nodded. “I will let him know at once. Do you have a list?”
Ninazu produced a small folded parchment from within his sleeve. He offered it to Monolos who took it and examined its contents.
“I will tell Glowleaf the moment he is back.”
“Where is he?” Hephaestion asked.
“Somewhere between Scyldur and the Southern Alliance position.” Monolos folded the paper and tucked it in his belt.
Rein approached Monolos and continued treating him, removing his armor and cleaning his wounds – rather scratches – with a cleansing potion Ninazu had given him. Monolos suppressed the stinging sensation the cleansing potion gave him whenever it made contact with his flesh, and only one grimace escaped him.
5
When Hephaestion was finally alone, sitting in the balcony smoking his pipe, Ganis joined him. It has been a long few moons, Ganis thought, with Monolos’ disappearance, Sigurd’s new assignment and Ninazu’s transformation pills running out, and the night was as good as any to enjoy a pipe.
Ganis appeared next to Hephaestion, smiling and nodding at the man who acknowledged her presence once he was aware of it, and started preparing his pipe. It was a new mixture he was trying, one Ninazu made from local herbs. The smell was strong, but it burnt for longer, according to Ninazu.
When Ganis had prepared the pipe, he gestured for matches from Hephaestion and was quickly rewarded. A thick column of smoke was released from Ganis’ lungs, disappearing into the night sky.
“Tell me, captain, why is it that Monolos was left to grieve alone for Screo while we all shared Pertinax’s?”
“Hephaestion inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and leaning back on his chair, another one of Thalus’ creation. “Screo was not as much our loss as Monolos’. We did not share the same relation to the hawk as Monolos did, and it would offend him if we tried to comfort him—”
“The gesture would be interpreted as our doubt of his character,” Ganis interrupted, continuing Hephaestion’s response as he was taught by Asclepius about the Parthans.
He nodded and continued, “But in Pertinax’s death, we all shared it. It was a common loss for all of us, the Ona, and that bound us to the same mourning.” He blew on his pipe, Ganis mirrored him. “Yet it would have been an offence to us if someone from outside our Ona tried to soften our grief.”
Ganis breathed deeply, frustrated by his confusion about Parthan culture. “It makes little sense to me, the same behavior being interpreted differently.”
Hephaestion chuckled. “Tradition, dear Ganis, makes little sense unless it is yours. We grew up surrounded by little gestures and big thoughts that influence us from childhood. They are meaningless to anyone without our past, and possibly inconceivable, but I am certain that you also have such nonsensical traditions in Gallecia.” He stressed the word ‘nonsensical’.
“See, Hephaestion, these little things make me doubt I will ever be attuned to the Ona.”
“A prime example of your own tradition, Ganis.” He took a short puff from his pipe. “An Ona is about understanding the core of the fighter beside you, not at a shallow knowledge of how he reacts. And tradition is a prime example of this shallow knowledge.” With his pipe he pointed at Ganis’ heart, poking the hard muscles of his breastless chest. “In here we are all the same, if we look deep enough, regardless of how we chose to act and are influenced.”
6
The transformation pills were all but gone. The reversion process was accelerating and Glowleaf was nowhere to be seen. The Watcher was sent shortly after Monolos’ arrival, but his journey was long, too long to avoid worry of delay or accident.
Ganis’ duties as a City Guard were simple, patrol Scyldur and keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. Other than a few brawls and the occasional theft, there was nothing for him to do but worry about the dwindling transformation pills and Glowleaf’s delay. But this night, with the second full moon since their arrival a
nd a few stars shying away, was different.
While walking around alone at night, trying streets he had become too familiar with to remain interesting, he heard whispers. He followed the hushed sounds to a withered structure, a dwelling of sorts that seemed to have been abandoned for some time.
At the side of this structure was a breach in the stone, just large enough for him to squeeze through. It would have been a generous opening, Ganis thought, if he remained in his original physique, but the thought was quickly forgotten once he was inside.
Darkness prevailed, only the reflection of the moonlight on the shiny cobblestones outside allowed for sight, even for Ganis’ enhanced vision. Feeling his way around, following the loudening whispers, Ganis proceeded further into the structure.
Twisting through the corridors and stairways leading underground, Ganis found his way to a flickering light reflected on spiraling walls. Candlelight, no doubt.
The voices echoed louder and came to a sudden stop. “I think someone be coming,” a coarse voice whispered.
Ganis stopped moving, remaining crouched and completely still.
“You be imagining things,” another voice said. After a moment, Ganis continued to head towards the mysterious voices. He wanted to see who was there and what was their intention of such secrecy.
“It be nothing. I tell you, Prodor, we have to find a way to bring these damned priests down. With their presence it be impossible for us to make any coin.”
“Prosidor, I have nothing against our trade, but it cannot be done. How do we bring them down?”
“Expose them. I already have three beautiful virgins with buyers ready and all. I just can’t find a way to complete this transaction. They have expressed their reluctance once news of the incident reached them.”
Ganis heard a gasp preceding a brief pause in the conversation between the two shady figures. He advanced slowly, carefully moving to avoid making even the slightest sound, once they continued.
“How did the damn City Guard find about her anyway? I thought he kept her hidden in his estate.”
“They be raiding dwellings now, with the war coming and all this nasty business. I hear it was only an accident, Prosidor, and that they intended to search for spies. I tell you, the priests have to go. It be now or never.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Extortion, my dear Prosidor. Extortion.” A laugh echoed and Ganis approached some more.
Ganis hid behind some crates by the entrance, looking between them to see the two conspirators who spoke. Prodor was a plump man, too soft for manual work but his manner indicated his capacity for maliciousness.
“I have a network of spies,” Prodor said. He wore a wicked smile which made way through the few thin strands of hair falling on his face, strands adamant on fighting his encroaching baldness. “And they tell me of a group of mercenaries who arrived not so long ago.”
Can it be us?
“The Midlanders?” Prosidor asked, a skinny man with more bones than flesh. His voice wheezed with suspicion and so did his breath. “I heard of them too. They seem to be on good terms with Flagrum.”
“Do not say that name!” Prodor shouted - his breath grew heavy at the mention of the quartermaster. “That damn man be the reason we have all these problems. Ever since we refused paying him he be like a thorn in our backs, always interfering.”
“Do you think he be connected to the spies?”
“I have no doubt about it.” Prodor gestured violently with his hands, nearly felling an old glass bottle resting on one of the old crates near him. His outburst made Prosidor shy away in cowardice, reflexively raising his hands halfway to his face and quickly returning them to his side before Prodor noticed.
“Oh, Prosidor, how I miss the old days before that damned Naa’tas came here and ruined our honest trade.”
Honest trade! You trade in slaves, robbing someone else from their priceless freedom for your own personal gain of a few oboi.
“Do you think he will ever leave?”
So Naa’tas is here.
“We cannot count on it.”
“Who be you?” a voice came from behind Ganis.
Ganis looked behind him and saw a large man hulking over him. He had a morningstar in hand, casually resting on his muscular right shoulder. The man wore more scars than fresh skin, and his arms were completely naked, giving him an intimidating look.
“Just a stray Scyld,” Ganis said. He stood up slowly, raising his hands above his head in hoped of showing his intent on non-violence.
He pushed Ganis out from the behind the crate, exposing him to Prodor and Prosidor, the slave traders. They looked at Ganis, surprised by the intrusion, and nodded at the brute for a job well done.
Prodor gestured at the brute and said, “Good job Rudis.” He turned his attention to Ganis. “Now who the depths be you?”
“As I told Rudis here, I am just a stray Scyld.” Ganis gestured at the brute.
“Your armor be telling another story.” Prodor eyed him head to toe. He paused for a moment, smile cracking, and said, “You be one of Flagrum’s new mercenaries!” He threw his head back and burst in an obnoxious laughter.
“Aye.” Ganis remained calm, contemplating when to strike at the men.
“What be your name?”
“Gains of Midland.” Eyes were fixed and posture straight.
“And I Prodor.” He offered his hand to Ganis, and he took it, shaking it until Prodor withdrew it. “This be Prosidor, my business partner, and this be Rudis, our insurance.” He chuckled at his own joke, Prosidor and Rudis joining him.
“Now, you be looking like a reasonable man, Ganis of Midland,” Prodor said. “How be it to your ears for a deal between you and I?” He raised his right hand and rubbed his thumb with his index finger - oboi.
“Depends on the deal.”
Prodor laughed wickedly. “I be liking you already, little man. Perhaps we can have a better arrangement than the one you have with that cur Flagrum.”
Ganis nodded. “Let me hear it, then.”
“Three moons from now, coming and going, Flagrum be found dead. If this be the case, then we be in business. Sounds good?”
“And if he remains alive?”
“Then Rudis be let loose.” Prodor pointed at the brute who responded by squeezing on the handle of his morningstar, making it squeak under the enormous pressure.
“One way or the other, I will see you three moons from now, Prodor. You will have your answer then.”
Prodor smiled. “We be meeting in three moons then.”
7
When Ganis returned there was no one in Pertinax Dwelling other than Thalus, working on repairing the last of the furniture Sigurd had wrecked; a bench kept in the kitchen. “You seem to be in a rush,” Thalus said.
“Naa’tas is here,” Ganis said, taking deep breaths to recover from the run back.
Thalus slowly dropped the sandpaper he was using and leaned down on the bench, both feet tucked under it while his elbows rested on it. “Have you seen him?”
“Not seen him, but spoke to some slave traders who know of his whereabouts.” Ganis picked a stool and placed it opposing Thalus’ bench, sitting on it with his legs firmly rooted in the ground and his elbows resting on them. He looked up at Thalus and said, “Where are the others?”
“With your schedule,” Thalus said, pointing at Ganis, “it’s difficult to catch them.”
“Well, I need to tell someone. I suppose you’ll have to do.”
Thalus was pushed back by the offence, but had no time to retort.
“During my watch I came across a whisper…” Ganis recited his story to Thalus, telling him of Prodor’s offer to assassinate Flagrum in exchange for a cut of his shares, and of how he came to know of Naa’tas’ presence in Scyldur. “…and now I’d like to know which ally would prove more helpful to our mission.”
Thalus hummed and as he was about to answer, the door slammed. From the sound of the steps,
Ganis knew it was Hephaestion – no one quite walked like him, somehow between a subtle sneak and a casual walk.
“Captain,” Ganis called. When Hephaestion appeared, eyebrows raised in curiosity, Ganis repeated his story. Hephaestion listened intently, taking the opportunity of his silence to prepare the pipe and ready it for a smoke. By the time Ganis had concluded, he was already halfway done with his pipe, considering another refill.
“What should we do?” Ganis asked.
“We invested too much time with Flagrum to gain his trust. It will be foolish to betray him now, when we have gone too far, even if the slave trader—”
“Prodor,” Ganis interrupted.
“Even if Prodor and his folk,” Hephaestion continued, “actively fight Naa’tas. Your discovery bodes well, Ganis, no matter the choice you intend to make.”
“The choice I intend to make?” Ganis asked curiously. “Is it not your choice, as our captain?”
“This choice is yours, Ganis, and I trust you will make the right one. I see good and bad in both paths, and I am inclined to continue our relationship with Flagrum, but I cannot tell for certain which is most beneficial to our mission, and I suspect that it will not matter much.”
“I would side with Flagrum,” said Thalia, convincingly and determined. “At least we know more about him that Prodor. And it seems to me that Flagrum has enough influence to deter Prodor’s business, which speaks to me of his usefulness.
Glowleaf suddenly appeared, his canine paws making him invisible to the ears of the Parthans.
Ganis noticed his scent, but it was too late for him to avoid surprise. “It took you some time, Watcher.”
Glowleaf bowed his canine head, saying, “Ninth, I have brought the Sixth’s ingredients.” He looked around the corner and saw Hephaestion and Thalus. He bowed to them, each in turn, and remained silent, awaiting his next command.
“Good, Glowleaf,” Hephaestion said. “You must be hungry.” He stood up and reached for one of the cupboards above the single window in the kitchen. After fiddling around the contents of the cupboard, he produced a chunk of dried meat and offered it to the Watcher who eagerly took it with his sharp teeth.
The Parthans gave the Watcher a chance to eat his meat and prepared him a bowl of cold water to quench his thirst and wash down the salted meal.
When Glowleaf concluded, he sat in his canine manner and looked at Hephaestion, indicating his readiness.
“What news do you bring from the front?” Hephaestion asked, tucking away his pipe and securing it in the pocket within his cloak.
“The Enkashar are eager for a fight. They have tested the Scylds on many occasions and grew confident in their ability to defeat them.”
“A siege isn’t the same as maintaining a fortified defensive position,” Ganis said. “The Enkashar are still too young a force to know how war works.”
“It is good, for now” Hephaestion said. “We need their morale to be high. It is important that we keep them from attacking too soon, when the Scylds are ready and focused on them. Anything else, Glowleaf?”
“One more thing, First, about the Hearthwardens.”
Hephaestion’s expression changed. Suddenly, the Parthan captain was no longer calm and relaxed. Something about mentioning the Hearthwardens troubled him, and Ganis suspected that it was related to Solea, the Hearthwarden of Hearthdale and his secret lover. “What is it?”
“They are no longer in agreement. There has been talk among their circle about leaving the Southern Alliance. They are conflicted, First. Some want to fight before the Scylds march on them and others prefer to wait for your instructions.”
Hephaestion eased back into his chair. “It is of no consequence. Let them struggle as long as they want. If we cannot count on their assault, then we can count on their presence at least.”
The door was shut slammed once more, and two sets of footsteps rushed towards the Parthans. “Captain,” Percival shouted. The twins arrived before Hephaestion had a chance to respond. They were quick. “It’s Sigurd.”
Hephaestion tensed. “What about him?”
“That Turian brute is incredible.” Percival laughed ecstatically, Drain joining him as they shared glances, fueling each other’s laughter.
“This can’t be bad news,” Ganis said, glancing at Thalus, receiving a response in kind.
“Naa’tas is here,” Percival said, “and Sigurd has just become his bodyguard.”
“What!” Hephaestion stood in shock, his chair pushed back and tipped over.
“Apparently,” Percival caught his breath in a moment’s worth of pause. “Apparently Naa’tas spotted Sigurd while visiting the priests and asked for a demonstration of his skill, pitting two of his own guards against him—”
“And of course Sigurd showed them the depths,” Drain continued. “They never had a chance.”
“Can you imagine,” Percival laughed hysterically. “What irony is this?”
“Do you realize that the most hotheaded of us has been assigned to the person we hate the most, the person we are tasked to kill,” Hephaestion said, pulling the room in an aura of darkness. The laughter stopped and silence prevailed, even breath was halted.
Their hate towards Naa’tas, Ganis thought, was not a product of their mission or loyalty to the Empire, but a result of Pertinax’s death. Eirene was not the only one to hold a grudge against Naa’tas.
“Captain, I would worry if it was anyone other than Sigurd. You know how strong he is,” Percival said.
“He is not as strong as a Protector moroi.” Hephaestion glanced at Ganis, and then returned to Percival. “His ironskin will do him little good against Naa’tas, if he suspects anything from Sigurd.”
“Hephaestion,” Ganis said. “Things are getting better for us. Everything is falling together in our favor. Glowleaf is back with the required ingredients to sustain the transformation, the Southern Alliance is in good condition and hasn’t yet decided to invade, and Naa’tas, our sworn enemy, is being protected by one of our own.” Ganis paused for a moment. “You see, captain, if Naa’tas needs to be protected, then he can be killed, or at least hurt.”
8
Three moons after meeting Prodor, Ganis roamed the streets of Scyldur. The moon was high in the sky, watching over him, a small speck of dust, walking within another small speck of dust, Scyldur.
From one of the corners, by a baker’s shop called Sacred Bread, Ganis heard some scratching, provoking him to investigate. Once he reached the corner, he found two crouched men rubbing crumpled sheets of paper together. When they saw him approach with his red armor and his regal cape, they smiled, baring their decaying teeth; or whatever remained of them.
A grunt erupted from behind Ganis. He dodged, evading the blow entirely while turning to face his attacker. It was Rudis with his morningstar. His weapon fell on the cobblestone, breaking some of the paved road and tearing apart some more when the morningstar was pulled free.
“Come out, cowards!” Ganis shouted, hoping to provoke Prodor and Prosidor out of hiding. He knew that people such as them tended to attend executions, and cruelly revel in them.
Indeed the two slave traders were there, and provoked to reveal themselves. Prodor clapped. “You be drawing your last breaths now, instead of getting paid.” His face cracked in a wicked smile. “Please, Rudis, do not be minding me.”
Rudis swung his weapon at Ganis once more only to have it met by a very sharp blade, Eos, which split its handle from the steel, felling the spiked ball on the ground. Rudis was pushed back in shock at the strength his tiny opponent displayed.
“You see, Prodor,” Ganis said, “you were right to ask who the depths I was. It’s where I come from.” Ganis lunged at Rudis and with one clean swoop separated his head from shoulders. The brute had no chance against such a quick, fierce attack. His body fell limp, on the knees first then the gut, and his head rolled to Prodor’s feet.
The slave traders wore expressions of fear, and their tongues cea
sed to function. They were petrified, incapable of doing anything but watch Ganis slowly approach, eyes intent on murder.
“You should not have done that, cur.” Ganis slowly pierced the man’s dense gut. When Eos was submerged to his hilt, she pulled the blade out slowly, making its way to Prodor’s head, splitting it clean in two, watching the man’s horror as he was consumed by pain and fear.
Then Prosidor ran, and so did Ganis, ramming the man with his shoulder straight into a protruding spike meant to hold a torch. Prosidor gasped, coughing blood, as he watched in horror the sharp spikes piercing his lungs, draining the little life left in him. Ganis turned around to look at the two men who drew him into the trap, but they were nowhere to be found, yet their scents made them easy to track.
A strong stench of sweat and dirt drew Ganis to the cowering scoundrels hiding behind some barrels. They too were shown no mercy, and their heads claimed. As Ganis cleansed Eos from the unholy blood of criminals with the rags of a fallen, a guard approached her.
“Thank you,” the Scyld said. He eyed Ganis with admiration, for by this act he had become a champion of Scyldur.
“What for?” Ganis stood up and sheathed Eos, the sound of steel rubbing sheath ringing through the night.
“They were bad men, these two, defilers of Rayogin’s touch.” The guard shook in Ganis’ presence. He knew that he was not in any danger, but the mere thought of what Ganis was capable of, the ease by which he dispatched of the criminals against seemingly impossible odds to him, made the Scyld tremble with fear.
“Are you a City Guard?”
“Aye, I’m one.”
“Then you should be used to this.”
He shook his head. “I never drew blood before from another man, or woman.” He was a young man, barely of age to marry, clad in the black leather of the Scyld City Guard with rusted iron spikes poking from the front and back of his armor.
“You look like a good young man, soldier,” Ganis said. “I would advise you to seek a life away from violence, and hope that you will never have to draw blood, in Rayogin’s name or for any other cause. It’s not the only way.” Ganis walked away, continuing his night patrol, leaving the young guard behind to witness the aftermath of his massacre.
9
“I have gotten a new assignment,” Ganis sat by Percival’s table in the tavern beneath The Devout Servant, hoping to meet him in private, an unnatural sentiment for Ganis towards the man.
“Just look at her.” Percival eyed Sua and ignored Ganis’ comment entirely. He watched her dance around the tables like a graceful cat, finding her way through many obstructions in her path. “She’s perfect.”
Ganis looked at the waitress with little interest and repeated to Percival, “I have gotten a new assignment.”
“I’m listening.”
Ganis judged he was only half-listening, incapable of focusing on anything other than his mistress; or love perhaps. “They’re sending me to Initium Keep.” He reached for Percival’s mug just to have it pushed away from him.
“Give me that,” Ganis said, eyeing the mug thirstily.
“Not before you tell me exactly how you managed to get assigned to Initium Keep.” Now Percival was focused on Ganis alone, the entire tavern seeming to be of no concern to him.
“Remember the slave traders I ran into a few moons back?”
“Hephaestion told me about them. What do they have to do with this?”
“Everything.” Ganis reached for the mug once more. “I would like some ale, if you don’t mind.”
Percival pushed the mug towards Ganis and allowed him the drink, waving to Sua for another round. She responded immediately, leaving two clean wooden mugs and a flagon on their table, and rushed to her duties once she made certain that the Parthans needed nothing else.
“If things were different, I would have encouraged you to stay with her. She is a good woman, decent and smart. She knows when she is needed and when she isn’t.”
Percival nodded. “I’m trying to think of a way to keep her safe and convince her to return with me to Nosgard. I haven’t thought of anything yet.” He shook his head and took a sip of ale. “Back to Initium Keep.”
Ganis nodded and took a sip of ale. It was a far better drink than Percival’s own brew, and perhaps one of the reasons, Ganis thought, he would spend so much time in The Devout Servant’s tavern. “Apparently the City Guard has been suffering at Prodor’s activity for some time now, and they were too afraid of moving against him. When word reached the taskmasters of my deed, they thought it would be fitting that I be sent to Initium Keep.”
“Yes,” Percival said, nodding, “I have been hearing quite a bit about the problems in Initium Keep. It seems that the resistance has been growing bolder with the wardens there. They still don’t know of the resistance itself, but it won’t be long till they find out about them.”
Ganis gulped down his ale, stood up and made for the exit. “Good luck with Sua, Percival.”
Percival raised his mug and continued watching Sua work.