What Binds Us

The Past

"To bind means both to restrict and to hold together. Strength lies in both meanings." -from First Principles by Ven Praxus

Wick scanned every detail he could about the four guards. Thymesia absorbed their behavior until he knew every inch of them. He needed to remember them. If they mysteriously vanished, then he could spread the appropriate rumors in Lanton's direction. If they kept this a secret between them as tight as a locked box, Wick would conveniently have the perfect key to open it whenever he saw fit.

Although they looked drunk, they had steel in their eyes when Wick's attention came back to them. The burning seemed to have sobered a part of them they had tried so hard to drown in drink. From their expressions and their hands on the pommel of their swords, it was clear they knew who he was.

That's not quite accurate, Wick thought. They've only seen me and heard the rest from rumors and Lanton. From their stunned looks, he had a little time to think over his options.

He could have pretended to be a scared little boy. But the drink in them combined with the fear of word getting out might push them to do things they hadn't intended. Wick's dad never liked alcohol for that reason, favoring the calming simmerleaf for smoking when they could afford it.

"You're the boy Lanton warned us about," one of them said. The others flexed their fingers on their pommels.

Feigned weakness would probably get Wick out of a fight, but it would send the wrong message to Lanton. If the older boy heard that his orders put fear in Wick, it would just give the mayor's son assurance he could do things like this again.

Wick kept the soft confidence in his voice, one hand steady on his spade, the other palm open toward the guards in a sign of peace. "Seems unfair that you would get a warning about me and we never got a warning about how you destroyed the food supply of fifty scared children. Who's the bigger monster here?"

Another guard stepped forward, his torch waving at Wick. "You've got a demon bat on your side."

Wick made a show of looking in all directions in wonder, only to finally set a hard look on the guards once more. "And where is this magical bat creature? Did it ever occur to you that Lanton, a boy who is drunk on his father's power and is obsessed with fantastical stories wouldn't spit out a few lies for his own convenience?"

From the way their hands fell from their pommels to their sides, it seemed it really was the first time the guards thought about Lanton in that way. They had seen him as a rich politician's son with influence over their positions. But had they stopped to really think about who Lanton was?

Wick let out an exhausted sigh, the kind his father gave when dealing with particularly stupid people. "Forget words. Use your eyes. What do you see?"

He nodded to the smoke only one hundred yards away, and then to the group of orphans huddled far from the burned grass, then said, "I'll tell you what I see. I see children frightened of the very people sworn to protect them. And I see four men equally frightened of a thirteen-year-old willing to take everything away from them."

The men looked down in the grass, as if searching for answers they would never find. Wick said patiently, "Go. We'll all keep this to ourselves. The source of this problem wasn't you, but Lanton."

They looked up at him in wonder. One of them walked forward and said, "Boy. How could you forgive us?"

Wick couldn't give a plumin's hoot about their forgiveness. He wanted their loyalty, but that wasn't for sale at the moment. They were too distraught. He needed to make sure that one day it would be.

He explained, "Convenient words are for Lanton and his fantasies. Me? I favor action. I am feeding these orphans. I am brokering apprenticeships with the craftsmen of the city. I don't have time for forgiveness. My anger isn't toward you, but Lanton. Just walk away, and we will rebuild without you. Nothing can be done about the past. I'm done talking. Leave me to my work."

The guards gave expressions of confusion and bewilderment to Wick before passing by him back toward Outlast. The sun's evening light cast on their backs, and Wick knew none of the guards would ever do anything like this again. At least, Lanton would have to make good on his threats to the guards and find replacements who would follow his orders.

Wick rolled his eyes at the sight. Even after doing something so horrible, the men still indulged in such acidic self-pity. They carried their shame like a proud badge without even offering shelter to the children they frightened.

Hypocrites.

Their secret would be safe, for now. In their guilt, Wick would set a trap for Lanton in the future. He didn't know how yet, but sometimes one had to plant a seed without knowing what kind of flower would bloom.

He turned around and walked to the orphans. The damage was done. It was time to salvage what he could.

--

To Wick's surprise, none of the orphans had run away in fear, and they had followed Scout's orders to flee more like a pack of dogs than a flock of sheep. The children were more angry than afraid. They finally had a home and a constant supply of food, and someone had come in to ruin it.

On the streets of Outlast, they had faced beatings, roaming hands, and curses from adults. That was normal. But this was an invasion.

Wick had met with Scout directly, telling him to put off his report until later. Right now, it was important that they capitalize on the children's anger, shape it into something useful. So, he spent the next fifteen minutes instructing Scout what points to go over in a speech.

The children were restless in that time. Wick gave them hard looks, but even that wasn't enough. So, he summoned a few Cuts at the remaining burning brush, sweeping the rest of the flames away, then several more at grass untouched by the fire. In less than a minute, a field of high grass nearly the size of what had been burned was cleared.

Scout dutifully nodded to Wick as if it had been his idea the whole while. The children went silent, their terrified gazes at Wick shifting to one of awe in Scout. They were practically screaming their thoughts aloud. He commanded someone like Wick?

Without a single word, Wick had shown them that whatever damage the guards had done, he could do on his own. Of course, that wasn't true. Cut could break skin if the person was close enough. It could also cleave through large patches of grass, but the kids didn't know the limits of it just yet.

Wick whispered again with Scout until the skinny greenhair looked confident in the message.

Scout turned to the children and spoke. He didn't try to project like politicians did in town squares because the wind in his lungs was a thin breeze at best. But his quiet tone compelled the children to lean forward.

"Some of you are wondering why Wick didn't hurt the guards on his way here. It's simple. He didn't have my orders to do so." The leader of the children let that sink in.

He continued. "You'll have more questions, but the only thing that matters is what do we do now?"

A few murmurs in the crowd seemed to agree with the sentiment. Everyone was angry. Good.

Scout said, "Wick informed me the guards were forced into burning our rabbit den. We can all guess who ordered them, can't we?"

He pitched his tone perfectly in a way that the children shouted in unison. "Lanton!"

Scout nodded sagely. "Yes. While we find food for ourselves because the mayor and his son wouldn't, who sent men to burn it down?"

"Lanton!"

"Who was it who brainwashed our friend Pebbles?"

"Lanton!"

"And who wants to tear our family apart but never can and never will?"

"Lanton!"

Scout paused, taking a moment to breathe. The speech had taken much out of him.

Wick felt his heart stir at the sight of it, not because of the speech, but for the halfbreed boy who only half a year before was ridiculed by others. Now, he held the children with only his faint voice. The boy was all iron, if not breath.

Scout spoke once more, his voice sharp as an edged blade. "What binds us?"

"Strength." The children spoke in unison, but this time, the volume in their voices was cut in half as if chanting a dark secret. Beneath their words was something that ran a shiver up Wick's spine. He couldn't tell if the feeling was fear or wonder.

"And what is strength?"

"Loyalty." The children raised their chins high.

Wick suppressed another shiver, leaned over Scout's shoulder, and whispered, "Well, that's a new one."

Scout smirked back. "Thanks. Thought of it myself. Took them forever to get it right."

The greenhair was a marvel who exceeded all of Wick's expectations. Scout addressed the group. He had their full attention and probably would until they ran out of blood to pump through their wicked little hearts. "There is no going back. No more burrows to sleep in for us. No more rabbits to catch and fence."

Although their attention was fixed on Scout, many of the children broke out into concerned murmurs. Scout patiently waited for the silence to come again. Once it did, he said, "Our home isn't the burrows or the cots in our master craftsmen's homes. It isn't where we sleep. Our home is in our strength. What is strength?"

"Loyalty."

"Then we stay strong. We move forward. I have a plan. And that plan..." Scout paused in a manner suspiciously similar to how Wick did before giving the answers to his own questions. "That plan involves us marching back into the city, but not to fight. I will be meeting with Graves."

The murmurs broke out again, then grew into full chatter. Fear took over the children's features, almost to the point of panic. It was understandable.

To the children, they had grown up fearing adults and most recently, Lanton's influence. But those couldn't make a dent in the terror they held for the hidden king of Outlast's underworld.

They had only stories to go off of, and each one had been more terrifying than the last. Sure, Graves' men left the orphans alone and only cared about providing security for the merchants. But there were always rumors of one of Graves' men burning people alive with sorcery or killing forceknights for daring to enter Outlast. And rumors were practically truth on the street.

The fact that none of the orphans had ever seen Graves in person added to the mystery, and the unknown was where fear thrived easy as disease in open wounds.

Scout nodded to Wick.

"Cut," Wick whispered, his palm out. A perfect blue arc of a blade spread out above the group of orphans, dissipating into the distance. The orphans stopped talking.

Scout put up his hands in a calming gesture. "The lot of you will be waiting at Old Lady Jezebel's backyard. It's just big enough for all of you. Vein will be in charge while I'm away to make a pact with Graves."

"Why Graves?" asked Vein. Her expression held no judgement, just curiosity.

Scout replied, "He's the only one powerful enough to protect us from Lanton. No more talk. We need to get back to Outlast before the dark comes.”

One of the children spoke out with a deep concern for his leader's well-being. "You're going to his place alone?"

Scout nodded to Wick. "I'll have company."

Wick smirked confidently, but the children still seemed unconvinced. He could practically read their thoughts like an open book. This isn't four guards with torches and swords. This is Graves you're talking about. And you want to shake hands with him?

He put a hand on Scout's shoulder, and Scout took a step back. Wick studied the orphans. No. Children. Most were already apprentices. Their futures were the foundations for his ambitions. "I get it. Graves has monsters on a leash. But I trust Scout with my life."

Thymesia helped him quickly recall Scout's new call and response phrase. "What binds us?"

"Strength," they answered immediately.

"And what is strength?"

"Loyalty."

Wick nodded. "Then we follow Scout with strength."