Knite

We headed north before we cut east. The southern edge of the capital island saw too much traffic for my liking and so my guards and I suffered the craggy hills of the northern coast as we traveled to Snowliar. Our journey there was a lesson in why people flocked to The Muds or sold their souls in free-cities.

Sentient floras, evolved beasts, and roaming marauders ran amok in the wilds of The Islands. The floras were a persistent annoyance. They hounded the horses as we rode, disrupted sleep when we camped, and altogether pestered us at every opportunity. They can be deadly for the untrained. They were but a tiresome nuisance for us.

We’d only come across one set of evolved beasts of any note: a pack of wolves, their fur a deep brown, the smallest of them my weight and half again. Their leader came to me, eyes averted, head hanging low, tail tucked between his legs. Timidly, he lay bare his stomach at my feet. I do not know what allows beasts to gauge danger. It is likely what keeps them away from the cities and royal caravans. For his part, the wolf’s actions had saved his pack that day.

The bandits were the worst. We met with two such parties on the way to Snowliar. The first was a disappointment. I’d sensed their hideout a little ways off the northern coast, hidden by tall rocks on all sides like a lagoon of land. A small crevice led us into their lair. They were weak and plentiful and entirely too cowardly to be any fun. We left them—those who’d submitted and kept their lives—to the men and women they’d held cooped in cages. From the screams that bid us farewell, I counted them all dead. From the smile on Helena’s face, so did she.

The second lot met us near the city itself. They thought flying a house flag justified their actions. I disabused them of the notion. Helena robbed them of the gold they’d made selling slaves and killed all but the children; Sanas denied Pinmoon blood so young. I let her in so much as I thought their deaths vaguely unpleasant. If Sanas was not with us, I’m not sure I would've stopped Helena from reaping their lives; my promises said nothing of saving innocents.

It took five days to reach Snowliar, a city on the northern coast of the capital island. Ironic they called it a free-city. Ironic they called any of the free-cities, ‘free-cities’, but more so for this sinkhole of liberty. The place would’ve long fallen apart without the commerce of slavery.

The city was a hard and callous place of stone and metal standing on one of the rare flats of the island’s northern coast. The outer walls, by far the tallest of their structures, were made of large slabs of crude stone, giving the city the air of an oversized prison. I guess it was, in a way.

We approached the southern entrance, one of only two. The other was on the northern side and was reserved for harbor business. Archers watched us from barred arrow slits high on the wall, the sun in our eyes and to their backs. The wooden portcullis, covered in sheets of metal and wide enough to allow six battle steeds to pass side by side, creaked open as we approached. Behind it stood a squadron of soldiers dressed in thick leather armor.

An unpleasant woman with thin eyes and greasy hair stepped forward. “Name yourself,” she said. Though I stood at the head of our group, she addressed Sanas, who, clad in robes of scarlet, sat to my right atop a stallion of pure white sixteen hands high.

I gently kicked my horse forward. She was a black mare as pure in color and as large in stature as Sanas’ stallion. Delightfully aggressive, she strained to bite at the guard's face before she could even reach, her teeth eagerly snapping. I pulled on the reigns and ran a hand up and down her dark mane.

“Some know me as Merkus,” I said, safe in the knowledge that it was a common enough name for commoners and godlings alike. “I would like to charter passage to the city of Halor for me and mine.”

The guard turned her snarl from my horse to me, then smiled. Her snarl was ugly. Her smile was uglier. “You and yours?” she asked.

“Yes, me and mine.”

“No banner?”

“None we carry.”

Her smile grew. “Then you’re free citizens?”

“For today.”

“And tomorrow?”

I shrugged.

“Then you aren't free citizens,” she scoffed. “Are you traveling for trade? What city do you hail from?”

“No, and none.”

She shook her head. “Then you are free citizens?”

“As I said, we simply want to charter passage to Halor. May we?”

“Fine. But it is late and no more ships will be leaving today. A silver each will get you into the city.” More like town, I thought. You could fit twenty Snowliars into Halor, the smallest of the island capitals. “Another will find you a room in the inn.”

“The inn?”

“We don’t often entertain travelers.”

“What of slave traders and island delegates?”

“The former have estates within the city and the latter are invited to stay in the castle.”

I reached into my cloak and threw her a gold coin. “I assume that is enough for entry and an escort to the inn. I will pay them another for the rooms we’ll need.”

The head guard turned and headed into the city without ceremony. We followed. With a wave of her hand, the soldiers—all women—split into two and lined the deep, stone passageway beyond the gate.

What little we saw of it, the free city of Snowliar was a city of grey. Walls of grey brick, cobbled streets of grey stone, roofs of grey shale. No building had more than four stories and the tall city walls loomed in every direction, melding with the sky so even it looked grey from within its confines.

Our destination was a mere fifty paces from the city entrance. A sign hung atop the door, three letters chiseled into its wood, reading, ‘Inn’.

The head guard turned to me as we came to the entrance. “The name’s Sishal.” She took out and fingered the gold coin I’d given her. “If you find yourself in need of anything, mention my name to any of my guards and they will bring you to me.” She was a dedicated liar. I hated liars.

I ordered Helena to take our horses into the adjoining stables while Sanas, Roche, and I headed in.

The inn was empty of guests. No one who stepped inside would wonder why. The rough-stone floors were filthy and stained, the wood of the tables and chairs rotten, the whole place stinking of dry mold and mildew too entrenched to ever be removed. Worst of all, the barkeep was one of the most revolting creatures I’d ever seen, the painting of a fair maiden she covered herself with useless against my sight. She was a blubbering, pustule-ridden, toothless being with beady eyes and patchy, short-cropped hair. Admittedly, she was a rather talented Painter; only Roche and I noticed her true self.

“Welcome,” she croaked as we came in. Sanas and Helena heard a cheerful melody; Roche and I heard a guttural slobbering of words.

“I am not staying here,” Sanas said.

Roche put a hand on her shoulder. Without the deep wrinkles, paunchy weight, stooped back, or slow mannerisms of his disguise, he looked barely past his prime. Though like so many of the older Named, his stark white hair lent a little to his appeared age. “A quarter-century in the crypts of The Bridge, and within days you’ve reacclimated yourself to your lofty standards.”

Sanas’ eye twitched. Roche’s busy mouth tended to run ahead of him at times. We all knew he meant nothing by it. Only one other cared for Sanas more than he.

“The rooms are much better,” the creature explained. “My regulars have ruined my tavern with their nightly antics but they seldom have reason to go upstairs. You will find the rooms there clean and in good repair.”

“We’ll see,” Sanas said. She flittered across the room and bounded up the stairs two at a time, one hand over her mouth and nose, the other pulling at her robes to spare them the greasy muck staining the floors. Roche followed close behind.

I turned to the creature and placed a gold coin on the counter. “Four rooms for the night.”

“Lord,” Helena called from behind me. “The horses are secure. Should I put Merkon in your room for the night?” The boy was slung across her shoulder. He’d yet to wake. Only my nightly suffusions of sensus were keeping him alive.

“Yes,” I said. “Then you may retire for the night.”

They attacked an hour before dusk, long after the last of their rowdy patrons had left, long enough to think the lullaby of silence had sung us to sleep. I suppose they meant to take us straight to their docks, chained and gagged and ready to be sold.

I had other ideas.

I got up from the desk where I’d been preparing letters for Leahne and Aki, grabbed my twin swords, and left the room silent as can be. Merkon was still in hibernation. Roche slept fitfully. As did Helena. I could hear her slow breathing through the walls. She always did find the sound of rain soothing. Sanas was still crying, muffling the sounds as best she could. I did not comfort her. She would’ve hated me if I tried. Like myself, she despised lies.

I heard their shuffling feet as they entered the inn. There were twenty-two of them all told. For assaulting a group of ordinary folk, it was excessive. For four warriors of some repute, it was fairly prudent. For me and mine, it was suicide. But then again, they didn’t know me and mine.

I descended the stairs. A soft glow faded up the walls, one or two of the lanterns in the tavern still lit. I could’ve extinguished them. I didn’t. What followed wouldn't have been possible otherwise.

They saw me when the glow reached my knees. The pockets of air I placed under my feet had silenced my approach. They could only detect me by sight.

Five persons clad in dark, form-fitting clothes crept by the door leading to the stables. Another five were by the main door. Both groups had the same number standing outside. They stilled at the sight of me.

Sishal entered, stepping past her women, her movements the infernal inevitability of death—all ugly and sure and dangerous. “How did you know?” she asked, cheerful arrogance lacing her every word.

“Your questions,” I said.

“That’s it? A few questions—questions any of the gate guards at any of the free-cities would ask—and you suspected our intent.”

“And the rooms were too clean.”

“Too clean?”

I nodded. “I imagine grime and dust are casualties of scrubbing away blood.”

She smiled in amusement. “Anything else?”

“Too empty.”

“Too empty?”

“Will you be doing that often?”

“Doing what?”

“Repeating my words back to me in the form of a question?”

“Ah, how delightful. A smart one. I think I’ll keep you.” She brushed back loose strands of damp hair from her sharp face, retying them into her short tail. “So, too clean and empty. Anything else?”

“In a city full of slavers, any man who isn't owned would, as a matter of course, be perceived as a potential slave.”

“It's always fun to break a smart one. Better yet when they're bold and full of confidence.” Her lustful wickedness vibrated with excitement. I began to salivate, imagining the feast of fear and pain I could wring from her soul. Black as it was, my promises remained quiet at the thought and my mouth flooded with anticipation at its silent approval. I swallowed. Hard.

“Afraid?” She asked, thinking me in fear, a similar hunger glinting in her cold eyes. “Where is the reckless bravery that allowed you to run into a trap you saw coming?”

Unleashing my soul was out of the question. Whoever felt it would have to die. Though the prospect was endearing, I would not kill them all; there were those among them too innocent to find death by my hand. It's funny how the soul can tell apart obligation and cruelty, even when the act itself is evil, even when the mind confuses one for the other. Patience, I told myself, taking a deep breath. My feast will come.

“Seeing as you hold the city’s entrance, I presume you carry some device that allows you to converse with the city’s ruler?” There was no need to presume. I could feel the thread of sensus stretching back to the central regions of the city.

Sishal furrowed her brow. “What of it?”

“And seeing as your mistress’ dealings account for a notable portion of Halor’s trade in slaves, I presume the device can communicate more than sound?” Again, there was no need to presume. I could feel the matrix of meaning on the device and smell my brother's hand in its creation. A commendable acquisition on their part. Grono never sold his wares.

Sishal’s furrowed brow evolved into anger. “I am beginning to find you more tiresome than telling. What’s your business with my master.” My amusement must have been clear, because she slid her sword out, the metal silent against the hardened leather of its sheath.“You think yourself in a position to be amused?”

“A slave who owns slaves is an amusing paradigm, don’t you think. So yes, I find you quite amusing. And yes, I find I’ve not been struck so witless by your attempts at intimidation to not appreciate the humor of it.”

She was a Vapor; her namat needed no matrix for the fingerbreadth of wind that sprang to coat the edge of her sword.

I covered the tips of two fingers in sensus and pushed against the flat of her blade, dispelling the wind and deflecting her swing to my left. She was good; her surprise didn’t slow her next attack. She bent low, using the momentum of her rotation to bring her leg around in a low sweep meant to take my legs from under me. I stepped back. A sound choice on my part. Controlled gales and tensed muscles pushed her into a second rotation. She swept her sword up from my left, surprised to find me sure-footed and ready. She’d planned for me to jump, meaning to cut at me while I was airborne and unable to evade. A kick to her wrist put a stop to her scheme. Momentum stolen, she landed prone.

I don’t think she expected to lose. I don’t think her underlings did either. They watched me, calm and assured, as if their leader would reveal her embarrassing fall to be nothing but a humorous ploy. I think they were used to her playing such games. I think she enjoyed toying with her victims as much as I enjoyed feasting on mine.

The weakest three fainted when a raw tentacle of featureless sensus lashed at them. Another four were taken from the fight by the small knives I threw at their feet. The blades dug through flesh, bone, and stone, pinning them where they stood. Seeing my speed and skill, none of them looked ready to pull it out and face me. The innkeeper was next. A small blade through her right eye took her life. She had to die. The black of her soul told me I was allowed to make it happen. Good thing too, since she’d heard Roche’s comment about Sanas’ imprisonment. Her illusion shimmered out of existence as she slumped to the ground. Rows of shelves fell under her weight, the glasses, mugs, and clay bowls they held crashing to the floor and shattering into shards.

The doors roared open and reinforcements streamed in.

“You want your forces depleted for such meager sums?” I asked.

Sishal looked up at me, lust in her eyes, excitement on her lips. She’d shifted into a crouch, ready to pounce and deliver her violence. “One clash and you think yourself the victor?”

I looked down at her. “Quiet, child, I’m trying to have a conversation.”

“I’m going to have so much fun,” she said, rising. “So much fun.” Excitement rolled off her. Restraint was needed to keep mine from rising in response.

“You’d best speak up,” I said. “I don’t think I can keep from decimating your numbers for much longer.”

Just as Sishal meant to spring into action, a voice came from a green gem pinned near her collar. “Stay your hand if you please.” The womanly timbre of the voice—for the voice was distinctly feminine—crackled with age. Everyone froze. “Dear guest,” she continued, “I invite you to my humble abode. I must apologize for my error, and, if you allow me to be so arrogant as to assume myself capable, offer you compensation for your mercy.”

“Master,” Sishal screamed. “I want him! He would be—”

“Bring my guest to the grand hall,” the voice said, cutting off her protest.

“No,” I said.

“Very well,” the voice said. “I will send an escort within the hour. They will lead you to the docks and provide the funds for whichever ship captain you find agreement with. Again, my apologies for the disturbance.” As if the stone could point the voice at a target, her next words fell on Sishal. “Return to the gate. By my order, no harm or insult is to befall this man and his party.” Then the voice, somehow a physical presence of its own, left.

Sishal struggled to follow her orders, red with the effort. I’d caught her unaware and she was teeming to prove she could take me. To her, such an insult pained her far worse than a sword to the gut. Above all, whether she knew it or not, she lusted after a chance to break apart my sanity and reaffirm her own. Better foes than her had tried. I wished her the chance, relished how she would’ve fractured in her efforts, for I could not be broken.

Fear was what finally moved her. I could see it dig through her desire, strong as it was, and make its way to feed her obedience. Her master must've been a fearsome woman. She would have to be. Sishal was as powerful as a Named, if only the weakest of them.

She lingered by the door, the last to leave, a hand on the doorframe where the wood splintered under her crushing grip. “Another time,” she promised.

“I look forward to it,” I said, and meant it. Evil like hers was a delicacy. The taste wet my tongue.