“I’m thinking you and I work for the same person,” Ruleo waved his hand between the two of them, keeping his eyes far off the black bag that was his target. “Let’s just take it easy.”

Durran laughed. “I highly doubt that. But since you think so, why don’t you spill your guts to me? Who do we work for, mister colleague?”

“The Bat,” Ruleo held his hands steady.

Durran studied him, running that through his head. Had Elenore sent this man to watch him? Something about it sounded wrong. He’d spoken to her guards as he left—they’d seemed more cooperative than suspicious, and he’d told them precisely what he intended to do. And besides… this man would know Durran worked for Argrave, not Elenore. Elsewise, why would he be watching him?

“How about we go to her together, then?” Durran planted his glaive on the ground. “We can sort out this misunderstanding, ease my suspicions. Might save your life.”

On the other side of the confrontation…

Ruleo felt he was getting a handle on things. What were his options? Try and escape, for one. He felt he could. He had plenty of tricks up his sleeve. Or two… he could play along with this tribal, return to Elenore, confess his sins. Ideally, his necromantic creation would do its duty, steal the paper with the magic signature. But if Ruleo’s hunch was right, and this was something big she was keeping secret… Elenore might not let him walk away unscathed. She might not let him walk away at all.

Playing along is too dangerous, Ruleo concluded. You made a mess of things. Cut your losses. Get away.

“Let’s go together, then,” Ruleo nodded, lowering his hands to his side.

“Really? Well… not what I was expecting,” the tribal seemed surprised. “Let’s—”

Ruleo thrust his hand into his pocket and threw out powder. At once, Durran raised his hand and cast a spell of wind. Before the two could meet, Ruleo cast a spell of his own—a simple E-rank ignition spell. The powders roared to life, exploding into loud yet largely ineffectual sparks that scattered from the wind spell. It was only a distraction. Ruleo circled around, rearing his arm back for a punch. Durran was, as Ruleo had expected, prepared for that.

The tribal blocked the punch with the shaft of his glaive and a deafening ring echoed out. Durran quickly kicked at Ruleo’s gut, and the two disentangled. The tribal cast a spell at Ruleo as he retreated. A wolf of fire roared out, and Ruleo felt he had ample time to get away.

The black glaive cut through the spell, though, and the spell wreathed around the blade unnaturally. The flames carried with the swing of the glaive far beyond where they typically might, and Ruleo desperately shielded with his gauntlets. The fire whipped at his face, and he heard his skin sizzle.

Pushing past the pain of the burn, Ruleo covertly tossed a hook attached to a very thin line at the closed bag the tribal had been carrying.

“Quite some gauntlets you got,” Durran looked at the dent in his glaive’s shaft from it had been struck earlier.

“We made a lot of noise. Militiamen and maybe royal guards will be here if we keep at it like this,” Ruleo said as he healed the burn on his face. “I’ll tell them you tried to steal my bag. They’ll believe me over you—I might look like a thug, but you’re from the Burnt Desert. Nothing against you, but I’ll take whatever opportunity I can get.”

“A convincing argument,” Durran said without hesitation.

The tribal stepped away and grabbed the bag, closing it and rushing away. Ruleo was surprised the man so quickly believed him. Even still, Ruleo pulled tight on the string with the hook. It caught on the bag, opening it up and causing the contents to explode out. Durran was caught off-guard, but Ruleo had been the initiator and sought his target with razor-focus. The thin paper with a black splotch across it danced in the air like a leaf, and Ruleo seized it quickly.

Triumphant, Ruleo turned to flee. Yet the second his sprint began, two armored men walked up before him, swords ready. He tried to stop himself quickly, but one reached out and caught his wrist. The other coordinated well, seizing Ruleo beneath the shoulder in a way that immobilized his arm. He felt cold steel at his throat and craned his neck to avoid being cut.

“The Bat would like a word,” one of the men said, laxing the tightness of the blade. “Let’s go together.”

His breathing heavy, Ruleo dropped the piece of paper. He gritted his teeth and stared at his captors as they helped him to his feet. Behind, the tribal walked up to him.

“Good fight. Clever thing you did, using a fisherman’s line… call me a coward if you will, but the moment I saw you, I sent a signal to these lovely gentlemen just as they asked me to,” Durran retrieved the paper with the magic signature and held it up in the air. “Like you, I take any opportunity I can get. Maybe we’ll talk again soon.”

#####

Elenore observed Ruleo, bound to a stake before her and largely stripped of personal possessions. She was not in her greenhouse—rather, she was at another private location. Though bound, Ruleo was still a mage, so spellcasters she trusted were nearby in case he tried something. Additionally, his hands were bound in such a way they could only face downwards.

Argrave had insisted that Elenore watch out for traitors, and Ruleo was one of the first suspects that came to mind. He had no genuine loyalty to her beyond the fact that she offered him significant wealth at times. Indeed, he probably bore some dislike towards most of Vasquer given what had been done to him. She supposed she couldn't deem this a true betrayal of her, not until she verified things… it was merely curiosity of what she had hidden. Ruleo had good instincts, it would seem.

“Last I checked, following people under my protection is not at all related to looking into Rancor,” Elenore began, leaning forward somewhat until her eyeless sockets loomed over the man.

Ruleo looked up to her. “What do you want, an apology? I’m only sorry I got caught,” he concluded, turning his head away. “I’ve already got all the details about Rancor you need. I can give them to you whenever. I think I’ve forfeited my payment… and owe you a debt, now. Would take make us even?”

“Why would you do this?” Elenore continued, crossing her arms. “We’ve been working profitably and consistently for a few months, now. I valued you enough to reveal my identity. So… why?”

Ruleo stayed silent a few moments, then closed his eyes. “It was a gambit to get involved in high politics. You were being heavy-handed. You were hiding something important. You were asking about Argrave earlier—drew my suspicions for long-term moves you might be enacting after Induen’s death. Mostly just a hunch, something to occupy my time. I overestimated myself… or maybe underestimated you. Either way, I’m only sorry I got caught,” he repeated in closing, opening his eyes once more.

Elenore laid her hands flat against one another, her bronze rings clattering. “I find it difficult to continue a relationship in which there is little trust. Considering how much you know of me and my operation…”

Elenore trailed off as something entered her hearing. She sat up straighter, paying attention. Her hearing was better than most, having been honed over the years in light of the loss of one of her senses. It became more succinct—whistling, and footsteps.

Soon enough, Durran entered. Elenore turned her head to him and said in annoyance, “Must you make so much noise?”

“Just happy. Is that a crime?” he said, undeterred. He waved a bag in his hands. “Hey. Told you we’d meet again. You gave me quite a bit of heartache. Broke my bag. You have no idea how difficult it is to haul things about in a torn bag.”

“Altogether, things ended much worse for me,” Ruleo said, his light cackle escaping for a few moments.

Durran clicked his tongue. “True enough. Can’t be too bad if you’re laughing, though.”

“What did our mutual friend decide?” Elenore asked Durran, cutting into their conversation. She had no time to waste on banter. “It concerns his privacy. I’ll leave the decision to him."

“Well…” Durran trailed off, rubbing his hands together. He pointed at Ruleo, bound on the floor. “You’re Ruleo, aren’t you?”

Elenore hid her surprise by covering her mouth. She had deliberately told her people not to disclose Ruleo’s name to Argrave, doubly to preserve the man’s life and to answer a question she had. Elenore had gotten her answer; Argrave knew Ruleo, meaning he did recognize him by Durran’s description alone. Had he been lying about being ignorant of the incident with the dogs? She could not puzzle that out.

“I am,” Ruleo answered unaffectedly, likely assuming Elenore had simply told Durran.

“So you are,” Durran nodded. “Well, that simplifies things. Leader man wants you to live. He thinks you’d be of great use in this matter with Rancor.”

Elenore observed Durran, using her newfound perception to scan his body. She did not see the wisdom behind Argrave’s decision, at least practically speaking. Though she preferred to make no enemies, disagreements like the one between Argrave and Ruleo were inevitable. It was better not to leave active antagonists alive, in Elenore’s experience—they could deal damage in the future. Ruleo could certainly be an impediment for Argrave’s future, minor or major.

Ruleo sized up Durran. “So, you’re the ones spurring the Bat towards Rancor.”

“She has a name. A rather nice one, too: Elenore.” Durran stepped forward and kneeled down. “I think I understand leader man on this one. You’re like me. Someone who was controlled. At least, so he claims.”

Ruleo frowned. “Don’t be vague. What do you mean, ‘like you?’”

“If I’m not vague, he’ll get mad at me. When he’s mad at me, buildings tend to fall down,” Durran shook his head. “If you really are like me, I think you can get a lot done.”

Ruleo looked to Elenore. “Well… hard to sell my skills when I’m bound to a stake after getting my efforts tossed to the wind, but yeah, I’m fairly confident,” he smiled.

Durran rose to his feet. “Do you know how old Rancor is?” Durran spread his hands out, letting the silence fall. “It’s 873 years old.”

“Old as the kingdom,” Elenore noted.

“Where is this claim coming from?” Ruleo said disbelievingly.

“You probably know…” Durran kneeled once more. “Rancor’s base is in the old city. The buried city. The city this one was built atop,” he pointed to the ground.

Elenore focused on Ruleo for his reaction. After a second, he shrugged. “If you know so much, why do you want people like me to look into it? Doesn’t make sense.”

Durran looked at Elenore pointedly. His words confirmed that Argrave’s knowledge had been correct from the beginning—something was suspicious about Rancor’s inner circle. Her question now was why Argrave had pointed her in this direction.

“I know that look,” Durran pointed at Elenore. “It’s the look that says, ‘how does he know so much?’ I probably had that on my face quite a few times.” Durran laughed and waved his fingers. “I think that’s going to be the least bizarre thing you hear this week. Let me ask—who’s the oldest person you’ve ever spoken to?”

“I don’t know. Some Magister, most likely,” Elenore shook her head, growing irritated by how rapidly the conversation jumped from subject to subject. “Are you implying…?”

“Yeah. Our mutual friend—he wants you to talk to someone very old in Rancor's base. Other than him, you’re the only one here who can communicate with this fellow.”

Elenore shifted her head to the side. She didn’t like the vagary, but she felt it best to play along for now. “Perhaps you’d best tell me all you know, Ruleo. Even if Durran’s friend wants you to live, I’m not so forgiving. I see no reason to let a liability free. And even if Rancor has a base in the old city, I see no reason to disrupt my dealings with them of yet.”

“Fair enough,” Ruleo nodded. “I gambled. I lost. Now, I pay up.”