B.T.V. -- Session 08 Prelude: A Blade's Destiny
Empty Scorpion rested on the soft skin just below his eye. Not the best position Paentoux had ever been in. With methodical slowness he moved the wide blade away from his face. He let it loose when it was resting next to his ear on the silk pillow. No need to be more than judicious. Because of the silk, the blade slid normally enough, off the edge of his pillow, on to the matress. Head still on the pillow, he turned his face to observe it. From this close but healthier distance he could note the intricate, random effects of the smith’s hammer on Empty Scorpion’s surface. The hammer’s blows hadn’t been smoothed out. The blade’s surface, mottled with hammer divots, shone dull violet. The knife looked jointed or that it might have been made from hard and black insects’ shells.
He rose, on the other side of the bed. He swirled away the red dust that had settled on the water’s surface in the basin and threw what was beneath on his face. Breeches on, shirt tucked, boots fitted, harness belted, hat tilted, Orbs deposited on nightstand, pouches cinched, cuffs pulled, shoulders straightened; he was almost prepared.
The blade was at the edge of the bed closest to where he stood. He hadn’t moved it there. It put it within hand’s reach. Convenient. A single inhalation. A pause. He took up the knife and put it on his harness. Empty Scorpion could not be sheathed. Not because there wasn’t a sheath, although there wasn’t. The blade refused to be hidden. It couldn’t be put in a case, or a box or bag. It definitely couldn’t be sheathed. He’d thrown away any sheath that the blade might fit into. Whenever he held it, he could tell it wanted to be seen. It needed to be seen to harvest the fear it created. He didn’t make the error in judgement he had before, when he had thought that Empty Scorpion must have once been part of a scythe. That thought had made the blade turn toward him. The tip had tried to pierce him several times in rapid successive stabs before he’d been able to think how stupid his thought was. The blade’s point had hovered over his throat for a full minute before his hand had been able to lower it to his side.
The harness was decently made but nothing special. Two, overlapping, blackened, shoulder straps, crossing at his sternum and a set of three, horizontal ones that encircled his torso at different heights. He’d worn the harness long enough that the straps fit him like his favourite neighbourhood. The blade allowed itself to be placed on the leather. To remain ‘attached’. This evening, it was on the left-front of the harness. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t be elsewhere on the harness when he reached for it later. He had grown accustomed to Empty Scorpion’s moving around the harness. He wasn’t comfortable with it but used to it. He didn’t own a mirror-glass so he didn’t know if he looked prepared. He checked anyway. Satisfied with his mental inventory, he entered the lane. He left the door unlocked. He wouldn’t be back. He headed for the lococobra stationhouse.
The lantern’s shutters opened and closed for the second time in response. Three draegerans moved toward each other. A triangle diminishing with their long strides. When they halted they stood just farther apart than a weapon’s length. These men did not know each other well enough to stand closer than that.
“Aviel. Ulimbine... Good to see you both well.”
The slender Aviel said, “Well? Why would I be unwell?” The silver cloaked Ulimbine said nothing as a greeting, preferring to listen to the other two.
“Forgive me. A figure of speech.”
“Never heard it used before.”
“An Adrilankhan expression. Perhaps not common where you’re from. No need to be concerned or prickly.”
“It’s a damp night, I have been aloft for days, I’m not exactly joyous at your rapid choice of rendezvous as I burnt my hands coming down the rope and I didn’t appreciate your eastern-styled suggestion that I might be ill. What do you expect?”
“The money was decent. I’d think you’d be a little less insulting and a little more forgiving.”
“Forgiveness. You must have me confused for another.”
The speaker, a slender draegeran named Aviel, moved his clenched hands to his hips. His travelling cloak retreated. The capitulation revealed matched sword hilts worn in the old style. Ulimbine, who was yet to speak, moved three-quarters of a step back from Aviel, enough that he’d have room to bring his spear into play if required. He didn’t know what Aviel had been paid to meet here but the amount he’d received had allowed him to buy a house. He only knew Aviel by word of deeds. A minstrel had been knowledgeable of Aviel’s reputation. Ulimbine was taking nothing for granted.
Aviel said, “Payment is a thing, nothing more. I am not a lender of orbs, vil’Paqqe. Money is how I am judged. I get paid well because I have been judged expert. I am a killer. Who must die?”
“His name is Paentoux.”
“I will permit you to give me his description.”
“Good.” With that the two draegerans shared their minds. The image of Paentoux sifted from one to the other. Ulimbine shifted his weight to his left leg while unlocking his right knee. The other two draegerans didn’t notice as his cloak was designed with many long pleats. He awaited the others to end their psychic sharing.
“The average Easterner is born to suffer, Headiore.”
“Yes, master Vimon.”
“Then why are you making me suffer? I am a Tsalmoth. End the eastern wretch’s life so we can move on.”
Headiore incanted, this time with more fervour than last. The easterner, who was conscious but unable to make a sound, shut his eyes. The pain had no outlet. His spirit tried to cling to his body but this time failed.
The sound was just audible. Silk traipsing across a glassy road. The easterner’s spirit had been jarred. Headiore looked hopefully at Vimon.
“Don’t stand there crowing! A crow’s the last thing that you’re after. Seal the jar and apply the balm to the husk – before the crow.”
Headiore did both things. The lid on the jar was tightly screwed on. The thickened balm applied in two hesitant strokes across each of the easterner’s eyes.
“Use more than that, Headiore. The eyes must remain shut. More balm, girl, you don’t want to lose control of the husk, do you? Quickly now, ‘Seal the eyes before the bird cries’, eh?”
“Yes, master.”
“Good. No knells, no blackbird, no spirit wardens alerted, compose yourself and animate the husk. It will feel odd remember.”
Headiore reached out with her mind as Vimon had been teaching her. She had practised on several animals but never something as advanced as a human. She swallowed but there was nothing in her mouth to wet her throat. Her mind reached into the husk. There was the musculature and the sinews and ligaments that would allow locomotion. Other less important things like most of the main organs could be ignored. There was little reason for her or the husk to need its stomach or liver or kidneys. The heart was still useful. Moving the blood about the body had been proved ages ago to give the husk a longer ‘lifespan’. As it wasn’t dead, this meant that a husk might last months, if taken some care about. Headiore directed the husk to move. It did. Headiore heard her master’s pleased laugh from two places; the husk’s ears and her own. She knew this would happen but it was still odd. She sent the husk to the entrance. Too late she heard her master’s voice saying, “Not too far. The control wanes with distance. Also, people will see the husk and be concerned.”
She stopped the husk short. She was sweating a little. Hard work. She realised that the master had been right to make her run up and down the school’s stairs. Who knew decanting was going to be this physical?
At the entrance a couple stared at the husk. Headiore wasn’t quite sure how she was seeing when the husk’s eyes were sealed shut. Vimon had said something about seeing with her mind but this didn’t go too well with her expectations. She could see though so he was right.
The couple were walking past the husk now, without pausing. As the female passed the husk she spun fully in a circle while descending to be only on one foot. The spin and her other leg being extended, knocked the husk off its feet at the ankles. Headiore wanted the husk on its feet. She moved the sinews and drew on the ligaments, which caused the husk’s muscles to jump all over the body. Like a sack lifted by pullies, the husk was back on its feet. It happened quickly. Her thought was made action by flesh of another.
The woman, who had stopped her spin on impact, pulled out a mace with a narrow, flanged head. The other of the couple, a Hawk male by appearance, stuck two pairs of small, hiltless blades that had sat between his clenched fingers, into the husk’s arm and torso. Headiore flung out the husk’s fists, one after the other. She was no brawler. The swings were wild. The swings were still dangerous. The husk had no thought for self-preservation or the pain its hands would feel striking something too hard. Headiore pulled as hard as she could on the husk’s tendons. The husk responded by leaping straight at the Hawk. The power and speed caught the Hawk readying his next weapon. The husk smashed into the draegeran knocking his almost drawn axe out of his grip.
The husk’s head snapped around as it was struck a sideways blow from the woman’s mace. Headiore winced at the sensation of the husk’s neck turning too far. She could hear Vimon warning her to remain detached. She would rather have heard him incanting. She could use the help.
Empty Scorpion had moved on to the lowest strap on the harness. It sat tip pointing straight up, with its hilt affixed to the strap that crossed his stomach. It was an odd manner to carry a blade. Several draegerans had already looked at, then glanced hurriedly away, from it and him. Empty Scorpion rippled its scaled surface in the ‘cobra shed’s light.
He had come here to await the arrival of the last lococobra of the day. This ‘cobra was coming in on the Western Trail. He’d been told to kill whoever got off the middle segment first. He hoped it wouldn’t be an old draegeran. He didn’t enjoy those types of killings much. They were usually greatly reduced by their infirmities. The blade didn’t care, of course. It killed without discrimination as long as the imminently dead target saw it coming then Empty Scorpion was satisfied.
He moved along the siding. He didn’t hide himself. He was a non-descript draegeran made utterly forgettable by the unique, obvious Morganti dagger at his waist. He’d killed many. No witness to those deaths had been able to describe his average face. Only the blade was remembered. He was happy for it to remain like this. He was unnamed. His family unknown. His House was shuttered. Some called him the Tail. He didn’t care that it was a poor title that some even laughed at upon hearing. They didn’t laugh upon seeing.
Ulimbine eased his boot heels on to the low table in front of his chair. Stretching his legs straight out felt good. It had been a hard journey from Karrion. If he hadn’t spent all his payment on the house he could have travelled more comfortably. Priorities. He watched the other two. They distrusted each other. Ulimbine didn’t trust them either but he had said little so their thoughts were on each other, not him.
The one who had paid, the local draegeran, Sadderome vil’Paqqe, looked Athyra. The man’s hair was that in-between red and blonde hue. Ulimbine wondered somewhat at his being an Athyra soldier but it wasn’t unheard of. There were a few decanter-warriors around. Athyra perhaps made the best of these. The combination was rather effective if not very efficient. So much study in two, diverse areas made for a decent but probably not as masterful, result. This Athyra had nerve in abundance to make up any shortfall in mastery, though. Hiring himself and Aviel? That was not only costly, it was literally overkill. Aviel was the most feared slayer of Aglesnakt. Ulimbine was the least known slayer of Banners. Ulimbine was confident this made him Aviel’s superior. Fame is not meant for slayers — it’s good for getting work but bad for career longevity. Too many challenges to being well-known. Ulimbine had been at his ‘trade’ for close to four cycles. Being less than renowned had been good for him. He had a family and friends although only one friend knew how he made his money. He returned his attention to the conversation Aviel and Sadderome were having.
“I give you that Adrilankha is the centre of things but you should really get outside of it. There are other states and, other states of mind, I might add.”
“My duties to the empire keep me here. When the stig command tell me to go elsewhere it will be the right time to do so. What matters to us here and now is that you take your temporary commission and use it as ordered.”
“Listen vil’Paqqe, this being ‘attached’ to the stig is not my idea of good planning.”
“It’s not your idea.” Sadderome stared at the slayer until the other had to say something.
“No amount of money paid can make me something I’m not. I have to act as I would if I was visiting the capital of my own choice.”
“Neither of you were hired to imitate one of the stig. You were hired to act in our name. Your skills are why you are here.”
“As long as that’s understood.”
“As it is understood, you will be happy enough to pose as two of my number. The hovel behind me has items of my Order. You will both equip yourselves. I want you to follow my instructions as if they were your own thoughts. You can work independently or together. I let you decide that detail. Utmost importance must be given to one simple thing. The stig must obtain a morganti blade without it becoming known publicly. I don’t care where you two get one. The ‘liberation’ must remain a secret. No word of a morganti weapon going missing must escape into general knowledge. When you have the weapon, you will find me at Whitecrown and deliver it to my hand. You will not allow anyone but me to hold it. Secrecy in this is crucial to the empire.”
Ulimbine ignored whatever ‘wisdom’ Aviel was dispensing in response. Sadderome’s words were much like a morganti sword. They struck forcefully. Taken for what they were, the empire must be in dire straits. If a morganti weapon was needed, why not borrow one? Or get the owner of one to act on the empire’s behalf? These questions were the other edge of Sadderome’s words — taken either way, both cut harshly into Ulimbine’s mind. Both were full of danger.
Ulimbine decided he’d heard enough. He moved to the small building — a shack really — and went inside. Two, dead easterners were still quenching the wooden floor with their fluids. He moved around the worst of it. Two bundles were on the table. He knew the blue of the stig when he saw it. He wasn’t concerned about fit. He took the nearest bundle up and left by the shack’s other door.
“Looks like I’m working alone.” “Yes, Ulimbine seems to have decided that for you. Your cloak and emblem-shield are there. Earn the Money you’ve been given well, Aviel. Your reputation means I don’t have to add ‘quickly’ to this.” The slayer ignored this saying, “You killed these easterners. That can be unlucky. They have long memories and are a vengeful lot.” “They have short lives to go with their long memories. I simply made both of these shorter. The empire required it. Something to keep in mind, Aviel. I have only the empire’s needs at heart. It is all that must remain alive. Everything else can perish, save it.” “I begin to think I would be right to expect a medal presentation when I deliver the morganti to the stig. To keep up the playing at soldiers, naturally.” The Athyra STG captain stared at the slayer. His expression showed his feeling of how absurd that suggested future was. It was mixed with Sadderome’s own uncaring blandness which obscured just how unlikely he felt Aviel receiving a commendation was. “Anything is possible, Aviel. Play your part well and your fame may be enhanced as you suggest.” Aviel nodded in satisfaction as he settled the indigo cloak around his shoulders. Headiore wasn’t breathing — she was gasping. The exertion to control the husk was extreme. She needed to rest but the husk was her only defence. If not for its greater strength and speed she would have been knocked out already. The couple that attacked the husk used such elaborate techniques that she wondered at them. As good as they were, the husk was essentially unaffected by their mis-directions and feints-into-stances-into-strikes. Several times Headiore had been totally fooled in where she thought the next attack might be going. It was the husk’s unflinching aspect that refused to acknowledge these hits. Some of the damage and all of the pain was negated by the husk’s lack of connection between its skin and nerves. Headiore marvelled at the husk equally as she did the two that were assaulting it. Her master had vanished only to appear on a small balcony area of the shed. Headiore could sense the bolts of force he rained downward into the melee. She was glad she was standing under the doorway that led up to his vantage point. Vimon’s attenuation wand was hissing steam as he called on incantations, one after the other in a steady stream. Headiore didn’t know who this couple were or whom they represented but it was clear Vimon had an idea. One of Vimon’s voltaic blasts caught the female attacker just above her shoulder blades. The result was that she flew into the husk. Headiore paused in slight surprise momentarily. She used the husk’s strong hands to grip the dazed woman. An arm broke. Headiore hadn’t thought the husk could manage that. She might have been shocked into stunned inaction but the yell of pain from the woman could not be ignored. Headiore moved the husk to grab the woman’s other arm. “I have her, master!” Headiore shouted upward. “Do you hear that, man? Stop this attack or the time of mending will be more advanced.” The male attacker sounded with a strangled shout of pure frustration and fled. Headiore wasn’t expecting that reaction. They seemed a tandem pair. The sudden departure might mean that despite their lack of colours worn that these two were Jhereg. The Jhereg were mostly individualistic even when they joined forces. The way they’d fought together though… Headiore could only imagine that the male had gone because the effort was unlikely to prove a success. He might be back with others. “Hold her well, apprentice. I will be down directly.” A teleport later and Vimon was with her. He directed questions at the woman. “Name?” “Go impale yourself.” “Break her other arm, apprentice.” “WAIT. It’s Yymbessen.” “Why did you attack the husk?” “We… we were told to attack something. The ‘something’ would be obvious for its enchanted strangeness. We weren’t told exactly what it was to be. It was a test. You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it. The husk looked to be that ‘something’.” “Sounds like my test, master.” “Quiet girl… You chose poorly. The husk was not part of whatever test you sought to pass.” “Nonetheless, I rank my effort a failure. Now what?” “I ask the questions.” “I thought you were done.” “I am a sorcerer. My mind possesses more questions than words. Who gave you the test?” “A dragon.” “As is their wont. His name?” “Mythic el’Nibone.” “More than a dragon, a dragonlord.” “Su, he is that as well.” “Mythic… the given name is portentous and almost familiar.” “He is the one mentioned in the treatise of Valmontene, you told me to study it, master.” “I also told you to be silent. However, you are correct. I am reminded.” “This Mythic is famous for past deeds?” “You ask another question, woman…”
“Look, sorcerer, my arm is broken. There may be reprisals. Let me go and any danger and my questions go with me.” “Fair enough. Leave us now.” The draegeran, holding tight to her broken arm, walked slowly along the siding toward the entrance to the lococobra station. “She lives to recount our deed?” “Let her tell her friends about the husk. She knows it was you, the apprentice, that controlled the husk. It will give anyone she knows pause to consider my abilities with it.” “I see, master.” “We should move to the another place. This dragonlord is a worry. What was he expecting these two to find here. Not us. What I wonder?” He watched the elder draegeran lead the younger female off to the station office area. He wouldn’t be seen yet. He was too high above them to attract even an accidental glance. They’d have to look for him up this high. Empty Scorpion sidled along the harness leathers to the place between his shoulder and his neck. It perched there like a dark and malevolent owl. Something had alarmed birds roosting inside the lococobra station’s cavernous space. They took to the air, wheeling across the sidings far below. Around the tall station-house they flew, playing a game of avian follow-the-master. He tried to see what had caused them to take flight. He couldn’t tell what it had been. Empty Scorpion tilted its tip toward the centre station-house. Above a sign that proclaimed the benefit of certain manufactures of attenuators and moderators, standing on a jutting joist, was a figure. It was great cloaked. In the design of these cloaks, it was simple to hide one’s gender, true height, weapons and protections. A great cloak expensive enough, could even hide forms of enchantment and decanted wares. This man’s cloak was not great enough to hide his confidence. That could be seen plainly. Empty Scorpion quivered with silent desire. Ulimbine watched as Aviel entered the lococobra station. He had followed his ‘partner’ without being noticed. Aviel was brash. Not careless in a fool’s manner but heedless of minor risks. Aviel must be that skilled. Ulimbine gave him twenty seconds and then entered the station himself. He could see where Aviel took a close embrace of the siding’s wall to give him some protection. Ulimbine took in the rest of the station. It was impressive. Even compared to the greatest structures of Banners, this construction was staggering. He’d heard it described a barrel vault but the vault was high and elliptical enough as to be more like a dome. He could make out three figures standing in a station house. There were three station houses. They stood in the centre one. He could discern one was slight. Maybe a youngster or an easterner. The other two were normal sized. One moved out into the ghost light glow of siding lamps and Ulimbine knew. Husks were like that. There was something about the way they moved that gave them away. So that made one of the other two an enlivener — Sorcery of mysteries of animation. A husk was close enough to the ultimate expression of this sorcerous study. Ulimbine had no use for it. There were others who used it a great deal. He wondered where Aviel stood on the subject. Aviel wouldn’t have seen the three others. He was too off and at an angle. A flock of dark birds flew above the siding coming out of wherever flocks of birds came from. That there was space for flocks of birds within the lococobra station was another way to judge its scale. Most birds other than knellbirds stayed roosted at night. Something had caused these to fly. Ulimbine knew husks were silent. The other two seemed quiet too. Something unseen, other than these was responsible. Aviel considered climbing. He had already detected the morganti some place above him. The familiar sense of unease that the serioli-made weapons extracted from anybody close by made this easy. In his list of skills ‘detecting morganti’ was one of the oldest. He’d always wanted to get one. vil’Paqqe was an idiot. Aviel wasn’t going to hand over this weapon. It would remain in his hand until well after the Athyra was convinced he didn’t require it for the good of the empire or vil’Paqqe was morganti-slain. Aviel’s face was lit blue from the station’s spirit lamps and feral and alive from his own inner light. There were quite a number of ropes suspended from the arching roof’s supports. Aviel wasn’t exactly sure of their real purpose but he could surely use them to get above. Testing one, he became sure that with some effort he could even likely swing back and forth on them. As he hadn’t determined the exact location of the morganti this might be useful. The wielder wouldn’t expect an approach of this kind. Better still if he could begin swinging from a fixed height. Less obvious, less energy expended and quicker to strike with. Aviel glanced to the nearest building. He wasn’t sure what the purpose of these buildings might be. He decided there was risk but a measure he was more than happy to take. He forced a decent lock with his pry-knife and took the stairs upward. Aviel’s progress to the top of the station house halted. He heard two voices. A male and a female. Lovers looking for privacy or the thrill of being discovered. Aviel considered this. It didn’t seem to assist him in gaining the morganti. A distraction could serve him, however. He decided there was little to lose and it might put the morganti’s current wielder off-guard. Aviel moved toward the couple. He considered his approach: light-hearted, menacing, extortionary, hired-for-discovery, comedic awkwardness. Any might do. He remembered he was dressed as a stig. A simple approach of stern disapproval and a ‘come with me.’ tone could get them to do what it would be he needed. The feral face re-appeared. The morganti would be owned anew very soon. “Headiore, I will take the husk. You will now try your voltaic responses under stressful isolation. I will send the husk at you. You will not presume that I will hold back. There would be no point I I did. You will use the ‘sevanti sterank’ and the ‘valoulle imbrisscadde’ voltaic strikes. You have readied these, as I instructed?” “Master, my fear --” “—will be mastered. Lest you never become as me. From the simplest farmer to the mightiest decanter, the first mastery and the last mastery, is self-mastery.” Headiore bowed to Vimon’s frequently repeated words. She had no choice. She wanted what he offered. Her House had paid a great sum to bring Vimon to teach her. Her family was indebted to the House, she to her family and all these to Vimon. Her Houselord had admonished her to learn well at his side. Vimon was accounted among the greatest living sorcerors, a practitioner of enlivening, incantation and summoning. She knew she was fortunate. She just didn’t feel that way. Being attacked by a husk could do that to a person’s outlook on luck.
“Readied?” “I… Yes, master.” Vimon drew the husk downward on to its haunches. Headiore wasn’t sure whether to scream or run. Both were sensible options. The husk looked more animal than eastern in this pose. Her master’s voice entered her thoughts. Damn! Girl, what use is this fear? Because I lower its form to resemble a hunting verdosau? You already know that the husk will outrun you. It cannot be defeated by your physical strength. Use your mind. It is the only thing that can serve to save you. He was too right. Headiore didn’t care. Running still made sense. She did. Her master’s huff of disgust was followed by the sound of the husk’s not-so-ponderous, booted feet coming after her. She rounded the corner of the balcony. The wooden deckboards were in less than ideal repair. She wan’t minding her steps. Fear of the fearsome thing and the dim light made her heedless of where she went. She went straight into the chest of a man. Paentoux stood unmoved by the slight impact made by the girl. She had fallen back and to the balcony deck. It happened so suddenly, that he smiled. She wasn’t what had brought him down here. Empty Scorpion didn’t care. It wanted him to strike at her. He refused the not subtle demand of the weapon. He still had his own perspective and it felt good to know it and to spare the girl. Empty Scorpion took his hand. It happened even more quickly than the girl had rounded the corner and struck him. He looked at his hand clenching the blade like a lover looking at his naked partner for the first time. Empty Scorpion struck out and down. It was a close-timed thing but the girl wasn’t hit. The husk took the blow. It had rounded the corner by grabbing at the cornice and impelling its body through the right-angle that separated it from Headiore. The morganti blade bit into the husk’s pelvis. It lodged there and the husk, heedless of the deathblow it had just received grabbed the girl and threw itself from the decking to the siding below. This was all Vimon’s doing. His mastery of husks was total. He knew the morganti for what it was immediately. His thoughts were for Headiore and for himself. Her House would be wrathful if she was killed in so vile a fashion. He had to get her away from this attacker. The husk’s speed increased along the siding. Aviel heard the approaching man before he saw him. The swearing was that of a gifted linguist. Aviel was really enjoying this mission. He stood into a shaded spot to let this fellow by. He did not have the morganti, that much was obvious. Aviel frowned. The morganti was gone. No not gone. It had moved and completely so. It was now below and behind his position. The wielder had thrown the blade. Ridiculous. He must have dropped it. Or been slain and dropped it. This made Aviel pause. Anybody able to kill someone holding a morganti blade would be a danger. The way the morganti was moving away, it might even be the case that this person was getting away with the blade. Aviel’s enjoyment of the evening ceased. The blade was almost his. He’d felt it in his grasp already and now — — Ulimbine! It must be his partner that had seized the weapon. It fit. The scav! The morganti was already on its way back to fekking vil’Paqqe. “STOP. The blade must not go to anyone.” Aviel shouted. No response and no quarter either. He was already in the air. He dropped to the siding. He didn’t run. Experience took hold where instinct lived within Aviel’s person. Running was a tyro’s game. He teleported to the station’s entrance. Ulimbine crouched below the siding. He had seen the altercation, but he could only guess at the details. He knew that a man with morganti was coming toward his position. The man would trundle past where he was hidden. Ulimbine wanted the weapon but only for his contracted price. He wasn’t looking forward to holding the thing. He like most, felt more than queasy when near morganti weapons. Nothing he couldn’t temporarily live with, he imagined. His snake extended from the elbow of his bracer in a supple and practised motion. Like a grove of trees felled all at once, the husk went down. It slid some yards under its own impetus. Ulimbine had just latched his hands on the edge of the siding when he heard Aviel’s ‘order’. Ulimbine’s smirk was involuntary and unguarded. Take risks and sometimes you are not rewarded. He threw his weight upward. He sensed the tell-tale of a teleport from somewhere. He knew better than to try to sense where the person would be appearing. Teleports only left after-effects upon enactment. Arrivals only affected the traveller not the space around them. That’s why the quiet chortle Ulimbine heard as he bent over the roped husk was so surprising. A person teleporting would have to be otherworldly in capability to manage to predict the husk’s falling at this precise spot in time and space. Ulimbine swallowed intentionally to quiet his racing pulse. He looked to find the laughter’s owner. He was fairer than many. Fairer than a Phoenix. Washed-away pale. His hair was spun glass. It was white , close to clear. His eyes were hooded like serpents’, set deeply and black as the benighted, starless skies of Axildusk. Ulimbine looked away from the unknowable depth of that stare. His eyes looking for any retreat to safety, fell upon the man’s brow. He wore a coronet. Call it a crown for all the difference there might be between the two. It was against the precepts of draegeran law to wear anything remotely like this. Wearing a crown was either the privilege of the emperor or a sign of rebellion. Umbiline knew this was a man.
The empress was assuredly female. Ulimbine straightened. In his hand, a blade. The morganti had somehow moved to him. He had only thought to take it from where it had been lodged in the husk. How? It felt… alive. It was like holding a wound-up spring that wanted to expand. Ulimbine wasn’t sure he could stop it from wrenching itself out of his grip. He might just be able to hang on. It wanted to take the crown-wearing rebel. Ulimbine hadn’t decided which this pale draegeran was. It was the blade that accused him of the crime of rebellion. Ulimbine looked at the blade… Empty Scorpion… Its name. Ulimbine doubted the weapon was without venom as the name implied. He wanted to part himself from the blade. He felt the weapon’s derision. It buffeted him as if he were stood at the base of a cataract.
Mythic el’Niboné said, “Give me the blade, slayer. Your spirit reveals your distaste. Quickly by the everlasting star, hand it to me. Its hold on you will be complete.” Mythic held out a metal-gloved hand.
Ulimbine wanted to fulfil his paid price but he wanted rid of Empty Scorpion more. He stretched his hand out to hover above the pale draegeran’s. Empty Scorpion squirmed in his grip. It wanted to strike at the hand of el’Niboné. Ulimbine fought with the blade for control. el’Niboné watched the struggle rage within Ulimbine with detached interest. The husk’s struggle with the rope that bound it ended in the husk’s favour and it leapt to its feet. Mythic flicked the husk a glance, the temples of his coronet flared. The husk’s skin burst forth in small but all-encompassing rivulets. These ran in both clear and bloody streams. They interlaced frequently looking much as a map can in indicating the intersection of opposing rivers.
Ulimbine gained control long enough to place the blade into Mythic’s waiting palm. Empty Scorpion suddenly stood on-pommel and only Ulimbine’s wariness of the thing’s malice saved him from being cut.
el’Niboné spoke to the blade, “Morganti-child, lie down, rest and cease. I am your master. My lineage is that which has held your betters. You will be placid. I can command you to more if you do not agree.” Empty Scorpion fell into his palm in a manner more fitting for a weapon to take.
A low and distant lococobra sounded its approach to the station shed. It was arriving of the Western Trail. The sole occupant of the middle segment also bore the family name Paentoux although these two relations had not met. Proximity ignored, they would not meet this evening. Just as well, as one had been instructed to kill the other.
The blade had left him. Paentoux wasn’t sure but he though the felt better for its absence. It had been so long since he had been without the thing. He sighed and because it felt good, he did it again.
Vimon viewed the two draegerans through the husk’s senses. The one was a Bannersman. The sorcerer knew the type of slayer this one resembled. The other… was a concern. Nothing he could involve himself with having to make sure the girl remained well. Vimon marked the strange draegeran with an intermediate decanting. It would allow Vimon to find this one of el’Niboné when he wanted.
Headiore was tired. Very tired. Tired enough that she suspected her master might have incanted a sleeping wash to cross her. He’d done it subtly, if he had done it. She yawned. The efforts and excitements were too much for her. She needed to rest. Her master teleported them to his study and she stumbled to her bedchamber, knocking over her reading stand. She collapsed to her bed without getting her things off, asleep in the world of the relieved.
Aviel cursed impatiently as Ulimbine came toward him. He had been expecting the morganti wielder. Ulimbine didn’t have it. He could sense it was still inside the station, somewhere along the siding.
“Hurry up.” Aviel hissed.
“Eh? Oh, it’s you Aviel.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Aviel eyed Umbiline suspicious, scanning for telltale marks of drugged dart or scratched poison. Something was off about the bannersman.
“I’m fine. I’m afraid I lost the weapon.”
“Fool.”
“Not so much.”
Aviel sneered.
Ulimbine said, “In there. A draegeran lord. A thing of ancient times. An emperor reborn. I would have bowed. I would have sworn into his service. He is king, commander and lord of us all. He doesn’t want us. I don’t know why.”
Aviel stared at the bannersman. He was under some kind of decanting. He was speaking drivel. “I will have my price from you, Ulimbine. I will not rebate the price paid because of your failure.”
At this, Ulimbine laughed. He said, “The evening is still ours, my famous partner. Adrilankha is home to more than one scorpion. Let us see if we can find another. This time without a vision of our past glory.”
Ulimbine’s laughter proceeded them north into the city of the draegeran empress.
The Jhereg councillor stared at the woman. Her arm had been put in a sling. She kept glancing at her arm as though it might fall off.
The councillor said, “What happened must be told to no other. I will act on this information. It is sufficiently important that I should silence you. It is your choice. I can do this and your spirit might consider it a service into peace… I see you don’t want this. As you desire. I will allow you to keep your life. You’re sure of all of it?”
“Su, Councillor Calcitrant. As far away as I was, the man met all the criteria you set before me in words and image. It was the prince you forewarned all of us about. I pretended to want to pass his test. He asked it of us as you said he would. I’m left to consider that we were not being tested but used.”
“It was him, even to the detail of the Dragon Crown?”
“Absolutely. I had no dream to ever see it as you illustrated. It was identical.”
“Go woman. Rest and try to forget what you’ve seen. It would be best.” She shut the door quietly as she departed.
Calcitrant e’Kieron drummed his black nails on his podium. His other hand ruffled the feathers of his black knellbird familiar. His thoughts were black too. Crown Prince el’Niboné -- in Adrilankha. Timing was everything. This timing was everything bad.
“Looks like I’m working alone.” “Yes, Ulimbine seems to have decided that for you. Your cloak and emblem-shield are there. Earn the Money you’ve been given well, Aviel. Your reputation means I don’t have to add ‘quickly’ to this.” The slayer ignored this saying, “You killed these easterners. That can be unlucky. They have long memories and are a vengeful lot.” “They have short lives to go with their long memories. I simply made both of these shorter. The empire required it. Something to keep in mind, Aviel. I have only the empire’s needs at heart. It is all that must remain alive. Everything else can perish, save it.” “I begin to think I would be right to expect a medal presentation when I deliver the morganti to the stig. To keep up the playing at soldiers, naturally.” The Athyra STG captain stared at the slayer. His expression showed his feeling of how absurd that suggested future was. It was mixed with Sadderome’s own uncaring blandness which obscured just how unlikely he felt Aviel receiving a commendation was. “Anything is possible, Aviel. Play your part well and your fame may be enhanced as you suggest.” Aviel nodded in satisfaction as he settled the indigo cloak around his shoulders. Headiore wasn’t breathing — she was gasping. The exertion to control the husk was extreme. She needed to rest but the husk was her only defence. If not for its greater strength and speed she would have been knocked out already. The couple that attacked the husk used such elaborate techniques that she wondered at them. As good as they were, the husk was essentially unaffected by their mis-directions and feints-into-stances-into-strikes. Several times Headiore had been totally fooled in where she thought the next attack might be going. It was the husk’s unflinching aspect that refused to acknowledge these hits. Some of the damage and all of the pain was negated by the husk’s lack of connection between its skin and nerves. Headiore marvelled at the husk equally as she did the two that were assaulting it. Her master had vanished only to appear on a small balcony area of the shed. Headiore could sense the bolts of force he rained downward into the melee. She was glad she was standing under the doorway that led up to his vantage point. Vimon’s attenuation wand was hissing steam as he called on incantations, one after the other in a steady stream. Headiore didn’t know who this couple were or whom they represented but it was clear Vimon had an idea. One of Vimon’s voltaic blasts caught the female attacker just above her shoulder blades. The result was that she flew into the husk. Headiore paused in slight surprise momentarily. She used the husk’s strong hands to grip the dazed woman. An arm broke. Headiore hadn’t thought the husk could manage that. She might have been shocked into stunned inaction but the yell of pain from the woman could not be ignored. Headiore moved the husk to grab the woman’s other arm. “I have her, master!” Headiore shouted upward. “Do you hear that, man? Stop this attack or the time of mending will be more advanced.” The male attacker sounded with a strangled shout of pure frustration and fled. Headiore wasn’t expecting that reaction. They seemed a tandem pair. The sudden departure might mean that despite their lack of colours worn that these two were Jhereg. The Jhereg were mostly individualistic even when they joined forces. The way they’d fought together though… Headiore could only imagine that the male had gone because the effort was unlikely to prove a success. He might be back with others. “Hold her well, apprentice. I will be down directly.” A teleport later and Vimon was with her. He directed questions at the woman. “Name?” “Go impale yourself.” “Break her other arm, apprentice.” “WAIT. It’s Yymbessen.” “Why did you attack the husk?” “We… we were told to attack something. The ‘something’ would be obvious for its enchanted strangeness. We weren’t told exactly what it was to be. It was a test. You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it. The husk looked to be that ‘something’.” “Sounds like my test, master.” “Quiet girl… You chose poorly. The husk was not part of whatever test you sought to pass.” “Nonetheless, I rank my effort a failure. Now what?” “I ask the questions.” “I thought you were done.” “I am a sorcerer. My mind possesses more questions than words. Who gave you the test?” “A dragon.” “As is their wont. His name?” “Mythic el’Nibone.” “More than a dragon, a dragonlord.” “Su, he is that as well.” “Mythic… the given name is portentous and almost familiar.” “He is the one mentioned in the treatise of Valmontene, you told me to study it, master.” “I also told you to be silent. However, you are correct. I am reminded.” “This Mythic is famous for past deeds?” “You ask another question, woman…”
“Look, sorcerer, my arm is broken. There may be reprisals. Let me go and any danger and my questions go with me.” “Fair enough. Leave us now.” The draegeran, holding tight to her broken arm, walked slowly along the siding toward the entrance to the lococobra station. “She lives to recount our deed?” “Let her tell her friends about the husk. She knows it was you, the apprentice, that controlled the husk. It will give anyone she knows pause to consider my abilities with it.” “I see, master.” “We should move to the another place. This dragonlord is a worry. What was he expecting these two to find here. Not us. What I wonder?” He watched the elder draegeran lead the younger female off to the station office area. He wouldn’t be seen yet. He was too high above them to attract even an accidental glance. They’d have to look for him up this high. Empty Scorpion sidled along the harness leathers to the place between his shoulder and his neck. It perched there like a dark and malevolent owl. Something had alarmed birds roosting inside the lococobra station’s cavernous space. They took to the air, wheeling across the sidings far below. Around the tall station-house they flew, playing a game of avian follow-the-master. He tried to see what had caused them to take flight. He couldn’t tell what it had been. Empty Scorpion tilted its tip toward the centre station-house. Above a sign that proclaimed the benefit of certain manufactures of attenuators and moderators, standing on a jutting joist, was a figure. It was great cloaked. In the design of these cloaks, it was simple to hide one’s gender, true height, weapons and protections. A great cloak expensive enough, could even hide forms of enchantment and decanted wares. This man’s cloak was not great enough to hide his confidence. That could be seen plainly. Empty Scorpion quivered with silent desire. Ulimbine watched as Aviel entered the lococobra station. He had followed his ‘partner’ without being noticed. Aviel was brash. Not careless in a fool’s manner but heedless of minor risks. Aviel must be that skilled. Ulimbine gave him twenty seconds and then entered the station himself. He could see where Aviel took a close embrace of the siding’s wall to give him some protection. Ulimbine took in the rest of the station. It was impressive. Even compared to the greatest structures of Banners, this construction was staggering. He’d heard it described a barrel vault but the vault was high and elliptical enough as to be more like a dome. He could make out three figures standing in a station house. There were three station houses. They stood in the centre one. He could discern one was slight. Maybe a youngster or an easterner. The other two were normal sized. One moved out into the ghost light glow of siding lamps and Ulimbine knew. Husks were like that. There was something about the way they moved that gave them away. So that made one of the other two an enlivener — Sorcery of mysteries of animation. A husk was close enough to the ultimate expression of this sorcerous study. Ulimbine had no use for it. There were others who used it a great deal. He wondered where Aviel stood on the subject. Aviel wouldn’t have seen the three others. He was too off and at an angle. A flock of dark birds flew above the siding coming out of wherever flocks of birds came from. That there was space for flocks of birds within the lococobra station was another way to judge its scale. Most birds other than knellbirds stayed roosted at night. Something had caused these to fly. Ulimbine knew husks were silent. The other two seemed quiet too. Something unseen, other than these was responsible. Aviel considered climbing. He had already detected the morganti some place above him. The familiar sense of unease that the serioli-made weapons extracted from anybody close by made this easy. In his list of skills ‘detecting morganti’ was one of the oldest. He’d always wanted to get one. vil’Paqqe was an idiot. Aviel wasn’t going to hand over this weapon. It would remain in his hand until well after the Athyra was convinced he didn’t require it for the good of the empire or vil’Paqqe was morganti-slain. Aviel’s face was lit blue from the station’s spirit lamps and feral and alive from his own inner light. There were quite a number of ropes suspended from the arching roof’s supports. Aviel wasn’t exactly sure of their real purpose but he could surely use them to get above. Testing one, he became sure that with some effort he could even likely swing back and forth on them. As he hadn’t determined the exact location of the morganti this might be useful. The wielder wouldn’t expect an approach of this kind. Better still if he could begin swinging from a fixed height. Less obvious, less energy expended and quicker to strike with. Aviel glanced to the nearest building. He wasn’t sure what the purpose of these buildings might be. He decided there was risk but a measure he was more than happy to take. He forced a decent lock with his pry-knife and took the stairs upward. Aviel’s progress to the top of the station house halted. He heard two voices. A male and a female. Lovers looking for privacy or the thrill of being discovered. Aviel considered this. It didn’t seem to assist him in gaining the morganti. A distraction could serve him, however. He decided there was little to lose and it might put the morganti’s current wielder off-guard. Aviel moved toward the couple. He considered his approach: light-hearted, menacing, extortionary, hired-for-discovery, comedic awkwardness. Any might do. He remembered he was dressed as a stig. A simple approach of stern disapproval and a ‘come with me.’ tone could get them to do what it would be he needed. The feral face re-appeared. The morganti would be owned anew very soon. “Headiore, I will take the husk. You will now try your voltaic responses under stressful isolation. I will send the husk at you. You will not presume that I will hold back. There would be no point I I did. You will use the ‘sevanti sterank’ and the ‘valoulle imbrisscadde’ voltaic strikes. You have readied these, as I instructed?” “Master, my fear --” “—will be mastered. Lest you never become as me. From the simplest farmer to the mightiest decanter, the first mastery and the last mastery, is self-mastery.” Headiore bowed to Vimon’s frequently repeated words. She had no choice. She wanted what he offered. Her House had paid a great sum to bring Vimon to teach her. Her family was indebted to the House, she to her family and all these to Vimon. Her Houselord had admonished her to learn well at his side. Vimon was accounted among the greatest living sorcerors, a practitioner of enlivening, incantation and summoning. She knew she was fortunate. She just didn’t feel that way. Being attacked by a husk could do that to a person’s outlook on luck.
“Readied?” “I… Yes, master.” Vimon drew the husk downward on to its haunches. Headiore wasn’t sure whether to scream or run. Both were sensible options. The husk looked more animal than eastern in this pose. Her master’s voice entered her thoughts. Damn! Girl, what use is this fear? Because I lower its form to resemble a hunting verdosau? You already know that the husk will outrun you. It cannot be defeated by your physical strength. Use your mind. It is the only thing that can serve to save you. He was too right. Headiore didn’t care. Running still made sense. She did. Her master’s huff of disgust was followed by the sound of the husk’s not-so-ponderous, booted feet coming after her. She rounded the corner of the balcony. The wooden deckboards were in less than ideal repair. She wan’t minding her steps. Fear of the fearsome thing and the dim light made her heedless of where she went. She went straight into the chest of a man. Paentoux stood unmoved by the slight impact made by the girl. She had fallen back and to the balcony deck. It happened so suddenly, that he smiled. She wasn’t what had brought him down here. Empty Scorpion didn’t care. It wanted him to strike at her. He refused the not subtle demand of the weapon. He still had his own perspective and it felt good to know it and to spare the girl. Empty Scorpion took his hand. It happened even more quickly than the girl had rounded the corner and struck him. He looked at his hand clenching the blade like a lover looking at his naked partner for the first time. Empty Scorpion struck out and down. It was a close-timed thing but the girl wasn’t hit. The husk took the blow. It had rounded the corner by grabbing at the cornice and impelling its body through the right-angle that separated it from Headiore. The morganti blade bit into the husk’s pelvis. It lodged there and the husk, heedless of the deathblow it had just received grabbed the girl and threw itself from the decking to the siding below. This was all Vimon’s doing. His mastery of husks was total. He knew the morganti for what it was immediately. His thoughts were for Headiore and for himself. Her House would be wrathful if she was killed in so vile a fashion. He had to get her away from this attacker. The husk’s speed increased along the siding. Aviel heard the approaching man before he saw him. The swearing was that of a gifted linguist. Aviel was really enjoying this mission. He stood into a shaded spot to let this fellow by. He did not have the morganti, that much was obvious. Aviel frowned. The morganti was gone. No not gone. It had moved and completely so. It was now below and behind his position. The wielder had thrown the blade. Ridiculous. He must have dropped it. Or been slain and dropped it. This made Aviel pause. Anybody able to kill someone holding a morganti blade would be a danger. The way the morganti was moving away, it might even be the case that this person was getting away with the blade. Aviel’s enjoyment of the evening ceased. The blade was almost his. He’d felt it in his grasp already and now — — Ulimbine! It must be his partner that had seized the weapon. It fit. The scav! The morganti was already on its way back to fekking vil’Paqqe. “STOP. The blade must not go to anyone.” Aviel shouted. No response and no quarter either. He was already in the air. He dropped to the siding. He didn’t run. Experience took hold where instinct lived within Aviel’s person. Running was a tyro’s game. He teleported to the station’s entrance. Ulimbine crouched below the siding. He had seen the altercation, but he could only guess at the details. He knew that a man with morganti was coming toward his position. The man would trundle past where he was hidden. Ulimbine wanted the weapon but only for his contracted price. He wasn’t looking forward to holding the thing. He like most, felt more than queasy when near morganti weapons. Nothing he couldn’t temporarily live with, he imagined. His snake extended from the elbow of his bracer in a supple and practised motion. Like a grove of trees felled all at once, the husk went down. It slid some yards under its own impetus. Ulimbine had just latched his hands on the edge of the siding when he heard Aviel’s ‘order’. Ulimbine’s smirk was involuntary and unguarded. Take risks and sometimes you are not rewarded. He threw his weight upward. He sensed the tell-tale of a teleport from somewhere. He knew better than to try to sense where the person would be appearing. Teleports only left after-effects upon enactment. Arrivals only affected the traveller not the space around them. That’s why the quiet chortle Ulimbine heard as he bent over the roped husk was so surprising. A person teleporting would have to be otherworldly in capability to manage to predict the husk’s falling at this precise spot in time and space. Ulimbine swallowed intentionally to quiet his racing pulse. He looked to find the laughter’s owner. He was fairer than many. Fairer than a Phoenix. Washed-away pale. His hair was spun glass. It was white , close to clear. His eyes were hooded like serpents’, set deeply and black as the benighted, starless skies of Axildusk. Ulimbine looked away from the unknowable depth of that stare. His eyes looking for any retreat to safety, fell upon the man’s brow. He wore a coronet. Call it a crown for all the difference there might be between the two. It was against the precepts of draegeran law to wear anything remotely like this. Wearing a crown was either the privilege of the emperor or a sign of rebellion. Umbiline knew this was a man.
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