Chapter 17: Foolish Errands (Patreon)

Elliot tried to refocus on the conversation, but it was challenging. One part of his mind kept drifting back to the steppelanders. It would be smart to bring this to Breka and let her hunt them down. But he didn’t know anything, really. No names, no place of residence, no identity for their employer. Would she even think it was worth investigating? 

As he stewed, Olivia brought back another round of ales, and they exchanged stories.

“Tell me of love,” Yehi said, waving her drink in the air. “Who has a story of the heart?”

“I’ve only loved one man in my entire life,” Olivia replied. She raised a hand to her bald scalp in a seemingly unconscious gesture, her gaze wistful. “I was eighteen, and newly named to the order. There was a runaway from our neighboring town, a young girl, and I was sent to find her. The Bast temple specializes in binding spirits and turning them to our cause, and one of mine is a fine tracker. It took four days, four long days traversing the mists. Our land is rugged, and I passed across peaks and valleys in equal measure. It was with great relief that I finally found her, huddled underneath a rotting log at least twenty miles from her home. Until I told her my name, and my goal.”

She paused, and took a long drink from her tankard.

“She said her name was Amelie, and she had been betrothed to a councilman four times her age, who was known for his violent rages. She said she would prefer to stay under the log than to return with me. I didn’t know what to do. But she was so sad, and so angry. So I took her to a different town. And that’s where I met him.” She smiled, closing her eyes as if bringing an image to mind.

“The town’s schoolmaster, Thomas. He had the most amazing gray eyes, like thunderheads, yet so calm. I went to him because I thought he would know the local families, know who might keep a runaway. He heard her story and offered to adopt her himself. I felt terrible at first, facing her mother and saying that I never found her. But it was obvious that she mourned the loss of the brideprice far more than the loss of the bride.” 

Olivia glanced around the table, briefly meeting the eyes of her audience, each in turn. Elliot wondered if she was searching for judgement. 

“I visited often, and she was happy there. She learned his trade, and became a teacher. I don’t know if he ever fell for me, but I certainly did for him. He was gentle, and learned, and laughed so easily. But,” she sighed, “I was Named, and that life was not for me. When my senior overheard me discussing him one evening at dinner, I was forbidden from returning, or even writing. It was the last I saw of either of them.”

She looked as if she was about to continue, but then sat back in her chair and took another long pull of ale. When she set the tankard down again, her eyes had become hooded, and she spoke no further.

“Oh my,” Yehi said softly. “Love and loss so often go together.”

Hrolf said nothing, but he reached out a single fist and gently tapped the priestess on the shoulder.

“That’s awful,” Elliot said, leaning forward. “Do you ever think about reaching back out? It might not be too late.”

“Oh, never,” the priestess replied, brows drawing together. “I couldn’t defy a direct command. Even when I was in the midst of it and my only lies were of omission, the guilt almost broke me.”

Elliot didn’t know what to say. The idea of giving up on someone you cared about because it was against an arbitrary rule seemed crazy to him. Not that he’d ever say that. This wasn’t his world, and for all he knew it wasn’t arbitrary at all, and priestesses were banned from marriage because demon spirits were attracted to people with romantic entanglements.

The steppelanders had been drinking steadily since they sat down, their squat, round table littered with empty mugs. The server kept trying to take them, but every time they would refuse to allow it.

“Myself, I have no tales of love,” Yehi said, sighing. “What of you, Hrolf?”

The giant grunted, and raised two fingers into the air.

“You’ve had two lovers?” Olivia asked, still slightly subdued.

He shook his head. “One woman. Two…” he trailed off briefly, frowning. “One woman, two lives.”

One woman, two lives? Elliot wasn’t sure what that meant. “Do you mean you met her at two different times in your life?” he asked.

“No.” Hrolf thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Complicated.”

“Love, and loss, and complication. What an unfortunate lot we are,” Olivia replied. “And what of you, Elliot?”

“No, no love for me, not yet. It feels pretty far from my mind right now.”

Olivia winced. “Of course, forgive me. With the story you shared, there could be no good answer to that question.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wish I had a story to share too, from earlier in my life. But it just never happened”

Yehi nodded sagely. “You have plenty of time, my young friend. Now, tell me of laughter. Who has stories of joy?”

The conversation continued into the night, the crowd only growing more raucous around them. At some point Elliot joined in the drinking, despite not having much of a taste for beer, and Hrolf ordered a round of meat pies for the table.

He kept checking the other side of the tavern, but the steppelanders continued throwing back ale, seeming content to pass the whole night in the steady pursuit of inebriation. The drinks were decent, the pies rich and salty, and by the time a few hours had passed Elliot had almost stopped remembering to keep checking on them.

“No.” Olivia said, her voice slurring slightly. “That makes no sense. Why would he refuse to keep it leashed?”

“Because he is bastard,” Hrolf replied sagely.

“No, no,” Yehi said, waving her hands in a much more expansive gesture than she had employed earlier in the evening, “he was a very nice man, just entilted. Entited. Entitled. That’s it.”

“Bastard,” Elliot said, nodding. “You have to leash it if you own it, it’s just common decency.” His head was spinning.

Right as he was about to tell a story about an off-leash chihuahua he’d once seen urinating into a public pool, he happened to glance over just in time to see the steppelanders heading for the door, and froze.

It was time to decide. The smart move was clearly to do nothing. They were, at the very least, two large, violent men who didn’t like people who looked like Elliot, and following them into the dark had fairly obvious downsides. At most, they were agents hired by an infiltrating force with no qualms about killing for coin. He could stay till everyone went home, and then go tell Breka what he’d seen and let her decide what to do next. But what would he tell her? Two steppelanders had been aggressive and xenophobic and he had no idea where they were or what they were doing? If he followed, he could try to use his skill on some of their possessions to get more information, and at least find out where they were staying.

He wanted to impress Breka. She’d made promises, but at the end of the day their connection was a tenuous thing, and she was the key to everything. Without her plan, he had nothing, just a suicidal goal and quite possibly the weakest profession in existence. He had to do something to show her he was worth keeping around.

Elliot rose suddenly to his feet. “I’m sorry to be abrupt, but I realize I’ve totally forgotten about something I had to do.”

“Oh,” Olivia said, a look of surprise on her face. “Are you sure you don’t want one more drink?”

“Or more pie,” Yehi added, looking over her shoulder for the server.

“No, thanks though. I’ve honestly had a great time,” he said, finding he meant it sincerely. “I’d love to see you all again before I leave town.”

“Of course,” Yehi said, smiling.

“Wait,” Hrolf grunted. “I walk.”

“Oh,” Elliot said, glancing between the steppelander and the door. “Um, I really have to—”

“Fast. Not make wait.”

Licking his lips, Elliot tried for a smile, suppressing the urge to take off running after the men. “Sure.”

The two of them walked to the door, and then outside. The scent of pine was a balm to his nerves after the constant wafting of meat and ale, and he took a deep breath. It was a brisk night, almost too cold to be comfortable in his sweater, and the lichalis-infused stone had begun to flicker and glow all around him.

“Men who spoke, you watch. I see,” Hrolf said as soon as he stepped over the threshold.

Elliot’s cheeks flushed lightly. That was embarrassing. He’d actually thought he was being subtle. The whole subterfuge thing might need more practice.

“Do not follow,” Hrolf said, “They…” he broke off, scowling. “Break? Hurt. Hurt you, if follow. My people,” he paused, something like weariness flashing across his face. “Danger. Will hurt.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t going to…” Elliot trailed off lamely. “Um, I mean—”

“Is okay. No secrets, need I. Do not follow. Bad.”

The steppelanders had almost disappeared around the next corner, Elliot craning his neck to watch them for a moment before turning back. It seemed like Hrolf was trying to do him a favor, but there was more at play here than the obvious. “I’m sorry, I know that’s probably good advice, but I really have to go. I’ll see you later, Hrolf.” He turned and ran.

For a moment after he spun around the corner he thought he’d lost them, but then he caught a flash of furs turning down a set of stairs ahead, and he followed at a slightly more measured pace.

What was the plan? Focusing through the haze brought on by several ales was a challenge. Follow them home, try to peek through a door or window and inspect everything in sight, leave quickly. He nodded to himself and sped up, not wanting to lose the men before he could even begin. The clap of his shoes on the smooth stone walkway was troublingly loud, and he tried to soften his steps.

The descent continued, and soon enough they reached the edge of the second tier. Both men vanished into a large stone building after a brief glance around. Elliot paused. There were several windows to pick from, and taking a quick peek inside would be the work of a moment. Then it was back home and straight to Breka.

What if it is the Talessi? He grinned. Breka would be so impressed.

Blue light from the lichalis-infused stone washed over him as he eased up against the outer wall, adding an ominous hint to the proceedings. It was quiet on this tier, and the buildings were larger. He wasn’t sure if the residents were already asleep, or if these were commercial buildings closed up for the night.

Inching up, he peeked over the sill. It looked like some kind of warehouse. There were crates everywhere, with a large cluster of barrels by the back wall. This couldn’t be their home, unless maybe there was a small room in the back that they’d rented while travelling?

His train of thought collapsed as a huge, muscular arm slid smoothly around his neck and then tightened like a vice. An attempt to gasp died in his chest—the powerful squeeze on his trachea completely impeding the passage of air. Oh shit.

After ten or so seconds the figure eased the pressure fractionally, then dragged him around the wall and through the building’s front entrance. Elliot heard the door shut with a snap, but he continued to be dragged forward until—just as he felt the world slipping away—he was thrown to the ground. It was granite, like everything else, and the drop was painful enough to bring him back to his senses. He gasped for air, thrashing over to look at his assailant.

It was the red-haired steppelander. His expression was calm, and curious. “It’s the Marchman from the inn. I wonder if he has an affection for men of the steppes.”

“Or maybe he was hired by the Sunsguard as a spy.”

Elliot turned as well as he could in his prone position, seeing the other member of the pair striding up from further in the warehouse.

The red-haired man laughed. “Yes. I was jesting, my friend. He is obviously a spy.” 

Elliot didn’t feel tipsy anymore. His chest tightened in what might have been an incipient panic attack, or perhaps just an aftereffect of the strangulation. Oh God, I’m going to die. What an embarrassing end to his life here. Killed by dumb overconfidence.

He drew in a ragged breath. Stop. Focus. The two languages he’d unlocked still lived together in his chest, birds amidst cliffs, and when he spoke this time, he chose the cliffs. “A spy is a good guess, brothers. But you’re off the mark.”

For the first time, Elliot saw true shock cross both men’s faces, followed by a taut stiffness. They both took similarly smooth steps backwards, and both had their swords in hand before even finishing the movement.

“What is this?” asked the second man, brown haired and with a shorter but thicker beard than his partner. He held his sword pointed low across his body.

Elliot’s mind was racing, barely outpacing his mouth. “This is an audit. We have the same masters, and I was hired to both be your intermediary, and also to keep an eye on you. That can’t be so surprising, given the nature of our work.”

The two men exchanged glances.

“Where did you learn our tongue?” Red-hair asked. “You are no man of the steppes, and I’ve never heard an outsider speak as if born to the grass sea.”

He decided to gamble. “Do you think such things are beyond the resources of the Talessi? It is why I was chosen, despite my lack of training in the subtler arts.”

They looked at each other again, longer this time, then Brown-hair sheathed his sword. “We must at least check. This smells like week-old hare, but it would be our heads if we sent one of their agents to the four winds.”

“Fine,” Red-hair said, his own sword still bared. “You go. I’ll watch.”

Brown-hair strode off without a moment’s further hesitation, and Elliot tried to keep his expression cool and collected. That would buy him, at best, a half hour or so. At worst a minute. Time for a new plan.

The wait felt interminable. Red-hair said nothing, he didn’t even move after the first few seconds, staying in a relaxed crouch with his sword across his knees. Elliot tried desperately to think. It would be tough to bluff the next link up the chain—his story had barely worked with these two. There was no chance of fighting his way out of this, and no further tricks were coming to mind. Was there any possible way of making enough of a scene that he could attract a passer-by? No, no way. Any sudden movement would lead to Red-hair’s sword entering his body at great speed, that much was obvious. It would just have to be more bluffing, and he’d hope for a miracle.

Before he could brainstorm any further the front door opened and Brown-hair walked back in. Behind him, looking almost the same as he had two nights ago, was a town guardsman. It was the man who’d been on duty with Baird when Elliot and Hadrian had first arrived, who’d never spoken. His eyes fell on Elliot, still sitting on the stone floor, and they narrowed.

Damn.