Chapter 18: A Friend in Need (Patreon)

Elliot spiraled as he tried to plan out the next—perhaps final—minutes of his life. This didn’t make any sense. Was the guard a Talessi plant who would know their inner workings, or another local intermediary? Would he think Elliot’s story was plausible because he knew about his mysterious arrival in the Gerrwood, or would he be thinking that Elliot couldn’t be Talessi because he passed a Sunsguard inquisition?

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

“That’s him?” the guard asked. “I know this one. He’s with a travelling merchant who we think is an Andalusian operative.”

Brown-hair turned to Elliot, his face thunderous.

“And who is this? A local guardsman? Surely you know he barely qualifies as part of the chain of command,” Elliot said. They know about Breka. Now I’m really screwed. Stall stall stall. He turned to the guard, switching to Common. “What do you know? You’re a cog in the wheel, the same as me. I hope it’s obvious why our masters might want someone close to the Andalusian spy.”

The guard’s lip curled. “So which is it, you’ve been assigned as an intermediary to the steppelanders, or you’re spying on the Andalusian?”

Elliot could feel a drop of sweat by his left eye. “I was never spying on the spy. I took an opportunity to spend a few hours with her when it presented itself. My job has always been with the steppelanders. I was moved from Rhodea for this work, do you think people fluent in this tongue grow on trees?” He turned back to Red-hair. “Do you report to this moron? This is not who I take my orders from.” 

The fur-clad man grinned. “I’m going to leave your body in the open air, and the rot will stink for weeks.”

“Enough of this,” the guard said, shaking his head. “Question him before you kill him. I want to know what he knows.” He turned to leave, but before he could reach the door it opened of its own accord, and another steppelander walked in.

“Hrolf!” Elliot’s heart started to pound. “What are you doing here? You need to go.”

“No going.” Hrolf replied. “I said, not good to follow. Too young. Don't listen.” He looked over at Red-hair. “I don’t know what business you have with each other, but he’s barely more than a child, and he’s the friend of a friend I care for. Let him go. There’s no need for fighting tonight.”

A smile cut across Red-hair’s face. “Wrong.”

The guard darted forward, drawing a knife from his belt. Hrolf took a single step back—the knife passing an inch in front of his face—then his sword was jutting from the guard’s chest.

Elliot gasped. He hadn’t even seen him draw; the man’s speed was absurd. 

Red-hair rose sinuously from his crouch, giving his own sword a few gentle flicks. Brown-hair walked in a slow crescent around Elliot’s position, approaching Hrolf at an angle. The blue flickering of the walls left no room for shadows, but the light was still dim, and there was only a small patch of open space before the floor was taken over by the mountain of crates deeper in.

When Brown-hair reached Hrolf, the clash happened so quickly Elliot could barely make it out. He heard the hiss and clang of striking steel, Brown-hair tried to twist behind Hrolf, then they both stepped back from each other and ended nearly exactly where they’d begun.

Elliot took an involuntary step forward, but before his foot could even land Red-hair's hand gripped the back of his neck. The steppelander’s strength felt more appropriate for a gorilla than a man. “Let us watch. It’s bad luck to fight a man two to one.” The giant pressed Elliot down until he collapsed back to the floor.

Neither Hrolf nor Brown-hair had even looked over, still locked onto each other. One would step in, a flurry of blows would be exchanged, one or the other would try to gain a positional advantage, and then they would separate and pause. Elliot couldn’t pick out anything other than calm focus on either face, and he had no idea who was winning.

As the two clashed again, Elliot’s stomach twisted. All the detachment he’d managed to conjure up for his own circumstances had fled immediately upon Hrolf’s arrival. The idea of anyone else dying for his recklessness was already sickening, and he liked the steppelander. The man had followed him through the night to try to keep him out of trouble. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it ached almost as much as his neck. You can do it, Hrolf. Kick his ass.

This time when the fighters separated one of Hrolf’s arms hung limply at his side, sword still gripped firmly with the other. Elliot tensed his legs. He wouldn’t let the other man die for him while he watched from the floor.

Before he could throw himself forward, something streaked through the air from the back of the warehouse. A compact sphere smacked Red-hair in the shoulder, rocketing him into the wall.

Olivia strode into view, black-beaded brass ring in-hand, followed by a purple, six-legged toad roughly the size of a black bear. The toad was glowing softly, almost like the walls, and its body let off a haze of steam. The bald priestess pointed at Brown-hair, and the toad took a giant gulp of air, then spat out another muddy-green projectile.

Brown-hair spun to catch the globe with his sword before it could land, blade flashing jet black, and as steel met orb the projectile shattered into countless fragments. The distraction cost him though, and he had to scramble to avoid Hrolf’s sword as it cut towards his back, stumbling away with far from his previous grace. Hrolf advanced swiftly, blade moving too fast for Elliot to follow, and Olivia pointed at Brown-hair again.

Before the toad could strike, Red-hair surged back toward the priestess. He moved as if he hadn’t been hit at all, sword held out and back like a trailing ribbon as he sprinted closer. The purple toad aborted its attempt to suck in air, turning and leaping towards the charging steppelander. Red-hair cut down, cleaving one of the beast’s limbs from its body. It got its own strike in as well though, headbutting the man and hurling him back into the wall.

Red-hair was back almost instantly this time. Instead of darting back at Olivia, he crouched, held his hand to the floor, then started to fade from view. Elliot’s eyes widened. That had to be a skill. “Watch out, he’s going invisible!”

Olivia had turned back to Brown-hair and begun to chant—her hands entwined in a position of prayer—but at Elliot’s yell she spun and looked around wildly. A second passed, then she pointed her hands in the direction Red-hair had last been present and pulled them apart with a cry.

An umber net rippled into being before the priestess, catching Red-hair’s sword a mere foot from her face. The steppelander flickered into visibility, a manic gleam in his eyes. His sword was coated in something black, like Brown-hair’s had been when it intercepted the projectile, and he’d caught the net. The blade couldn’t pass through, but the net was likewise halted, and he was pressing it back. Just as the net was about to reach Olivia’s face the toad opened its mouth to fire another projectile, forcing Red-hair to duck backwards. 

Elliot’s thoughts whirled. He would make a pathetic addition to the fight, but it was close enough that even forcing one of the steppelanders to strike at him might be enough to make the difference, and he had to decide where to attack. Then he had a wild idea.

Can I make it do that? Maybe—gotta try.

Red-hair had pulled back again, crouching down to touch the floor. The glowing toad was trying to take another breath, but it wouldn’t be fast enough. Elliot fixed his eyes on the man’s sword, no longer coated in black, and as the steppelander started to fade from view he activated [Detailed Appraisal]. 

The blade was simple steel, well-crafted but without enchantments, meaning the black coating had to be an ability. He could feel the skill winding down, but—with every ounce of stubbornness he possessed—he dove into the act of spinning the vortex, and he pulled. More information came slowly, a sense of the blade’s origin in a forge in Rhodea, the fact that it had been owned by Red-hair for several years. Elliot could feel the ability coming to a close even with his extra effort, and he gritted his teeth. More.

Tenuously, like trying to hold together fractured porcelain, the information draw continued. The next few facts concerned the origin of its ore, but Elliot wasn’t even paying attention anymore. With his ability actively working on the blade, he could draw a rough sense of its location, circling around behind the priestess. “Olivia, I’m using a skill to track him, he’s right there.” Elliot stabbed a finger at the sword’s location, and as soon as he did it started to move faster, closing in. Elliot kept tracking it. “He’s speeding up, coming towards you!”

The priestess turned, following his finger, and even in the dim blue glow of the warehouse Elliot could see a torn expression on her face. He imagined what she must be thinking: how it would seem impossible for him to know, how he might be leading her astray. Then she pointed her own hand forward in the exact same direction as his, and the toad fired.

The projectile struck something, and when Red-hair snapped back into view—sailing through the air—it became clear that something had been his face. When he struck the wall this time, he didn’t jump back up.

Olivia spun, pointing her hand at Brown-hair. He had regained the initiative, Hrolf’s initial rush proving insufficient against the advantage of two working arms. In addition to the arm still hanging uselessly at his side, a gash on Hrolf’s forehead gushed blood down over his eyes, and he was struggling to fend off his opponent’s advance. The toad took slightly longer to draw in air this time, steam billowing around its form, and when it fired the orb it released was double the size of those before.

Brown-hair kicked out, knocking Hrolf back, and spun to cut at the projectile. This time, although he connected with his black-coated blade, only the outer shell of the orb disintegrated. The core of it carried the edge of his sword back into his own shoulder, then propelled his body back into the wall. He also stayed down.

Elliot looked back and forth between the two enemies. Were they actually down, or was it a ploy? Then he turned to take in Hrolf and immediately lost track of the thought, rushing over to the bloody steppelander instead. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, Hrolf. I didn’t mean to get you mixed up in this. And you, Olivia.”

Hrolf grunted. “You did? No. I choose.” He shrugged, wiping the blood from his eye. “Good fight.”

Olivia had strode over to Red-hair, muttering something as she leaned over him. A thick band of brown light wrapped around his body. At the sight of the binding, Elliot felt himself relax incrementally.

“Admittedly,” the priestess said breathlessly, “this was not my expectation for what we would find when following you. I thought perhaps we’d make a few threats, save you from a light beating.” She had started walking over to Brown-hair. “What a mess. We’ll have to involve the Sunsguard. Is that one of the local garrison?” she asked, eyes widening, as she caught sight of the guard’s corpse by the door.

Before Elliot could answer a spear of dark light slammed into Olivia’s back. She screamed, collapsing stiffly to her knees. The javelin pulsed, and she froze in place, mouth still open. While Elliot gaped, trying to process what had just happened, Hrolf sprinted past him. The steppelander was headed for the back of the warehouse, but before he could even reach the edge of the open space another black line took him in the chest. He stayed on his feet, but almost immediately this spear pulsed as well, and he stiffened like the air around him had turned to stone.

A woman’s figure emerged from the gloom. Tall, thin, and wearing a severe expression, she moved like a stalking crane. Her rough cotton tunic would have fit in easily on the streets of Bastogne, and her golden hair was tied up in a tight bun. Behind her, emerging from the same shadow, was another person. Elliot narrowed his eyes, struggling to perceive the second, then a feeling of light-headedness washed over him. When it passed his attention fixed on the woman, any sense of another enemy gone without a trace.

The woman stopped immediately in front of him, staring into his eyes.

“Who are you?” Elliot asked, his voice shaky.

“Someone with an interest in those claiming affiliation where they should not,” she said crisply. “Who are you, merchant?”

He felt his blood run cold. Oh shit. The real Talessi.