Chapter 29: Family (Patreon)

“How did you find me?” Grik practically spat, the tone so uncharacteristic Elliot actually glanced over in alarm despite the many other concerns vying for his attention.

“We’ve had our net out ever since you were spotted to the north,” the man in the black tunic replied. “Corvus sensed you when you arrived. Sloppy of you to walk right up to the Harbormaster’s office. I assumed we would have to hunt you down in the upper city.”

Elliot tried to shift his feet to position himself in such a way that he could kick a heel at the man behind him, but his first twitch resulted in his twisted arm being torqued an extra few degrees up behind his back, so he stopped immediately. What the hell was going on?

“Don’t move, Elliot,” Grik said grimly, eyes still locked on to those of his mirror image. “My brother’s lackey is a fourth circle, you’ll only get hurt.”

“Who is your friend, Grikarium?” the man in black asked, eyeing Elliot with a clinical curiosity.

“He’s a temporary travelling companion, and he has nothing to do with you, Hallus. His master is at the Sky Guild right now and expects him back shortly, so don’t think you can take advantage.”

“It’s my business to take advantage,” Hallus replied. “I take advantages wherever they present themselves. A lesson you could stand to learn.” He waved a hand at Elliot in a vaguely beckoning gesture, and the man holding Elliot’s arm began to march him forward.

“Put him down, Corvus!” Grik shouted, lunging toward them. 

Corvus let him get close, then stuck out a foot to push the book merchant back. Grik fell dresser-first onto the bark with a loud expulsion of breath.

Elliot’s eyes widened, but the man’s iron grip left him no choice but to continue letting himself be marched away. At least the shove had been gentle. Whether or not Elliot would get the same treatment if things escalated was an open question.

Hallus led the way towards the sprawling building ahead, Corvus and thus Elliot following, Grik wheezing behind them.

“If you’d like to make sure your friend is well, come join me in the family office,” Hallus said over his shoulder.

There were quite a few stares shot their way as they moved through the simple halls—unpainted wood without even carpeting to break up the monotony—but after ascending to the third floor most people had disappeared, much to Elliot’s dismay. A lack of witnesses seemed concerning. Not that he knew if it would have made a difference anyway. Was this really how the world worked? You could just be kidnapped off the street and no one would say anything?

The office they arrived at was lushly appointed compared to the bare corridors. Portraits of various important-looking figures hung from every wall, and a floor-to-ceiling window let in enough light to illuminate the interior without the need for additional lamps or crystals. The furniture was largely red-velvet upholstered mahogony, including the chair Elliot was summarily shoved down into.

As his captor stepped back, Elliot finally got a good look at the silent figure. A dark blue cloak covered a heavily muscled form, and the sword belted at his waist was long with a jet black pommel. He had a thin face framed with wavy brown hair, and surprisingly warm blue eyes.

“Now, let’s discuss your position, Grikarium,” Hallus said. “It’s clear you have some attachment to this young man, or at least feel responsible for him to some degree, so I hope he will be the lever that finally moves you. I’m sending you both back to Remmir. If you comply with my directives, he will get a contract and work for the main branch. If you manage to worm away somehow, back to your hedges and warrens, then I will have him sold into indentured servitude.” His tone never shifted from calm and professional, like he was laying out a simple business plan.

Elliot tried to swallow, his throat suddenly bone dry. Indentured what?

“Hallus,” Grik choked out, eyes bulging, “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Oh I assure you Grikarium, that was not levity. The family is tired of your escapades. I am tired of your escapades. I know you like to play at being a delver, but your talents are perfectly adequate for auction work, and you have become less of a curiosity and more of an embarrassment to us in recent years.”

Before Grik could snap a rejoinder, an older man stepped in from the hallway. He did not cut an imposing figure, with a willowy frame and a small chin covered in a tight salt-and-pepper beard. His expression was firm, though, with eyes that held only calm focus.

“Harbormaster,” Hallus said with a barely-perceptible nod.

“Master Tsoan,” the man replied, offering a faint nod of his own in return. “I’ve heard some disturbing rumors. A merchant being force-marched through my building against his will, among other specifics. I thought I would come up to let you clear the air.”

“I wouldn’t say force-marched,” Hallus replied, “but even if that were true, this is a companion of my brother, Grikarium Tsoan. I have every right to manage the situation as I see fit.”

The Harbormaster’s lip twitched. “Tular has offered certain privileges as a courtesy to the valued Tsoan family, out of respect for your influence. But it is not appreciated when you hurl those privileges back in our face. This is a freeholt, not Remmir. You are not nobility here.”

Hallus snorted. “Nobility? I am a representative of the Tsoan Consortium, and all that entails. I could report to my family that our business is no longer welcome in Tular, and see what comes of that.”

“I have in no way implied a repudiation of the Tsoan family, only your actions today, Hallus. Or do you claim to speak for the family in this matter?”

“I do,” Hallus said matter-of-factly. “I have been given the authority to manage the situation surrounding my brother in whatever way I see fit. If it suits me to have his companion killed and buried in a shallow grave, then that is what shall occur. If you defy me in this, know you defy our patriarch as well.”

Oh shit.

The Harbormaster’s posture stiffened, and when he glanced at Elliot there was a hint of real anger in his eyes. “Do you have any contacts, lad? Anyone I might reach out to?”

“Ahh…” Elliot replied, a tumult of thoughts passing through his mind in an instant. Could he ask Breka and Hadrian to bail him out? They had the power, but they were also on a critically important covert mission, and presumably flexing that power against a powerful merchant family would be a no-no. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that he couldn't count on their help. If helping him endangered the mission, it was likely they’d cut him loose. They hadn’t known him long. Who else could he possibly claim? Olivia? Hrolf? There was no one—oh wait.

“Lady Alys of the Sunsguard,” he said. “She’ll speak for me.” Hopefully.

Everyone else in the room, including Grik, stared at Elliot with suddenly blank expressions.

“Lady Alys the Towerbreaker?” Hallus asked, frowning. “You claim to know the Sun of Anthen?”

“Um,” he replied slowly, trying to figure out if they were speaking of the same Lady Alys, “Yes. I do.” Towerbreaker?

His hesitation cost him though, as both the Harbormaster and Hallus returned to expressions of stiff calm.

“A fairly obvious falsehood, if an interesting one,” Hallus said. “And irrelevant, regardless. The Towerbreaker is in Bastogne.”

“No,” the Harbormaster said, frowning. “She’s here. Her contingent arrived several days ago, and are garrisoned on the Northbranch. Are you sure you want me to bring her your petition?” he added, directing the question to Elliot. “She’s a busy woman, and if you waste her time she’s more likely to censure you than jump to your aid.”

“I’m sure,” Elliot said, much more forcefully this time. “I know her. She’ll help me.” She’d told him to reach out if he needed help, hadn’t she? Hopefully this didn’t count as a massive overreach. 

“Very well,” the Harbormaster replied. He locked eyes with Hallus. “I won’t forget this offense.”

“Your memories are your own,” the man in black replied. “As long as you do not impede me, you are welcome to them.”

“Good luck, lad,” the Harbormaster said to Elliot as he turned back to the hallway, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” He walked out briskly, leaving the door open behind him.

“Now,” Hallus continued, “where were we?”

“You were being awful,” Grik responded. “As always.”

“Your childishness must end, Grikarium,” Hallus replied, narrowing his eyes. “Do you think me a demon? I will not have him killed, that was hyperbole, but he is a nameless merchant, and I will use his fate to manage yours. That is the way of the world, something you have always struggled to understand. Being a Tsoan comes with privileges, as well as responsibilities. You’ve been warned, many times, and yet you continue to romp off on adventures which actively harm the family’s reputation. We are becoming a laughing stock. What did you think would happen? You would just continue on, forever?”

Elliot needed a new plan. Even if death wasn’t on the table, the options of indentured servitude or enforced employment to a powerful family just sounded like imprisonment with different levels of comfort attached. If Alys could put in a good word then great, but it wasn’t guaranteed that she would, and even if she did, offering a sternly worded rebuke wasn’t necessarily going to mean anything to such a powerful merchant family. He had to find a different path, make himself seem more valuable, maybe gain some wiggle room to effect an escape. What were his strengths? [Detailed Appraisal], his vortex, a rare space affinity. What could he share that might move the needle, but wouldn’t make him seem too valuable?

“Excuse me,” Elliot interjected, “but I’m a bit busy to be heading into Remmir at the moment. You strike me as a practical man. Is there anything I could possibly offer you that would make you let us both go?”

Grik shot a warning look in his direction, but Hallus just snorted. “Bold. I respect bold. But no, there is nothing you could offer. I need my brother back in the fold far more than I need anything you could possibly possess.”

“What about an upgrade from indentured servitude or basic service?” Elliot asked, a hint of desperation in his tone. “You mentioned auction work. I have relevant skills.”

“Your idea of relevant skills and mine are no doubt divergent. I don’t know exactly where you stand, but I do know it’s not yet the third circle, which means you’re no prodigy.”

“I have a skill for appraisal that will surprise you,” Elliot replied, marshalling as much confidence as he could, and feeling fervently grateful skills to inspect people’s advancement were so rare. “Test me. It’ll take barely any time at all.”

“Elliot,” Grik murmured, sidling towards him, “let me handle this. You don’t want—”

Something slammed into Elliot’s mind, oppressive and demanding. It felt like he was melting, the world becoming warm and fuzzy around him, a desire to mutely obey the man in black flickering to life inside his brain. Give in, the voice whispered. You are small, and weak. Give in.

And, for a moment, he almost did. But although the presence was more powerful than him, it was nothing compared to Breka. And she had been hammering at his mental defenses for hours every day. Get out of my head.

As quickly as it had arrived, the presence faded.

“Hmm,” Hallus said. There was a look of slight curiosity on his face. “One test.” He pulled a small golden bell with a red handle from an inner pocket of his tunic. “How old is this bell?”

Elliot activated [Detailed Appraisal], still trembling from the mental assault, and focused. The answer came surprisingly easily. It had been created ten years ago in a Rhodean temple, cast by a local blacksmith with the aid of a priestess. Too simple. There had to be a catch.

Using [Detailed Appraisal] again, Elliot spun the vortex, pressing as hard as he could. He kept his focus on the same question, receiving the same information, but refusing to let up the pressure. Something was missing from his understanding.

Disparate pieces of information were slowly dragged in—the age of the blacksmith, the name of the temple, the price of the metal—and then finally something clicked into place, and Elliot understood.

“It’s ten years old, if you’re talking about the actual metal bell,” Elliot said. “but the red wooden handle contains a bound spirit, and that is over a thousand years old.”

Hallus’ eyes widened. “Interesting. I admit, you’ve surprised me. What skill was that?”

“[Detailed Appraisal],” Elliot replied, feeling a surge of hope. If he could get the man to see him as valuable rather than just a playing piece to push against his brother, it would be much easier to find vulnerabilities. Pretending to want a position with his family would change how he saw Elliot. Escape would become much more viable, hopefully before they even left the Gerrwood.

“The standard ability?” Hallus asked, frowning. “No adjustments?”

“None. I’m a [Merchant of Antiquities], and it was my starting skill.”

“A good profession for our work, and a surprisingly adept use of a basic skill. Perhaps I misjudged you. Corvus, pour our friend some tea.”

Elliot smiled. He was going to find his way out of this, and he was going to bring Grik with him.

***

A few thousand feet above, in a sunlit room at the apex of the Sunsguard’s Tulerian headquarters, Lady Alys was not having a good day. 

The entire situation in Bastogne was still largely opaque to her, the Witness she’d sensed was gone without a trace, and now she had reliable intelligence a clash of Furies had occurred nearby. Despite the scale of the powers involved however, no one could tell her who had been fighting, what they had been contesting, or where they had gone. In addition to that the Talessi seemed to be multiplying rather than retreating in the face of increasing Sunsguard forces in the area, despite that being completely contrary to their normal procedure when striking far from Syrene. It was a nightmare.

She was sitting at a simple but functional wooden desk trying to draft a new set of instructions for the knight contingent on its way north to Sostus. She was finding it challenging.

“Lady Alys?” Someone said hesitantly from the doorway. “I hate to disturb you, but there’s been a strange communication. Do you know anyone by the name of Elliot Field?”

“Elliot Field?” She said, frowning thoughtfully, “possibly, but I cannot—oh, yes! The boy from Bastogne.” The one who had been so poorly used by their own organization. She turned to face her attendant, a middle-aged man named Luke. “Why? Is he well?”

“Apparently he’s been taken by one of the Tsoan family. We received a communique from the Harbormaster, and he’s quite upset. His claim is that the boy was dragged through his headquarters at sword-point, and the young scion who’s throwing his weight around threatened him with summary execution. One wonders if he’s perhaps a bit overwrought, but—” Luke paused, eyes widening.

Alys had risen from her chair, beginning to emit a soft golden glow. “The Tsoan brat did what?”

“Ah,” the attendant said hesitantly, “he’s claimed the boy’s fate is his to decide due to the fact that he was travelling with another Tsoan. It seems more like petty overreach from someone who let their family’s name go to their head, but the Harbormaster reports that Hallus—the Tsoan in question—claims he speaks for the family as a whole, and threatens reprisal against the entire city if anyone blocks him.”

“Thank you Luke, that’s sufficient,” she replied, her voice ice cold. She herself had subjected the poor boy to an illicit inquisition barely a few weeks ago. He was owed. I wonder if the Tsoan family will dare threaten me. “Where are they?”

“Right below us, actually, at the Harbormaster’s office. Do you wish for me to call you a broadback?”

“No thank you, Luke,” she replied, striding towards the door.

“Ah, my lady,” he replied, starting to sound slightly nervous, “surely you want a broadback to facilitate your passage? I know you’ve been frustrated recently, but there’s no need to do anything rash.”

“No need for a broadback. I’ll be going down myself.”