DF251 - Brilliant Mistake (Aris) (Patreon)

“If you have any more questions, you can find me at the Temple,” Oren Vask said. He got up and exited the booth, leaving Aris and Zaphar’s heads spinning.

“That was… a lot,” Aris said. Oren Vask had given them a detailed overview of the different factions of the city and how they interacted. She wasn’t sure how much of it she’d retain, though.

“Hmm,” Zaphar agreed. “It seems that every time I go to Bures, someone desires to fill my head with facts.”

“Can we do anything with what he told us?” Aris asked.

“No… not immediately, I think.” Zaphar replied, “Despite how… overwhelming he was, this is only knowledge that anyone in politics would know.”

He paused to consider. “I know a little more, actually. Queen Elara thought that I would be mixing with nobles and told me of the different houses.”

“Don’t tell me now, please,” Aris begged. “I’m all full up on names.”

Oren Vask hadn’t gone into that level of detail, contenting himself with telling them of the different factions that the nobles were grouped up in. The relevant ones right now were the Appeasers, who saw advantages in the Tiatian takeover, and the Returners, who were horrified at the actions of the ex-King and wished to revive Zamarra’s sovereignty. The Rose Circle was technically still a faction. Outlawed and declared traitors, Vask had hinted that there were some members still left in the city, and even the Palace.

“For now… I think we should find another place to stay.”

“Not here? This is a nice inn.” Aris objected.

“Too nice,” Zaphar muttered darkly. “Nicer places tend to set off my luck. And I’ll sleep better if that priest doesn’t know where I’m sleeping.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“Not with anything he doesn’t need to know. His church is active in politics, which means they manipulate everyone they come across. That means he is manipulating us.”

“But… it was his god that told him where to find us,” Aris pointed out. “If he needs to find us, won’t Giann tell him?”

“Then we will have learned if Giann is still watching us,” Zaphar said, rising to his feet. “That is valuable information.”

Shrugging, Aris followed him out of the booth. As they were walking through the common area, one of the barmaids slipped and toppled backwards.

“Oop!” Zaphar exclaimed, already moving to assist. One hand went behind the girl’s shoulders, supporting her. The other hand managed to catch the tray that had gone flying, and then catch the drinks on it before they tumbled.

“Ahh— Thank you?” The maid was still catching up with the situation as Zaphar handed her the tray back. She took it, but stared at it as if she had forgotten what a tray was.

“Careful where you step, ma’am,” Zaphar said politely.

“Hey! What’d I tell you, girl, about throwing yourself at other men?”

The voice, accompanied by a clatter of tableware and the scrape of a chair across the floor, came from one of the tables in the open area. Before Aris looked that way, she had just enough time to see Zaphar give a small, pained sigh of resignation.

“What’d I tell you, huh? What’d I tell ya?”

The girl froze like a rabbit chased by an eagle. Though maybe girl wasn’t the right word; she was older than Aris, if not by much. Delayed for only a moment, Aris passed her gaze over to the incoming storm.

He was a large man with dark skin. Not dark enough to be noble, and his clothes supported that—nice, but not extravagant. A merchant or skilled artisan perhaps. His main feature was his bulging muscles. From the way he had effortlessly brushed his table away, Aris guessed that his path was strong on Strength progression—perhaps even double.

His gaze was fixed on the frightened girl as he approached. He drew up, startled, when Zaphar interposed himself.

“Hey there, friend,” Zaphar said with a wide smile. “No need to get upset. Anyone can slip, and there was no harm done.”

“Get out of my way,” the man snarled, grabbing at Zaphar’s shoulder.

Well. There was no way that was going to work. Zaphar ducked under the grab. Not dodged; he didn’t move out of the way. He just dipped his head and then pushed the arm further along its way as the man tried to understand what was happening. Before he figured it out, his hand was clutching at his opposite shoulder, and Zaphar was still there, smiling at him.

“No need for unpleasantness, yes?” Zaphar indicated the rapier he was wearing. He didn’t put his hand on the hilt, nothing that could be construed as a threat. He just reminded the angry man that Zaphar was armed, and the man was not.

The man looked at the blade and blanched. “That’s—”

“—Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Zaphar said sharply.

The man looked at Zaphar, and then at the blade again. His face twisted with hate.

“I’ll see you later!” he spat at the girl, and stormed back to his table.

“ThankyoukindsirbutIreallymustbegoing!” the girl squeaked before rushing back to the kitchen.

Zaphar sighed again and flagged down another barmaid.

“Excuse me, ma’am. The girl who was just here, and that man over there… I think he intends her harm. Are there steps this establishment can take to protect their employees?”

The older maid’s face went through several expressions as she looked at Zaphar and the angry man. Aris wasn’t sure what all of them were.

“Aaaahhhh… steps. Yeah, we have some people, but that’s Master Garran. Mira’s husband.”

Master Garran had discovered that his drink had spilled when he pushed the table over. Scowling, he stomped towards the exit, giving Zaphar a wide berth.

Zaphar closed his eyes for a moment. “Just to confirm, Mira is the girl who was here?”

“That’s right,” the server said brusquely.

Zaphar thanked the woman and turned to Aris. “We might have to make a detour before finding an inn,” he said.

“Sure,” Aris agreed, and followed him outside.

It was early twilight when they exited the inn. Vask had kept them talking for a long while. Garran wasn’t in sight, but Zaphar headed down the street as if he knew where he was going.

“What are you following?” Aris asked.

“I couldn’t follow everyone this way,” Zaphar said. “But Garran is a big man—his footsteps are distinctive.”

“Huh.” Aris knew that her Perception was better than Zaphar’s, and now that she thought about it, she could hear footsteps from quite some distance. Zaphar had Keen-Eared, though, and that must make all the difference. Or perhaps he’d spent more time listening to people walk on stone streets.

“What are we going to do?” she asked. While they talked, she tried to distinguish the sounds of people walking. Who was coming closer, and who was walking away? Could she tell one person from another? No, was the immediate answer, but she kept trying.

“I’m not sure,” Zaphar admitted. “We have some time before Mira gets off work… and I do not think she will be quick to return home.”

“Yeah, but…” Aris looked at Zaphar. She thought about the anger on Garran’s face, about what he could do to Mira with those monstrously strong hands.

What can I do about it? she asked herself. Only one thing came to mind.

Anton wouldn’t act on the possibility of a crime, she knew. At least, not that way. He’d protect the girl, employ her in the castle, have her break off the marriage. Suliel would use her clever tongue to get Gerran to confess. Kelsey would—

Aris wasn’t going to use Kelsey as an example.

“Hold on,” Zaphar murmured, but Aris had already stopped. She might not be able to recognise footsteps, but she knew Garran’s voice.

“What are you doing here?” Garran growled.

“I came to collect my commission,” another voice said. Zaphar stiffened at the sound of it.

“I told you, it’s not ready yet.”

“Isn’t it? Or has it been ready for days, waiting here while you try to shop it around for a better price?”

“I—I’d never do that,” Garran protested.

“Do you think me a fool, Garran Vey? Do you think I, of all people, didn’t have ears out listening?”

“That’s—lies—” Garran stammered.

“Do you think I am merely fishing for information? That I don’t already know the truth?”

There was a scraping sound, then something toppled.

“Tavian!” Garran said brokenly. “You killed him!”

“Should we do something?” Aris whispered to Zaphar.

Zaphar shook his head. “The other man is a wizard,” he said.

“Tier Four silversteel,” the other voice said. “A treasure beyond avarice. Just the dregs from the forging would have made you a wealthy man. But you wanted more.”

“I didn’t, I swear. I just needed more time…”

The stranger sniffed. “I came here to see for myself, and what do I find, but the treasure left in an ordinary chest, guarded by a boy, while you go out drinking.”

“I’ve been working hard; I needed a break,” Garran whined. “It’s not finished!”

“Oh? What’s wrong with it, then?”

Garran hesitated. “It’s… flawed. The metal was so strong… I could barely work it. Fourth-tier material—I’m only Third.”

“Yes, your inadequacies are obvious. But I can see through metal, Vey. There are no internal flaws. Wait.”

The voice turned colder. “You weren’t planning on melting it down and starting again, were you? For the experience?”

“No! I wouldn’t do that! I know you needed it done before the King arrives!”

“What?” Aris hissed. “Is he talking about Anton?”

“Quiet!” Zaphar whispered back. “Wizards have high Perception too, you know?”

“Indeed,” the wizard said. “The pretender is on his way, and we still need to get this dagger enchanted!”

“I’m sorry! I just thought—” Garran’s voice cut off suddenly.

“No, I don’t intend to spend any more time listening to your fabrications and excuses. There’s just one more thing to do before I go.”

Very faintly, Aris could hear strangled, spluttering noises.

“Yes, you are strong,” the wizard said. “But magic trumps strength. Trumps everything, really. I could kill you with a spell, but this is better. The notion that it makes a difference is a primitive superstition, but the symbolism… yes it’s appropriate. What better base could there be for a deathtouch blade than a dagger that took the life of its own creator?”

There was another soft noise then. The spluttering got a little louder, then started to fade.

“Yes, it slides right through the bone,” the wizard said. “You did fine work, Garran Vey. Be pleased that you got to see your life’s greatest achievement put to use.”

“We need to stop him,” Aris said, reaching for her gun. She didn’t wait for Zaphar to agree, just charged forward. She felt a jolt of relief when she heard his soft footsteps behind her.

It only took a moment to reach the spot the voices had come from. Aris dashed around the corner, gun raised.

An old man in deep purple robes was standing over a body, holding a bright silver dagger dripping with blood.

“Who?” he said, then he was gone. Magicked away. Or… he would have.

Last Word.

She just had to be a little faster, a little quicker to leave. She had to be ready to fire.

“Who?” he said, and then her shot crashed into him. His robes provided him some protection, softening the blow more than ordinary cloth should. The shot smashed into his chest, going through the robes, aimed right for his heart. He fell back and—

—was gone. Magicked away.

Aris said a few words that her parents didn’t think she knew.

“No time for that,” Zaphar said hurriedly. “We need to go. Up on the roof.”

Aris couldn’t jump like Anton, but Zaphar’s cloak could carry them both, with a little assist from her leap.

“Why by air?” she whispered.

“They’ll be tracking us,” Zaphar said grimly. “Not many here will know what a gun sounds like, but someone will. And we’re now suspects for Garran Vey’s murder.”