by J B Drake
“How’s that?” Anise asked.
Before Eldred could answer, a groan from Marshalla cut him short. All eyes turned to her. She had her fork in her mouth, and her eyes were closed.
Opening her eyes, she turned to Anise.
“Tastes almost like Maline’s!” she exclaimed.
“What?” Anise exclaimed as she stared at her fork, and for the next few moments, the whole table was silent as Marshalla and Anise shovelled piece after piece of their mouth-watering dessert into their mouths.
“Seconds?” Eldred asked as both finished.
“Yes, please,” Anise mumbled, while Marshalla simply nodded and offered up her plate, her mouth too full to speak.
“Greedy cows,” Anieszirel growled behind them, the smile upon her lips drawing all venom from her words.
“What were you saying about Payton?” Anise asked as Eldred took Marshalla’s plate and began slicing the cake once more.
“Weighton,” Arenya corrected.
“Yes,” Eldred nodded. “I was saying the man is no fool. Nobody’s actually seen him in years, and certainly not since we’ve been here.”
“Hm.” Arenya nodded. “It’s like he’s playing to the decrepit recluse trope.”
“I see.” Anise mused as Eldred filled her plate.
“Yes.” Eldred nodded. “In fact, I dare say the only people who’ve seen him are his own sellswords.”
“He keeps an army of them,” Arenya continued as Eldred filled Marshalla’s plate. “Not quite sure where precisely, but I do know it’s somewhere up in the hills. We do see them in town from time to time. Hard to miss; they walk, talk and even act like trained soldiers.”
“Yes.” Eldred nodded as he handed Marshalla her plate. “All the other sellswords give them a wide berth.”
“So there’s no chance of a meeting, then?” Anise asked.
Arenya pondered the question for a moment, then shook her head and frowned. “No way to know when his sellswords will be around next. And even then, no idea where they’ll be staying.”
Throughout her words, Eldred remained silent, his lips drawn into a thin line. And as he sat, he avoided both Anise’s and Marshalla’s gaze. It was a most peculiar behaviour, one both Anise and Marshalla missed. But the chronodragon didn’t.
“Eldred knows something,” she said, drawing Marshalla and Anise’s gaze to him.
“Eldred?” Anise said.
“Hrm?” He smiled as he stared at her.
“Is something amiss?”
“I…” he began, then fell silent as he stared at his beloved.
“What?” Arenya asked, frowning.
“Well…” he said, then, sighing, turned to the others. “There are…rumours.”
“What rumours?” Marshalla asked.
Eldred moved to speak once more, but once again his voice failed him as he turned to his beloved.
“Oh, don’t stop now!” Arenya exclaimed, placing a hand upon his shoulder. “What rumours?”
Sighing, he stared at her a spell, then turned to the others.
“Rumours of…some of the necromancers…ordering corpses.”
“Oh, Eldred, not that again.” Arenya sighed as she pulled her hand away from him.
“Wait, what’s this?” Anise asked.
“You know the old trope,” Arenya replied, “the one where we necromancers have standing orders for fresh corpses, the fresher the better, and are always ready to pay good coin for them, no questions asked.”
“Of course.” Anise shrugged. “Rumours like that are why necromancers are reviled in so many places.”
“Wait,” Marshalla mumbled, “you mean you not use dead people?”
“Well,” Arenya grimaced, “I shan’t lie to you, we do, and yes, the fresher the better. But there’s no need to pay for them! I’ve yet to come across a cemetery that won’t give me a corpse if I’m desperate for one. And let’s not forget the odd peasant offering me a recently deceased relative so they don’t have to pay for burial.”
“So what so wrong about them rumours?”
“They imply we pay for the people to be harvested! It makes us into ghouls, with an insatiable appetite for corpses! We don’t do that, Marsha, that’s just vulgar.”
The wry smile upon Eldred’s lips told both guests not every necromancer would share Arenya’s view, but the pair knew well enough to keep that to themselves.
“Anyway,” Arenya continued, “the rumour made its way to Kirsk a decade or so ago, gods only know why it took so long to get here, and it’s that same rumour that drew some of these sellsword butchers to the town.”
“Butchers?” Marshalla asked.
“Yes. “All manner of butchers: bandits, pirates, you name it, all flocking here for easy coin. Though now, some of them are also dabbling in a spot of grave-robbing.”
“They digging up bodies?” Marshalla frowned.
“Well…remember what Eldred said about Fa’aldurn being a battlefield…?”
“Oh, gods,” Marshalla muttered as her face twisted in disgust.
“Precisely.”
“Anyway,” Eldred continued, “the reason I brought it up was there’s also a rumour that Weighton dabbles in this, and—”
“Oh, Eldred!” Arenya exclaimed, giving him a playful shove.
“What?” Eldred exclaimed. “It’s what I’ve heard, and who knows, there might be a drop of truth in it that Anise might find of use!”
“What’s this rumour, then?” Anise asked.
“Well,” Eldred said, turning to her, “it goes that Weighton sometimes employs one of the sellsword groups for…those sorts of things. Perhaps they can arrange a meeting for you. Though if you do talk to them, do it in the open, here in town.”
“No battling in town.” Anise smiled.
“Precisely!” Eldred grinned.
“Where do we find them?”
“They’ve taken over the Broiling Seas,” Eldred replied, “it’s a tavern not too far from the main courtyard. Ask anyone there, they’ll direct you.”
“But if you do go there, do take Eldred’s warnings to heart,” Arenya added, her worry plain. “They’re vermin, Anise, no other way to put it. They used to be pirates, I think, and from what little I’ve seen of them, they’re every bit as vile now as they could ever possibly have been.”
Anise smiled. “We’ll be careful.”
“What they called?” Marshalla asked.
“Jackdaws,” Eldred replied.
“Jackdaws?” Anise exclaimed.
Frowning, the others stared at her.
“You know them?” Eldred asked.
Forcing a smile, Anise shook her head. “One of Baern’s old friends did. She…uh… disappeared a while ago, and they had a hand in it somehow. He was quite vocal about them whenever he spoke about her. Just…seems a bit surprising to cross paths with them.”
“Oh,” Arenya said. “Poor Baern.”
“Hmm,” Anise nodded. Though, as she did, she stared briefly into the ether. There was an edge to her gaze, a hardening that those who knew her would know she was deeply troubled by what she’d heard. But it was brief, gone within moments, her smile back in place as she tucked into her cake once more.
“Now it’s your turn!” Arenya exclaimed, turning to stare square at her sister as she rested her elbows upon the table and her head upon her interlocked fingers.
“My turn…what?” Anise muttered.
“What have we missed? And leave nothing out.”
“Ah!” Anise grinned, and placing her fork upon the plate, began regaling her hosts with all the gossip she knew, no matter how small.
As the town’s clocktower struck twelve, Marshalla stepped through the opened doorway, the encroaching darkness kept at bay by the light streaming from the doorway. With a contented sigh, she turned, a smile upon her lips. It was a smile that widened as she watched the two sisters hug.
“Thank you,” Anise said as she stared from her sister to her sister’s beloved.
“You two make wonderful hosts.”
“It’s always nice to have guests.” Eldred grinned.
“I can imagine.” Anise smiled, then turned to her sister.
“Thank you,” Arenya said before Anise could draw breath. There was a seriousness to her gaze now, and a warmth that could only come from finding peace in one’s soul.
“Thank me?” Anise frowned. “Whatever for?”
“For forgiving me,” Arenya replied. “I tried to kill you, and you never once mentioned it tonight.”
“I…” Anise began, but words failed her.
“It means a lot to me that you’d not hold it against me, sister,” Arenya said, then chuckled. “It feels so strange saying that word without meaning it as a barb.”
“We both thank you,” Eldred added, his eyes going from Anise to Marshalla. “Both of you. We wronged you both, and wronged you greatly.”
“Yes.” Arenya nodded, looking first at Eldred, then at the pair. “And we will find a way to make up for our past deeds. You’ll see.”
Taking a deep breath, Anise let it out slowly, and as she smiled, the same warmth that radiated from Arenya radiated from her too.
“I know you will…sister.”
With a wide grin and her eyes glistening, Arenya grasped hold of her sister’s hand, and giving it a tight squeeze, turned and disappeared into the house.
“If there’s anything you need while you’re in Kirsk,” Eldred said, stepping deeper into the light, “you know where to find us.”
Anise nodded. “That we do.”
“Good.” Eldred nodded. “Well, I’d best go take care of the dishes.”
Anise smiled. “And my sister.”
Eldred’s smile widened. “Of course. Safe travels.”
“Thank you,” Anise replied, pulling out an enchanted torch as she spoke, and as she turned, the torch came alive in her hand just as Eldred closed the door behind her.
“What?” Anise demanded the moment the torch’s light caught the grin upon Marshalla’s face.
“Glad you came, then?” was Marshalla’s response.
“Oh, shut up, you,” Anise snarled, barging past the snickering girl before stomping down the street.
“Seems you touched a nerve,” Anieszirel said as she drifted closer to Marshalla.
“Seems so.” Marshalla grinned. But it was a grin that swiftly vanished when all about her began to fall to darkness.
“Hey! Wait!” Marshalla cried, hurrying after Anise. “You’re leaving me in the dark here!”
“Well, hurry up, then!” Anise shot back.
“Wait!”
Sighing, the Archmage stopped and turned to glare at her companion.
“What?” Marshalla demanded as she reached the brooding Archmage.
Rolling her eyes, Anise turned and resumed her march, but at a vastly reduced pace.
“Well, I for one am glad we came,” Anieszirel said as she floated to the other side of Anise. “Can you imagine how long it would’ve taken us to learn about this Weighton human on our own?”
“Yes.” Marshalla nodded. “That is extremely good fortune.”
“But we must tread carefully,” Anieszirel continued. “Judging by Eldred’s words, these Jackdaws don’t seem particularly honourable. And with the peacekeeper’s stance, we must plan carefully.”
“It’s late,” Marshalla replied. “Bad idea to be planning at this hour. I say we return to our lodgings and—”
“We’re not going back,” Anise said, and, at her words, both Marshalla and Anieszirel came to a dead halt. The coldness within Anise’s words was enough to make the hairs on the back of Marshalla’s neck stand ramrod straight.
Exchanging brief glances, both hurried after the Archmage.
“What do you mean we’re not going back?” Anieszirel asked.
“Where are we going, Anise?” Marshalla added.
“We’re going to the Broiling Seas,” Anise replied.
“Now?” Marshalla and Anieszirel exclaimed in unison.
Anise nodded.
“Why?” Anieszirel demanded.
“Yes,” Marshalla added. “What’s the rush?”
“Because at this hour, they’ll be deep in drink,” Anise replied. “Best time to talk to a pirate is when his head is spinning. We leave it to the morning, their heads won’t be spinning, it’ll be pounding.”
“You’re not making sense.”
Anise shook her head. “A pounding head makes for an irritable pirate, Marsha. And dangerous. Better to talk to them while they’re drunk.”
“Then,we talk to them tomorrow night,” Anieszirel replied.
“No,” Anise shook her head. “Tonight.”
In response, Anieszirel darted before Anise, and stopping a few paces before the Archmage, put forth her hand.
Coming to a halt, Anise glared at the chronodragon.
“We have no time for games, this—”
“Why tonight?” Anieszirel interjected. “Why not tomorrow?”
Anise glared at the chronodragon for a moment longer, then, turning to Marshalla, her gaze softened upon seeing the worry in her companion’s eyes.
“It wasn’t Baern who crossed paths with them.” She sighed, shaking her head as she spoke. “It was me.”
“Yes,” Anieszirel replied, “I gathered as much. But that doesn’t explain—”
“Because they’re a bunch of cold-blooded monsters, alright? The very idea of me having to cross paths with them once more, it…”
Gritting her teeth, Anise’s gaze fell to the stones beneath her feet as silence fell upon the three.
“Are you sure it’s them?” Marshalla asked at last.
Smiling, Anise rose her head. “No two bands of pirates can sail under the same name, Marsha. Claiming another band’s name is the same as declaring open war upon them.”
“No, I know that,” Marshalla shook her head, “what I meant was, perhaps the Jackdaws you crossed paths with lost the name to another.”
Anise’s smile widened. “Wouldn’t that be a fine thing?”
“You think otherwise?”
Anise sighed as her smile faded. “I’d rather not embrace false hope.”
“You still haven’t told us why tonight,” Anieszirel said.
“Because I just want this over with,” Anise replied, turning to the chronodragon. “I don’t want to wait a day, or even a moment. I want it done with. Now.”
Through it all, Anieszirel fixed Anise with a most piercing stare, as if the chronodragon was reading her innermost thoughts, and as Anise spoke, the chronodragon shook her head.
“You’re lying,” she said, the steel in her words unmistakable.
“What did you say?”
“It’s too late for this!” Marshalla exclaimed just as Anieszirel drew breath to speak. “What does it matter if we go see them tonight?”
“What does it matter?” Anieszirel exclaimed. “We have no strategy, no plan!”
“I have a plan,” Anise replied.
“Oh, you do, do you?” Anieszirel shot back.
“Yes.” Anise nodded.
“And when, pray tell, were you going to share this gem with us?”
“When we get there.”
“When we get there?”
“Yes.”
“And, what, we simply follow your lead?”
“Something like that.”
“Do I look like your pet dog?”
“Ani!” Marshalla exclaimed.
“This is ridiculous!” Anieszirel barked. “She’s lying! She’s hiding something from us!”
“I trust her, alright?” Marshalla shot back.
“You trust her?”
“Yes!” Marshalla exclaimed, though in truth her own head was spinning at the thought.
“Let’s just see how her plan plays out,” Marshalla added, her tone greatly calmed. “If things go awry, we leave and try it your way.”
“And if we can’t go back?”
“Well…�
�� Marshalla began, then turned to Anise.
The Archmage couldn’t hold her gaze.
“Let’s just go,” Marshalla added as she hurried past the chronodragon.
A charged silence fell about chronodragon and Archmage.
“I know not what you’re planning, Anise,” Anieszirel seethed, “but you’d better watch yourself. If that girl comes to harm, you shall answer for it. Do we understand each other?”
Taking a deep breath, Anise stood tall as she stared at the chronodragon.
“We understand each other perfectly,” she said.
“Good,” Anieszirel snarled, then spun round and hurried after Marshalla.
“Jackdaws,” Anise muttered as she watched the chronodragon float away. “Gods damn it all!”
And with a heavy sigh, she hurried after her companions.
“That must be it.”
Pausing, Marshalla stared at the sign of the tavern Anieszirel was pointing at. A ship sailing in raging waters.
“Must be.” Anise nodded.
“So, what’s your precious plan, then?” Anieszirel growled.
Gritting her teeth, Marshalla stared at the chronodragon. The constant barbs from Anieszirel were beginning to grate on her, and it was all she could do to still her tongue.
“First,” Anise replied, “from this point on my name is Grace.”
“What?” Marshalla frowned.
Anise nodded in response, turning to stare square at her.
“Very well.” Marshalla replied.
“And your name is Marybelle.”
“Anise, what are you—”
“Grace,” Anise corrected.
“Sod that,” Marshalla replied, “we’re not in yet. Why the names?”
“Would you rather they know who you truly are?”
Scowling, Marshalla glared at the Archmage, but held her peace.
“Precisely. My name is Grace, yours is Marybelle, and you are my daughter.”
“I look nothing like you.”
“And who are they to question it?”
“Fair,” Marshalla said at last.
“So you both have new names, congratulations,” Anieszirel muttered. “What brings you both here?”
“We’ve been hired to find out what happened to Agril Flutterfoot,” Anise replied, her gaze still upon Marshalla.
“Hired by who?” Marshalla asked.
