by J B Drake
“A man who claims to be a descendant. He wishes to know what happened, and hired us to find out.”
“You expect them to believe that drivel?” the chronodragon exclaimed.
“No,” Anise replied, “I expect them to see it as drivel and challenge me on it. Only, we’ve been paid handsomely not to ask too many questions. But, curious as we are, it’s perfectly natural for us to ask about more than just Agril.”
“That…could work,” Marshalla mused.
“It’s a mite weak if you ask me,” Anieszirel growled, but it was clear she too was impressed.
“One other thing,” Anise said.
“What?” Marshalla and Anieszirel said in unison.
“Whatever happens in there,” Anise said, her eyes upon Marshalla still, “whatever I do or say, stay calm, keep your peace, and follow my lead. Do not look scared or surprised under any circumstances. Is that clear?”
“If you—” Anieszirel began.
“Yes, I know,” Anise snapped, turning to glare at the chronodragon. “you’ll end me if I get her hurt.”
As Anieszirel moved to speak, Anise turned to Marshalla once more.
“Is that clear?” she said, her tone soft.
Marshalla stared at the Archmage in silence for a spell, but soon nodded.
“Good,” Anise sighed, then spun on her heels.
“Good,” she repeated, then marched towards the tavern.
Marshalla watched her companion for a spell, standing still as Anise made her way to the tavern’s door.
“Don’t worry, Marsha,” Anieszirel whispered beside her. “Whatever she gets up to in there, I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
But it was not thoughts of her own safety that furrowed Marshalla’s brow, for in that brief moment when Anise turned to the tavern, she’d seen something fleeting and unsettling behind the Archmage’s eyes.
“She’s afraid, Ani,” she said at last. “She really doesn’t want to go in there.”
“What?”
“I know,” Marshalla muttered, then hurried on after her companion, reaching her just as Anise reached the pair of vagabonds standing beside the tavern’s door.
“Hello, me darlings,” one of the vagabonds said, his smile revealing a row of yellowed teeth.
“What brings you lovely lilies to our humble abode?” the other said, sauntering over to Marshalla’s side as the first one stood before Anise, his eyes slowly wandering about the Archmage’s body.
“You ever call me darling again,” Anise said in a voice of supreme calm, “I shall make you swallow your teeth.”
All at once the smiles on the men’s lips dissipated as the air hung heavy about them all. Marshalla glanced at her companion, only to see the same soulless eyes she’d seen in Barrow. Except this time there was a smirk upon the Archmage’s lips, and it was of a kind to send a chill racing up her spine.
“What ye say?” the man before them growled before Marshalla could speak.
Anise’s smirk widened. “Call me darling again. Go on.”
Snarling, the man lunged at Anise, a large hand aiming for her throat, but as he reached for her the Archmage’s hand darted upwards, a flash of steel accompanying her hand, and as it flashed across the vagabond’s arm, the man screamed and darted back, his hand gripping his arm tight as blood gushed between his fingers.
“Me bloody arm!” the pirate screamed, stumbling back from Anise. Then, he turned to his companion.
“What ye bloody gawking at?” he roared. “Kill the bitch!”
Spinning on her heels, Marshalla turned to the pirate, and as she stared, a deep frown twisted her lips. The vagabond was staring at Anise, but with face ashen and eyes wide.
“Krelor!” the first pirate barked.
“Hunh?” the second pirate said, as if waking from a dream.
“End the bloody bitch!”
In response, the pirate stared from his companion to Anise, then licked his lips.
With her confusion growing, Marshalla stared from the pirate to Anise. The Archmage’s eyes were locked upon the pirate.
“Uh…” the pirate said at last, then turned to his companion, only for his eyes to grow even wider.
“No, wait!” he cried.
At his words, Marshalla spun about once more, just in time to watch the first pirate lunge at Anise, cutlass in hand. But, as he lunged so too did Anise, the silent Archmage burying an elbow in the side of the pirate’s neck as she crashed the back of her hand against the hand within which the cutlass rested, and as it flew from the pirate’s grip, she smashed a fist into his chest, her fist ploughing deep into the man, just above his stomach, and forcing him to stumble backwards with one hand raised as his breath became shallow and rapid.
But the battle was far from over, for as the pirate stumbled, Anise grasped his hand, pulling him forward, only to dart behind him as he stumbled past her and Marshalla. Burying a foot in the back of his knee, she brought the pirate low, and with a sneer, the triumphant Archmage grabbed hold of the pirate’s head and steeled herself, ready to snap his neck.
“What is she—” Anieszirel breathed.
“Mercy!” the other pirate cried, startling Anieszirel and Marshalla both and staying Anise’s hand.
“He’s new,” he continued when Anise raised her gaze to him. “Got no idea who he was dealing with. Mercy, please.”
Anise stared at the pleading pirate, then turned her gaze to the one kneeling before her before crashing a fist against the side of the man’s skull, a pained grunt escaping the man’s lips as he fell. Then, she returned to the pirate who’d pleaded for his friend’s life.
“You don’t know me either,” she said. “Understand?”
“Yeah.” the pirate nodded eagerly.
“Good.” Anise smiled, then turned to Marshalla.
“Come, Marybelle,” she said, then spun about. “Let’s not dawdle, there’s coin to be made!”
Marshalla stared in silence at Anise as she stood by the open door.
“Yes, Mother,” Marshalla said at last, forcing a smile as she hurried past Anise and into the tavern.
“What the bloody hells was that all about?” Marshalla demanded the moment the door closed behind them.
“Stay in character, Marsha,” Anise replied as she began walking into the tavern.
“You were going to kill that man, weren’t you?”
“I said stay in—”
“Weren’t you?”
Stopping, Anise turned to Marshalla.
“Yes,” the Archmage said, in a voice that had neither emotion nor warmth.
All Marshalla could do was stare as a now familiar chill raced up her spine.
“Now,” Anise continued, “stay in character.” And without without waiting for a response, the Archmage resumed her march further into the tavern.
“Oh, yes,” Anieszirel quipped from behind Marshalla, “she’s terrified. Truly.”
Biting back a growl, Marshalla smiled instead as she made her way to Anise once more. As she walked, however, she let her eyes wander the room, and what she saw made the hairs on the back of her neck stand tall. She was no stranger to rowdy taverns, but the air within the Broiling Seas was enough to set her teeth on edge.
“I mean it, Marybelle,” Anise said as she wandered over to a near-empty table, “I know I keep saying it, but standing and gawping like that is not terribly lady like.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Marshalla replied as Anise grabbed the sole occupant of the table, a pirate who’d clearly drunk more rum than his body could handle, and dragged his limp body to the nearby wall before tossing him against it.
“I only say this because I worry about you,” Anise continued as she wiped her hands upon her trousers, “You do know that, don’t you?”
Marshalla smiled once more. “Yes, Mother.”
“Good!” Anise smiled. “What say you and I have some rum first? Then we get on with our business.”
“That sounds lovely, Mother.”
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“Good!” Anise said, then sat.
Gritting her teeth, Marshalla did the same. Only the hairs on the back of her neck remained ramrod straight, and before long, her eyes were scanning the room once more.
“What is it?” Anieszirel said at last.
“I don’t know,” Marshalla muttered. “The air in here, it feels like…something’s amiss.”
“Balcony,” Anise muttered.
“Hrm?” Marshalla replied, then raised her eyes and carried on scanning. It wasn’t long before she fixed her gaze upon an open balcony on the other side of the tavern. Of the many faces within, only one seemed familiar, and it belonged to a pirate waving and pointing excitedly at them.
“Is that…not the pirate from outside?” Anieszirel asked. “The one who’d begged for the life of his friend.”
“It is,” Marshalla frowned.
“What’s he doing?”
“What we need him to,” Anise replied.
“And the one by the bar?” Anieszirel asked.
As one, Anise and Marshalla turned to the bar, and there they saw the other pirate. He too was gesturing towards them, but his gestures were more measured, and far more foreboding. Around him was a gathering of other pirates, all of whom were staring at them. Marshalla counted nine pirates in total.
“Hrm,” Anise muttered, then sat up as a tavern maid neared.
“What ye be having, then?” the maid said.
Smiling, Marshalla forced her gaze onto the maid, but from the corner of her eye she could see the pirates at the bar beginning to approach.
“This could be trouble,” Anieszirel muttered.
“Rum,” Anise smiled, her gaze also upon the tavern maid. “Two tankards.”
“Two?” the maid frowned before turning to Marshalla. “Should she be drinking?”
“How is that your concern?” Marshalla replied, frowning in turn.
The maid glared at Marshalla as Anise chuckled at the pair.
“Two tankards, then,” the maid muttered.
Just as the maid turned, however, the pirates reached them.
“Krelor says ye was some legend from ages past,” the pirate from before said. “Called ye some fancy name.” Then, he turned to his companions. “What was it he called her?”
“Crimson Blade,” one of the pirates replied.
“Aye,” the pirate at the fore nodded, turning back to Anise, “Crimson Blade. Said ye was a devil with a dagger. Said ye could skewer a man and flay him clean before his body hit the ground. Ye want te know what ah say?”
Anise held her peace.
“Ah say,” the pirate said, sneering as he drew forth a stiletto, “Krelor be talking shite. Ye got lucky out there, caught me unawares. But now ahm ready for ye, bitch, and ahm gonnae show ye how te use a bloody dagger. Now, get up!”
Still, Anise held her peace, her face one of pure tranquillity.
“Ah say get up!” the pirate barked.
But Anise remained where she was. By now the tavern had fallen silent, and all eyes were upon them.
“Get up, ye bloody bitch!” the pirate roared. “Get up!”
Marching forth, the pirate made to drive the stiletto deep into Anise’s skull, but as he drew near, the Archmage’s boot darted forth, its sole crashing against the pirate’s shin and knocking his leg out from under him, sending him tumbling to his knees. As the pirate fell, so did Anise rise, her chair stumbling away from her, and as the pirate slammed his arm upon the table to catch himself as he fell, his hand pressing his stiletto against the table, so did Anise smash her knee into his jaw, pinning him against the table, her own hand upon the table as if holding the table in place, and as the man formed a fist with his free hand, so did Anise wrench the stiletto from the pirate, and as the man pulled his free hand back to strike, so did Anise drive the stiletto deep into the man’s ear before slamming her knee against it, then stepped back as the man crumpled to the floor.
In the silence that followed, Anise turned her gaze upon the remaining eight pirates.
“I shall give you this one chance,” she said. “Walk away.”
The fear coursing through the pirates was palpable, their eyes darting from Anise to each other as their hands froze near their weapons. They remained where they were.
“Nice to see you not lost your edge, Grace,” came a voice from behind Marshalla.
Slowly, Marshalla turned, and as she did so she realised she too was standing, but had no memory of rising.
“As I live and breathe,” Anise smiled. “Little Byron Toerag, all grown up.”
The pirate named Byron smiled at Anise, but the malice radiating from his smile was unmistakable.
“Nobody calls me Toerag anymore, Grace. Nobody.”
“Why,” Anise smirked, “was it making you blush?”
With his smile turning into a sneer, the pirate named Byron took a step forward.
“I remember how you was in the old days, Grace,” he said, his sneer deepening. “You was like the bloody wrath of the gods with them daggers…”
“Why thank you, Byron, but—”
“…but I never seen you face a room full of pirates before, though,” Byron continued, his hand now resting upon the hilt of the sword at his side. “Never seen that one.”
At his words, the pirates all moved closer, some with their hands resting upon their swords’ hilts. As the pirates neared, Marshalla felt her heart begin to climb up her throat. It took all she had to keep calm.
“Tell me this is part of your plan,” Anieszirel growled behind them.
Through it all, Anise kept her eyes upon Byron, and when the pirates stopped, she smiled.
“Truly?” she said, then giggled.
Marshalla turned to stare at the Archmage, then returned her gaze to the pirate named Byron. The confusion in the pirate’s eyes matched her own square.
“You think this is funny, do you?” Byron said once Anise’s laughter subsided.
“No,” Anise shook her head, “I think it’s tragic.”
“Would you still be thinking it be tragic when I take your girl’s head?” Byron added as he drew his blade, prompting other pirates to do the same.
“Anise!” Anieszirel cried.
Marshalla stared at the tip of Byron’s blade as he waved it before her, and though her face was serene, the serenity was simply down to the terror coursing through her.
“In truth,” Anise said, a smirk upon her lips, “I think what she’ll do to you if you take another step is what’ll be tragic.”
“What?” said Anieszirel and Byron in unison.
“Ah, Byron, Byron,” Anise sighed as she shook her head. “Still too stupid to read your opponents, I see. You truly think I’m protecting her, don’t you? No, no, no. You see, she is protecting me.”
A low murmur rippled through the pirates as they turned to regard Marshalla. Through it all, Marshalla kept her eyes upon the pirate leader and her face as calm as could be, but Anise’s words had chased away her terror, and the fear she saw in the pirate Byron’s eyes breathed fire into her heart.
“What?” Anise smiled. “Did you truly think I’d walk in here with no means of walking out again? After how I left your father? Have you gone mad?”
“She don’t look so special,” one of the pirates growled.
Marshalla turned to him. “So come closer.”
In the silence that followed, none moved.
“Well, enough of this,” Anise said, chasing away the silence as he turned to Byron. “Where’s your father? I have business with him.”
“Old Luther’s gone, woman,” one of the pirates growled. “Been gone five years now.”
“What?” Anise replied.
“Byron runs Jackdaws now,” another pirate said. “You got business with Jackdaws, you got business with him.”
“I see,” Anise replied as she stared at the pirate leader. Her smile was gone now, chased away by a deep frown.
“Very well,” she added, sighing as sh
e stood tall. “I have business with you, Byron. There’s a lot of gold that needs to be made.”
Byron smirked. “Gold, is it?”
Anise nodded.
“And you be wanting to bend me ear some, do you? Talk about this plan and that scheme and whatnot?”
“That’s typically how it works, Byron.”
“Yeah, well,” Byron replied, his smirk growing. “We do things different now, Grace. You see, not got time for that sort of prattling. You want to talk that kind of business, you talk to me assistant.”
“Assistant…?” Anise said, raising a regal eyebrow as she spoke.
His smirk now a smug grin, Byron held out his hand, and from the crowd, a young pirate stepped forward.
Frowning, Marshalla stared at the pirate, her curiosity piqued. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Anise lean forward.
“Lucius?” Anise said as Marshalla turned to her.
“You know him?” Marshalla asked.
“Been a while, Grace.” The pirate smiled, then turned to Marshalla. “You must be Marybelle.”
“I see Luther didn’t kill you, then,” Anise smiled, speaking before Marshalla could draw breath.
Lucius smiled. “Learnt a lot from you, Grace, including how to keep me mouth shut.”
“Touching as all this be seeming,” Byron sighed as he sheathed his blade, “forgive me if I take me leave of you both. Lucius!”
“Yes, Byron?”
“You got me leave to listen to what our dear Grace got up her sleeve. But if she tries on any shite with us, you got me leave to throw her arse out of me tavern!”
“Hear you, Byron.”
“Good,” Byron replied, then spun about.
“What about Thorn?” one of the pirates put in just as Byron took a step forward.
“What about him?” Byron demanded as he turned round once more. As he spun about, his eyes went to the fallen pirate lying near Anise’s feet.
“She killed Thorn, Byron,” the pirate growled. “That don’t sit right with me.”
“Thorn killed Thorn,” Byron replied. “He got it into his head to go poke a viper, and he got bit.”
“But—”
“You questioning me authority?”
The pirate lowered his gaze.
“Good,” Byron said, then turned to the rest.
“Well, what you all standing there gawping at?” he barked. “Eh?”
