Chapter 21
Deeds in Darkness
It was early night in the sprawling city of Romitu. A rancid smell filled the air as the municipal hot plates burnt off the grease of the night's cooking. Most folk were indoors doing the final tasks of the day before going to bed. Stragglers who had not quite finished the nights drinking, or were coming home from it, wandered the streets, alleys, and corner wine troughs. A cadre of others, though, slunk through the shadows, looking for prey.
Gwendolyn walked through the semi-darkness, wreathed in a hooded cloak that muffled her Elfin face and female nature. Only her eyes glinted from it, darting in one direction after another. She knew the temperature and tenor of this, the largest of cities. She was drawn to where people congregate in her attempts to understand the pattern of humanity. The slums were not a subject of frequent study. But, tonight, she walked them alone and unshielded.
She was edgy. It was not a feeling she was used to. In her sparring with Coral she had summoned up the ghost of multitudes of past companions. Past memories. They still rattled around in her skull. It had been a long, long time since she handled a weapon. But it all came back. Both the magically induced Animus based on recollected patterns, and her own decades of training in various tourney forms. Her hands twitched and sought action.
Gwendolyn bent, slightly, and let a long strand of golden hair slip from her cowl. Then she straightened and moved into a darker alley, seemingly unsteady. The bait was taken, she was being followed. Sensations came to her. The sound of cloth brushing wood, the vibrations of boots on the pavement, the smell of cheap beer. She was good, but this was more than her skill could account for. Perhaps some lingering hypersensitivity from her sparing. Or maybe she was now subconsciously enhancing her own senses. How else could she feel their very Souls as they moved?
A smile played across her lips and she hummed, precisely off key, a tune she had once fancied before her follower's great grandparents had been born. Their hearts beat faster, excitement stirred their emotions and there was a sharp crystallization of Will as one came close from behind and reached for her elbow.
Only it wasn't there. She had lurched to one side at the last minute, seemingly naturally, and he had missed. The momentum passed. She felt his hot flush of anger tinged with embarrassment. “Hey,” he called at her. She turned, head bowed. He pushed at her with both hands. A simple gesture to knock her off balance and throw her to the ground. She went with it, flailing, but grabbed his arms as he drew them back, as if trying to stop herself falling over. With a twist and shift of weight he was thrown to the ground and the transfer of momentum kept her upright.
“I thank you kind sir,” she said. There were loud laughs from his companions.
He recovered quickly and sprang to his feet, drawing a knife. “I'll cut you for that!” He slashed at her, once or twice, moving in and out in front of her.
Gwendolyn stood still, balancing on the balls of her feet. “Well, go on then,” she said calmly.
Immediately he jumped forward and slashed at the folds of her robe. The knife snagged on them, but didn't contact her body. She had not moved.
“I think she's plastered,” said one of his companions.
Her antagonist edged forward, holding the knife out towards her face. He slowly brought it up to her face, and then slid it down towards her neck. “Yeah,” he agreed. “She's not tracking at...”
His reply was cut off by a gasp. Gwendolyn had placed her hands on either side of his elbow joint and locked it in place. She held his hand in place and straightened up to her full height, at least a hand span taller than him.
The others jumped forward and tried to grab her from behind, but she had ducked out of the way, releasing the first. She turned back to them. Her hand held a haft from which unrolled a long sword. They stopped sort in confusion. She held it there for a moment, and then turned it and it sagged, suggestively. “Lost your manhood?”
They circled her now, more warily. Their blades were much shorter. They would dance in, when they were on her edges or behind her. After many feints one jumped in for a real strike. Gwendolyn turned slightly, and flicked her wrist. The sword snapped up and arced around her, slashing the man's arm and making him abort his move.
“Festering maggots!” he swore. “That's a snake, not a sword.”
She lashed it out at another who was staring, dumbfounded at his friend. “It is a sword, all right,” she said. “Favored in ancient Indostan.” She spun in place, the sword arching high and low, biting the ankle of the first, who hopped back. “Quite tricky, actually.”
“There's no money or sport here,” said one of them. They split and backed from her. She smiled and lunged at them. They fled.
With stunning celerity Gwendolyn raced after them, banked up the side of the alley wall, overtook them, and slid to a stop where the alley reconnected with the main street, blade straight and pointed at them. Astounded, they back-pedaled in panic. Two of them fell over and the third slid to a stop right in front of her, his throat impacting the end of her unwavering blade. The tip, however, was rounded and blunt. Only the edges were sharp.
“Not much sport at all,” she said. Then she turned and left.
The night wore on, and the ruffians looking for random violence became fewer. Gwendolyn's fey mood was passing, but she was not yet sated. As she prowled the alleys, she became aware of a presence. Her senses had dulled a bit, and, whatever it might be, it was being extraordinarily careful.
She played the innocent, but it was not drawn out. Doubling back did not outwit it. Neither did a quick scramble over rooftops. For a moment, she thought she might be imagining it. Some slightly crazed echo from the Will juggling she had done. No one had ever lived as long as she had, and it was a nagging concern that operating so far outside of the Grey Elves specifications would lead to some deterioration. But when she passed through the crowd of a late night dice game by the docks she was certain. Her senses were still alive enough to sense their vibrant souls. But amongst them was a gap.
When she had crossed back into the side streets she had formulated a plan. Her ghost was no figment, but someone skilled in stealth and with magical shielding to boot. This is not a contest that would be won by force, but by intelligence.
She crept towards an alley that bordered on one of the minor temples. That would cause a disturbance in magic. She had passed it earlier and from the smell she knew the recent rains had overflowed the sewer there and the ground would be muddy. Hard not to leave footprints. The temple walls were too high to scale, and the other side was rickety shingle; far too noisy to attempt. She had also chosen it because the moon, high in the sky, was aligned and filled it with wan light.
Gwendolyn smiled to herself. Only the most masterful would even think of attempting to follow someone down such a hazard laden course. The slightest mistake, the most trivial fumble, would give them away. She moved down the alley slowly, on full alert for any hint of her shadow. Not a sound came. There was no whisper of wind, no creak of wood, nor any indication at all that she was followed. That meant that either her adversary was a master beyond belief, or else...
She lunged over right at the end of the alley, behind a large lead planter, and grasped behind it. Her hand connected with something and she lifted it up in front of her. Realizing the difficulty, and the fact the alley had only one exit, he had circled the block and awaited her on the other side.
“Good evening Lady Gwendolyn,” said Greywind, sheepishly.
“Master Greywind,” she said politely, setting him down. “You are becoming quite good.”
“Not good enough, apparently,” he said, adjusting his cape where it had caught on his neck. “But I'll take any compliment from you.”
She smiled and nodded. “Do you often stalk the streets at night like this?”
“Yes,” he said, “but you do not.”
“True,” she admitted. She rose up on her toes and flexed her back. “I had something to work out. But I thi
nk I am done now. Thank you for the merry chase.”
“I'm honored to be of service,” said Greywind, executing a highly satirical court bow. “It's refreshing to see someone who isn't all doom and gloom about the political situation.”
Gwendolyn raised her eyebrow. “I find my mood on that changing.”
“Is that so?” said Greywind, raising his eyebrow in mirror of hers. “Are you planning on returning the god's memories to them?”
“Whatever for?” said Gwendolyn. “I'm not even sure that is possible. Once information is discarded, its pattern is lost. Unless you can find it reflected elsewhere it is gone for good.”
“Well, I guess you are safe from revenge,” said Greywind. “They've grown quite powerful over the centuries.”
“Yes,” said Gwendolyn. “But they have learned nothing. I, on the other hand, have not grown comparably in power, but I have learned an awful lot.” She smiled and gestured around her. “I think the events of this evening confirm my belief that skill and knowledge outweigh numbers and power.”
“I would be foolish to doubt your wisdom,” said Greywind, bowing again.
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