by Rob J. Hayes
“Let her go, Bones,” the Boss said but it was too late.
The woman charged the big man and shoved him aside as if he were a child. Bones hit the wall and slid down into a second crumpled mess beside Betrim. The giant groaned as he pushed himself upright.
They all stared after the woman, stared towards the gaping hole in the house where the door had once been.
“We still get paid right?” Swift asked.
The BladeMaster
It had been so long since Jezzet had last been clean she'd almost forgotten what it felt like. Clean skin, clean hair, clean clothes, clean smell. It felt better than every hot meal she'd ever had just to be clean. Two tubs of bath water it had taken but it was water well spent. The first had been so brown and dirty that the tub had needed scrubbing before the second lot of water could be added. Jezzet had waited by a low fire as a serving maid scrubbed and made disapproving noises by ‘tutting’ and ‘clicking’ her tongue.
She'd only spent a little of the Arbiter's money but she'd spent it well. Jezzet had bought new clothing, new leathers, a nice sharp knife to cut her hair back to a manageable length and a new sword, plain of ornamentation but more than serviceable. Less than four gold bits she'd spent in all but when she'd tried to give the rest back to the Arbiter he had laughed and waved away the purse, producing another out of his coat which bulged even bigger.
For now she found herself sitting around in the common room of the Golden Fool with a mug of beer and a plate of bread, honeyed bacon, peppered egg and tiny mushrooms. It was one of the fanciest meals Jezzet had ever eaten but she wolfed it down without a thought to how much it was costing.
After eating Jez sat back and waited, unsure of how to occupy herself. She knew she should find somewhere to spar, to train. It had been two weeks in gaol and about a month since she was last involved in any swordplay. Her master had once said to her, 'You are good, Jezzet, but even the sharpest blade will dull and rust over time without the proper care.' That was just one of the many things he said to her after a hard days training. The old bastard loved to talk.
Jezzet considered returning to the Serpents Tooth to repay Harod for his treachery. The bastard deserved running through for a start but Jez wouldn't be the one to do it. The guards might be there again and she could well do with avoiding another encounter with them. She doubted the Arbiter would bother to free her from gaol a second time.
You could still run, Jez. Forty six gold bits is a small fortune. You could jump a ship to the Dragon Empire and still have twenty bits left. Enough to start over, a new life. The Arbiter wouldn't find you out there. Constance wouldn't find you out there. You could live as you like. A nice simple life. A dull life, it sounded, when she thought of it. Jez could well imagine she'd be bored after a few short weeks and everywhere she went she managed to pick up new enemies. No, the wilds was where she belonged; fighting, scraping, clawing, killing and fucking for every moment of life the Gods gave her.
Jezzet was still supping her beer when the Arbiter returned. He didn't bother ordering a drink for himself instead he just spotted Jez and marched over. Despite the heat of the morning he was wearing his long brown coat with its sturdy design, many pockets, shiny buttons and a collection of stains, and he had the gall not to look hot. His hair was a tangled mess, his face in dire need of shave and he walked like a man without a care in the world. It both annoyed Jezzet and made her smile.
“Awake I see, Jezzet,” the Arbiter said sitting down opposite her on the little table. He had somehow managed to leave the room without waking Jez. She blamed it on the tiredness and relative safety of an inn after sleeping in a cell for so long; usually she woke at the slightest noise. “You slept well.”
“I'd have slept better on the bed,” Jez replied with none of the Arbiter's good humour.
“Only one bed I'm afraid and that's mine.”
“I don't mind sharing.”
The Arbiter smiled and laughed. Seemed such a good natured laugh but Jez had heard stories of Arbiters, many stories and none of them pleasant. How can a man who burns folk for a living be so happy?
“Early morning business?” she asked, it was just past dawn and he had already been and come back.
“With the council. Seems the woman I was brought here to kill has managed to escape the gaol. As I was the last to see her they've decided to blame me.”
“And yet here you sit, not in irons.”
“The council wouldn't dare arrest an Arbiter for a supposed crime with no proof. To do so would be an insult to the Inquisition.”
“Why did they need you to kill a woman? Couldn't they do so themselves? Pretty sure they could've killed me if they really tried.” Jez took a pull of beer, she'd need another mug soon enough.
“They did kill her, she came back.”
“People can do that?”
“No,” the Arbiter said shaking his head, “people can't.”
“Uhh... right. So what do you need me for?” Jezzet asked. “You've sprung me from gaol; given me a small fortune and you don't seem to want me for what's between my legs. So why?”
“I need a guide. Someone who knows the places of the wilds, knows the people, how to find certain people. Arbiters are not well loved here or anywhere for that matter, but even less here. You will be able to gather information I cannot and speak to people who wouldn't talk to me. I need you to help me.”
Well that was suitably vague. “So why are you here?”
“The council of Chade asked the Inquisition to help them kill a woman. The Inquisition sent me to find a man. His name is Gregor H'ost. You've heard of him.”
Jezzet had heard of H'ost alright and it was not a name she wanted to hear ever again, the very mention of it sent chills up her spine because the name H'ost went hand in hand with the name Constance.
“Sorry, Arbiter.” Jezzet fished the pouch of gold from her belt and placed it on the table in front of her. “I can't help you.”
“So you have heard of him.”
“Of course I have. Everyone has. He's the head of the family.”
“The family...”
Jezzet's mouth dropped and she stared at the Arbiter in wonder. “The H'osts. The blooded folk who own the province.”
“This province...”
“Exactly. Only not Chade because it's a free city.”
The Arbiter scratched at the stubble on his face, picked up Jezzet's beer and took a mouthful. “I'm not sure I understand what 'blooded' means.”
“You really don't know anything at all of the wilds.” Jezzet was starting to doubt this Arbiter's intelligence.
“It's why I need a guide. I didn't have time to study up. One minute I was suffering from a night's heavy drinking and the next I was on a ship bound for here with nothing but a name.”
“The blooded are sort of royalty or something in the wilds. Descended from one bloodline. Nine provinces, nine families. Gregor is the head of the H'ost family.”
“Hmmm, that could make things difficult. At least I have you as a guide.”
“No, you don't.” Jezzet should have been angry but she found it hard to get angry at someone who had just saved her life, even if they were trying to place it right back in danger. “H'ost has an army and at the head of that army is a bitch called Constance. Happens to be the same cunt sucker who wants me dead and worse than dead.”
“You must have wronged her.”
“Ya could say that. I killed her sister for a start.” Jezzet looked up to find the Arbiter watching her through calm eyes. For some reason she felt the need to explain to the man as if his opinion mattered.
“About three years back Constance and her sister, Catherine, were leading H'ost's army. Constance is more like a man but Catherine was different. Bloody good with a sword and some sort of military genius or something. Constance just used to follow her older sister around like a big bodyguard.
“H'ost's army met with another of the blooded, a family named D'roan, and they agreed to settle
things the old way so none of the blooded folk got hurt. They both pick champions from their army and they fight. The winner gets the land, the loser retreats. H'ost picked Catherine.”
“And this D'roan picked you,” the Arbiter said nodding.
“Picked would be one word I guess, sure. I was his... prisoner. He agreed to let me go if I fought and won.”
“He had an entire army at his command and he picks you.”
“I told you back in gaol, I'm good with a sword.” Jezzet stared at the table, seemed she couldn't look the Arbiter in the face for the next bit. “D'roan told me to make a show of it. To humiliate H'ost's champion and I wanted to please him so I agreed.”
Jezzet fell silent, waiting for the Arbiter to ask what happened but he didn't. He just sat there silent, watching. “It wasn't a clean death,” Jezzet said after a while. “I cut her to pieces.”
Master always said, 'death should never be a spectacle. A Blademaster should always kill quick and certain.' and I ignored him.
“When Constance tried to intervene I took her left eye, left her bleeding over the corpse of her sister.” It wasn't something Jezzet liked to talk about; in fact it wasn't something she had ever talked about before. Seemed some of the stories were true about Arbiters, they could force a person to speak the truth.
“I'm sorry, Jezzet,” Arbiter Thanquil Darkheart said in a quiet voice. “But I still need your help.”
She shook her head. “You'd be better off with someone else, anyone else. Constance wants me dead and she'll stop at...”
“Even so. I need your help and you're going to help me.”
Jezzet snorted. “Why would I do that?”
The Arbiter pushed the pouch of gold bits towards her. It sat there heavy on the table, felt as weighty there as it had on her belt. “Because I've already bought you and because if what you say is true this Constance won't ever stop coming after you and because with my help maybe you can find a way to stop her.”
“Only way to stop her would be to kill her.”
“I'm sure we could manage that.”
Jezzet found her mouth open. Again the Arbiter ignored it. He stretched out his arms and yawned then reached forward, took Jezzet's beer and finished the drink in one big gulp.
“Time to go, Jezzet Vel'urn.”
“Where?”
“To see a man about a dress.”
With the sun as high and bright as it was the morning was beyond hot. Heat shimmers sprung up everywhere in front of her eyes and with not even a breeze of wind the air felt thick and heavy and moist. Jezzet wore the simple set of lightweight leathers she had purchased with Arbiter Thanquil's gold but still she found herself sweating. She kept wiping the moisture from her forehead into her hair but more kept springing forth. To make matters worse the Arbiter with his long coat didn't even seem to feel the heat. It might have made her angry but truth was Jezzet was too busy feeling sticky to get angry.
He led them to the merchant’s street in Goldtown and with the heat came the smells. There was no escaping the odour that hung above Chade in the heat. A constant aroma of shit and rot assaulted the occupants. Some of the more ladylike women, and indeed some of the more ladylike men, took to walking around with scented kerchiefs held to their faces and held their heads high like the stink meant nothing to them.
Clearly none of them have had to crawl through a sewer on their hands and knees before. The experience might do them some good.
They attracted a few stares, not as many as Jezzet might have thought and the truth of it was that it was the Arbiter attracting the stares. None of them would have given Jezzet a second glance but she was walking next to a witch hunter. It still made Jez nervous to have so many eyes pointed her way; all it would take was one of them to recognise her.
“Doesn't it bother you?” she asked Arbiter Thanquil as they walked. “The stares and such.”
He shook his head. “Being purposefully stared at is just a little bit better than being purposefully not stared at.”
Jezzet couldn't say she understood what the Arbiter meant by that but it didn't make her feel any better either way. Her hand hovered near her new sword, ready to draw steel at a moment’s notice. Her eyes darted everywhere, assessing every person to determine which, if any, were threats. A Blademaster should always know where the next strike is coming from so he will never be surprised. Her master used to say.
“This is it,” the Arbiter announced and ducked into the door of a large wooden building with a sign that stated the shop was a dressmaker. Jezzet had assumed the witch hunter was joking, a play on words or such that she hadn't understood. Now she had that terrible sinking feeling in her gut she got when she was about to be humiliated. She fixed a dark scowl to her face and followed the Arbiter inside.
It was bright inside but still a lot darker than in the sun, it took a moment for Jez's eyes to adjust. The shop was full of dresses, clothes, bolts of cloth, hats, dainty little shoes, powders and other concoctions designed to be applied to the face. Colours Jezzet couldn't even name assaulted her eyes from all directions and she felt her lip curling up in distaste.
“This is her,” the Arbiter said to an effeminate-looking man with a powdered face, big bulging eyes, a hook of a nose and short greasy hair pulled back over his skull. The man pouted at her.
“No!” Jezzet stated in her most firm voice. Both men ignored her.
The effeminate man walked towards her and his eyes swept over her in a rudely appraising manner. The only time Jezzet felt self-conscious about her body was when people looked at her scars but the way this man looked at her... she felt her hand twitching towards her blade.
“She's skinny,” the man said, his voice was as girlish as his manner.
“Recent adverse living conditions.” Arbiter Thanquil spoke for her.
“Not much in the way of breasts.”
“Some would say that's an advantage,” the Arbiter said and Jezzet had to agree with him.
“She has the hair of a boy.” Jezzet fought the urge to run her hand through her short, spiky mess of hair.
“Gives her a certain appeal I'd say.”
Enough!
Jezzet looked the effeminate man up and down the same way he had done to her. “He's overly plump. Lacks balls by the looks of him, probably a eunuch and his hair looks like it crawled out of someone's arse.” She had expected the man to look shocked, had hoped he would, instead he just raised a plucked eyebrow. Jezzet turned to Arbiter Thanquil. “No!”
“It's only a...”
“Jezzet Vel'urn has never and will never wear a dress.”
The Arbiter smiled at her. “You can't very well turn up to a ball wearing leathers.”
“Why not? You wanted someone to tell you how things are done here in the wilds. Well during the rich folk's balls many important people decide to bring bodyguards with them. I wouldn't look the least bit out of place in leathers.”
“Really...” the Arbiter prompted at the dressmaker.
“It's true,” the dressmaker said in a resigned voice.
“Still,” the Arbiter continued, “It wouldn't look right for an Arbiter to turn up with a bodyguard. One dress, one night.”
“I'm not wearing a dress.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I'm not.”
Jezzet glared at the Arbiter, the Arbiter stared back and an uncomfortable silence held the room. It seemed to stretch out forever until the silence became a living thing eating up the world around her until only her and the Arbiter remained each staring as stubbornly as the other.
“Try not to restrict her movement,” the Arbiter said and Jezzet knew he was talking to the dressmaker again. “And try to stay clear of her sword arm while you're measuring.”
The Arbiter started for the shop exit. “I'll be across the street, there's an interesting looking weapon shop.” He said as he walked past her.
Jezzet's hand shot out and caught the Arbiter's wrist. “No.”
He leane
d closer so the dressmaker wouldn't overhear. “The ball is in four days. Most people of any import in Chade will be there. Your friend the warlord arrived in Chade this morning. I think she's less likely to recognise you in a dress.”
Jezzet let go of the Arbiter, her mouth had gone dry. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”
“Didn't want you hiding in the inn all day. Come find me when you're finished.” With that the Arbiter strode out the door to the shop. By the time Jezzet turned back around the dressmaker was already advancing upon her with a tape measure.
You could still run, Jez. Still got the gold, still got a sword. Just slip away before the Arbiter notices and jump on the first boat headed anywhere.
The effeminate little dressmaker started measuring her arms, and then moved onto her legs, her shoulders, her hips, and her chest. All the while Jezzet stood there scowling at the man but not running, not jumping on the first ship headed anywhere.
“Your hair is a little short but with some make-up I could make you a vision any man would...”
Jezzet glared at the man and her hand moved towards her sword. “You come anywhere near me with any of that powder and I'll paint the shop red with your blood.”
The man backed away. “Of course, sorry. I meant no offence.”
“We done here?”
“Yes. You can tell the Arbiter...”
Jezzet didn't listen, didn't care to listen. She stormed out of the shop and straight towards the weapon market she had seen Thanquil enter. She stopped inside and looked around. This shop was more to her liking. Blades of all types hung on the walls and more than blades besides, hammers, maces, flails, daggers, swords, axes, spears. The shop could have supplied a small army by itself. Most of those on show were fancy works, good steel no doubt but jewelled and ornamented with all manner of fancy metalwork. She remembered her master's words, 'A blade should reflect its owner. Blademasters are meant for killing, not for showing.'
The Arbiter was busy with the shop owner; he was being shown a small wood and metal device with a rounded handle and some sort of barrel. It looked as though it would fit in one hand but did not seem to be dangerous in any way, it didn't even have a blade.
