by Rob J. Hayes
She cupped water in both hands and splashed it on her face. The cold liquid ran down her body; it felt good given the heat of the city. She washed her hands first, then her arms, then her knees. All the while she could feel the Arbiter watching her.
Do it. She urged him. Make a move; we'll both be happier for it.
Jezzet heard the Arbiter push himself to his feet, heard him take a shaky step towards her. He's tired. So are you, Jez. Fuck it, I need this. Just reach out and touch me, I'll take it from there, do the rest. Jez never initiated, that way she could claim it wasn't her fault afterwards.
She heard him take another step and he stopped. He was within touching distance, she could tell, she could feel it. She waited. And waited. The tension near unbearable.
“Those are some interesting scars,” he said.
Just like that it was over. The heat, the tension, the urges, the desire. All of it gone. Now Jezzet just felt embarrassed. Felt like she needed to cover herself. She looked around for her clothing. The only thing in reach was her ripped, torn, dirtied blue dress. Her leathers had spilled out of her pack behind her.
Jezzet turned, pushed the Arbiter away with the hand not covering her scars and stalked towards her clothing. She kept her back to him. Didn't want him to see her embarrassment as she pulled her clothing on. She heard him take a step and collapse to the floor with a heavy thud.
“I'm sorry,” he said from the floor. “I didn't mean to...” he trailed off.
Jezzet turned to look at the Arbiter. He looked exhausted and worse, he looked like he'd done something he could never take back. Jez could still see the body of the boy motionless just a few short feet away.
How could you ever have thought he'd want to fuck after that? Would you? She asked herself though truth was she was scared of answering.
“We all have them.” She heard herself say. Already she wasn't sure why she'd told him that.
“All Blademasters have the same scars,” he said, it wasn't a question but she felt the need to answer it all the same so she nodded.
“Far as I know anyway. My master had them, said it was part of the training.” The old bastard said a lot of things. “Said a Blademaster has to know what it feels like to get cut so they can ignore it in battle. Flinching can cost you your life. So he'd cut me. Never let me know when, that'd remove the point. Just... when we were sparring sometimes he'd cut me.”
She remembered all of them and far too well for her liking. No part of her body was safe from his blades, not her legs, not her arms, not her breasts, not even her face though he'd only cut there once and it was a small thing, only noticeable in some lights.
“Different types of cuts, some shallow, some deep, some long, some short. Different types of blade too, straight, curved, even serrated. Serrated blades really hurt and the scars they leave…” She rubbed at the raised flesh on her belly just above her navel. One of the worst scars she had, long and proud and ugly. “He even ran me through once. Said I needed to know how it felt. Missed all my vital bits but...” She showed him, couldn't say why. Jezzet hated people looking at her scars but she showed him all the same. A small thing it was, in her side, no more than a finger width across and a matching scar on her back where it had gone all the way through. The old bastard had used a thin rapier to do it and Jez had taken months to recover.
Thanquil hadn't spoken. He just sat watching her with eyes sunk in dark sockets. For some reason his silence made her want to say more.
You can't lie to an Arbiter, they say.
“The other one had the same scars too.” She saw Thanquil frown. “The other Blademaster. For a long time thought I was the last one, 'a dying breed' my master used to say. But in the Five Kingdoms I met another. Some Knight... Sir... I don't remember. They all called him the Sword of the North. He had the same scars, I checked when we...”
When we fucked.
For some reason Jezzet found she couldn't quite meet the Arbiter eye's. “Never been so scared of anyone in my life as I was of him. He was like... the shade of death given form.” She shuddered just remembering him.
“I saw this Sword of the North cut down ten men. They didn't stand a chance, had him surrounded and everything and he just... afterwards he challenged me. Said he wanted to know which of us was better.”
“You didn't fight him.”
Jezzet laughed. “Of course not. I told him, he was better. No way I was fighting him. So I fucked him instead. Now that was terrifying.” She laughed but there was no humour in it. “I was so scared I just lay there with him on top thrusting away. Didn't take him long.
“Afterwards he rolled off and laughed at me. He said, 'Whores fuck their way out of fights, not Blademasters.' Said I'll never be a real Blademaster unless I let go of the fear.” Jezzet could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I should've killed him for that. Instead I just lay there feeling terrified and needing to piss.”
And I still remember it all like it was yesterday. She'd started running from the Five Kingdoms that very same day and had never gone back. Last thing she wanted was to see the Sword of the North ever again.
For a long time the Arbiter was silent. Jezzet pulled her sword close and hugged it. Hard steel felt reassuring in her hands. A Blademaster without a blade is a master of nothing.
“You're from Acanthia,” he said. She nodded wondering how he could tell. Jezzet had long ago rid herself of the accent though she could drop into it at will. “Vel'urn isn't an Acanthian name.”
“It was his, my master's. Don't even remember what it was before then. Parents made to sell me to a pleasure house at nine years.” Acanthia had laws against slavery but it had never stopped pleasure houses buying women or girls. “My master was there, bought me from them for more than the pleasure house could've paid. Said I'd have a better life with him.” She snorted and spat. “They never even asked what he wanted me for.
“Do you have parents, Thanquil?” she asked after a while of silence. Jezzet couldn't say why she asked, just wanted to stop talking about herself. Seemed she'd said a lot and he'd said very little.
Thanquil was quiet for a long time. When he spoke his voice had changed, it sounded harder, flat, cold. “No.”
“Sorry, I didn't mean to...”
“You should get some rest, Jezzet. We'll be leaving in a few hours. Before dawn. We won't be stopping for a while and we won't be taking the roads.”
“We're leaving Chade? Tonight?” In truth that sounded a good idea. Constance would be looking for her and she'd start looking in Chade. The sooner they left the better.
“Lord Colth is dead...”
“You killed him?”
The Arbiter laughed. “I might as well have. Get some sleep, Jezzet. I'll wake you when it's time to leave.”
You're the one looks like they need sleep. But Jezzet didn't say anything; truth was she was finding it hard to keep her eyes open. She watched him for a while; the Arbiter just sat staring into the darkness, glancing at the body of the boy from time to time and then away again.
'Guilt is a dangerous enemy,' her master used to say. 'Guilt can stay your hand when you need to be certain. Guilt can slow your actions, slow your wits. Guilt can force you to give mercy where none is due. Guilt can kill you.' He wasn't wrong. Guilt was trying to kill Jezzet right now, only it called itself Constance.
The Black Thorn
“What the fuck were you doin', Thorn?” The Boss didn't shout. Rarely, even when angry, did the Boss shout but Betrim reckoned he was on the verge. Metal flashed at the Black Thorn every time the southerner spoke.
Fact is Betrim Thorn weren't the type of person to take a tongue lashing... most of the time, but fact was Betrim Thorn fucked up good and proper and he knew it. Back in the mansion he should have run, should have turned tail fled back to the crew and through the sewer tunnel and they could've fallen upon the Arbiter on the other side. Six on one it would've been and those were good odds even against a witch hunter. Instead he stood his ground and fought.
&n
bsp; “Sorry, Boss.” Weren't many times in his life Betrim had said sorry.
“Well you've messed up my plans good, Thorn,” the Boss continued, “an' the whole crew has got you ta blame fer it.”
Betrim didn't like the sound of that one bit. One thing to have the Boss angry at you, another thing to have the whole crew hostile. “S'pose I could've jus' let the Arbiter take me. Reckon he'd have asked me a few questions though.”
“Ya can't lie ta an Arbiter,” Bones said in a quiet voice. As usual the big man had folded up on the floor cross-legged and was already cleaning his bones. He always cleaned his bones when nervous.
“Think the answers might've messed up ya plans somewhat?” Betrim continued.
“You could've let him kill ya,” Green said with a sneer.
The Boss spat and continued to glare at Betrim. Bones was making sure his eyes were anywhere but on either of them. Henry was watching the street, making sure they weren't followed. Green was watching the confrontation with interest, too much interest for Betrim's liking. Swift was gone, he'd not come back with the rest of them but the Boss didn't seem too worried, like as not it was part of the plan.
“I was gonna give us all a few days in Chade, a chance ta spend some bits, have some fun. Can't do that no more.” The Boss was still staring at Betrim with angry eyes. “Black Thorn got made fighting that damned witch hunter and now the whole fuckin' guard'll be looking fer him, fer us. They ain't gonna let the murder of a council member go unpunished.”
All eyes were on him now. The crew liked only one thing better than making bits, spending them and Betrim had just stopped them from being to spend a small fortune in a city that boasted it could accommodate any desire. He cleared his throat. “Where are we headin', Boss?”
“I'll tell ya when ya need ta fuckin' know.” Metal flashed and Betrim quieted. “We're leavin' tonight, soon as Swift gets back.”
Henry spat. “Where is that half-blooded bastard?”
The Boss gave her a hard stare. “He's deliverin' a message ta Deadeye.”
“What message?” Betrim asked.
“What part of 'when ya need ta fuckin' know' didn't ya get, Thorn?” Betrim had never seen the Boss quite so angry, nor had he ever seen a jaw quite so clenched. “We wait fer Swift, and then we go. Good. Thorn, over here.”
The Boss opened the door to his and Henry's room and walked through. Betrim followed, obedient, but too much following orders without knowing the why was starting to grate. Never had the Boss been so secretive before, nor had he ever been quite so testy.
“Close the door, Thorn,” the Boss said once Betrim was inside. The room stank of sweat. The bed, if you could call it that, was a mess; a single mattress, stuffed with straw, ripped and torn and stained and mouldy was propped up on a collection of wooden planks. The whole thing looked like to fall to pieces the moment anyone touched it but it held together as the Boss sat down on it, a weary look on his face.
The Boss let out a heavy sigh. “Right now, Thorn, I need ya.” Betrim looked around the room, dirty discarded rags of clothing, rat droppings, two dead rats, Bones would've been sad to see those.
“Boss?”
“More ta the fact I need ya name. Ain't no one quite so well known as the Black Thorn 'cept maybe Deadeye herself an' I need that. Right now the fixers know ya workin' fer Deadeye, more ta the fact Deadeye knows ya workin' fer Deadeye an' I need that.”
“There a point ta this, Boss?”
“There is if ya let me finish. Right now I need ya. But this job I got... we got. It's bigger than you an' if you do anythin' ta fuck it up I will kill you myself an' I don't give a fuck how hard all the stories say that is.”
Betrim ground his teeth a little, found a nice spot of wall to lean against close to the door and felt a tug on his burned face as his lip curled up a bit. “Real inspirin' speech ya gave there, Boss. Take a bit more 'an an angry black-skin ta frighten me though.” Not entirely truthful but the Black Thorn weren't afraid of anyone and the moment Betrim let folk think otherwise was the moment he found a dagger planted in his back and he'd already been through that once and it fucking hurt.
The Boss glared at him for a while and then spat. “Got somethin' I need ya ta do, Thorn.”
“Should be good.”
“Keep an eye on Swift.”
Betrim grinned. “Could be hard work seein' as ya let him run off an' all.”
The Boss ignored the jab. “I mean it, Thorn. We're going to see H'ost.”
That gave Betrim pause. “You don't trust him?”
“I trust Swift more than I trust Green.”
Betrim snorted out a laugh. “Which is ta say not much. So ya asking a man ya jus' threatened ta kill ta watch one ya don't trust.”
The Boss grinned and shook his head and for a moment he looked like the man Betrim had been recruited by years ago. “You should try runnin' a band o' cut throat, sell-sword, murderers sometime, Thorn. It's not fuckin' easy.”
Part 3 – Keep Your Friends Close...
The Arbiter
Thanquil limped along as fast as he could but his right leg was agony drowning in fire. Every step was a lance of pain that seemed to travel up through his spine. He clenched his teeth so hard he felt they might shatter but it was better than crying out in pain every time his foot hit the floor.
He looked down at the wound. The bandage was red with blood, not a good sign. He'd need to change it soon, need to clean the wound again but he dare not stop while they were still so close to Chade.
Not for the first time he glanced at Jezzet. She looked tired but that was no surprise, at best she'd managed a couple of hours of sleep, more than Thanquil but not enough after the night they'd had. She walked along beside him in silence but she was alert, tense, her hand never strayed far from the sword hilt.
Jezzet claimed to be a Blademaster and from her skill with a sword he could well believe it. She had toyed with him when they sparred and, if it had been a real fight, would have killed him in moments. But Blademasters were more like a myth these days, most everyone seemed to agree they had died out centuries ago.
He knew the history of the Blademasters as well as anyone and better than most, the libraries of the Inquisition were extensive after all. The order was created close to a thousand years ago by a man of unequalled skill, Eliken Flameborne. He had travelled the five great empires of man and had recruited other warriors of similar skill. Two hundred they had been when Eliken decided it was enough. They had created their own sword styles, their own training methods, and their own laws of the order. That was the first and last time all the Blademasters had met.
When they were finished Eliken sent them all over the world. That was where the history of the order started to get patchy. Some Blademasters disappeared into obscurity, others rose to greatness, old Blademasters vanished, and new Blademasters appeared out of the ashes. One thing was certain though, over the thousand years since its creation the order was dwindling, not growing. Thanquil had believed it to be extinct but now here he was, walking beside a Blademaster. She didn't seem to be a much of a legend.
He glanced at Jezzet again. She was thin, not surprising after weeks in gaol, but she had a wiry strength, Thanquil could testify to that. She was both graceful and fluid, her movements controlled and precise and she was not displeasing to the eyes.
“Something you want, Arbiter?” Jezzet asked without looking at him.
Thanquil grimaced as he limped along. “The Inquisition caught a Blademaster once.”
“Why?”
“You're known for your unparalleled skill with swords...”
“With any bladed weapon.”
He smiled at her but she didn't so much as glance in his direction. “The Inquisition felt it needed to know whether such skill was natural or gained through... heretical means. They decided the best way was to capture a Blademaster and interrogate them. Three Arbiters were killed bringing the man in.
“It turned out the man was strangely
resistant to the...” Thanquil had no wish to mention the compulsion. “To the interrogation.”
“No one can lie to an Arbiter,” Jezzet said in a mocking tone. “That is what people say isn't it?”
“They do and for the most part it's true and well... the man didn't lie. He didn't say anything even after being... interrogated.”
“Tortured?”
They had tortured the man, it was true, but it was not something the Inquisition liked to admit to. Not many could hide the truth in the face of the compulsion so the Inquisition had no need for torture... usually.
“You never thought just to ask him did you?” Jezzet said with a chilling look. “Instead of capturing him and torturing him, you never thought just to approach a Blademaster and ask 'are you a heretic?'.”
“No. No I suppose they didn't.”
“And what did you decide after torturing the poor man?”
“The results were... The Inquisition... They weren't sure.”
Jezzet laughed, shook her head continued walking. “So ask me. You have a Blademaster right here beside you.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Thanquil ground his teeth. This was not a topic he wanted to stray onto.
“Well? Why not?”
He sighed. “I don't like asking questions.”
Jezzet looked at him then, a mocking smile on her lips and she burst into laughter. “An Arbiter who doesn't like to ask questions.” She grinned at him, still laughing.
Thanquil found himself smiling back. “You don't understand. The compulsion is...” He paused, trying to of the right word.
“What's the compulsion?”
Thanquil limped along in silence for a while. Jezzet walked beside him, she didn't ask again.
“It's how we force people to tell the truth,” Thanquil said. “It's magic and it's the first thing an Arbiter learns to do. It subverts a person's will, makes them unable to think about anything but the answer to the question and compels them to speak.”
“So why don't you like to ask questions?”
