Echoes of the Fey: The Prophet's Arm
Page 8
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“What in Dyeun’s name is going on?” Heremon muttered. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
The one-armed Leshin man looked from Heremon to Sofya, then back again. “So you’re not here to free me?”
“Answer our questions!” Heremon growled. He was generally a mild-tempered man, but would often lose his cool when plans like this went so awry.
“I am Simion ir-Sheaf. I am a merchant and banker and currently a prisoner being kept unjustly for doing merely what I believed was right.”
Sofya rubbed her temples. Even she was rattled by the strange turn the case had taken. “Okay, Simion ir-Sheaf, where did you get the Arm?”
“The Arm?”
“The one you’re wearing. The false arm. You know what I’m talking about!”
Now it was Simion’s turn to be puzzled. “My arm? Why… Why is that important? I bought it a month ago from some humans who were looking to make a few gold pieces off something they scavenged.”
Heremon crossed his arms and looked at the Leshin man skeptically. “You bought it?”
“Listen, I don’t know where they got it. And I don’t particularly care. Do you know how hard it is to find Leshin craftsmanship this delicate on this side of the forest? I’d been using a wooden arm for years and those humans had no idea how much something of this quality is worth. Did I take advantage of them? Yes, perhaps.” He hesitated. “Wait, is that what this is all about? Is this all because those soldiers realized how much I cheated them?”
Sofya sighed. “You have no idea what that Arm is, do you?”
Simion’s eyes went wide. “Wait a minute… You’re not here about me at all! You just want–”
Heremon stepped forward. “Listen, I think we all got off on the wrong foot. You surprised us, Simion. We weren’t expecting to find anyone here. Let’s start over. You tell us why you’re here and we’ll tell you why we’re here. Then all three of us are going to find a way out.”
“Like I explained before,” Simion said. “I am a merchant and banker from the city of Vodotsk. I have lived there and performed these perfectly legal services for years. I chose to remain after the occupation because I believed that other Leshin who remained would be denied those services by humans and I wanted to help. Well, I wanted to help and I saw an opportunity.”
“Get to the point,” Hremon muttered. “Why is House Melinkov keeping you prisoner?”
“Well, as you may know, Leshin who chose to leave Vodotsk and return to our lands often had their property seized by the Empire.”
“That’s how you ended up with that arm,” Sofya said. “But we’ll get to that later.”
Simion gave her another puzzled look, but continued with his story. “Similarly, Leshin who remained in Vodotsk would have their property seized by the Vodotsk County government. It was all quite shady—claims that taxes weren’t paid, land taken and rented back to the Leshin at exorbitant rates compared to human neighbors—nothing explicitly illegal but still quite oppressive. I assisted certain Leshin clients in hiding assets and attracted the ire of the county government.”
“So you were committing a crime?” Heremon asked.
“The county was committing a crime. Their practices are clearly in violation of the treaty between our people. As is my imprisonment here!”
Sofya looked at Heremon. “I don’t know the exact terms of the treaty but I’m pretty sure Leshin criminals in formerly occupied territory can’t be locked up without cause.”
“Their soldiers barged into my shop and dragged me away!”
“That’s definitely not legal,” Sofya said. “But, unfortunately, we aren’t here legally either so…”
“So rescuing you is still going to be difficult,” Heremon continued. “But don’t worry. Now that we know you’re here, we can’t just ignore the situation.” He looked around at the room where Simion was being kept. It was well furnished, though covered in the Melinkov’s gaudy colors. A pile of trays near the door demonstrated the Leshin was well-fed. “Though admittedly there are far worse places you could be imprisoned.”
Simion narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want to be imprisoned anywhere. And what about you? Why are you here?”
Sofya considered her answer for a moment. They had already revealed that the reason they broke into the mansion was related to the prosthetic arm Simion now wore. She didn’t want to tell him the full story, but it seemed like there was no other option. “The men who sold you that arm weren’t soldiers, but separatist rebels. And it’s not just any arm, it’s also a historical artifact. It once belonged to the prophet Cathal ir-Dyeun. We were hired to find it by a Leshin museum.”
Shocked, Simion looked over at his metal arm. He gaped at it. Such a silence fell over the room that Sofya could hear the Melinkov guards scrambling in the halls. At least two of them were headed upstairs, meaning they didn’t have enough time for Simion to fully process what he’d just learned.
“Forget the Arm for now, Simion. What kind of magic can you use?”
“Magic? I… I actually don’t use magic.”
Sofya rolled her eyes. Of course the Leshin they happened to run into would have no useful spells, when his very presence made Sofya unable to use her own magic. “That’s just wonderful,” she muttered. “Do you have any ideas of how we’ll escape?”
“If I knew how to escape, I wouldn’t still be here. How were you planning on getting out?”
“There’s a window further down the hallway. We were going to jump.” Noticing the skeptical look on Simion’s face, Sofya further elaborated. “Heremon is a healing mage. He can temper his fall, then catch me when I jump.”
“Y-yes,” Heremon stuttered. “I was going to catch Sofya. I don’t believe that plan will work with you, Simion.”
Simion smiled. He was strangely calm. “Ah, so you’re Heremon and Sofya. Finally I get your names out of you. It took you long enough.”
“Our…names?” Heremon asked.
Before she could say any more, there was a loud bang! against the door. Sofya’s pulse spiked as she looked around the room. There was no way out. They were trapped and, with the lock broken, it wouldn’t be long before the door came down.
“Well,” Sofya said. “At least we know they treat their prisoners well.”