You can read the previous chapter here!
“Another drink, Miss Heroine?” asked Bud, the tavernkeeper where Asp was staying. The celebration at The Hammer’s Promise had moved to Madge’s tavern, Trees on the Lake Inn, where the already fairly wild celebration turned into full-fledged partying. Asp couldn’t remember who exactly had suggested moving to the tavern–it could have been Bud, who’d joined the crowd a while after the children had been returned, and it might have been one of the grateful parents–it may even have been Asp herself. Everything had become a blur after the euphoria of being recognized as a genuinely good person, and the title “Miss Heroine” was doing substantially more for her than the steadily-flowing booze.
“I think I shall,” replied Asp, allowing herself to smile widely.
“But of course!” said Bud, bowing theatrically. He set off for the bar to concoct another drink for her, as he had been doing for what could have been hours.
Asp surveyed the room. A few people staying at the inn had joined the dozen celebrating parents and the group of community advocates from The Hammer’s Promise, and she relished in watching these tavern patrons’ eyes widen as they heard the secondhand tale of her deeds earlier that day. Smiles were everywhere.
I could get used to this, she thought to herself. I really could. I dunno if I could give up a life of conning entirely, but an occasional heroic deed seems entirely within the question.
She continued studying the smiling faces around the room, and with a start, she recognized a few people from The Hammer’s Promise deep in heated conversation, wearing what appeared to be scowls. She frowned. What’s their deal? Eight saved children not enough for them? She swaggered closer to listen.
“It’s just–three random people volunteer to go,” said a dwarven man she’d seen earlier at The Hammer’s Promise, “and they come back after poking their heads into dangerous guard business, and we’re supposed to be excited that half the people who are supposed to protect us are removed from the line of duty?”
“Supposed to, yes,” sharply replied a newtkin woman, the parent of Hudbit Gearstone if Asp recalled correctly, “but were they? I mean, they got canned because they were corrupt like Madris. Of course, now our neighborhood has practically no one protecting it.”
The dwarf sighed angrily. “What I’m saying is–” He shook his head. “I mean, I trust Sasharaan, sure. But that weird guy with the goggles? And some slightkin whose role in this I don’t entirely understand? We’re supposed to just accept that they have license to some vigilante justice that they decided for themselves?”
“Now, my little boy would still be in a dungeon, barely eating and drinking, using the bathroom in a dark corner, if they hadn’t done what they did,” shot back Mrs. Gearstone. “But they made dangerous choices without us. What if the children had been hurt?”
“Do the ends justify the means, though?” argued the dwarf. “We’re supposed to be a group that discusses problems in the community and tries to do something about them. Are we supposed to unilaterally decide what’s best for everyone through three people who don’t even live in our neighborhood?”
Asp’s face soured. I guess not everyone is so sure we’re heroes. But I need goodwill for Delia to get favor for Penelope. I'll set them straight. She glanced around and spotted Sash watching the argument too. The two made eye contact for a moment. Sash nodded and headed to the bar and, a moment later, carried two glasses of wine over to the arguing parties. The dwarven man and Mrs. Gearstone seemed surprised by Sash’s sudden appearance to the point that it took them a moment to register they were being offered drinks, but they obliged, and Sash stepped gracefully away to a respectful distance without a word.
“If I may,” said Asp sweetly, stepping up to where Sash had been a moment before, “I’m sorry to interrupt, and I certainly didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I think I have a solution to this little disagreement.”
The dwarven man’s face soured, but Mrs. Gearstone nodded thoughtfully, sipping her wine.
“What is your name, good sir?” she asked.
“Barnabas Drenitin,” he said, his voice tight.
“Well, Mr. Drenitin, I think there’s something missing from both sides of the conversation here, and since I was there for the events in question, I feel it my responsibility to offer my perspective, even if it seems rude to butt in.” Asp spoke in a similarly tight voice, as though it truly pained her to insert herself into the situation. Mrs. Gearstone blinked dimly a few times at the implication that she had also gotten something wrong. “You, Mr. Drenitin, say that we made a choice without the consent of the community, and in a way, that is true.” She closed her eyes tightly, like the admission of this was painful to her. “And you, Mrs. Gearstone, point out that without the actions of my associates and I today, the children might still be missing, which is also, in a way, true.” She looked back and forth between the two of them. “But you’re actually saying the same thing without realizing it.” Mr. Drenitin and Mrs. Gearstone stared back curiously, the dwarf’s head cocked to the side like a dog who doesn’t understand a command from its owner. “You see,” she plunged on with a sly smile, “we did act without the direct approval of the community. But you were there at The Hammer’s Promise–I distinctly recall seeing you–and you did not step forth and volunteer to search for information. Am I correct?”
Mr. Drenitin scowled. “Well, I couldn’t at the time–”
“That’s right, you didn’t,” she interrupted, “and that’s no mark on your record–no one would claim that it is. Because you had other obligations, the same kind of obligations that kept Mrs. Gearstone here from searching for her son herself. Am I right?”
Mrs. Gearstone nodded fiercely, Mr. Drenitin more reservedly after a moment.
“The arrangement we all formed as a community, you must agree, is that those of us who were able would undertake an investigation on behalf of those who couldn’t,” Asp plowed on. “And so we had your indirect consent, the indirect consent of the whole community. When we discovered a lead on little Shelby Hogpen’s location, it would have been irresponsible and disrespectful to you, the community, to not immediately investigate that lead.” She paused and looked to Mrs. Gearstone. “And this is where things get muddy–the source of our disagreement. Mrs. Gearstone, someone else could have found your son. Had we decided to come back to The Hammer’s Promise and share our findings, it’s entirely possible that a larger group of community members might have enabled a broader search. We did, in fact, make a decision without the consent of the community.” She frowned and looked at the floor. “For that, I am sorry, and I apologize.” Mr. Drenitin opened his mouth to speak, but she continued: “You see, not only are you both right, you’re actually saying the same thing. Sasharaan, Mr. Steel-Eyes, and I did make a decision for the community to be aggressive in our pursuit of the truth. The crucial thing is, though, that when we discovered that menacing Madris and that beastly Osk-Ox, they were discussing the fate of those children. We didn’t wait to hear what they were saying–it was admission enough of what we needed. And yes, our aggressive tactics ended up with half the neighborhood guard out of work–this is unavoidable. But let me ask you this: if they were complicit in the kidnapping and hiding away of these children, do you think they’d protect your children, or even you, if it meant danger to them?” She paused and allowed them to mull this over. “In the end, you both think that we made a dangerous choice without you, and you’re not wrong. But when you deal with danger, sometimes a dangerous choice is all you have. Sometimes, when something precious is on the line, like your son,” she said, staring directly at Mrs. Gearstone, “something like whether corrupt guards keep their jobs is the kind of thing that a committee can’t decide in time. For all we know, those children would have been moved somewhere else where we couldn’t find them if we’d brought all this back to The Hammer’s Promise, or worse.” Mr. Drenitin looked ashamedly back at her. Asp turned to Mrs. Gearstone. “And if we’d gone the cautious route to preserve the corrupt city guard, who’s to say more children wouldn’t disappear tomorrow?” Mrs. Gearstone stared into her drink, her lip slightly quivering. “So you’re both right–we took the whole thing into our own hands instead of being careful. But you’re also both missing the part where you don’t have to be afraid of the guards in your neighborhood anymore–they’re gone, and we have our community group–and eight kidnapped children are back with their parents. And that’s all true because you trusted us.” She leaned back and smiled cheerfully. “So keep trusting us.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence between the three of them. Mrs. Gearstone broke it first.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “And thank you.”
“Yeah,” mumbled Mr. Drenitin. “Thank you, miss.”
Asp’s modest smile spread across her face. “No need to thank me. We were just trying to do what’s right.”
She watched as Mr. Drenitin and Mrs. Gearstone shifted their gaze from her to each other. They both smiled sheepishly.
“To a stronger community,” he said, raising his wine glass.
“And to our families,” replied Mrs. Gearstone, clinking her own glass against his.
Asp turned and ambled away from them, not hiding the self-satisfaction she felt. Sash caught her eye and offered a confused but impressed look as they began circulating the party once more.
Sash was watching that whole time, that sly devil. She chuckled to herself. More perceptive than the aloof act lets on.
She wandered the tavern, catching glimpses of happy people and phrases from enthusiastic conversations. The argument behind her seemed to be an exception to the rule–people rejoiced at the fact that something had gone well for the slums for once. An overjoyed newtkin man grabbed Asp’s hand and pulled her into a big circle of people, most of whom she recognized from The Hammer’s Promise.
“Who are you, anyway?” exclaimed the newtkin.
“Why, I’m Delia Violet!” she cried, trying to match his excitement.
The people in the circle laughed as though she’d just recited the punchline of a joke.
“Yeah, but like, who’s Delia Violet?” insisted the newtkin.
“Oh! You mean like that,” laughed Asp. “I’m a reporter. I’ve been writing stories on social issues from Eunax out to here, trying to let people know what’s really going on.”
“That’s, like, the whole world!” sputtered the newtkin. “So why’d you volunteer earlier?”
Asp paused to make sure her answer was clever rather than inspired by the ales she’d been drinking. “Well, at first, I thought, ‘it’s just an investigation–I can ask some questions and get some answers.’ But then, the more we found out, the more I figured, ‘this is bad. I mean, bad bad. So maybe I can do something good instead of just handing out pamphlets.’”
“We’re glad you did,” said one member of the circle, a slightkin woman Asp recognized from The Hammer’s Promise. She was the mother of one of the rescued children, but the ale blurred the children’s names together, and Asp knew better than to guess and risk being wrong. The slightkin woman recognized the look on Asp’s face and smiled warmly. “Pearl Button,” she said, sticking out a dainty hand. “I’m Olivia’s mom.”
“Lovely to meet you,” said Asp, shaking her hand.
“How’d you even end up on Afira?” said the newtkin, too drunk to realize that Asp and Pearl meant to continue speaking.
“Oh, my patron sent me here in advance of her arrival,” explained Asp, turning back to the newtkin. “Lady Penelope Jasmine,” she uttered as though the name were a holy oath. “She wants to bring some prosperity out here and sent me as an emissary to start spreading some good here.”
“Fuck yeah,” said the newtkin. “Well good job.”
“Thanks,” said Asp, stepping away from him and towards Pearl. She turned to Pearl and smiled. “How are you?”
Pearl sighed heavily and smiled. “I’m much better than I’ve been in weeks. Olivia has always had a thing for running off. She’d be missing for a day or two and then just show up at home, totally fine.” Pearl swept her hair back, and Asp noticed a handful of grey hairs amongst the deep black mane on the young woman. She might be younger than me, thought Asp, and she’s already gone through enough to be going grey.
“I was the same way at her age,” said Asp knowingly.
Pearl nodded. “I’m sure your mother understands.” I wouldn’t be so sure, Asp thought as she worked hard to keep smiling. Peal sighed again and continued: “At first, it seemed like it was just another one of her little adventures. But then it was a week since we’d seen her. We went to the guard, but when I said I wasn’t sure how long she’d been missing, they just laughed at me, called me a bad mother.” She wiped a welling tear from her eye. “We didn’t see her for three weeks. My little girl was missing on her fifth birthday.” She beamed at Asp. “Thanks to you, we’re throwing her a late birthday party tomorrow.”
Asp smiled without realizing it. “I’m so glad, Pearl,” she said. She reached into her bag and retrieved her backup inkpen. “Give this to her, from me, if that’s okay. Writing can be good for us independent spirits.”
Pearl laughed and took the pen delicately. “Thank you, Delia. It means so much to have had your help. If we ever have a second daughter, we’re naming her after you.”
Shit. Asp could feel the sting of a tear roll down her cheek. This is– this is something else. “Oh, you don’t need to do that,” she began.
“No,” said Pearl. “We will. Gods willing, there will be a little Delia Button before too long. After we manage to get Olivia under control, anyway.”
Asp chuckled and placed a hand gently on Pearl’s shoulder. “A little sister might be just what Olivia needs to calm down a bit–someone to look out for, someone to be responsible for.”
Pearl placed her own hand on Asp’s. “Thank you, Delia. Good luck in whatever’s next for you. Stay in touch, okay?”
The two slightkin women shared a look that Asp wasn’t sure she’d ever had with someone. It was hard to place what exactly was being said without saying it. Pearl smiled again and headed for the door of the tavern, and Asp stood in place puzzling over just what the moment had meant.
A heavy hand came down on her shoulder. Asp turned and saw Steel-Eyes looking tiredly at her.
“It’s late,” he said.
Asp cocked an eyebrow. “So it is.”
Steel-Eyes glanced around the room, lingering on a tall, red hornkin leaving the tavern, and lowered his voice. “Sash and Steel-Eyes have business with a hornkin. Terrence Tartarus something. You want to come.”
“You know Tartarus?” she asked, wildly confused. “How do you know Tartarus?”
“We owe him favors,” said Steel-Eyes. “He said you do too.”
That rat bastard, she thought, mostly affectionately.
“I do too,” she said.
The party was nowhere near winding down, but Asp downed the rest of her drink and headed up to her room, where she tried to let the excitement from the day die down enough to sleep.
—
The sun had just peaked up over the horizon, and Asp had already gathered in the lobby of the inn with Sash and Steel-Eyes, Guy lingering behind the dwarf as he always seemed to do. The remains of the party were evidenced all around them–empty wine glasses, ale bottles on their side, a few people sleeping it off–and the group wordlessly nodded before slipping out into the city. They all seemed to know the way to Tartarus’s stall, and Asp marveled at the fact that they’d all somehow ended up owing the hornkin favors in the same place at the same time. Is this coincidence or orchestrated? She smiled to herself. I doubt that man trades in coincidence. I guess we’ll just have to find out what he wants.
They found his stall among a few others already open in the early morning. Tartarus was packing a few wrapped packages onto a big already-overloaded wagon with a few reined oxen. Helping him was another hornkin, this one a deep yet glittering blue and slightly smaller. Asp was reminded by his skin of the sky between dusk and true night, as though he were covered in the first glimmering stars of the evening. They drew even with the stall just as Tartarus turned from the heavy wagon and laughed with their arrival.
“Morning, everyone!” he called loudly enough for the other people nearby to all turn to see the source of the noise. “Ready to make good on your favor?”
Steel-Eyes grunted. Sash rubbed the back of their neck uncertainly. “What precisely are we meant to do?”
“No,” said Tartarus smoothly, “introductions first. Meet my brother, Wesley.”
The blue hornkin faced the group. His jaw was more angular than Tartarus’s, and he had a carefully trimmed and waxed thin mustache that made him look like a hero from a folk tale. Where Tartarus was thick and muscled, Wesley was more lean, and he wore simple clothes–a tunic and belted breeches of faded brown.
“Morning,” he said, a sly smile on his face as though his greeting held an inside joke.
“This is Steel-Eyes,” thundered Tartarus, gesturing towards the dwarf. “Inventor extra-ordinaire,” he explained, breaking the word into two. “He made this fellow behind him, you know.” Wesley nodded respectfully, and Tartarus stepped closer to the group. He placed a hand on Sash’s shoulder, and Sash bent slightly as though Tartarus had changed their momentum. “This, of course, is Sasharaan, the humble but oh so venerable guardian of the archipelago just southwest of here.”
“That Sasharaan?” asked Wesley, stroking his mustache.
“The very same,” said Tartarus with a flourish of his hand. “And this little one here is Delia,” he said with a quietness to his tone, as though she were a secret of some kind. “She’s an investigative reporter, and I believe she has some tricks up her sleeve I don’t know about yet.”
Asp found herself blushing slightly. You don’t know how right you are, Tartarus. “Nice to meet you, Wesley,” she said.
“And now we should get on the road,” said Tartarus, stepping towards the wagon. “You lot are guards of a sort, but you won’t be getting your hands dirty, I don’t think. More for intimidation.”
Asp cocked an eyebrow. “Wait–I’m here for intimidation?”
Tartarus smiled broadly. “Well, you’re a famous vigilante now, ain’t ya?”
She laughed, and Tartarus mounted the wagon and grabbed the oxen’s reins. “Everyone ready?” Wesley leapt up to the seat beside his brother.
Sash raised a finger gently into the air. “Where are we going?”
“Oh, just over the border into the Ronan’el lands,” said Tartarus without looking back at them. “It’s a one day journey there, and you’ll be back by week's end.” He turned back and grinned. “What could go wrong?” He snapped the reins, and the oxen set off for the gate down the road, tugging the wagon along behind them.
Steel-Eyes began to trudge after the wagon. Sash and Asp exchanged looks and shrugged. They too followed, catching up to surround the wagon as though they truly were proper guards.
The wagon bumped down the road, which was growing more crowded as the morning marched onward, and Tartarus loudly called out to people in the way. “Look out!” he cried. “Wide load, coming through!”
Asp had taken up the left side of the wagon. She glanced up at Wesley. He’s got some look about him, she thought. Almost like . . . She smiled. “Hey, Wesley.”
He turned and looked down at her. “Yes?”
“You know much about baking? I was a baker for a while back in Thistlewade,” she said, pronouncing “baker” very clearly. This was thief-tongue–she was identifying herself as a criminal in a dialect she hadn’t spoken in over a year.
Wesley grinned back. “I’m no expert baker, but I can make bread if I need to.”
“I love bread with some good eggs,” she said, “and I think we have a good bunch of eggs coming in when we get where we’re going.” In other words, she thought the prospects of this journey–eggs–seemed promising.
“Well,” said Wesley, “I do agree. I hear the eggs are good there. Of course, the Ronan’el specialize in pickled eggs.”
Good prospects, but with potential drawbacks–I can work with that. “A fine pickled egg has a nice sharp smell,” she countered–a risky job can have a big rewards.
“Why are the eggs pungent,” said Steel-Eyes flatly.
Asp and Wesley stifled laughter.
“Anyway,” said Wesley, “I used to bake, but I’m actually quite known for birding. Thing is, right now, I’m using cloaks.”
He’s a bard who steals sometimes, she thought. That can be a good gig. And he’s laying low–wonder what for. She inspected his face more closely. Wait a minute. “When you bird, do you sell a lot of nests?” She meant to know whether he was famous.
He flashed a dangerous smile. “I’m lousy with nests where I come from,” he whispered.
Lucky bastard. He’s laying low because he’s so good he’ll be recognized. He’s slumming it with us. Hot damn. “Good for you,” she said appreciatively.
“Eggs come from nests,” said Steel-Eyes.
Wesley stifled another laugh, but Asp couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. “They sure do,” she said, her tone apologetic.
The wagon drew up to the gate. A pair of guards held up hands, and Tartarus brought the wagon to a halt.
“Just leaving town,” said Tartarus.
“Thank the gods,” said one of the guards. “I want you to know that if you never come back, this will be the happiest damn day of my life.”
“That’s the plan,” replied Tartarus, apparently taking the remark as a compliment.
“Then get outta here,” shot back the guard. He thumbed over his shoulder.
“Happy to oblige,” said Tartarus, snapping the reins. The oxen pulled the wagon out of the city and into the rolling landscape beyond, lush hills sliced by rivers that coursed along peacefully.
“Hey Tartarus,” called Asp. “How long were you in Lo’Torrin?”
“A few months,” replied Tartarus. “Why?”
Asp smiled at him. “You said the other day you were pretty new in town.”
He chuckled. “Most everybody in Lo’Torrin has been there decades or even centuries. A few months is pretty new.”
Asp laughed too, then thought about it harder. “And how many is a few?”
“About eight, give or take,” he said. “And before you say anything, eight is a few to most elves.”
The whole traveling party laughed together–Tartarus, Wesley, and Asp a bit more, Sash and Steel-Eyes a bit less, but even Guy letting a little mechanical “ha ha ha” loose. They followed the winding road along the river to their right, and the morning sun continued to rise.
—
The wagon and its crew continued walking as the sun rose to its late morning position, occasionally chatting about nothing of particular weight, and never really discussing the details of the journey they were on. Asp smiled to herself as she and Wesley hit it off–he, too, seemed to relish being something of a scoundrel in the eyes of society, though this was only evident in the subtext of their conversation; neither of them directly addressed things with the rest of the group around. They approached a bend in the road that followed the river’s windings in near silence, Guy’s occasional clanking being the only sound apart from the flowing of the mighty river beside them.
They reached the bend and turned past a tall and dense thicket of trees and saw a group of people before them. As they drew closer, Asp could see that some of these figures stood in a fairly thick group and that chains around their ankles kept them that way, while a much smaller contingent stood slightly apart from them, watching–guards. Asp studied the group of prisoners as they lifted pickaxes and brought them down hard on the stony ground beneath them.
Coulda been me, she thought. Lots of times that coulda been me. She reflected on the many strokes of luck, moments of being unexpectedly helped, and clever gambits that had prevented her from such a fate, and she breathed a deep sigh of relief. If I stay careful and lean into this heroine thing, maybe I can keep out of trouble like that.
Wesley chuckled, then guffawed. Asp glanced up at him and followed his gaze. He was staring at a prisoner, frequently laughing and less frequently suppressing his laughter.
“What is it?” she asked.
“That one,” giggled Wesley, pointing. “It’s Madris.”
Asp looked back at the prisoner in question. She wore the same clothing as the rest of the prisoners–tattered and faded grey tunics and trousers with floppy boots; she was tall and thin and had the fiercest of scowls on her face. That’s Madris alright. The wagon drew nearly even with the prisoners, and Asp couldn’t help herself.
“I love the new outfit,” she called.
Madris and a few of the other prisoners looked up at the sound of her voice, and when a moment of studying the wagoneers had passed, the other prisoners shrugged and returned to their tedious work. But Madris’s scowl turned into a furious glare.
“How do you like the new job?” continued Asp. “Good benefits? Better colleagues? Good advancement opportunities?”
Madris lifted her pickaxe over her head and hefted it in one quick motion, sending the pickaxe flipping through the air. It struck the wagon just in front of Asp, making a loud clatter and then a dull thud as it fell to the ground. The wagon’s frame bore an indentation where the pickaxe had hit it. Madris was obviously upset that she had missed her mark, but she also seemed pleased that Asp’s face had a look of surprise and almost fear at the near-miss.
But seeing that the elf was now unarmed, Asp forced a grin. “Now now, Madris,” she chided. “Attacking a person on the road could get you prison time.” She adopted an expression of faux embarrassment. “Oooh, sorry. I meant more prison time.”
“Hey, quiet down!” cried one of the guards, a muscular elf near the road. “Move along, and stop causing trouble.” Wesley suppressed more laughter.
Tartarus snapped the reins, and the oxen pulled a bit faster. He shook his head. “Looking for trouble, Delia?”
Asp allowed herself to look self-satisfied. “What’s she gonna do–arrest me?”
Tartarus shook his head again. “Our goal is to reach our destination, not get detained on the way.”
Asp held her hands out innocently. “Sorry, Triple T. I was just having some fun.”
“Why taunt her?” asked Sash quietly from the other side of the wagon. “What do you gain from it?”
Asp sighed. “I saw an opportunity, and I wanted to take advantage of it.”
“Isn’t taking advantage a bad thing,” intoned Steel-Eyes.
“Taking advantage of a person can be a bad thing sometimes,” she replied, turning her head to the side to answer him, “but taking advantage of a situation is also called being clever.”
“Taking advantage of a person is only a bad thing sometimes?” asked Sash.
“Everybody takes advantage sometimes,” said Asp. “Even if they don’t know it.”
A moment passed before Sash responded. “I don’t know if that’s true.”
“It is, trust me,” she said with a sigh. “It really just depends on whether people know they want to take advantage of you.”
Another quiet moment passed. “Let’s say that’s true,” Sash said slowly. “How do you deal with that?”
Asp laughed lightly and was surprised by how bitter it sounded. “You start taking advantage of people.”
“Huh,” said Sash.
There was a pause–no one spoke, and Asp could tell they were all thinking about what she’d said and that not everyone appreciated it. Make it sound less heartless. “What I mean is, when someone’s intending to take advantage of you, beating them to the punch isn’t predatory–it’s defensive. Madris wanted to take advantage of the whole damn city, right?”
“Sure,” replied Wesley when no one else said anything.
“So we investigated her, found out she was definitely out to hurt a lot of people. She was kidnapping children, for the gods’ sakes, and almost certainly had some nastier agenda than that. Who knows for sure exactly what she was planning to do with them?” She paused for effect, and when she suspected that the group had digested the idea, she plowed forward. “We dealt with her by taking advantage of the situation. We ran when overpowered, appealed to authority when it was present, and made sure we overpowered Osk-Ox once we’d dealt with Madris. That’s all advantages we played to get what we wanted. And Madris was playing the same game, but for the wrong reasons. We did the right thing, and taking advantage was how we did it. Do you all have regrets?”
“No,” said Steel-Eyes after another pause.
“No, I don’t, I suppose,” said Sash.
“Exactly,” said Asp. “Playing to your advantages is only a bad thing when you do it for bad reasons. So what I’m saying is, if you know someone’s out to hurt you, you don’t need to second-guess beating them to the punch.”
“That is . . .” began Sash. “Surprisingly fair.”
Asp smiled. She glanced up at Wesley, who smiled back. He winked.
He gets it, anyway.
“Anyway,” said Tartarus, “we’re coming up on the triple bridge. Try to behave when we cross–we’re getting close to the border, and I don’t want any trouble.”
“Promise,” said Asp, as she knew the statement was directed at her despite being addressed to everyone.
The wagon rolled on, and Asp tried to appreciate the natural beauty around them–the winding river, the mighty trees, the rolling hills–but she felt somewhere inside her that she had learned something unsavory about herself, though she couldn’t quite place what it was.
—
The river on their right turned northeast, and a second river appeared off on their left, pushing northward. In the distance, they could see the point where the two met and a mighty stone bridge that split to cross both where they intersected. They plodded onward, and soon, the oxen dragged the wagon onto the stones that formed the bridge. Asp peered over the edge at the coursing waters of the rivers and the turbulent point where they met. She could feel a tightness in the air–everyone in the group seemed to sense that this was a somehow crucial point in their journey even beyond the geographical change.
“We’re in river country now, everybody,” said Tartarus, his demeanor almost stern. What’s he nervous about? It’s just a bridge.
The wagon reached the central point where the bridge split to the north and to the east. Tartarus pulled the reins to steer the oxen, and the animals pulled them toward solid ground, the wheels of the wagon making a slight grinding sound on the stones. Just ahead, a slim elven man in light chain armor sprinted toward them from the bridge to the right. He allowed himself to slow, his momentum carrying his last steps before he stood squarely before the oxen. He panted for a moment, and when he had caught his breath enough to speak, he said, “You must clear the bridge.”
“We’re almost off it,” said Tartarus uneasily. “Give us a minute.”
“No,” wheezed the elf. “You don’t understand. Important elven dignitaries are headed this way. You must clear the bridge now.”
“It’s a public road, isn’t it?” asked Tartarus.
“Now,” said the elf stonily. “Under penalty of legal consequence.”
Tartarus sighed. “Let me just get off the bridge, and we’ll get off your road.”
The elf hung his head. “You can’t turn around?”
“Not on the bridge, no,” said Tartarus, his voice tight. “It’s not wide enough.”
“Hurry, then,” ordered the elf, stepping to the edge of the bridge.
Tartarus snapped the reins, and the oxen pulled the wagon forward. Around the bend just ahead of the bridge, a huge caravan of elven soldiers and several fine wagons pulled into view. They slowed when they saw the wagon driving off the bridge and onto the well-beaten dirt path. The elven emissary who had ordered them to move helped to guide the oxen off the road, and in a minute, Asp and the group stood in the tall grass to the side of the path. The elven procession ahead of them shifted anxiously, many of them with unapproving expressions.
“We’re clear,” said Tartarus, half to the emissary and half to the soldiers at the head of the caravan.
The emissary turned and nodded to the soldiers, who began marching onto the bridge. They cast dirty looks at the group on the side of the road as if to communicate that they were escaping punishment by the skin of their teeth. The procession seemed to go on forever, platoons of heavily and ornately armed and armored elves stepping past in unison. Eventually, fine wagons followed the soldiers, and then an extravagant carriage came close behind. The carriage slowed beside Tartarus’s wagon, then stopped completely. A pair of finely-dressed elves stepped out of the carriage and looked the ragtag group up and down.
“Vagabonds on the road we ordered cleared,” said one of the regal elves, a sharply-featured man who looked to be middle-aged and had large wings sprouting from his back. Part of his nose was gone, apparently lost in some deathly scrape, leaving his face looking more like a skull than a normal head. He had a massive insignia over his heart, a pair of wings made of pearl and gold. His expression was sour and seething.
“We’re very sorry,” Tartarus said, almost whispering, with his eyes averted.
“As well you should be,” replied the winged elf. “The emissary was very clear.”
“We moved to the side of the road as soon as we could,” said Tartarus, looking anywhere but at the man. “We’re very sorry,” he repeated.
“You’ve delayed our journey,” continued the winged elf.
“Now Farboriel,” cut in the other elf, a stately woman who looked to be in the bloom of youth. She bore a fine insignia like Farboriel’s, though hers was a vibrant tree carved of dark wood that seemed to have living leaves on it. “We shall not need the few minutes it’s cost us.” She turned to the group, eyeing Tartarus and Sash closely. “We sent word ahead that this road should be cleared, however.”
“We’re sorry, Lady Norasynia,” uttered Tartarus, staring at the ground before the woman. “We only heard when the emissary arrived.”
“And that didn’t give you adequate time?” demanded Farboriel. “Or were you too simple to understand basic instructions?”
“Hey,” said Asp defensively, “we were already mostly across the bridge when he got here. This is the best anyone could have done.”
“You dare?” asked Farboriel, his eyes boring a hole in Asp’s. “Do you know who I am?”
Asp was already beginning to say, “No” when a voice sounded inside her head, the same voice that Norasynia had spoken with. “Manners, dear,” it said.
I’ll show him manners, thought Asp, and she was startled when the stately elven woman before her chuckled delicately.
“You’re the hornkin Terrence Tartarrion Tartarus, are you not?” asked Norasynia.
Tartarus lowered his head further to turn his averted gaze into a bow. “Yes I am, my Lady.”
Norasynia turned to Sash. “And you are Sasharaan of the archipelago?” Her voice was softer now.
“Yes, my Lady,” echoed Sash, also bowing, theirs far more formal than Tartarus’s.
“Why you are with these vagabonds I absolutely do not understand,” she replied stiffly, “but do consider a more dignified approach in the future.” She turned to Tartarus. “See that you don’t make this mistake again,” she said stonily. “Now carry on. We have time to make up.”
Asp had not averted her gaze from Farboriel and Norasynia, and Farboriel seemed to notice and glared at her more venomously than he had when she’d spoken to him. He looked as though he were about to speak, but Norasynia placed a delicate hand on his shoulder and turned to go. He closed his mouth bitterly, then surveyed the party once more. “Travel safe,” he spat, indicating quite clearly that he cared as little about their safety as a fly cares about the stars. He turned and followed Norasynia into their carriage.
Tartarus let out a long exhale as though he had held his breath for the entire interaction. The procession moved forward, and Asp watched as several more wagons and dozens of soldiers marched past. The caravan made it to the intersection of the bridge before anyone spoke again.
“Sweet fucking gods,” muttered Tartarus. “That was way too close for comfort.”
“You have a death wish?” asked Wesley, looking at Asp with a mixture of disbelief and scorn.
“What?” said Asp innocently. “They were being assholes.”
“Those ‘assholes’ could have had us executed on the spot,” said Tartarus. “I’m not exactly their favorite person, and they lock people up for less.” He shook his head. “If we didn’t have Sasharaan, we’d have been cooked.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Asp. “I wasn’t trying–”
“Trying to get us killed?” interrupted Tartarus. “You talked back to Farboriel. Do you not realize who we were just speaking to?”
“It doesn’t matter if someone is a fucking king if they’re a total asshole,” replied Asp.
“Seriously?” demanded Tartarus. “Farboriel is the Lord of the winged elves. They are the most trusted messengers in Afira, maybe the known world, and Farboriel is the most severe and unforgiving of the elven leaders. You just insulted him.”
“I didn’t insult him,” she said. “I just–”
“To him, it was an insult,” cut in Wesley. “Anything but respectful deference is an insult of the highest order.”
“Fine,” said Asp, kicking at the grass at her feet. “Sorry.”
“Good,” said Tartarus. “I’ve never known Norasynia to show mercy, so be grateful Sasharaan was here to save us from your foolishness.”
Asp almost responded, then sighed. They’re probably right. I don’t have a good sense of what Afira’s like. Still, though.
“Let’s get going,” muttered Tartarus. “And let’s be more careful moving forward.” He pulled the reins, guiding the oxen back onto the road. The group trudged onward as the sun reached its zenith. No one spoke again for a while, and Asp could tell that she shouldn’t be the one to break the silence. As the sun beat down on them, they moved toward a destination that remained undiscussed, and Asp tried to figure out if she was actually sorry for anything she had said.
—
As the sun began to truly descend toward the horizon that evening, and the group of six very unlikely travelers carried on, Tartarus broke the silence. They had moved on down the road wearily and quietly, and everyone started a bit at the sound of his gruff voice.
“We don’t want to be on the road after dark, and there’s a good clearing ahead. Let’s make camp.”
Everyone muttered and mumbled their assent to this idea, and Asp figured from the tones of their voices that emotional weariness was more the culprit than physical exhaustion, though certainly it had been a tiring day for those walking alongside the wagon.
Tartarus guided the oxen off the road and through a small patch of high grass and then behind a thicket of trees and shrubs. He looked around from the top of the wagon, apparently trying to ascertain whether they were visible from the road. Seemingly content that they were out of sight, he nodded to himself.
“Okay, set up camp,” he ordered. “We need wood for a fire, but not too much since we’re laying low. Foraging or even hunting a bit would be good since we have only so many rations in the wagon. And there are some tents in the back. I’ll secure the oxen, if you all would be kind enough to tend to the rest.”
“I’ll gather some food,” said Wesley, pulling a basket and a hunting spear from the side of the wagon.
“Firewood for Steel-Eyes,” said Steel-Eyes as he set off towards the nearest outcropping of trees, Guy following close behind.
“I can work on the tents, then,” said Asp quietly, still feeling the sting of being lectured.
“I shall help,” offered Sash. They headed to the rear of the wagon and searched for the tents, pulling a few canvas-wrapped goods out by mistake before locating the tents.
“Shall we put them up individually or together?” asked Sash, carrying a bundle of canvas, poles, and stakes.
“Together’s probably faster,” Asp replied, trying to focus her attention on the task at hand. Flashes of interactions with Farboriel and Norasynia flashed through her mind, and the same anger at being spoken to like insolent children rose in her. She was deep in the act of containing her rising indignation when Sash spoke again.
“I’m not entirely certain I understand the situation we are in,” they said as they pressed a pole into the ground.
Asp cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you, like, from here?”
Sash released an exhale that she recognized a moment later as a modest laugh. “I’m not a part of high society.”
Asp shoved the other pole into the ground the canvas’s length in distance from Sash’s. “But–everybody treats you as a member of high society.”
“Yes and no,” said Sash, tying a cord to their pole. “I am in an elevated position of sorts as a protector of the archipelago, yes. But I have no real power.” They tossed the other end of the cord to Asp.
“You have social power,” countered Asp as she tied her end of the cord. “I mean, social power is power. People would listen to you if you told them what to do.” She tried her best to conceal her envy. “Arokosiel asked your opinion about dealing with Madris.”
Sash seemed to consider this a moment, then shrugged. “This is true, I suppose. But no one is under any obligation to listen to me.”
Asp grabbed the canvas and raised it over the stretched cord, and Sash helped to spread it evenly. She considered her words carefully. “Sash, may I be so bold as to describe how I see your actions?”
Sash eyed the canvas, nodded, and began to hammer a stake through the corner loop. “I don’t see why not.”
Asp watched and waited her turn for the staking. “It seems to me that you like to wait and then react to situations. Like, you don’t make the first move very often–I haven’t seen it, anyway. Instead, you see what people expect or need of you, and you do that. Is that fair?”
Sash seemed amused as they hammered in the second stake on their side. “I suppose so.” They passed the hammer and two more stakes to Asp.
“So, when you have social power,” she began, stretching the corner of the tent and lining up the stake, “you get a special position of advantage. You get to act and make others react. Back at the bridge, those two knew you. You could have cut in any time and said something to smooth the conversation out.”
Sash wore a half-frown. “You mean, I should have said something.”
Asp hammered the stake in with methodical strikes. “Not should. ‘Should’ is a judgment I’m not casting here. What I mean is, you had the ability to say that we were just traveling and that it was an honest mistake, and they probably would have listened to you. But you reacted to their power and prestige. You didn’t really say much of anything.”
“Waiting has its advantages,” said Sash after a moment. “The ocean knows its power comes from constancy. It doesn’t introduce things to the situation–it simply is.”
Asp began on the last stake. “Your archipelago, your role–it’s like the ocean?”
“Yes,” said Sash more quickly than normal. “My patron deity–Godtide Sasharaan–they wait and let their power do the rest.”
Asp struck the final blow on the stake and admired the standing tent. “But imagine how powerful they would be if they acted first.”
Sash looked surprised for a moment, then resumed their serene expression. “Perhaps this is true. I will consider it.”
“Just a thought,” added Asp sweetly. “I don’t know you well enough to criticize, and we obviously run in pretty different circles.”
Sash laughed hard, and the two set to getting the other tents in order. Within a few minutes, there were five small tents around a sunken patch of dirt; soon after, Steel-Eyes returned with an armload of kindling, Guy right behind him with a bigger armload of large branches; and as Tartarus finished feeding and watering the oxen, which he’d tied to a nearby thick tree trunk, Wesley came back with a rabbit, several birds’ eggs, and a selection of berries and tubers.
“Anyone a talented chef?” asked Tartarus. His voice sounded easier now, and Asp was grateful that a few tedious tasks had mellowed the hornkin.
“I can manage,” said Wesley. He began butchering the rabbit while Steel-Eyes got a fire going.
“Anyone know a good campfire story?” asked Wesley as he placed the rabbit on a spit.
There was a silence as the group watched the slowly growing flames before Steel-Eyes. The mood is dipping back down again, Asp thought.
“Once,” she began with a theatrical flourish of her hands, “when I was a kid in Thistlewade, I met this old wise woman. She was one of those mystical old ladies who tells people’s fortunes, makes ‘magic potions’ and such, communes with nature, that kind of thing. I kinda stumbled into her hut. Now, I was about five or so at the time if I recall correctly, and I didn’t really understand what the whole deal about her was–just that people kinda whispered about her and warned their kids not to go near her, which is probably why I did, to be honest.”
A modest laugh went up from the group. Good. Keep going.
“So I stumble in there, and she starts asking me questions, saying cryptic things about the world and about my future and stuff, and pretty soon, she tells me that I’m gonna go on a big journey and that I would do something vitally important.” She paused for effect, and Wesley and Sash leaned in slightly while Tartarus’s eyes grew wide. “So I was pretty freaked out, as you imagine, and then I forgot about it for a long time. Then, about four or five years ago, I got run out of Thistlewade. Ran off to Strey, started over. And I remember thinking after I’d been there a while, this is a big journey, but I don’t think I’m doing something vitally important. And wouldn’t you know it, a few years later, I got run out of Strey.”
More laughter, this time louder and less restrained–even Steel-Eyes chuckled.
“So I make it to Despair, and I did something that was pretty important to me at the time. And then, a year later, I decide to leave–if I’m honest, I got kinda run out of there too.”
More laughter, louder, freer–Wesley shook his head knowingly.
“And I realize that wasn’t it, either. So then I came to Afira. I’ve been here a couple weeks now. And we’re on a big journey that I don’t entirely understand, and maybe it will be something important. I dunno for sure. It’s not like there’s many more big journeys to take at this point. But what I know for sure is this: I keep living, and sometimes, that’s all you’ve got.”
Wesley and Tartarus nodded as if they understood this on a deep level. Sash seemed lost in thought, as indecipherable as ever. Steel-Eyes stared into the fire, then spoke in an almost reverent voice.
“Why do you live?”
Asp sat back, stunned by the question. She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “To improve myself, I think. When I was in Thistlewade, I’ll admit I was kind of a little terror who became a slightly bigger terror.” More laughter. “In Strey, I got better at what I do–reporting, I mean–and tried to do something good with it. In Despair, I was trying to make myself a better person. Not a better reporter, but a better person. And here, I guess I just want to get better in whatever way presents itself.” The group nodded and muttered their commiseration, and Sash in particular seemed struck by this. Asp turned to Steel-Eyes. “What about you? Why do you live?”
Steel-Eyes kept his eyes on the fire, Wesley turning the rabbit over it as he sliced the tubers. Moments passed, and it was unclear whether Steel-Eyes had heard her at all. Just as she was preparing to repeat her question, he spoke. “Steel-Eyes doesn’t know.”
Asp smiled. “You don’t know?”
Steel-Eyes shook his head. They all waited for more, but none came.
“What about you, Sash?” asked Asp, trying to keep the mood high.
Sash glanced up at the twinkling stars above them. “To protect the reef of the deep waters,” they said eventually.
“Of Deep Sasharaan,” said Wesley, a touch of romance in his voice. “The great deity of the mighty ocean.”
Sash beamed for a moment, then nodded. “It is my purpose.”
“Triple T?” inquired Asp, turning to the red hornkin.
Tartarus stared at the ground, his eyes hollow. “Revenge.”
That’s a dangerous conversation to follow, she thought. Better go down another path.
“Wesley?” she asked, a touch of playfulness in her voice to suggest a lighter atmosphere.
Wesley shrugged and tended to the developing meal over the flames, placing the eggs near the coals. “Music.” His voice was as hollow as his brother’s eyes. Asp was about to question him further when he spoke again. “And not being forgotten. I guess the music is a way to do that. I just don’t want to die and have my name go with me. I want to be spoken about and remembered after my time is done.”
“Don’t we all?” she replied. “It’s nice to think that there’s going to be something of us that persists even after we don’t.”
The group sat quietly, looking either at the stars or the flames, but not at each other. A minute passed with only the sounds of the fire crackling. Wesley removed the eggs from their place by the fire.
“What about you, Guy?” asked Asp, her voice bright and playful. “Why do you live?”
The group laughed again, even Wesley already aware that no answer was forthcoming.
“Dinner’s ready,” said Wesley.
Everyone tore into the assembled food, famished after their long day’s journey. Once their appetites were satisfied, they sat quietly together. Asp was busy brainstorming some lighthearted topic to discuss when Tartarus held up a hand to alert them to remain quiet. Asp couldn’t hear much of anything but the fire.
“Something over that way,” whispered Tartarus, pointing through the trees in the opposite direction of the road. “Arm up, follow me.”
The hornkin drew a mid-length blade from his hip and stalked off into the darkness. Wesley grabbed the hunting spear and followed, Sash close behind with their trident, and Steel-Eyes trudging next with a weighty warhammer. Guy’s hands’ plates shifted, forming hammers of his own. Asp swallowed nervously, drew her crossbow, and stalked off to follow the group.
They marched into the woods. The trees grew thicker and denser around them until it was hard to find an easy path in the dark. The further they went, the more a stench met them. It was thick and sour, offensive to the nose in ways that Asp was not sure she was acquainted with. It grew stronger and stronger until she thought it could not grow any worse, and as they took a few more stealthy steps into the forest, it did. Just ahead of her, the group formed up, Tartarus holding a hand high to halt them. She peered out ahead into the darkness.
Before them was a clearing. The light of the stars and moon above just barely illuminated the scene, but she was sure of what she saw. Monstrous creatures, nearly twenty of them, were feeding on something. The creatures were her size but scaled and reptilian like a Ronan’el–even more so. They seemed to be large lizard-like creatures which stood on their hind legs, but patches of their scales were missing, rotting flesh where they were supposed to be. The pale yellow-green eyes of the things glowed–not reflected the moonlight, but actually emitted light of their own–in the dark. The creatures were gathered around what appeared to be a disemboweled and limbless cow, using their spiky teeth to rip the remaining flesh from the carcass. A part of her mind told her not to believe her eyes, that something like what she was seeing had to be a nightmare, but another part assured her that this was all terrifyingly real.
“We attack on three,” said Tartarus, hefting his blade. “One . . . two . . .”
Asp’s mind went blank as she waited for the end of his count. She tried her best to stay standing. She tightened her grip on her crossbow and hoped desperately that target practice on bottles had prepared her to fight whatever monsters stood before them.
“Three!”
You can read the next chapter here!
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