Terms in Blood

    “I have come to discuss your obligation, Sean.” Aster’s voice slithered through the cracks in the doorframe. “And the agreement we must sign to proceed.”

    Flick looked to Sean, her eyes wide.

    The train of thought that had derailed with Flick’s rejection started running again. When Aster had offered him a servant to see to their needs, Sean had filed it away as something to try and reject when the time came. At best, it was an amenity he had no interest in taking advantage of, given the time constraints of their visit, and at worst it was a way for the man to keep tabs on them as they did his bidding. Neither option appealed.

    Now, though, Sean wondered if there might be a way to turn the offer to his own advantage. Maybe he could use Aster's attitude towards his inferiors against him, cavalier as it was.

    “It’s ok,” he mouthed silently, “I have an idea.”

    He straightened with difficulty and motioned for her to open the door. It had barely cleared the threshold when Aster pushed past her, a hulking hooded figure trailing behind him.

    Sean made a conscious effort to completely ignore the latter, which was difficult, considering how much space they took up. Through the struggle he invited Aster to sit at the table in the center of the room.

    Once they were seated, his host placed a piece of parchment on the table. “As agreed to by your predecessor, each instance of aid to either party must be negotiated and bound into a document outlining the task’s rewards and obligations.” The man looked around the room. “Speaking of which, where is the High King?”

    “He’s resting,” Flick chimed in, “the journey was more trying than he expected, so he’s left negotiations to his Executor.”

    Aster nodded along as if that was the most natural thing in the world. “Understandable, I too wish that I could leave such things to my chattel. Alas, I have none who are sufficiently trustworthy to perform such duties. Speaking of which,” he said, beckoning his servant, “bring the agreement.”

    The attendant leaned over the desk and gently laid a gold-nib pen and a pot of dark red liquid in front of Sean as the pale man continued. “You may decline to fulfill this obligation and break the previously brokered pact. This would, of course, open you and your kingdom up to certain provisions and penalties that I would hate to have to impose.”

    Aster’s conciliatory tone didn’t match the hunger Sean could see in the man’s eyes. He held up a hand to interrupt the flow of negotiations.

    “Before we continue on to important matters, is this servant of yours also intended to be my attendant?”

    “Ah, yes, I almost forgot. The servitor here shall be assigned to see to your every need and protect you on your way to and from the task’s location. Things in the deep city can get dangerous for your kind, after all.”

    Sean shook his head. “Unacceptable. We have already placed a lot of trust in your goodwill by coming here without a royal escort, and only now do you reveal the dangers of your city?”

    He injected a note of distrust into his voice that was not completely feigned. “Who is to say your retainer here won’t knife us as soon as you’re out of sight and scurry off with the contents of my purse? No. I require assurances of its loyalty to myself and my kingdom, assurances only oaths can provide.”

    He looked at Aster from across the table, putting on the expression he used when negotiating with particularly recalcitrant stakeholders. A part of him felt uncomfortable treating what he assumed to be a sentient being as an object, but mirroring Aster’s disregard for the servant felt like the right choice.

    Aster stared back at him. The man’s head cocked slightly to one side as he narrowed his eyes in assessment. Sean felt a trickle of moisture slide down the back of his neck.

    “Mortals have become so paranoid in our absence,” his host said, breaking into a wide smile, “I approve. Although I assure you the concern is completely misplaced. Servitor!”

    The Otherworlder snapped his fingers. In response, the larger figure immediately dropped to its knees and bowed its head, a surprisingly soft voice emerging from the shadows of its hood.

    “I, Mordren, live and die by your command – and only your command. I swear to serve you and your kingdom until my bones break and my breath escapes me.”

    Sean felt the pendant warm almost imperceptibly against his chest. He drew in a long uninterrupted breath and let it out. His throat still burned on the inhale, but he could already tell the pressure in his chest had lessened.

    Not a perfect solution, it seems. He thought to himself. But good enough for ye olde government work.

    He turned his attention to the man, still kneeling on the floor. “I gladly accept your service, Mordren. Please rise.” Sean thought he saw Aster's gaze harden slightly, but his host made no additional comment. Instead, his attention shifted to the contract.

    “Let’s move on to the task at hand, shall we? You aren’t the only contract I need to finalize, and the day is only so long – even in Thairis.”

    “Of course.” Sean said, pulling the parchment over. He began to read through it as Aster looked on impatiently. It was a long scroll, dense with language and dependent clauses. He found himself wishing, not for the first time in his life, that he had gone to law school as his grandfather had advised.

    He turned to Flick, who had taken up a position by the door again. “Flick, I’d like a second set of eyes. Can you come over and review this with me?”

    She obliged, pulling up a chair next to him and after almost an hour of increasingly tense pause and clarification, he was glad that he’d asked for her help. Where he might be better at parsing out the legalese, Flick was invaluable for identifying the more esoteric consequences outlined in the document.

    “Make him change this part,” she suggested on seeing one seemingly benign entry.

    “Why? All it says is that he ‘retains ownership of any materials present at the work site on the assignee’s departure’. It’s not like he doesn’t already own the place.”

    “Aye, but he doesn’t own the bits of you that you might leave behind, does he? The hair? The blood? The breath? Those are still parts of you and trust me, you don’t want to hand anyone else the rights.”

    Aster rolled his eyes theatrically. “Must we continue this butchery of a perfectly good pact?” He asked. When Sean met his complaint with silence, he sighed and struck the passage from the contract.

    Finally, as they neared the end of the scroll, Sean saw a section that piqued his interest beyond a general concern for the contract’s fairness. “Aster, can you tell me more about this?” he asked, turning the parchment and pointing to a segment of short, ambiguous language.

    There were several spaces left open for additional entry. The label above simply labelled it as ‘Gifts’.