À Trois

Seven days before the election the Gran-Devana awoke under an eclipse.

The darkness that took the sky turned the harbor into midnight. While the thaumaturgic lamps in the Senatorial Ring remained lit, on the Dragon Wharf the darkness traced long corridors among dockside cranes and damp warehouses, run by merchants of ill repute, sparsely lit by gas lamps.

Calm waves, on a day when even the tide seemed timid before the shadow in the heavens, beat against the shrouds of the ships with a sound that recalled the steady throb of a heart. The air smelled of salt, wet cordage, and rotting fish.

The chosen warehouse stood at the end of a cobbled lane, almost at the limit where, at high tide, the water climbed the stones. Thick wooden doors in a rust-eaten steel frame and tall, dark windows gave it an unfriendly face.

There was a cracked skylight in the roof, and from the fissure fell a thin ribbon of pale light from the humble public lighting. It was enough to reveal ancient dust suspended in the cold air of the sunless day.

“This is it” Sallustia pointed out, raising an eyebrow at Thanatos and Daniel. “Are you sure about this?”

The fool nodded; he had been the one to stitch this meeting together. Two blocks away, an old fisherman paid by Daniel pretended to mend his nets while watching the surroundings, ready to bring reinforcements if it was all a trap.

The plan was simple: Sallustia would fight without their interference. At any sign of trouble, a signal to withdraw had been agreed upon. It was what Daniel had repeated twice, looking the paladin in the eye.

“I listen to your advices, and you listen to mine. We have a goal here, Sallustia. Valuable information, but no heroics! If the situation becomes untenable, we leave.”

The bodyguard nodded.

The eclipse made everything gloomier. The slave-paladin wore the same minimal armor from the coliseum, reinforced by a short leather over-cape to discourage some unwanted looks.

She pushed one of the door leaves with her shoulder, and they went in.

The warehouse sounded damp like a cave. Empty barrels, a disabled hand winch, linen strands rotting on a low platform, and an old merchant scale made up the funereal setting in its abandonment.

The Slender One waited for them at the center of the ruined structure.

Tall and very much slender. Narrow shoulders, muscles defined under the tight black leather armor, reinforced at the knees and shoulders. The short black cape, split down the middle.

That day she wore no dark cloth mask, with a cold expression taking hold not only of her brown eyes but of her entire triangular face. Her black hair was tied in a low bun, without loose strands. Bandages on her arms hid the blades she used in combat. Up close, one could see dark-ink tattoos on the backs of her hands and along the side of her neck.

The woman inclined her head slightly, the way one greets an old problem.

“You came” she said to Sallustia.

“My employer and his… performer understood it would be a good opportunity. You said you had information.”

“I do, but first the rematch.”

Sallustia drew a deep breath.

“No deaths.”

“What a pity!” The Slender One took a step back, sliding like a shadow. “But no mercy either.”

The paladin raised her hand. Lines of violet light opened in the air, describing a circle. Black chains appeared, whirling, and the colossal blade took shape within the tangle. A metallic snap. Sallustia closed her hand on the hilt and pulled the sword free. The chains dissolved. The edge shone a dark purple.

Her opponent did not wait.

Three short steps and a twist of the torso, hidden blades against the paladin’s steel. Sallustia parried the first strike with a turn of the wrist; the second grazed her forearm; the third she blocked with the guard, turning her body to gain angle.

“Today the audience is only slightly bigger than your armor” the Slender One taunted, circling her like a hungry predator. “Just you, me, your noble admirer, and his pet fool.”

Sallustia paid no attention to the words.

Fight!

The Slender One smiled and her body loosened. Her movements gained a different elasticity. The approach changed — half-moon steps, hips leading the axis, shoulders relaxed — a style that mixed combat with deliberate showmanship. She entered Sallustia’s reach but withdrew before the cut, spun her left hand in a slow gesture, drawing attention to the line of her neck. Another half step, the hip brushing lightly against the slave-paladin’s skin. A calculated provocation.

“He did look at me in the coliseum” the mercenary whispered, slipping past a sweeping arc of Sallustia’s sword. “Your master de Lio. And I think he liked what he saw!”

The paladin growled without sound and accelerated her rhythm. High cut. Low cut and short thrust. Her opponent slipped under her arm, brushed a shoulder against Sallustia’s ribs, and escaped to the side, leaving a thin scratch on the greave with the tip of a blade.

“Don’t let me in, darling. Or I might just stay.”

Sallustia stepped back twice. Her breathing changed; she lowered her shoulders. She shifted her weight to the rear heel and sank her center of gravity.

The stance was predatory, blade low and advance explosive.

She launched at the Slender One like a shot, and the first blow traced a heavy semicircle. The opponent deflected the path of the strike with short blades, but the force dragged her a handspan across the floor. Second blow, rising. The slave-paladin did not stop. Third, inverted, seeking the collarbone. The Slender One gave ground, sliding on the platform, her eyes narrower now.

The game of provocations yielded to the slave-paladin’s aggressive style.

Sallustia brought the blade up, turned her feet, and drove all the weight down with the blunt section. The impact hurled her opponent into a pillar that broke under her weight.

“Dance less, dear. The battlefield is no stage for sluts” the paladin snarled.

The Slender One answered with a click of her tongue, jumped, and planted a foot on the fallen pillar’s side. She came in with a slashing arc, descending over Sallustia’s shoulder.

The paladin raised her guard, and it was blade against blade.

Sparks flew, and the opponent hung in the air, braced on Sallustia’s sword. Sallustia yielded a step, then another, and then turned the sword in a short arc, taking the Slender One’s base. The mercenary fell in a roll and rose facing away.

Daniel held his breath and looked at Thanatos who, nervous, clenched his fingers around the little flute he had used in the Onius tower.

“She’s in rhythm” the fool assured. “There’s no way she loses!”

Sallustia advanced again. Step, cut; step, cut; and a short variation. The Slender One endured four, five exchanges. On the sixth, the paladin feinted high and cut low.

She struck the opponent’s thigh and the Slender One faltered, dropping to one knee. Reflexively, the mercenary raised her arm to defend, but Sallustia didn’t strike. She shifted her weight, twisted the hilt, and applied an armlock with the aid of her own blade, pinning the opponent’s forearm against the low platform. The tip of the sword rested at the neck, just above the collarbone.

“Surrender!”

The Slender One stayed still. She drew a long breath and faced the slave-paladin’s mask on Sallustia’s face, seeking her eyes behind the cold metal.

“You love saying that.”

There was a brief silence, only the sound of water dripping. The slave-paladin did not reply.

“I surrender,” the Slender One said, rolling her eyes.

Sallustia raised the blade a little, but not enough to let the enemy counterattack. It was a disciplined gesture acknowledging victory.

Before Daniel and Thanatos could relax, a short report cracked the air.

A flash to the left, and the platform in front of Sallustia burst into splinters.

A figure emerged from the shadows and walked unhurriedly toward the two of them, the sound of heavy boots on the floorboards.

She wore a wide-brimmed hat weathered by the sun, and a tight, sleeveless dark top of tough fabric clinging to her ample breasts, leaving her arms free. Her musculature was well-defined, narrow waist, firm abdomen. Her fair skin bore long marks and scars across arms and torso.

Over the top, she wore a long brown leather coat, open at the front, hem reaching her knees, and at her waist a double leather belt with side holsters, one holding a polished revolver. The other was pointed at Sallustia.

Her trousers, of thick riding cloth, were fastened with simple metal buckles. High dark-leather boots and a faded red scarf knotted at her neck completed the look.

The woman stopped one step from Sallustia and leveled the smoking barrel at the paladin’s face.

“Scared you, doll. Too much confidence isn’t good on a battlefield either.”

The Slender One stood, limping on her wounded leg. She planted her hands on her thighs and grimaced at her ally.

“You always pick the most dramatic moment, Sorcha.”

“That’s what they pay me for, Bellusa” the gunslinger shrugged.

Sallustia took a slow step back, avoiding sudden moves. Sorcha didn’t fire, but worse, she aimed at Daniel and with her other hand touched the second holster.

“Careful, baby. Or Lord de Lio ends up with more holes than a cheese.”

“Two against one?” the paladin grumbled, not taking her eyes off the revolver aimed at Daniel. “That wasn’t the deal, and it isn’t fair!”

“It’s a bad look to ask for a rematch and still lose” replied the Slender One, whose name was Bellusa. “I took precautions to avoid that outcome.”

Both smiled.

“Do you surrender?” the gunslinger asked.

Sallustia measured the situation. Daniel was a master thief; perhaps he could dodge a few shots. But she wasn’t sure — his fighting reflexes were nothing special. And there was Thanatos.

The fool was a dead weight in a fight, and his life, though he was a useful ally, meant little to the slave-paladin. Grace, however, would try to protect him as he had in the past.

The choice was obvious. Even so, her pride as an elite warrior kept the words from her mouth.

“No surrender?” the Slender One laughed. “After you forced me to say it twice.”

“What a brat” Sorcha clicked her tongue and stared at Sallustia with malice. “But I’ll make it easier for you. No need to say the words if it hurts your pride. Instead, you can start taking off your outfit, all right?”

The paladin’s heart skipped a beat.

“Ladies…” Daniel tried to intervene, but a shot sent the top hat he had chosen for the day flying, and the traveler from another world fell silent.

Thanatos exchanged looks with him, perhaps signaling he would call to the fisherman outside, but Grace made him give up with a shake of his head.

Sallustia did not move at once. Her eyes, behind the mask, stayed fixed on the two mercenaries. She sighed and first let the short cape fall, the fabric pooling at her feet. Then the metal bracers, one at a time, a heavy sound echoing as they struck the floor.

“Faster” Sorcha tilted her head, evaluating each movement while still aiming at Daniel.

Next came the greaves, sliding off with the scrape of buckle on leather. Finally, Sallustia brought her hands to the belt, releasing the side catches that held the reinforced metal bustier. The piece fell with a heavy thud, giving everyone a clear view of the paladin’s breasts. Grace had the decency to look away and also turned Thanatos’s head, who for a moment gaped.

I’m going to kill all of you when this is over. Oh, I will…

“We’re almost there, sweetheart.” Sorcha indicated the metal-plated thong. “I just want to make sure you understand who’s in charge here.”

I’ll kill these two first, then the fool, Daniel, and finally myself.

Sallustia lifted her face slowly, her shoulders now free of the armor’s weight, and in a single motion lowered what little dignity she had left. Luckily, the sword’s blade was large enough that, when she embraced it, the paladin could hide the most important parts.

“Satisfied?!” she demanded, hatred in her voice. “Let’s finish this before I put it all back on and end you both.”

“Look how fierce she is” Bellusa mocked.

“A magnificent scene” Sorcha finished, lowering the gun and blowing a kiss to the slave-paladin. “Shame your friends don’t seem to appreciate it; both have their faces turned away.”

“But relax!” the Slender One resumed. “You didn’t kill me in the arena, so no one —”

Sallustia narrowed her eyes behind the visor of the mask. The only piece of ‘clothing’ they hadn’t demanded she remove.

“Talk!”

The gunslinger looked up at the warehouse skylight, apparently weighing where to begin.

“As you already know, there are spies in Fort Tinuso. If not for that, your fool wouldn’t have arranged a rematch against my friend Bellusa to begin with. What no one, except me, knows is that the spies are from the Sons of the Mist guild.”

Silence.

“Are you sure?” Daniel asked, still not looking directly at where the three women stood.

“I only say what I can prove” Sorcha pulled a slim envelope from inside her coat and tossed it at Grace’s feet. “A few days ago I was hired to eliminate one of the guild’s enemies, but I ended up cornered by a strange group of occultists. Looked like people from the south. From the desert.”

“Yellow Turbans!” Thanatos’s voice came out squeaky on the name, and he shivered as if a chill ran up his spine.

“And what did you do?” Daniel asked.

“What do you think, handsome? I gave them the welcome of my land. Lead everywhere. And even so I barely got away. It was obviously a trap.”

The Slender One touched her friend’s forearm.

“It soon became clear those cultists were working with the Sons of the Mist. And the Sons of the Mist have done several jobs for Gnaeuso Diusylvin Metiuso, a counselor to the Swords Party. Plenty of mercenaries can attest to that, since they’re hiring paid muscle too. With Prebito’s business growing in the Outer Ring, it was just a matter of two and two.”

“Why tell this to us?” Sallustia asked.

“Because the noble Senator Prebito isn’t worth my horse’s dung” Sorcha replied. “I don’t want an alliance with him and I have good reasons. I need to speak with Daniel Grace, an agent of the Convergence, and I know slave-paladins have ties to that group.”

“Who?” The slave-paladin stayed impassive.

“Your real employer, my dear. Not that weakling Lord Fidenzio” she looked at Daniel. “No offense.”

“None taken” Grace had to stifle a laugh.

“Fidenzio isn’t that bad, Sorcha” the Slender One commented, biting her lip. “I’d like a date with him without the coliseum crowd. See if he’s as attentive up close as he seems from afar.”

“Do you want to die?!” Sallustia snarled at Bellusa.

Sorcha raised her arm in a conciliatory gesture.

“The information is true. You can verify it if you want. After that, you or our friend Fidenzio can request a meeting with Grace. Somewhere nicer than this, if possible.”

Sallustia drew a deep breath, rage held in check.

“If this is a trap, I’ll cut you both to pieces.”

Sorcha pointed the revolver at Daniel again.

“Maybe besides undressing I should’ve made you dance.”

“I like you better when you’re angry” the Slender One leaned toward the paladin, her voice a whisper only Sallustia would hear. “You fight better.”

“If I were you I wouldn’t go out like that; it’s rather cold outside.” Sorcha laughed, holstered the revolver, and turned to leave.

They withdrew. For a second, there was only the wind off the docks and their steps receding.

Sallustia stood still a moment, then dissolved the sword and quickly began dressing.

“Are you all right?” Daniel asked.

“No wounds.”

“Seems the Slender One really does like our friend Fidenzio” Thanatos teased with a jocular smile.

“Shut up, Thanatos” Daniel ordered, bending to pick up the envelope the two mercenaries had left. “We need to deliver this to Ravia.”

“The Sons of the Mist…” the fool pondered, now serious. “If it’s true, it explains a lot.”

Sallustia finished dressing.

They left the warehouse; the wind off the docks felt colder. The eclipse hadn’t stopped work there — men pushed carts, and a ship’s whistle sounded in the distance.

“Let’s go before someone notices the movement” Daniel told the two.

Hardly had he finished speaking when a group of guards hurried down the main street, talking about the eclipse. Fortunately, no one looked twice at the trio.

Life went on even under shadow.