The Lion's Daughter

“Homura!” Captain Elliot tossed her a small bag.

She snatched it out of the air as the coins within it jingled. “What’s this? A refund?”

The greybeard nodded. “Ain’t feel right, all things considered.”

“I didn’t even help with the unloading.” Her side seemed to have healed thanks to Serhan’s impressive medicine, but the first mate instructed her to take it easy.

“We care more ‘bout crew than cargo, lass.”

Not how the Hansa usually operates.

The pair of them walked over to the port authority where Brok and Siri were speaking with one of the clerks.

“All right,” spoke the man. “Mister Hanswell, Miss Weaver, you're free to enter Cyrine. Just keep your Hansa documents handy at all times. The marines have stepped up enforcement due to the refugee influx and the upcoming peace talks.”

“We'll wait for you just past the checkpoint!” Siri shouted to Homura, giving her a quick wave.

“Next!” announced the clerk.

“Let's go together, lass,” said the captain.

The pair walked up to the clerk whose face immediately put on a big smile. “Elliott Crane! Today's the big day, eh?”

The captain chuckled. “That it be, Rial. Couldn't come a day sooner.” He paused for a moment to see if anyone could eavesdrop on the three of them. “Need a final favor, if you'd be so kind.”

“Out with it, then.”

“Can you set this lass up with a long-term pass?” He clapped his hand on the back of Homura's shoulder.

The clerk frowned. “She a refugee? City's full up, Elliott. I can get her a pass to move on to one of the kingdoms or the Empire. A few ships’re heading all the way up to Serafal.”

“Not a refugee,” she added. “Bounty hunter. Chasing a mark, but I'll need some time in the city to get my bearings.”

“Hmm... S’pose I can give you a week. You'll need a sponsor if you want to stay longer. Since you’re a fighter, Lautreci Regulars might do it.”

“That’s fine, thank you.”

“Name, then? Given and lineage. If you don’t have a lineage, just the name of the territory you last lived in.”

“Given name is Homura. Family name Ozuma.”

“Homura… Ozuma…” Rial looked up at her. “As in Lionel Ozuma?” His eyes ran over the weapons holstered on her belt, her spiky blonde hair, and then the majestic katana on her back.

Elliott chuckled. “Bloody ‘splains a lot, then.”

“Explains what?”

“You ain’t seen the lass fight.”

“Regulars’ll have a field day with you.” The clerk finished processing the pass and handed it to her. “All right, gave you two weeks. Don’t know where you’ll sleep, though. Inns and the like filled up two days ago.”

“You can ‘ole up at my daughter’s place,” said the captain. “Got a storage room. Ain’t much, but…”

She smiled in response. “That would be lovely.”

月

“’Nother mambun sap mixture for the road, love.” Siri pressed the tincture into Homura’s palm. “I’ve got to say, never seen a bastien heal so fast!” Her broken hand remained in a cast.

“These are expensive,” she whispered back. “Are you sure?”

The inari grinned. “Just another emergency medical supply used up in the aftermath of a desperate battle.”

A drunk Brok wobbled over with four tankards of ale, trying his best not to spill them. “Gonna mith you, Cap’n.”

He plonked the alcohol on the long table and took a seat next to his lover. Most of the crew had made it to the captain’s retirement party and were spread throughout the tavern. Homura had managed to grab a seat next to the guest of honor. Every few minutes a drunken sailor would swagger up to offer Elliott both gratitude and congratulations.

“All right, sailors!” he announced as he stood up, forcing the crowd to a hushed murmur. “Y’know I don’t like goodbyes, so this ain’t goodbye. This inn and tavern are now fully owned and operated by the Crane family!”

A loud cheer erupted from the crowd.

“So, if you miss this ol’ goat’s mug, y’know where to find me.” He raised his drink in the air as everyone else did the same. “Not everyone can be ‘ere tonight, sadly… But they’ll recover. No-one died because you all fought like bloody lions!” His stare turned to Homura as he gave her an approving nod. “So, this is to you, crew. It’s been a pleasure bein’ your cap’n. And if I find you drinkin’ at any other establishment in Cyrine, I’ll whip your arse an’ drag it over ‘ere!”

Raucous laughter filled the air.

“To Captain Elliott!” yelled the first mate before draining his mug with the others.

As the night drew on, the crew trickled out of the tavern. Brok, Siri, and Homura remained, having secured lodging with Elliott’s family.

Brok regarded the blonde bastien as he scratched his chin. “Lionel Ozuma? The Lion of Lautrec? You’re his daughter?”

“Not by blood,” she replied. “He rescued me from Starmgard over a decade ago. Took me in, trained me, taught me much about the world…” She took another swig of ale. It was her fourth tankard and her cheeks had grown a bright pink. She had accidentally spilled her plan to the couple.

Just next to her, Siri was sloshed. “Homuu…” she groaned. “Pleasshe don’t go! Lionnel wouldn’t have wanted thissh…” She half-collapsed onto the bastien, pressing a rosy cheek into her bosom.

What is it with inari always speaking the truth?

“You wanna hunt down the former members of the Greywolfe Company?” The moonkin crossed his arms, his face painted with concern. “I gotta agree with Siri. That sounds like a death thententh.” He winced at his accidental lisp. His tongue was mostly back to normal. “How will you even find ‘em? What if they’re in the Union of all bloody places?”

“Didn’t give it up for my family, not giving it up for you two,” she snapped. Her tone immediately softened in reaction to their upset faces. “I tried to let it go… Meditation, hunting, all sorts of new disciplines… But I don’t have a single night where I’m not haunted by the memories of what happened. Have you ever gone through something so terrible that it haunts your every dream? Constantly drives you to sickness and rage?” She drained her tankard and slammed it on the tabletop while letting out a soft belch.

Brok looked downward pensively.

Siri sniffled as she hugged Homura tighter. “Sshtay with ush tonight,” she whispered into her ear.

“I…” Her face grew bright red at the suggestion. Siri’s scent was intoxicating, but what about Brok? She shivered at the idea of having a man inside her again.

The inari sensed her fear. “I’m ssho shorry,” she wept. “I’m sho shtupid...” She caressed the faint scars around Homura’s neck.

“Keep me warm? Just no… You know...” The fourth ale was finally hitting her and she really wanted to lose herself in that alluring musk.

日

Homura bit into the fried egg sandwich. The yolk broke, causing a stream of yellow to dribble down the side of her chin. She wiped it off with her finger and licked it clean. The toasted bread was dark brown and riddled with some kind of nut or seed. It had a faint sweetness to it—an excellent complement to the well-seasoned egg.

Siri and Brok sat across the tavern’s table from her, the former staring at her with her head cradled in her hands, a sultry smile across her lips. Homura had woken up to the nude inari pressed up against her, snoozing with an arm wrapped around her belly and a leg locked around her thigh. She still remembered the night before. Thankfully, she hadn’t drunk herself into a complete blackout. Brok had been the gentleman Siri promised, having attended solely to the inari as she, in turn, attended to Homura.

“‘Ere’s the coffee, friends.” The red-maned moonkin proprietress delivered a tray with a large coffeepot, mugs, a small jar of sugar, and stirring spoons.

“Thanks, Maria,” replied Brok, eagerly pouring the piping hot coffee into the mugs.

She laughed. “Recognize the smell, eh?”

“Each time I was in the ‘old. A bloody delicious scent.”

Homura had not expected Elliott’s daughter to be a beastkin. That explained a lot of things about him.

She took a few sips of the coffee. It was bold and nutty with hints of raspberry and raisin.

Delicious!

“So,” began Siri, “where are you headed next?”

“Not sure. Markaard, probably. I’m chasing a rumor of the Whitebeak involved in a border dispute.”

“And you’re going to kill him?”

“Depends.”

The sailor put on a hopeful smile and nodded. “If you ever change your mind, Serhan will have you.”

Bidding farewell to her friends from the Vizoris, Homura departed the tavern.

The inn was a short walk from the main road by the port. Aside from these large roads—which were primarily used for the mass transport of cargo between ships, warehouses, and train yards—the rest of Cyrine appeared to be a snaking maze of canals, bridges, and alleyways.

“Seriously?” She could’ve sworn the path she took would take her to the main road, but instead it appeared to be passing under its bridge.

She looked around for another path that might correct her course. Everything looked equally promising in that nothing looked promising. Maybe there was a staircase on the far side of the underpass. Cursing under her breath, she proceeded through the dimly lit corridor, nearly tripping over a dirty blanket sprawled across the walkway.

Seems like a place where innocence goes to die.

The far side of the tunnel did not improve her circumstances. The stone trail continued away from her target road with not an offshoot in sight. With a groan, she looked up at the bridge. Some drainage pipes and an antiquated-looking lantern lined its side. The stones were also uneven and had large gaps between them—they’d make decent holds.

“Fuck it,” she grumbled. Thanks to Serhan’s medicine, her flank felt as good as new. Besides, her pack was light and she really didn’t feel like exploring one of the earlier passages.

She grabbed a pipe with one hand and slipped her toes into a gap between the rocks. With a heave, she forced herself up and grabbed the lantern’s bracket. It was old and rusty, but it held firm. A few more pushes and now her lowest foot stood on the light’s frame. As she reached the top, a hand grasped her wrist firmly and began to hoist her upwards.

“This,” began a man’s voice, strained by the effort of pulling her onto the bridge, “is not good for the city’s infrastructure.”

She swung her lower body over the guardrail. “Thank…” She took a moment to catch her breath. “Thank you. I was very lost.”

The man who pulled her up was a marine. He had a long rifle slung over his shoulder and wore a green uniform featuring Cyrine’s silver falcon. One of his hands rested on the hilt of a saber hanging from his hip.

He was human and his expression seemed far from friendly. “Papers?” he demanded.

With a shrug, she pulled out the port clerk’s document. The man snatched it from her hand, gave it a once-over, then ran his eyes over her from tip to toe.

“Ozuma is it?” He handed her back the paper and clicked his tongue. “Name sounds familiar.”

She brushed his question aside. “Could you point me towards the Hansa bank?”

“Which one? Got over a dozen of them.”

“The… big one? I’m looking for a man named Patrick Steward.”

“And you think I know the name of every banker in Cyrine?”

Irritated by his dismissive tone, she turned to proceed down the main road away from the port.

“Word of warning!” yelled the marine. “Climb into the wrong area with weapons like those and you’ll get more than a telling! Roads and signs exist for a reason!”

I guess he has a point.

日

It took Homura almost four hours to find the right bank. First, the banks’ signage needed improvement. The Hansa hadn’t used precious metal currency in decades, so balance scales for gold and silver weren’t exactly the most helpful image for recognizing a monetary bank, even if they did handle currency exchanges.

Why couldn’t they just write ‘Bank’ in big letters?

Second, the first bank she visited was full of apprentices who had no idea how to locate a city-wide directory. None of them had heard of a Patrick Steward. Finally, the second bank pointed her in the right direction, but she had already traveled more than two hours the wrong way.

Finally, she made it to the large establishment near the southern gate. A massive bridge stretched over the Trulais River that carved Sorcis in two: all the way from the Sea of Flowers to the Winter Sea in the north. The far side of the bridge was the Kingdom of Markaard.

Cherries? The inside of the bank had a faint smell of the fruit as she walked in. She couldn’t tell where the scent was coming from, exactly, but the smell wasn’t unwelcome.

“Can I help you, miss?” A well-dressed man sat behind a reception desk, eyeing her as she entered.

Observing the plethora of armed guards and the tellers dealing with other customers, she walked up to the clerk who greeted her. “Is there a Master Patrick Steward available?”

“Do you have an appointment?” The man’s voice sounded even more disdainful than the marine from earlier.

She suspected she didn’t have the look of a typical customer, but Cyrine certainly had its fair share of mercenaries, did it not? Was the trio of weapons she had hanging from her hips and back a problem? There were no signs that barred weapons as she entered—it wasn’t like she was brandishing them. Maybe her hair looked terrible? She had been cutting it herself, but she thought it looked rather charming with its spiky roughness. Or perhaps it was her shirt? Reinforced though it was, it did draw some attention to her cleavage and she hadn’t quite managed to wash out all of those bloodstains, despite great effort.

“I… no, I don’t.”

The clerk raised his head and leaned back in his chair, as if to look down his nose at her. “The chief accountant is very busy. You will need an appointment if you wish to see him.”

“How do I get an appointment?”

“With a letter of introduction or recommendation.”

“He would’ve received a package from Osinjolu. Can you ask if he's expecting Homura Ozuma?” The package probably hadn’t arrived yet, but she wanted to at least introduce herself to the man.

The receptionist let out the deepest of sighs and then gestured for one of the younger guards to approach. The two whispered to each other until the latter finally agreed to something and approached her.

“Miss… ‘fraid I have to ask you to leave.” The lad had a vice grip around his weapon’s handle.

“For what? Asking a question?”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” interjected the clerk, “using that name in hopes of, what, a job?”

The guard looked like he was about to have a panic attack. “I’m real sorry, miss.”

“I don’t want a bleedin’ job, I want to introduce myself to a friend of my family!”

The clerk shook his head and scowled at her. “Get this sewer rat out of here.”

She bared her fangs, causing the lad to step back, then shouted at the top of her lungs. “I, Homura Ozuma, just want to talk to Patrick Steward!”

Everyone in the bank was now staring at her.

One of the larger guards stepped forward and pulled out a club. “All roight, lass. Last warnin’ ‘fore ye.”

Brisk footsteps drew her attention to a hallway marked Employees Only. A bespectacled man with a shining dome devoid of hair stepped out and regarded her.

“Homura… Ozuma?” His voice was authoritative and cold, reminiscent of many an imperial noble.

That has to be him.

“Aye.”

He eyed her katana’s handle, visible over her shoulder, and stroked his clean-shaven chin. His eyes met the receptionist’s uncertain gaze. “Were you about to kick her out?”

“I-I didn’t want to disturb you, sir. So many of them come in asking for jobs these days.”

The bald man raised one eyebrow. “I do not handle employment here and am scarcely known to the public, you know this. And yet she asked for me by name?”

“As I said, I did not wish to disturb you. I know you are very busy, sir.”

“No-one is that busy.” He surveyed the room, examining the empty chairs in the waiting area and underutilized tellers. “It seems like you have plenty of time to spare. Next time, pay more careful attention to your customers’ needs.”

“O-of course, sir!” The clerk stood and bowed deeply to the bastien. “Please accept my apologies, Madam Ozuma.”

“Kingsley sent a package?” Patrick poured a cup of tea for the grateful girl.

“I’m not even sure if he’s had the chance to send it yet. We both fled from the pogrom in Zyrdia. He and Yui made for Osinjolu via sailboat. I… didn’t go with them.”

“I see. Well, the two of them will be fine, no doubt.” He grabbed a seat opposite her at his desk. It was covered in paperwork and handwritten computations. “What brings you to Sorcis? Are you headed for Serafal?” He brought his teacup up to his mouth and cooled the surface with a soft blow before taking a sip.

“I’m tracking down the Greywolfe Company.”

The banker frowned. “A strange reunion.”

“Please, don’t get started.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “But who are you after now?”

“Whoever is closest. I heard the Whitebeak is in Markaard.”

“You intend to kill him?”

“I’m not sure. I want to talk to him first.” She began to drink her tea.

“Hmm… I did not know the Whitebeak well. He’s not much of a conversationalist, but Lionel sung high praises of the tengu. Then again, he used to do the same for Whisp… The last correspondence I had with anyone from the Company was well before the Byrek. I have tried tracking them through the Hansa’s contacts to limited success.” He smiled. “I had completely lost track of Kingsley, Yui, and you.”

“Aye, that was intentional. Have we met before?”

“I never had the pleasure. Lionel did write fondly of you, though.”

She nodded sadly. “The surviving members, including Iskil; can you tell me anything you know about their locations?”

“Aside from the tengu, not much. They have grown harder to trace over the years, despite the Hansa’s expansion. A raven-haired elfkin mercenary with a mole under each eye was making a name for herself a few years back within the Wyncrest Union.”

“Sounds like Lyra. She still alive?”

“It’s hard to say. You know how slippery that one is.”

“Aye, she was way ahead of the Starmgardians at the river… She ambushed us on Lautrec’s side of the crossing. Kingsley kicked her into the Byrek, but she sliced him up badly. Don’t worry, he’s fine now.”

“Good.” He took another sip. “Whisp Greywolfe initially fled to Starmgard, but was forced to flee again due to the Archduke’s fury at his failure in Lautrec. Given what he did, there aren’t many safe nations for him in Sorcis, I imagine. Although, he could be hiding among the common folk almost anywhere.”

“I doubt he’d settle for that.”

Patrick crossed his arms. “Indeed.”

“And Iskil’s in Markaard? He’s involved in a border dispute with the Union?”

“I am not sure about this border dispute, but the Sheriff of Srivain has posted a bounty for a grey-feathered tengu bandit. One that is, apparently, highly skilled in magic. Srivain, however, does happen to be at the border of the Union and Markaard.”

Highly skilled in magic sounds right. But… a bandit?

“Srivain, is it far from here?”

“Two weeks by horseback, three if you take a carriage. I’m assuming you do not have a horse?”

“Correct.”

The man hummed as he pulled out a bronze leaf of paper and began scribbling down numbers and words across the page. He signed it and stamped it at the top and bottom, then tore off the lower half and handed it to her. “A letter of credit for a horse. No interest if you can pay it back within a year. Be sure to get the horse here in Cyrine.”

“You sure?” She certainly didn’t want to pass up on a horse, but she would have to figure out how to earn an income later. Her side seemed good enough for prolonged horse riding, at least. She had a surplus of Serhan’s medicine plus the healing tincture Siri had snuck her just in case. “How much is that bounty on the bandit?”

“High enough to buy a quartet of race horses, were you to collect it.”