Cutting Both Ways

The sun stood well above the horizon.

Our farewell was brief and without many words. Eorn stayed on the ship, while a few crew members helped me carry my belongings off board.

The sailors then set out to stock up on supplies for the rest of their journey while the skipper discussed the cargo and anchorage fees with an official. It was time to move on.

Strandburgh felt like a proper city, even by continental standards—not nearly the largest settlement I had seen so far on my journeys, but large nonetheless. Pier after pier lined the enormous harbor, which stretched far along the coast.

In the distance, two fortresses loomed over the teeming mass of people and their dwellings. One of the two must surely have been the seat of the mareeve of Funa. Not of interest to me for now.

The boatswain hadn’t overstated the decline of the harbor. A striking number of warehouses appeared to be dilapidated, and a surprising number of berths were empty.

For a few copper coins, a portly coachman loaded my belongings onto his cart and promised to take me to an excellent inn in a nice part of the city.

“First time here, eh?”

“What gave it away?”

“The look on your face when you saw how bad things have gotten around here. It's sad, isn't it? Strandburgh used to be the most important harbor on the Isles when I was a little boy. Now it is little more than the capital of one of many lordships.”

“I heard it’s the Seates’ dealings that led to this.”

“They are part of the problem. But it isn’t like the Mareeve or any other nobleman is doing much to prevent this disgrace of our great city.”

“Let's not dwell on it, my friend. Tell me more about how things are nowadays. At which residence do all these streets actually converge?”

“Ugh, the Bureeve runs the city on our lord’s behest. Each of the 33 wards is overseen by a beadle and each one of them has his own retinue of ward knights who enforce the law and bother good people like me to pay our taxes. You won't believe it, but recently they even imposed a fine for...”

“Which ward is that Drowned Drow Inn in you're taking me to?”

“That would be Cray, good sir. A wealthy ward in the care of the thrifty Beadle Gommond. It’s a fine place for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Well, the fancy cloths you dash must have deep pockets. You look like… A thane? Or maybe the wayward son of a lord? Ha, whatever, I won’t ask too many questions.”

I paid no more attention to the coachman's continued ramblings until we arrived at the inn.

It was a pretty and well-maintained building. My chatty new acquaintance hadn't lied. The whole ward made a good impression. The ride paid off handsomely for the coachman, who told me his name—which I quickly forgot.

The inn didn't seem to be very busy, and even though I had booked the smallest room available, the innkeeper was delighted to have me there.

With the help of him and a young maid, my belongings were quickly taken up to the room, and I finally had time to catch my breath.

I really needed a bath—yes, I really did—and the innkeeper agreed with me and recommended a bathhouse just a short walk away.

It was quite the crowded place and seemed to be frequented by well-heeled traders, as I could gather from snippets of conversation coming from the private baths I passed by on my way to the cheaper public area.

When I stepped outside, relaxed and refreshed after a lengthy stay, the sun was already at its zenith.

In high spirits, I let myself be swept along by the bustling crowds toward a small market. Oh, how carefree it was to be unknown to the people around me and free of their expectations.

I treated myself to an aurochs skewer at one of the stalls. The finest meat—a true delight. But my culinary joy was short-lived.

It started with a bit of shoving between two shabby-looking thugs and the bodyguard of a, judging by her appearance, wealthy lady, at a booth full of fine textiles.

I only caught snippets of what was being said, but one of the two rabble-rousers was yelling something about hidden blades and bloody vengeance.

The stunned woman tried to hide behind her protector, but the small, stocky bodyguard seemed completely overwhelmed and stepped back as well.

People had already gathered in a crowd around the scene, and I, too, moved toward the scuffle out of curiosity and in anticipation of exhilarating violence.

“You strut around here while the islands are going to ruin! And who pays the price for your inaction? Once again, it’s us—the poorest, the weakest, those under the noblemen’s yoke—who were already forced to bear the burden of the vanquished during the conquest of the isles, and when the kingdom was carved up it was us again!”

A murmur went through the crowd. Some of the disheveled-looking onlookers seemed inclined to agree with the man, but held back for the time being.

“You think you can rob us of the fruits of our own labor, beat us like dogs, when all we’re doing is begging for a little patience, take our daughters for your amusement, and then throw them away like trash whenever you please?!”

The beleaguered couple was speechless and seemed to grow smaller and smaller in the face of this self-appointed avenger of the common people.

“We will no longer bear this yoke! Like Halgmoryn, we will be the blade in the dark that delivers vengeance!”

At the mention of that name, still unfamiliar to me, many people in the crowd flinched and stepped back. The next moment, I noticed the familiar glint of steel in the hand of the one of the two attackers who had remained silent until then.

Both of them didn't move as if they were completely inexperienced, but the patterns were those of petty thieves rather than hardened warriors.

My dagger deflected the silent man's knife, and with the pommel of my sword I struck him under the chin, causing him to slump to the ground.

But those few seconds were enough for the wordy loudmouth to slash the throat of the verbally disarmed bodyguard.

Confused, as if he weren't mortally wounded, the man just stood there, clinging to the stand, and before his adversary could pull back his blade, my sword had pierced the stabber’s heart. I left my sword stuck in my opponent’s body as he and his victim slumped to the ground.

The second man, though momentarily dazed, was just about to get back on his feet and reach for his knife, which had fallen to the ground, but with a quick step and a sweeping stroke my dagger had already pierced deep into his skull through his eye.

There I stood; three men had lost their lives in mere seconds, and while the crowd stood in silence, the uninjured woman—who had just lost her manservant—wept bitterly.

But just as quickly, the silence of the masses was broken again.

“Make way, good people, and lay down all your iron and steel! Here comes the honorable Beadle Gommond!” A gruff voice rang out.

The people had found their words again. Whispers and morbid curiosity hung in the air. Yet they did as they were told, clearing the way for what was to come.