On and On

“Save your bloodlust for later. For us violence is a means, not an end!” Stooke said shaking his head.

“That's noble.” I replied.

The wainwright eyed me somewhat dismissively and Hern sighed. Something dawned on me. These men had already become old at heart—shrinking and shriveling. A feeling of disgust welled up inside me. King’s men they called themselves…

Finally, the headman of the Churls clapped his hands.

“Let's get down to business! Unlike our other comrades, most of our enemies don't know you yet. So you will visit one of the Golden’s hideouts.”

“Under what pretence?”

“It's a leaping house, which also seems to be one of the sources of their blue salt. You’ll pose as a customer, impress them with your wits and martial skills, and then spy on them. Carver will keep an eye on you from the outside, and let us know if anything goes wrong and you need help.”

As if they'd lift a finger for me. They would forget about me in a day and bribe the next poor sucker to do their bidding.

“It seems like I'm the only one taking the risk here. Offer me something substantial.”

Hern tilted his head and gave Stooke a nod. The workshop owner shook his head again, walked over to a cabinet, and took out a bag, which he set down on the table in front of me.

One glance inside was enough. Nothing but silver. Enough to live comfortably for a month.

“It’s yours. The same amount again if you succeed.”

Them thinking I would do everything just for the sparkling coins would make our relationship easier.

“How will I succeed? What are you after?”

“Three pieces of information are relevant to us: How many are now among the Golden, was the Blacks’ steel intended for them, and whether their blue salt really serves only to make a quick profit and subdue the girls.”

“Would the latter be so far-fetched?”

“No. But there are two things that make me doubt that. First, the timing. Something big is bound to happen in this city. We don’t know what it is yet, but the Golden are undoubtedly part of it. Second, the quality of their goods. It seems unnecessary to waste so much time and alchemical knowledge when there are other proven methods and means available to run a business like theirs.”

“Why shouldn't I just convince them with the tip of my blade to tell me what their plan is? You know, the big something that is bound to happen.”

“We've already tried that approach. It seems even they themselves don’t know what schemes they are a part of.”

It seemed that fear was what motivated my new friends—Fear of what was unknown to them.

“Tell me the time and place.”

“Tomorrow evening. Carver will be your guide once again. He'll pick you up at your inn at dusk.”

On my way out, Carver intercepted me.

“Shall we practice again?”

“First, I'm going to trade some of my hard-earned coins for roasted meat at the market.”

“What about me?”

“What about you? Didn't the king’s geezers pay you, too?”

The boy laughed.

“Master Nixie saves what I earn for me and only gives me coins for what I really need.”

“Your master keeps what you’ve earned for himself and only gives you the coins for what he thinks you need. You are 14! You are a man! Act like it!”

“You ramble like a geezer yourself.”

“Cheeky… Let's go.”

He trailed after me. The idea of normality felt unpleasant—the idea of a...

Something gnawed at the edge of my heart.

“Why did you come here? Why did you leave your home behind, Carver?”

Why did I ask that?

“What's it to you?”

“Nothing.”

I let the silence do its work.

“I…”

I looked at the boy. His trust would please me, fill a void.

“I’m not worthy to be… I…”

“So, will you prove yourself worthy to be whatever?”

“I…”

“Cut the stuttering. I won't train a coward who keeps running away!”

“But…”

“So, shall we practice again?”

“What?”

“I said what I said and asked what I asked. Speak up!”

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

“Yes!”

“Good!”

Silence again, but different this time.

Once we arrived at the market, we treated ourselves to some of the finest aurochs. This time, I decided against skewers and went with thick slices served with some kind of pickled vegetables, which, according to Carver, was apparently quite the common meal for the wealthy of the Isles.

The lack of incidents was a welcome change, and the training session—this time with only little Linzi watching—went off without a hitch.

After Carver had said his goodbyes, I continued to exercise, and once I had reached a state of pleasant exhaustion, I asked the innkeeper if there was also a writer’s shop in Strandburgh.

Surprisingly, there were apparently even two in the city, and one of them was located in the neighboring ward of Umrode.

I found my way there quickly, and sure enough, the store had exactly what I was looking for: A chronicle of the island's most important cults.

The tome was, of course, far too valuable to be put up for sale. However, for a fee, I was allowed to study it under the shop clerk's watchful eye.

Of course Funa was, like most places, home to many important harrows dedicated to the Sky Father, the Earth Mother and their many descendants—such as Zurnen, Meln, Fald, and Eol—and it was also dotted with countless minor wighs to honor local elves and ward off intruding trolls.

But there was nothing to be found about the House of Halgmoryn or the Underhanded. What did I expect, anyway?

At least the tome offered a few entertaining stories I hadn't read or heard of before.

Eventually, I returned to the inn, washed up at the tub in the courtyard, had some soup for dinner, and retired to my room. I was too preoccupied with what had happened to go looking for another woman to share my bed with.

But just as I realized that the dreamless sleep wouldn’t pay me a visit alone in the dark, a familiar young maid crept into my room and crawled into bed with me.

We didn’t speak a word; we spent each other warmth and our lights drifted off into the black expanse of the night.

Once again, I woke up alone, in a place that no longer felt completely foreign to me.

I had some sausages, bread and eggs for breakfast, worked out a bit in the courtyard, visited the bathhouse, and then went for a walk.

I felt a growing urge to leave this place behind. To travel to the next place, I had never been to. And then to the next one. And so on.

No. That wasn't why I had come here. I wouldn't continue down this path of regret. I wouldn't leave any loose ends behind. One day, I would belong here, just as I had once belonged in Aur.

Again and again, I reaffirmed my decision. I kept moving ahead, further and further, trying to come full circle on my way back to the inn instead of retracing the way I had already walked.

Back at the Drowned Drow Inn, I planned to laze around in the courtyard under the open sky until dusk. But the innkeeper’s wife had just finished doing the laundry and was about to hang it out to dry. My clothes from the past few days were among the load, and despite her protests, I helped the woman with her work.

Once we were done, there was still way too much time left. But eventually Carver arrived before the agreed-upon time and picked me up, telling me about an inn at the harbor where we absolutely had to eat once our job was done.

Grilled fish—now that would be something. We shared our favorite dishes. Unlike me, the boy seemed to have a fondness for seafood. But we shared a distaste for pears and raisins.

Finally, we stopped.

“Walk down the street to the end, then turn right, and after two houses, turn right again into the small alley.”

“Carver… If something happens, you’ll report back to the Churls. Don’t try anything stupid.”

“What!?”

“You understood me…”

The boy grunted in annoyance; I patted him on the shoulder and kept walking. What was I getting so worked up about? Who did I want to be?

The place was impossible to miss; it was surprisingly well-maintained, colorfully decorated and very clearly a whorehouse. Two women who were keeping watch in front of my destination spotted me from quite a distance.

“Well, hello there, lord handsome. Come on in—all the girls will be fighting over a young man like you!” cooed the clearly uglier of the two at me.

Oh, if only she knew how wrong the decisions that had led her to this place at this time would soon seem. But no, that wasn't pity—just anticipation. At least, that's what I told myself.