Back at The Four Claws tavern, Arcos found that he was the first to make it back that night. Maraby saw him inside whilst Vanto made his leave towards the Mercurial Den to make his report to Victor Sade of the fight at the docks with the Docking Fellows. With this fight, it marked a possibility that a gang fight between the two clans may very well break out. Victor had to be warned and the Mercuries had to be ready.

  Arcos limped inside, holding the wound on his thigh as tightly as he could. Maraby offered him her shoulder, but he refused. He didn’t wish to be seen weak and accepting anyone’s help at this point would only prove that. There was a well of emotion that he was trying to centre. The rush of adrenaline from the night fight on the pier, the near-death he had experienced and the harsh lessons by Vanto gave Arcos pause to think.

  Entering the main drinking and eating hall of the large tavern, he quickly scanned the room for his friends. Upon seeing neither of Reeva nor Boras, he headed for an empty table and bench.

  He rested his injured limb along the bench and used a dagger he had taken from the Docking Fellows to carefully cut open his trouser leg up to his upper thigh. The gash was deep, but not flowing with blood as he had feared. It was not a lethal wound, just a fucking painful bastard of a slice.

  Despite his initial protests, Maraby appeared by his side with a clay pot and lid in one hand and a fresh roll of cloth in the other. She set it down and opened the pot.

  Inside, Arcos saw that the contents were a dark red paste, sheening with some sort of oil against the light of the hall’s chandelier candles overhead. He eyed the paste with suspicion. Maraby rolled her eyes.

  “It’s called Blood Bark.” She explained. “Something we harvest from the trees in the outer regions of the Thicket.”

  “Really?” Arcos said, now changing his trepidation to curiosity. “Isn’t that the place where all those Fey stories come from?”

  “Aye, that’s the case.” Maraby dipped her finger in the paste and rubbed it between thumb and finger. It stretched between her digits like manuka honey. “It’s taken from Blood Oaks, we call it that because of that blood-red colour in their wood. Dried, powdered, and mixed with water and flower oils. It’s an effective healing ointment. Damned expensive, so we don’t waste it on superficial injuries.” She pointed at Arcos's leg. “That ain’t superficial, so use a bit. Rub it gently, not too much, and wrap it up tight in clean cloths. It’ll heal within a day or two. Stuff works fast, though you may get a scar.”

  Arcos shrugged. “Not my first.”

  Maraby gave him a look that hinted at concern or pity before she turned and headed off to speak with some of the other Waywards who had just returned from a pest control job within the city. Arcos hooked his finger into the Blood Bark paste, curled out a small scoop, and drew his daubed finger along the insides of his cut.

  The pain came quickly, sharp and stinging. He gritted his teeth as he rubbed the paste into the wound, causing fresh blood to burst from the severed vessels. But as he rubbed the ointment in, the pain began to lessen. Then it began to grow numb, with little to no feeling at all. Like pins and needles. Arcos looked at his finger. It had a red hue dyeing his skin. He pinched his dyed finger and felt no sensation there as well. The paste had numbed his sense of feeling and therefore his pain. That was good. A useful side effect for treating wounds.

  He laughed in surprise. “Heh. Wow.”

  He took the bandage and wrapped the wound thrice over before tightening it with a sharp knot with careless abandon. Again, he felt no pain. He pressed the cloth hard against his cut and sighed in relief. It felt good not having to use needles and cord to stitch his wounds together for once. It reminded him of the Apothecary back in the Guild and the methods of healing the wounds he had gathered training there. It seemed that Torrance was happily using the skills he had learnt and applied them to his work here.

  Maraby came by and left Arcos a large tankard of cold ale and a steel plate steaming with lamb shoulder in a carrot and onion stew. He passed the time quietly eating and drinking and watching the fireplace. The time went by in a slow crawl, though he did not feel the drag of the seconds. He did not know what the time was. His mind was thinking about someone more important.

  He missed Nerisity.

  He missed her laugh. Her smile. Her skin. Her eyes. Her kindness.

  Clenching his scabbed fist, he wished he was with her. Taking her from that cold cell, carrying her to safety and battling all the dangers coming their way. A hero’s rescue, like in her fantasy novels she would read to him on these dark nights in the winter. He smiled faintly at the memory. It was a droplet amongst the painful ocean his mind swam through on a daily basis. And he clung onto those good thoughts like a lifeline.

  But he knew he could not achieve any of that alone. Victor Sade, Torrance, Reeva, Boras… all of them were right on that subject. He needed to be stronger. He needed to better. No longer a weak and scared slave who cowered before whips and chains.

  He glanced to his scabbard, to Alaintiqam sheathed within. It took a bit of time to clean the blade of all the blood and viscera, but with such a quality blade it was worth treating it with the respect it clearly deserved. The silver blade was a true work of swordcraft. And it showed.

  Arcos recalled how it sliced into the Docking Fellows with deft ease like chicken meat and was so light in his hand, it barely weighed anything at all.

  Arcos felt a stronger smile tug on his lips. He felt powerful with the sword. Each time he drew it from its scabbard, it gave him control and strength. Things he never had. With that strength, with that sword, he wondered if he could just go out there to the Hunter Fortress on his own and launch an attack-

  Arcos snapped from his musings.

  Gods… What was he thinking? He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache oncoming. There was no chance he could do that. He had to wait. He knew he had to wait. But he didn’t want to. But- But-

  But what?

  A voice shattered through his mind.

  Arcos blinked and looked around. But he didn’t need to look around for long. He recognised that calm voice. His eyes locked onto Alaintiqam, sheathed and previously dormant. It was back, it was awake and aware. And Alaintiqam sounded angry.

  Arcos looked about him, seeing the Waywards milling about the hall with their own business. Maraby was cleaning tables and his friends had yet to arrive. He kept his mouth shut. He certainly did not want anyone seeing him talking to a bloody sword. Alaintiqam had no issues conversing in his mind.

  You used me tonight. You exacted justice upon those denizens of evil who have hurt so many people. And it felt good, did it not? You know it did.

  But you are still being held back by this common decency. This moral high ground. These teachings that the woman Foxhunter instilled in you. It is all well and good to treat someone who deserves it. But have we met anyone so far that does?

  Victor Sade? He is a criminal. A carrion bee feeding off the corpses of criminals that you and your friends have made tonight.

  Vanto? A charming man. But a murderer as well, as you witnessed tonight.

  Torrance? Cut from the same cloth as Foxhunter, a cold-hearted killer when it suits his ambitions.

  Arcos grabbed his head and rubbed it hard. The headache was really starting to sting, a needle scraped against his brain.

  Reeva? Boras? You do not know what they have done to end up where they are. Reeva claims that she does not know who she is. Boras says nothing about him at all.

  What do you know to trust them? I know their kind. Untrustworthy and untrusting. You say they trust you. Can you say the same?

  Arcos closed his eyes and attempted a breathing exercise. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. It didn’t stop the ache.

  Nerisity is suffering. The people of that innocent town are suffering. Every day and every night, they wail for freedom. Freedom you can deliver, as is your right.

  So what are you waiting for? Take me and use me. I am here to give you what you want. I am yours to serve, Arcos Blade.

  Arcos swung around to face the table, grabbed his ale and started to drink hard. The ale’s coldness washed down into his gullet and swelled his chest. But the headache grew and grew.

  Very well… you are still unsure. But I can sense your desire to do what is needed. I promise you this: the only one you can trust is me. Unlike your father, unlike your friends, unlike everyone in this world who has hurt you and manipulated you… I have never let you down. Nor will I.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Arcos groaned. His vision spun around. The headache, the ale, and the fatigue all came upon him in a rush. He collapsed headfirst onto the table, head just missing his plate of hot lamb.

  When the time comes, you will need me. Whether you like it or not.

  “Arcos?”

  Arcos awoke to a gentle shake on his shoulder. He tasted old saliva and a dryness in his mouth as he yawned and pushed himself up from the table. He blinked blearily through his sleep haze at a concerned Reeva who was seated next to him.

  She smiled with some relief. “Hello. Welcome back to the side of the world.”

  Arcos blinked. Gods above… Reeva looked as ragged as he was. She was bandaged up with a cut on her cheek, a bruise on her chin, and various cuts along her arms. She had been fighting, but was luckily alive by the Black’s grace.

  “Hey…” Arcos rubbed his face. There was a swelling in his head, but the ache was gone, thankfully. “How long was I out?”

  “Couple of hours, dawn’s about to break.” Reeva looked towards the exit. “Maraby had a blanket put on you. Didn’t want to wake you, said you looked like you needed it.”

  Arcos realised that there was indeed a blanket on his back, a woollen one with a couple of moth-holes here and there. It felt comforting that Maraby was on hand to keep her colleagues cared for. “She said you were just sitting here, staring into nothing before rubbing your head and then collapsing into a heap on the table. You look exhausted…” Reeva looked into his eyes. “Are you alright?”

  Arcos looked back at her. He opened his mouth and then shut it with a forced smile. He couldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t understand.

  “I’m fine.” He lied. “I was tired. Had a headache, decently needed that sleep.”

  How could he tell her? They had enough to deal with already. This was not her problem, nor anyone else’s.

  Reeva frowned with a sceptical look. She was so perceptive, maybe she could see the lie in his eyes. But ever the empathetic one, she smiled with a nod. She wasn’t one to pry, despite her best intentions. “Alright. As long as you’re good.” She looked behind him. “He’s awake!” She called out.

  Heavy footfalls approached the table. Arcos turned to see Torrance coming towards them, equally bandaged up like her and grinning. The two must have had quite the eventful evening, just like himself. “Well well!” Torrance barked with a laugh. “How was your beauty sleep, blondie?”

  He dropped down to Arcos's other side and clapped a hand on his back.

  “I take it the job went well with Vanto?” He asked Arcos.

  “It did.” Arcos replied before picking at the cold lamb still in front of him. “All good with you as well?”

  “Yeah, couldn’t complain with the result!” Torrance nodded towards Reeva. “Job ran smooth enough but more importantly, we have a lead.”

  Arcos blinked confusedly and turned to Reeva.

  Reeva nodded with an excited look in her eyes. “That’s right. You remember Malka, that bounty hunter we met on the Western Road?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She was one of the guards protecting the merchants we killed.”“You didn’t kill her too, did you?” Arcos started with eyes wide.

  “No!” Reeva waved off the worry. “She turned the tides for us. Honestly, we wouldn’t have had a good go of the fight if it hadn’t been for her! She helped us and she wants to help us again.”

  Reeva thumbed over to the other side of the hall. Arcos turned in his seat and saw Malka leaning by the great hearth, holding an ale and chatting energetically with some of the Waywards. She seemed not a stranger to this place.

  “We’re coming up with a plan to sneak into the Fortress.” Torrance announced. “It’s still shaky, but it’s a start. Malka, Reeva and I came up with the foundations for it. Hopefully it won’t blow up in our faces and get us all killed.”

  Arcos smiled, feeling hope warming his chest. “That’s great, you guys. That’s really great.”

  Reeva rubbed his shoulder with a kind smile. “We’re getting them out, Arcos. I promise.”

  No sooner as Reeva and Torrance settled down with drinks of their own at Arcos’s table, the front door of the hall was pushed open with a bang and a pair of dirty, bedraggled and exhausted street urchins with filth all over their faces, boots and clothes stumbled in.

  But they were not urchins as Arcos quickly realised when they made a beeline for his table. The first urchin dropped onto the bench, blonde hair hanging in muddy clumps, a satin mask caked in mud and grime and a sharp glare of jade eyes latched onto him and the rest at the table, before locking with murderous glares onto the second dirty tramp.

  The second dirtied urchin dropped onto the other side of the table, notably furthest away from the first and reached for Arcos's ale to finish it with a silent gulp.

  They both stank badly. Very badly. Of manure and who knew what else.

  Torrance opened his mouth. But the first urchin pointed a finger at him.

  “Don’t say it.” She warned with an anger that could have cowed a Sarku. It was Sitra. “Don’t fucking say a fucking word.”

  “Is there any more ale?” Boras, the second urchin, asked as he upended the empty tankard. “I need alcohol.”

  “Oh really?” Sitra asked him derisively. “You need a drink? Really?” She stared at him with murderous intent. “After what you did, I should drown you in the damned ale, you lout!”

  “I’m sorry! I thought that was a bridge!” Boras complained. “How was I supposed to know that palisade was going to sink?”

  “Who builds fucking bridges over a fucking open sewer sluice??” Sitra howled. “And who grabs their partner as they fall into the damned shit river!?”

  “Wait,” Reeva interjected. “Why were you two crossing a sewer-”

  “There were no handles!” Boras shouted, ignoring Reeva.

  “I’ll show handles, you bastard!” Sitra hissed before grabbing his tankard from him and bashing him on the head with it. Boras yelped with pain as he fell off the bench and crashed to the floor.

  Sitra was about to leap over the table to continue her retribution before Torrance jumped up and held out a hand before her.

  “Hold on there, Sitra! It’s all good. You’re here now. It’s fine.”

  “Fine? Fine?” She stared at Torrance. She grabbed the cuff of her sleeve and shoved the material in his face, making Torrance’s nose wrinkle from the smell.

  “This is Southern Glades silk!” Sitra cried. “Made from silk worms grown by the Coast of the Maiden! By the Maidens’ Guild themselves! Maybe the finest work this side of Peteshko and that drunk moron…” she pointed down at the reeling Boras, “He has ruined it! My fingernails, my hair, my whole body stink! I am not leaving my home for a month!”

  “There’s a bath upstairs.” Torrance offered graciously. “Please use our water and our bath salts, I’ll have Maraby provide you with a change of clothes. Then when you’re done, I think we’d all like to know where the hells you two have been all day.”

  Sitra’s rage slowly subsided with a few deep breaths. She held up her hands and nodded. “Alright.” She said before stalking away towards a waiting Maraby while shooting Boras another sour glare.

  Reeva, Arcos, and Torrance watched her go and waited for Boras to drag himself back onto the bench. He panted and coughed and rubbed his head, smearing more filth onto more filth.

  “You pulled a young lady into a sewer canal. Really?” Torrance asked.

  Boras sagged. “Yeah… I’ll go get washed as well…” He slowly stood up and groggily stepped his way towards the door leading to the bathrooms.

  “That would be wise.” Reeva chirped.

  The three remaining patrons on the table exchanged looks of despair as they waited for their long-lost colleague. “Sometimes…” Torrance groaned whilst rubbing his eyes. “It just isn’t worth it…”

  Sitra and Boras returned after a good hour of washing and cleaning and washing again. The smell of the sewer was still on them but it was a lingering scent rather than the odour that assaulted everyone’s senses upon their tardy arrival.

  They did not sit next to each other, a wise placement by Torrance so that Sitra did not try to attack Boras once again. She was separated by Reeva and Torrance himself on their side with Boras, whilst the bounty hunter Malka and Arcos sat on the other with Maraby listening in quietly nearby.

  Sitra continued to shoot dirty glares towards Boras throughout the talk whenever she could. Boras rarely met her glares.

  After filling in the pair on the events of Arcos's and Reeva’s night work, Boras and Sitra explained what they had done yesterday as the group partook of a healthy platter of a fried breakfast courtesy of Maraby; consisting of fried eggs, bacon, spiced pork and apple sausages, tomatoes, blood sausages, and hash browns with steaming mugs of tea and coffee.

  The group listened with growing intent as the pair regaled their story of tracking Doctor Hacker with Darius Snowhair through and out the city.

  They further talked of their encounter with the stranger Violet and the near-deaths they suffered at the hands of rats in the sewers. That put everyone in a temporary state of nerves, with Reeva glancing nervously towards the darkened corners of the hall for any signs of scurrying black fur and scratching claws.

  “Well, remind me to stay the shit away from the sewers.” Torrance rubbed his hair. “Rats hunting humans… never heard of the like.”

  “We can’t be using the sewers for now.” Sitra said. “We’ll have to find other ways to transport our goods now.”

  Malka leant forward. “Never mind the rats… ‘ow the hells is Hacker involved with fuckin’ Markus?” Her eyes flashed with deep worry. “I had no clue he’s workin’ for the Bodyhunters…”

  “You know him?” Boras asked. “Friend of yours? He never told you?”

  “Yeah, ‘e is. Never said a word abou’ this…”

  “I don’t think he’s working for the Baron. It’s like he’s forced to attend to the prisoners.”

  “Explain, Boras.” Torrance demanded.

  Boras explained the numbers in the Fortress, which he and Sitra were able to count, a good fifty Bodyhunters perhaps, but were unsure what Fist soldiers were present was sure to be a large enough battalion. They also spoke about their near-miss encounter with one of the Bodyhunters who travelled out to investigate the area.

  Sitra shuddered at that memory; she found that particular woman to be very unsettling.

  And finally, they talked about meeting Hacker on the road back to Fennaposia.

  “And you’re certain he’s sympathetic to our cause? He wants to get them out?” Arcos demanded. “He’s not tricking you?”

  “We’re sure.” Boras nodded, whilst exchanging a glance with Sitra.

  Prior to returning to the city, Hacker made the pair swear an oath of silence to keep Darius’ family a secret in case of retaliation. Boras had to explain in some detail to the doctor what was driving the group, particularly Arcos, who was a slave and his hatred of Darius Snowhair. Hacker had shown deep remorse and pain for this information, but greatly feared that Arcos or another in their party might make do something rash against the Bodyhunter.

  Boras had reassured Hacker that Arcos would never do such a thing, but swore to silence all the same. Sitra, who was only then hearing the entire context behind the trio’s reasons for being in the city, was concerned, surprised, and impressed. They showed mettle and strength very few possessed.

  “Did he mention our friends? Nerisity?” Arcos pushed.

  “He didn’t say names.” Sitra shrugged. “But he told us that they are being cared for. Markus wants them in the best condition. So he can sell them for a good price. As fucked as that sounds…”

  Boras leant forward. “He said that he wants to get the Silverstreakers and the rest of the slaves out from the cells. But he said that going at it from the outside is impossible. I agree. You haven’t seen those walls. They’ll repel any army with ease. That place is well built.”

  “So what’s the plan then?” Arcos snapped. “We have to get in there before the second week runs out! The longer we wait, the more likely Markus sells off our friends.”

  Torrance glanced at Arcos for his outburst.

  “Hang on, Markus hasn’ sold them off?” Everyone turned towards Malka, who sipped from her cup of coffee. “He hasn’?” She asked again.

  “No.” Boras confirmed. “According to Hacker, Markus has been holding them and is waiting for the markets to open at the start of the selling season.”

  “Uh huh… Alrigh’… Tha’ somethin’ I think we can work with…”

  “You’ve got something, don’t you?” Reeva asked hopefully.

  Malka sipped her coffee. “Torrance, your Waywards ain’t so known by the Barons, righ’?”

  “We’re not so noticeable, correct.” Torrance said. “And are very low on the Barons’ priorities.”

  “Good. We can use ‘em for the plan.” Malka set her coffee on the table, rested her elbows on the wood, and looked to each of the listeners around her with a wolf’s grin. “Listen up, kids.”