Lynesse

Small Jobs - Part Three

Isra dragged out a pipe in her agitation, lighting the thing with a quick flick from a matchbook. Meryn’s shoulders bunched up a little in irritation, just like mine did. Something the witch had said earlier filtered back to me from the depths of my mind. ‘You favor your father so much’. My hand bunched in the quilt underneath me; I knew my mother hadn’t been faithful to my dad. It’s why he’d killed her. Our hair was similarly colored, Meryn and I. My dad had black hair.  My mom was blonde. I’d gotten her skin tone and freckles.

He’d looked familiar because he looked like me. My mouth was dry as I looked back over at Isra. It took a few attempts to start but I managed it. “Does he favor his father too?”

Her green eyes cut back over to me, analyzing, trying to detect any possible traps. She nodded curtly, taking a slow drag from a pipe that looked older than the city itself and went back to watching Meryn. He spoke finally, “My sister’s dead, Isra.” There was a lot of pain in his tone and I winced a little, picking up that he hadn’t exactly gotten over that fact.

She softened a little, “I know.” Her exhaled sigh of smoke and regret caused the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth to deepen, making her look older than she seemed. “Lyn’s mother was the midwife for your mother when she was pregnant with you, Meryn. I was too, technically. This was before your father and I had a… falling out. He’d taken a shine to Ialia and they had a few dalliances, she was in and out of your household from the week your mother found out. The both of you are only four months apart; Happy birthday, by the way, Meryn. I know it was a few days ago, but there you have it.”

He looked back at me finally, looking critically, starting to see bits and pieces that undoubtedly looked like his other sister, and his father. His elvish apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. He pushed up from his spot on the ground and he held his violin in close, “Isra I came here for some rosin for my bow. I’d like it an’ then I need t’ go.”

Isra nodded and climbed up the steps to her wagon, ducking inside for a few moments of awkward silence between me and the man who was starting to look more and more like I did when I didn’t understand something. He glanced back over to me and frowned a little, “Where d’you normally live? Or… How can I reach ya by post? ‘m gonna wanna talk t’ you later. Jus’… Not righ’ now.”    

“Silvermoon city,” I said, completely understanding. “Lynesse Gloamingdawn, 22A Royal will get your post to me. I’m in and out a lot for work. I have, or had a comm but–” Isra’s re-emergence interrupted me as she climbed back down the steps, her raven feather cloak gone, a small pot in her hands.

She offered it over to Meryn and he took it silently, not once looking at her directly. He wasn’t as brash as I was. Not nearly as confrontational. He pocketed the thing and started to speak, but Isra just shook her head, “No payment necessary, Meryn. I have taken enough from you today.” 

He accepted that without any gesture, turned and left as quick as he’d come. The weight of her gaze was heavy on me as we stared at each other. She sighed a few words in a Thalassian I didn’t comprehend and I felt the magic brush against my skin as the world faded back to black.
***

In the end, Calebbe had come for me. I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was, but it was unexpected in my mind. Secretly I was thrilled. He’d obviously changed his plans and come a long way just to drag my sorry ass from the outskirts of Eversong back to the Hospice for better treatment.

They kept me for a few days, Calebbe stayed with me the second night. The mischievous little grin he shot me from between my thighs before he went down on me has stuck in my memory. I hope I never forget it. Other than, well… that, the time had passed rather uneventfully. I’ve always healed well when I let myself. I may have made a few promises to behave to a very handsome woodsman, and I hated breaking promises.

Still, I missed my apartment and my bed. There’s something about a space that you’ve made yours and only yours that’s comforting. Maybe it’s all the wards. It’s probably all the wards. I still couldn’t sleep, though. A few restless nights had me at my wits end and I sought him out again, using Rebane to find him out in the forest. We had this casual ability to just sort of click into a very comfortable routine when we were together out there, and I got the first good sleep I’d had in a while.

In the morning I’d been tired. Not from lack of sleep, but from being too afraid to really let go with him. I’d literally died. So I let go. For a few fantastically blissful hours we lived vicariously through one another and enjoyed the pleasures of each others flesh. Put less poetically, we fucked. Hard. The kind where I want a cigarette and a follow up right after. It was good and mind-clearing. I had a hunch on who had tried and failed to kill me, but what to do about it? 

Patience was often a virtue. When your life was on the line, and someone had attempted to steal it, it wasn’t. Some shining beacon of morality deep in me had wanted to wait., to get confirmation of intent and action before I reacted. That was what I had wanted Talon for, and why I'd sought him out. He was good to talk to, mentor-like. Maybe that shining beacon of morality was a little tainted. What did it matter? Everyone had their own scale.

Talon had vanished, though. Gone in a flash and without a trace. That was a problem, and the beacon dimmed a little. A week went by, and I’d spent a nice night with Helal because he’d wanted to be with someone he cared about ‘just once more, before he was off the market’. It’s funny the way words work, I’d thought to myself shortly after, said by someone unknown and they have no power, but the second they come from someone you care about they can cut you to ribbons. Lothis and Helal had both called me a whore. The context had been different, sure, but it still sat heavy in my mind. A sinking stone I couldn’t quite reach to toss back to shore because I hadn’t been quick enough or my fingers were just too clumsy. How very troublesome. The beacon flickered to almost nothing.

I’d left after Helal had and headed straight into a portal to Draenor with most of my gear, winter cloak and furs strapped in a roll at the top of my bag. The Light would keep me warm from the inside against the howling winds and driving snow of Frostfire, but it was best not to exhaust it. I didn’t want anyone to question any wounds and healing took so much more out of her than fighting ever did.

Imriel’s camp was well defended and very well stocked. The man and the Golden Thorn had been doing swimmingly on the planet; good for the members of the little guild of mercenaries but quite troublesome for me. What I was going to do would leave a void of power. Without clear leadership it would collapse in on itself and send a million new paths sprawling for the people in it. It was startling to realize that I didn’t care. This was a personal mission I’d come to complete, and nothing would get in the way.

A few people turned their heads as I walked in like I owned the place. Confidence, I’d found, could get you anywhere. Some of the people here knew me, if by reputation rather than personally. I’d killed two of their own, after all. Imriel was a jealous snake who played petty, political games and he’d set sights on me, intending to wipe me from the competition and score himself a personal victory as well. After all, he was convinced that I’d stolen his boyfriend. Jealousy made people do very strange things. Anyway, heads turned. Helion often told me that I looked downright dangerous when I was angry, that he could see the fire under my skin. The thick ruff of wolf pelt around my shoulders, stitched into my cloak only made me look more wild.

People moved out of the way. I may not be a tall woman, but I could be intimidating. I was here to raze. The fabric and hide of his ostentatious tent snapped as I shoved my way through the entrance flap; it was hot inside, the smoke from a low fire pit dead center drifted up straight out the hole in the top. Imriel looked downright surprised to see me, and he spluttered from his place of repose, “I thought you were dead!?”

There it was. Who else would assume? My hunch was confirmed in an instant.

“Put your gear on,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like my own, sharp as razors and thick with rage. His favorite sword was on a rack nearby and I grabbed it before walking back out. Every eye turned toward me as I slammed it, tip down, into the frozen mud. “I challenge Imriel Silvershade to a duel for his Company and his spoils.” A formal duel had to be set up. He would die, I would take his things. There was no other alternative.

He blew out of the front of his tent like he’d been shot out of a cannon, his cloak half-cocked across his shoulder as he tightened the straps of the leather armor he’d wormed into. Long, blonde hair blew around his face tempestuously in the wind; I’m sure it stung. He was just as livid as I was, and just as sure that he would win. I started in on him as his hand closed around the hilt of his sword, “I warned you if you tried to have me killed again that I would end you, Imriel.”

His long ears flicked back, pinning in irritation, “So you come to claim my Company as well? You drag them into this?”

“I will burn the house you made to ash. When I said end, I meant it in the most brutal way possible,” and I had. Everyone crowded around, giving us berth. The races were mixed as were the factions; People in this line of work were generally free and neutral. It had started to dawn on them that this was their future at stake, too, and that it might not end in their best interests.

Imriel scowled and leveled his blade at me, assuming a loose stance with his knees slightly bent, more than ready to act, “Draw your weapon, then.”

Silence fell; the rasp of my short sword against the hard leather scabbard was deafening. The snow blew a little harder, the wind bit a little sharper. He moved first, after all, it was his Company. To do anything else, to be defensive, would look weak. I waited, I let him howl and lunge with his sword. My shield went up, my hammer swung down, and my blade pierced up. He hadn’t been prepared at all, expecting honor and some great show. The Light went dark. I felt it leave, the inner-peace and warmth that always persisted receding as his blood spilled from his chest onto my hand. I knew it would.

This hadn’t been retribution; this was murder, and I had fallen.