After they had Tomis’s wound healed properly, they returned to the tavern with glum countenances. None of them was as stricken as Venn. The boy was barely holding onto himself, fidgeting and struggling to keep the tears from leaving his eyes.
Once they were back in the tavern, Lucan gestured for the stairs, and they settled in their room, sitting in a circle once more.
Venn, quiet and subdued, asked one question, “Will you rescue my sister, Lord Lucan?”
Lucan looked at the boy’s face. It was puffed and ashen at the same time, perhaps a mixture of fear and fury. His eyes were no longer threatening to overflow, though they were not dry. “Is it time yet for you to tell me why they covet her so much, Venn? I could understand a gang pursuing a woman they own, but not so doggedly. Does she have something in her possession? Is she promised to one of them? Do they want her in their service? Tell me.”
Venn’s lips trembled, and he pressed them together, seemingly keeping his anger at bay. “Lord Lucan. These men. They want her like you would want a chair, like you would want a piece of parchment or a good shovel.” He paused, swallowing. “If you will not save my sister, then I will save her myself.”
Lucan sighed, shaking his head. “And yet you won’t tell me still.”
“Because she would change one slaver for another!” Venn snapped, and Georg had to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I will not…” He lowered his head. “I can’t.” The tears he’d been withholding came back with vengeance, and they flowed. “Please save my sister.” He struggled to keep his hiccups down, raising his eyes to meet Lucan’s. “I will be your slave. I swear it. I will clean your privies and chamberpots. I will dig your latrines. I will brush your horses. I will bear your arms. I will die in your service. You need only do this for me.”
“You say it as if it is a small thing, my young friend,” Lucan said, though he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt, knowing the boy had no one else to aid him. He’d seen in him certain qualities that had endeared the boy to him. He’d grown to care for him.
Lucan also wouldn’t lie to himself. He was curious. He hoped that once he found the girl, he would finally discover what this whole pursuit was about. Hopefully, it would be worth the trouble.
He turned to Georg. “With Lyanna in their possession, would they do something to her? Would they harm her?”
Georg seemed perplexed at his question, staying quiet.
“Let us not pretend. I have no doubt that you, too, know why they want her. Yet you have not spoken nor counseled Venn to tell me. Hence, I imagine that you have no intention of divulging that knowledge either. So tell me, would she be harmed for what she is needed for, or in spite of it?”
Georg deflated, not even attempting to argue the matter. After a moment, he shook his head. “It is not my secret to divulge. As for Lyanna, I don’t believe that they would be foolish enough to do anything to the girl. It would go against their interests to even cause her discontent.” He glanced at Venn. “Though they would want Venn in their possession too if they can get their hands on him.”
Lucan narrowed his eyes. So they need something from her. She has the power to refuse it, even in their very home. They would benefit from having a hostage too. It was not bad to have another clue, but more importantly, he now knew that he had the time he needed. The last thing he wanted to do now was to be rash, particularly with the matter of the canal nearly sealed.
“Very well,” Lucan said with a deep sigh. “I will visit these Greenscars. I will parley with their leader.”
“Preposterous!” “No!”
“I wouldn’t counsel it, lord.”
Lucan raised a hand, seeing that only Venn hadn’t exploded with an objection. “We will be cautious.”
“There is only so much that caution can do when you’re surrounded by gangmen in their very home,” Ryder said. Tomis, beside him, nodded fervently.
“I have a plan.” Lucan smiled, then the smile froze on his face as he stared down his men. “And you will have faith in it, in me. This matter must be addressed with wisdom, but also with some courage.”
Chastened, the two men-at-arms held back any retorts.
“Ryder will accompany me,” Lucan continued. “Georg and Tomis will watch from afar. Should matters come to a head, then they will bring word to Mistress Yanna. I don’t intend for it to come to that, however. My purposes there are amicable, for now. Tomis, you will bring a letter to the Scars before I visit them. How they receive it will decide whether we will continue with this matter.”
His men nodded reluctantly, while Georg and Venn nodded even though they appeared uncertain, not knowing his plan.
“Good then,” he said. “Now that we are all in agreement, we ought to get a good night’s rest. We will see to this matter in the morning.”
After reaching an understanding, they each headed to their beds to sleep. Lucan wrote the letter hastily, making clear that he was an affluent man with ties to guilds like The Golden Wheel, and that he wished to meet with the gang’s leader. He sighed as he rolled up the small parchment. Before allowing the oblivion of slumber to take him, however, he summoned his Blessing. It was long overdue, he felt it.
You have slain an Iron Human and absorbed their Vital Essence.
You have slain a Copper Human and absorbed their Vital Essence.
You have slain an Iron Human and absorbed their Vital Essence.
You have slain an Iron Human and absorbed their Vital Essence.
You have leveled up.
You have slain a Copper Human and absorbed their Vital Essence.
You have slain a Steel Human and absorbed their Vital Essence.
He’d finally reached his next level. The wait between each one and the next was ever widening. He didn’t fail to recognize that the Blessing had still seen the Ferals as human. He supposed that a man driven mad was still a man, even if his madness was a beastly sort.
Race: Human
Level: 19
Vital Orbs: 20
Mind and Body
Physique: Steel I 0/60
Spirit: Emerald III 0/10
Skills (0) 0/100
(Passive) Swordsmanship lv31: Adept
(Hybrid) 7-Point Star Dance lv22: Journeyman (0/4)
(Active) Wraith Strike lv29: Journeyman (0/4)
He’d long decided that every Vital Orb sunk into his Star would be a Vital Orb lost. Unless necessary, one should not use Vital Orbs on a Hybrid Skill.
Now he had to choose his path. Wraith Strike was reaching the end of Journeyman and approaching the Adept level, which would begin enhancing its potency again. The ten levels of Journeyman mostly gave him more uses of the Skill every day. A stronger Wraith Strike could aid him a great deal against armored opponents and tougher beasts. It had already done plenty for him in the ambush, helping him dismember the ferals faster than he could have otherwise.
On the other hand, he had to consider his Physique enhancement, which would need several levels’ worth of Orbs. If he were to hold on to his Orbs now, he would only need two more levels to push into the next step of steel. If not, then he would have to wait at least three more levels.
It didn’t take long for him to accept that it would be a long wait regardless, and so he thought it better to get some benefit now. He would put the Orbs into the Strike and leave most of the Orbs of the coming three levels for his Physique. The path to Bronze was a long one.
Race: Human
Level: 19
Vital Orbs: 0
Mind and Body
Physique: Steel I 0/60
Spirit: Emerald III 0/10
Skills (0) 0/100
(Passive) Swordsmanship lv31: Adept
(Hybrid) 7-Point Star Dance lv22: Journeyman (0/4)
(Active) Wraith Strike lv32: Adept (0/8)
His twenty Orbs had earned him precisely three levels of the Skill, and now, he had twenty uses of an enhanced Strike at his disposal, or at least tomorrow, he would. Besides that, he’d finally become an Adept, empowering the Strike further. Splendid.
With this matter handled, he could finally let sleep claim him, and it did.
The next morning, Ryder’s hand shook him awake gently. Lucan opened his eyes and looked up at his man-at-arms, only seeing a blur for the first few moments. He was tired, that was for certain.
“It’s nearly noon, my lord,” Ryder said, his voice soft. “Tomis rose in the morning and went ahead to deliver your message to the Scars.”
Lucan pushed himself up until he was sitting on the side of the bed. He rubbed his blurry eyes and accepted water from the basin Ryder brought him, splashing his languid face. His side was sore, and his thigh still pained him to do the depths of the abyss.
“Why is he not back yet?” he managed to ask at last.
Ryder snorted. “Tomis is as Tomis is. He must be keeping watch.”
Lucan huffed and pushed himself off the bed, tilting and nearly falling as he trusted his wounded leg too much. Ryder gave him a hand, giving him a chance to regain his balance. “Well, then, let us not waste time. Are you prepared?”
“Aye.”
They were leaving the inn shortly after, armed and armored the best they could. Georg and Ryder followed Lucan as they headed to the low district the Scars called home. Venn was left at the tavern, under the guildmen’s guard.
The journey was longer than expected, taking them from one side of the city to the other. The whereabouts of the Scars’ den was no secret. It did not need to be. If the gangmen needed to escape, they could scatter and disappear before any guards could reach their home, considering what Lucan saw before him now.
It had been slow at first, the streets growing narrower, and the earth sloping downwards, nearly unnoticeable. Yet, one would have to take note eventually, considering that the street they were walking through could barely fit three people walking side by side.
Tomis showed himself as they took the next turn, joining them swiftly. “Master,” he muttered.
“Something the matter?”
The man-at-arms shook his head. “It is as expected. They’re everywhere. I lost their tail, but if I am to stay hidden, I will have to leave you again by the next alleyway.”
Lucan untied his sheathed goldsteel sword, handing it to the bowman. He eyed those around them in the street, only seeing ragged faces and dirty clothes. Folk were eying them, but they were doing it cautiously. They avoided meeting their eyes and even avoided looking at their possessions, which was wise.
“Keep this with you,” Lucan said. “Should the worst happen, and I am captured, I don’t want it lost as the guild rescues me.”
Tomis accepted the sword, the struggle obvious on his face, and looked him in the eye. “Are you certain this is wise, master?”
“Their leader would be a fool to harm me once I announce that I work with the guilds. Hopefully, he doesn’t spread word quickly enough for the Wheel to realize it is me. Still, if he proves too reckless or belligerent, I will reveal my title.”
Tomis nodded begrudgingly and tied the sword to his belt. He turned to Georg. “The gang has eyes along all these streets. We must go now, before they send someone better than a commoner to tail us.” Then he looked at Lucan, raising his bow. “I will keep my bow strung.”
Georg nodded and fell in behind the man-at-arms as they turned down an alleyway in which a thicker man would have struggled to fit.
Lucan and Ryder marched through the ever-narrowing streets that led to their destination, and the path only became more difficult as they went. Lucan felt it more than his man-at-arms did, with the persistent pain coming from his thigh. He had chosen to go without a cane, though that meant he had to bear with a slight limp. His boots squelched in the muck, digging in deep with each step, which made it all the more painful. No wonder the gangs felt safe in their strongholds. They were a nightmare to traverse. “The ground is quite muddy. No proper streets this side of the city?”
“The low district gathers all the rain from the surrounding districts, master,” Ryder said. “The water floods in, carrying muck, sand, and rubble, eventually laying it here. It is said that there are layers and layers of it underneath the wet crust folk tread.”
Lucan nodded as they crossed into the Scars’ territory proper. Here, obvious signs of the gang were everywhere. Painted on walls, drawn on armbands, and in one instance, burned into the flesh on a man’s face.
While the folk of the district were many, one could easily discern the gangmen among them. They were given a wide berth and plenty of deference. The eyes of these men followed Lucan and Ryder, most of them suspicious, some disbelieving. Perhaps word had not come from their leader yet. Hopefully, someone would come out to meet him soon, before these men took matters into their own hands.
After treading a rather long and narrow street, they were met by an organized party at last. Five armed men, led by a man who seemed less inclined to violence, if one was willing to be deceived. He wore clothes too refined for the district, evident by the mud marring the lower edges of his robe. He also wore a smirk muddier than his robe. Lucan didn’t need this man to speak to know that he misliked him.
“You must be the man who wants to meet my master,” he said. “Master Lucan, is it? Come. My master awaits you.”