The waves crashed in frothing white against the hull of Creed Soames sailing vessel, breaking to allow the sleek ship closer to the docks of Bastual. It had taken weeks to journey from Twin Port, weeks of little progress due to the damage from the battle at the docks. Creed Soames was a competent man, finding work for every man or woman to do that would bring them closer to their goal of returning to his home village. He regretted having to leave before he had the chance to speak with his brother over matters that Cray considered of dire importance, but if it proved to be just that Cray would send him word again. Perhaps his younger brother could pay him a visit in the less hostile streets of Bastual. Cameron had been a stern master for those weeks, as well, teaching his charges more in the art of battle. Kirstin had been thankful for the diversion, practicing with Cameron on deck for all hours of the day when they were not needed for repairs to the hull or the sail, or any other dozen places where flaming arrows had struck. Kamil, on the other hand, had become distant once more. He studied the blade on occasion, but seemed more intent to be to himself below deck. On those days he would only be bothered to eat or bathe. Little else seemed to motivate him.
Father Alohm would sometimes spend time on deck, watching the ocean toss about for hours, communing with his God or reading from the Testament, sections marked with leather page keepers on the passages that he liked best. He would pray at the foot of his cot every night for the safety of Benmont and Ferrin, asking his God that Verion would keep close watch on them. The priest was also worried over Kamil's odd behavior. The youth had become dispirited after the voyage had begun. At first Damien thought that it might have been the battle the made him lose heart. The father knew that the loss of life in his eyes was a sad and terrible thing, even when it seemed necessary to do so. Damien found Kamil on deck early in the morning the day before Creed announced that they were close to Bastual, arms folded over one another, leaning hard off the railing. His eyes were distant, seeing sights that Damien knew were not there. Sighing, the priest stepped over to Kamil and cleared his throat to get his attention. Kamil didn't even stir. Raising his eyes and pulling his travel coat tighter about him, Damien opened his mouth to speak but Kamil beat him to it.
"I know you're there, father. I was just hoping that I could have the morning to myself. The sun isn't even half up and you're already hunting for me."
Damien looked over the almost black expanse of water and watched the golden orb rising still, spreading brilliant light over the land. For a time neither of the men said a word; Damien taking in the moment, Kamil brooding, a dark scowl covering his face.
"I am worried about you, Kamil," Damien told him, "So is your sister and Cameron. He tells me that you do not practice with him all that often. That you are too busy with your own agenda to do so. Is this correct?"
"So I don't join them all the time, what's the big deal with that?" Kamil said, irritation blossoming into anger, "I can do what I like, and if I like not fighting some days, then that's what I'm going to do. It keeps bruises off my body more often."
"Cameron only wants what is best for you, Kamil, no matter the way he sets about it. I think that he still feels guilt over losing one of his wards in Hamla, no matter what the man may say. Kirstin's half brother Huros was killed that night the assassins came for you, or don't you recall?"
"I know that, father," Kamil growled at him, stepping further away from the priest. A cold wind swept in from the ocean, making Damien shudder, hastening to button the travel coat around his chest. Kamil smiled into the vast waters. The look on his face was that of seeing an old friend after being separated for a long time.
"All that I ask is that you spend more time with them, or at least on deck. I think the sun would do you worlds of good. You are looking a bit pale."
Kamil seemed to take personal offense to the priest's last comment, turning on him so fast that Damien readied himself to be attacked. The priest allowed the tension in his frame to slacken and he mentally berated himself for even thinking that about Kamil. No matter what the youth might be going through there was no way that he would attack so unprovoked. Damien sure hoped that seeing the rage in the youth's eyes right then.
"I don't need to stay top side, father!" Kamil spat out, "Or to take Cameron's lessons if I don't feel like it one day! This travel bores me to tears, and Cameron's lessons have about the same effect! Besides, the only reason that Kirstin even continues to study is because she's in love with him. Or at least she thinks she is."
"Kamil Dravan! You do not cast aspersions in such a manner!" Damien roared, making Kamil flinch at the outburst, "Cameron was kind to allow you to learn from him, and if you don't wish to learn his art then I will inform him of such. As for your sister, whether she has feelings for Cameron or not is of no concern to you, or for you to be telling others. I think that you should go to your cabin right now and pray to the One for guidance. It would seem that you are in need of some. I would like to give you that guidance but you would not, it seems."
"Very well, father," Kamil stated meekly. He brushed past the priest and walked down the flight of stairs that led below deck, not looking back once. Damien only stopped watching him when he could no longer see him, then he turned back to the ocean and let out a disheartening sigh. There was something eating away at him, Damien knew for certain, but what was it? Could he help Kamil? Could he help someone that didn't want his help? He clasped his hands around the Komin, his holy symbol that he wore on a chain around his neck and lost himself in prayer to the One, searching for guidance on this matter. When he finished his prayer he was only half surprised to see Cameron leaning back on the rail beside him, sword hanging from the belt on his waist.
"Must you always carry that blade with you, my friend?"
"Only around you, father," Cameron replied, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Damien laughed a bit, feeling more at ease, both from his prayer and from the company. Sailors were more visible with the sun almost fully up, moving to and fro, taking care not to bother either of their lord's guests. In only a moment Damien would hear the dawning horn split then air, telling all that weren't awake that it was time to rise. Damien had always been up long before the horn had found him. He never believed in wasting his life on sleep. Besides, the dreams of the northern land that must lie beyond the Canvese Mountains plagued him on an almost nightly basis ever since this voyage had begun. There were the pale skinned giants in it as always. But they never seemed hostile to him, only hurting and confused, forced to defend from the coming attack of knights from the south. It was a terrible battle that he wished he never saw, if only in his dreams he witnessed it. He could heal the wounded, but there were so many, and he was only one man. The giants would often turn to him and ask why this must happen, as if he had the answer, but he could tell them nothing, only watch with mounting despair as they fought and died against the force of knights that grew larger over every smoke laden hill that they rose over.
Repressing the dream, Damien forced himself back into reality. Cameron had moved away, talking with a rather dark fleshed man in ragged loose fitting breeches and a tattered vest. The man was named Klem, if Damien wasn't mistaken, and was always close to Creed' side at all times of the day. The priest took the man for Creed's personal guard. Klem finished saying whatever he had been speaking of and patted Cameron warmly on the shoulder before making off toward the poop deck.
Cameron craned his head around to glance at the priest, "By this time tomorrow we should be docked at Bastual. I can't say that I'll be sorry to get off this ship; I never was one for sea travel. I'd take a sturdy horse any day over the ocean."
"Are you telling me that you fear the ocean, Cameron? And here I thought that you didn't fear anything."
"You know the old saying, father. Show me a man that fears nothing and I'll show you a fool."
Damien chuckled, turning his back to the cold wind that continued to blow from the east. It was an early autumn, and that usually made for a harsh winter. He was sure that the people of Hamla would fare well, the snow rarely found its way there in large amounts, but as far north as they were he wouldn't have been surprised to wake one morning and find himself in the midst of a blizzard. Trading routes were often closed for the entire winter this far north, due to the dangerous weather that the season brought with it.
"Father," Cameron began in a more serious tone, "Where do you think that we should go from here? I came this way on your word, hoping that these crazy dreams you were having actually meant something. Can you tell me where you think we need to go from here?"
Damien knew that the warrior had refrained from asking that question the entire voyage. He gathered that Cameron probably didn't want to hear the answer to it. The warrior was intuitive in many ways and Damien wouldn't have been surprised to discover that he already surmised where the priest's strange dreams were going to take him.
"I must travel north. I must...I must go beyond the Canvese Mountains to the Land of the Ageless. I believe that is where my dream will take me."
Cameron lost all expression, running a hand through his hair and casting dark eyes about the ship. Damien waited for the warrior to say something, stroking his bearded chin out of habit.
"What do think your God would have you do there, father?"
"He will show me when the time is right, Cameron. I am not to know the mind of the One, only to obey. That is what being a priest to the One entails."
"The more I hear of this God of yours, father, the less and less that I like the man."
"He is your God as well, Cameron. In time I think that you will come to see that. He will open your eyes for you. I have not the time or the patience at present to argue point on this matter. But ponder this; you would not be so quick to argue this point if you were not searching for some way to fill a void in your soul. I have shown you this void, and you don't know what to do with it. Is that the source of your curiosity?"
"Father," Cameron said in a flat tone, "I thought that you just said you didn't care to argue point."
"Forgive me," Damien offered sincerely. Cameron simply nodded.
"And why would I want to be going north, father? My duty is to keep these children safe from harm, whether that be from the king of Dagoth or any other dangers that arise. Bringing them straight into the heart of a war torn land is not what I had in mind. At the very least I was thinking that we could take them to Avalon. King Eaglesbane might offer them sanctuary considering the circumstances. I can't risk bringing them there, father. I don't even know where one of them has gotten to!"
"Yes you do, Cameron. He will dock in Diez. In fact Benmont and Ferrin have probably made it to shore by now, if not in the next day or two. We must send word to them of where we are and where they should meet with us. I propose that we meet in the city of Shiemin. It is only a fortnight's ride from the castle of Avalon. I am sure that with Verion leading them, they should have no problem trekking there."
"If Benmont doesn't decide to renew his quest for vengeance alone, you mean. Without you there, father that may be just what he does. And I can imagine that Ferrin won't make it past the village militia. I think that we could still send courier, but make haste right after him to Diez."
"Cameron, you were right to trust me this far, I pray that you will trust me on this as well."
"Shiemin, huh?" Cameron looked dubiously at Damien, but the priest only nodded in agreement. Sighing, the warrior leaned back on the rail once more and smiled at him, "Then I guess we go to Shiemin. But we send word to them as soon we dock at Bastual. Agreed?"
"I only hope that we are able to reach them in time."
"They're travelling a passenger vessel, father. They'll hit every port city from Twin Port to Diez. I think that would make for at least two days worth of delays. I just wonder where you plan to send this letter of yours. It's not like either of them live there. Have you thought of how to find them?"
"Of course, Cameron," Damien told him with a laugh, "I wouldn't have offered the plan if I had not thought it through. I will send word to the cathedral in the city, imploring the priest to find them for me, with information that they will be arriving in a ship bound from Twin Port. That should be sufficient for the father to find them and give them the message to travel north. Don't you think?"
"Clever father," Cameron mused, "Almost as efficient as a thieves’ guild."
Damien scoffed at the comparison, berating Cameron about how little the two clans had in common. The father was in the middle of his lecture when Creed Soames found them. The nobleman was dressed in a long coat of black with polished boots that were adorned with silver buckles. His face was cleanly shaven and his hair trim, close to his head. The man was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, his face betraying his nobility.
"Father," Creed gave a respectful nod to the priest, then to Cameron, "One of my men has taken ill. He has suffered from some strange illness for the last two days. I didn't ask for your aid because I believed that he would recover. Most of my men grow ill at one time or another on the sea. But he still lies in bed, sick from a fever that keeps him weak. Would you be kind enough to look over him as you did with me when first you came on my ship?"
"It would be my pleasure, Lord Soames. After all, you were kind enough to allow us to travel on your ship after all of the trouble that we caused for you. I must apologize for that."
"Think nothing of it, father," Creed waved a hand at him, "Besides, it wasn't as if I had much of a choice in the matter, now did I?" Creed laughed at the blanching expression that the father gave him, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head back and forth.
"It was a joke, father. I was happy to have you here, even in those extreme circumstances. Besides, anything that I can do to impede the king of Dagoth I would consider a blessing."
"Is that so?" Cameron retorted, craning his head toward Creed, "I don't think that you would feel quite the same about it the king took personal offense to what you have just done for us. The way I hear it, he wants these children dead quite badly."
"What do you think he could do, Cameron, march beyond the Crossing and lay siege to my manor. Darius Steelbreeze would not be so bold."
"Wouldn't he?" Cameron queried, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Sending troops over the Crossing would be an unspoken declaration of war on Avalon! It would break all of the old pacts!"
"Dagoth has already laid siege to Southcross. No one thought that the king of Dagoth would dare such a thing. It fell in a fort night to his army. Do you really think that Avalon has a chance of defending if Darius Steelbreeze marches against him?"
"The Eagle will stand against him, as he declared when Darius Steelbreeze first decreed that he would be the next king to sit upon the High Throne! And I will back my king with all the men that are under my command!"
"If that is so, Creed, why is that I failed to see any of the Eagle's banners waving in the southlands? Is he so busy defending Umbriel from the heathens to the north that he cannot keep his vow to Southcross? Surely they could have used the Eagle's aid when Dagoth's war machines were at their walls."
"Cameron!" Damien barked, surprising himself at the anger that crept into his voice, "You do not speak so of royalty! Neither you nor I may question their decisions. If King Eaglesbane challenges Dagoth or not, he will have a valid reason for it. Now if the pair of you are finished arguing point, I thought there was a sick man that was in need of my aid."
Creed fumbled an apology to the father and waved an arm to follow him. The pair disappeared below deck, leaving Cameron to his thoughts, a cool autumn wind pushing lightly on his back. His eyes didn't leave the stairwell for quite some time later.
The next day was cold, with a strong northern breeze winding its way across the deck of the ship. Land was in sight, and it wouldn't be more than an hour or two before they would dock. Kirstin Telba stood motionless at the prow, her gaze watching the waves foam and break against the steel hull of the vessel. One had was closed tight on the travel coat that she wore to fend the coming winter away, the other on the hilt of the sword she had strapped to her side. She was glad that Cameron was teaching her how to fight better. It was the only time in months that she didn't feel so helpless to the events around her, unable to change the course of their flow. If she were more competent, like her father was, the man she thought her father was, perhaps Trost Lefield would be on this ship with her. Instead he was weeks dead, killed at the hands of a man that she didn't even know the name to. Cameron knew, she was sure, but he wouldn't speak of him, or their connection. Kirstin was beginning to believe that Cameron was holding something back her, from all of them. She recalled when she first found him on the road near the farming houses. The look he gave her was focused, ready for battle. She knew that look now that she had seen other men fight and die at her side and on her blade. Not that killing was something that she was proud of. It was a necessity, she told herself.
Three men made their way by her, taking her from her reverie. Rough looking sailors in heavy wools and baggy breeches. The last of the men she recognized only as Klem, right hand man to Creed Soames. He was a harsh fellow, with a hoarse common tongue. She often saw him and Cameron in the galley together sharing mead or helf nog. The smell from the galley was enough to keep her away. What Kamil saw in those places was beyond her. She was content on spending quiet time reading or discussing the One's teachings with Damien when Cameron didn't have her on deck, sweating to the bone as he fenced with her. Kirstin never got over how much energy the man had. He never seemed to tire!
The sound of footfalls nearing her again caused Kirstin to crane her neck, eyes falling on the father as he approached her, hands clasped in front of him. A near black cloak hung off of his broad shoulders, showing only his soft leather boots. What caught Kirstin's attention the most was the fact that the father was clean shaven; his neatly trimmed beard that she had become so accustomed to seeing was shaven off, revealing a smooth jaw. Damien smiled politely when he realized that she was staring at him. Kirstin recovered, fumbling a quick apology to the man but Damien waved it away, laughing as she blushed in embarrassment.
"No worry, child. I did much the same thing to the mirror when I shaved it this morning. I have not been clean shaven since I was nineteen years old. It takes a bit to grow accustomed to, believe me."
"Father," Kirstin said after clearing her throat, "What will we do now that we are north? I fear for Benmont, and for Ferrin. Do you think that they are in Diez? Do you think that they made it there safely?"
"Of course, Kirstin," Damien assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Why would they not have? The brigands that attacked us only did so because they were after Lord Soames. Benmont and Ferrin are fine."
"Perhaps the ship sank," Kirstin replied, making Damien arch an eyebrow at her.
"Why in the name of the One would you think such a thing, Kirstin?"
"Do you recall the story that Blain Crestworn told us? About how he was almost killed at sea by a Deep God? Do you suppose that might have happened to them?"
"Kirstin," Damien began, turning to look across the ocean in the hopes that she didn't see him crack a smile, "Deep Gods live far away from shore. They are far too big to live near Umbriel's lands. We would have had a better chance of crossing paths with a Deep God than they. But we didn't, so what does that tell you?"
"I...I suppose I was just thinking foolishly, wasn't I, father?"
"Not at all, Kirstin. You are just concerned for your brother. I can understand that."
"I suppose that it's better if he isn't near me anyhow," Kirstin said quietly, her hand gripping tighter to Trost's sword. Damien gave her a questioning look, pursing his lips together as Kirstin leaned on the rail, seeming far away.
"Why would you say that?"
"No reason, father," Kirstin remarked absently. "Was there a reason why you found me, father?"
"I need you to help me," he said softly, casting his gaze down both ways of the deck. After he made sure that crew men were out of ear shot he continued, "Cameron is passed out in the galley and I was wondering if you could help me carry him out. I asked Kamil for help, but as usual the boy was busy keeping to himself. Sometimes I think that he does not like any of us."
"That's not true, father!" Kirstin exclaimed, concern spreading over her face, "Kamil has been through much, as have we all. You should know that. He is just dealing with it as best as he can. Perhaps he finds peace in solitude. Or perhaps he just doesn't want anyone to see his tears when he weeps."
"Perhaps," Damien conceded, the purse in his lips returning in full. "No matter. For now let us collect Cameron so we can depart this vessel and trouble Lord Soames no more." Kirstin followed the priest below deck and down the cramped hall, the smell of stale fish hanging in the air. The walls were saturated with liquid that was grimy to the touch, making Kirstin stay in the middle of the hall. She had examined the grime on her second day at sea, and regretted it when it clung to her hand, making it reek of fish innards. She never bothered to ask how the strange film gathered there.
Twin doors marked the entrance to the galley, swinging on hinges inward. Just after the doors were several steps that dropped onto the main floor, expanding to almost a third of the ship's length. Better than twenty tables littered the floor with chairs and men around them, laughing and drinking. Only some of the tables had plates of food on them. And it always seemed to be fish on those plates. Toward the back of the room, slumped over a chair that was tipping against the wall was Cameron. The warrior was still in his armor, sword leaning on the wall, an empty mug of what might have been mead on the table just on front of him. Damien made his way past the gathering of sailors, most of whom gave the priest a friendly greeting as he passed by. The crew men held Damien in quite high regard after he used the power of the One to heal one of their own from a whooping cough.
The pair stopped when they came to Cameron's table. It reeked of strong wine, some of which must have been spilt on him as well. The warrior never stirred when Damien pushed him back on the chair, holding him with a hand as he handed Kirstin his blade to carry.
"Cameron, the ship will be docking shortly. Are you able to walk?"
"Father?" Cameron asked as his eyes slid open, the scent of alcohol clinging to him, "What are you doing here?"
"I've come here to help you, as has Kirstin. I think that we have bothered Lord Soames enough. I really don't want to infringe any further than I already have. Wouldn't you agree Kirstin?" She nodded an emphatic yes, her gaze never leaving Cameron as the man attempted to stand on his own. It was an attempt that failed as he toppled forward, caught the rim of the table, then drug that to the floor with him. He crashed in a heap at the priest's feet, invoking a stifled laugh from Kirstin. Damien cast her a sharp look and she put a hand to her mouth, bowing her head meekly while her shoulders shook with silent laughter. Damien knelt beside Cameron as the warrior pushed a part of the table off of him. Sailors were chuckling from where they sat near them. A few of the men offered to help take Cameron to a cabin where he could sleep it off. Damien thanked them for their offers but told them that he was really in a hurry.
"Instead," the priest began, "Would you rather take him outside the galley and onto the deck. I hope that the fresh air will revive him some." Sailors set down their mugs and shuffled over to the back of the room where Cameron was half sitting, half slouching, mumbling to himself of things that no one could understand.
"Anifall... you always could hold your drink better than I could. Let's just keep that between us, " Cameron said to no one in particular as his head lolled from side to side, a line of saliva trailing from his mouth down his throat. Damien pursed his lips, ignoring the good natured laughs of the crew men and dabbed at the line of saliva with a cloth he had in his pocket.
"I'm sure this Anifall is a wonderful man, Cameron. Why don't you come up on deck with us?"
"Father, how did you get into the castle? The king doesn't allow just anyone in," Cameron told him, his voice slow and filled with purpose. Damien considered this last comment, simply shaking his head. There was often nothing to a drunken man's ranting. Klem was there, sliding an arm around Cameron's, dragging him to the stairs with another sailor, dark skinned and bald. The men often shaved their heads on their voyages because it only gave them more heat when they had to work on deck in the sun.
"I told the man to stop drinking!" Klem exclaimed as Damien and Kirstin followed him up the stairs, "But Deep God's alive! I ain't ever seen a man drink like him! I thought I might be finding his corpse lying in the galley when I came back today."
"Why did you not stop him?" Damien demanded of the sailor. Klem only gave the priest a befuddled look before shrugging.
"Ain't my business, father. I guess that's why. If a man wants to guzzle the mead like his bellies on fire then let him to it. Not the first time for him, I wager, and I don't think that it will be the last." Klem and the dark skinned sailor slumped Cameron against the rail near the poop deck. The warrior slid some, catching himself by holding out a forearm. A groan escaped his lips and Kirstin knelt down with his sword to speak softly with him.
"Less than an hour you got," Klem explained to Damien, "Lord Soames told me that you can come to his manor for the night, if ya want to, that is. He would've told you but the man has things to prepare. He's worried about his brother, that being why he came to Twin Port when he did. Master Creed thought that he might be in trouble with the baron's law, seeing what all is going on there. He never expected to hear that Cromley Tower fell to Dagoth."
"Well believe it, Klem. We were there when the tower was sieged, or shortly before. Cameron very nearly was killed there, as were we all." Kirstin was half listening, her face growing paler with each word spoken. Damien realized what she must have been thinking and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Kirstin took his hand in her own and smiled at him.
"Are you well, child?" he asked.
"Of course, father. I suppose that I'm still shaky over what happened there."
"You have a right to be. Let us pray that you have no cause to raise your blade in such a manner again."
"There will be more," Cameron suddenly announced with a loud voice, making them start. The warrior was struggling to stand. It was a battle he won with Kirstin's aid. He leaned hard against her and she wrinkled her nose at the smell that seemed to seep from his armor. He whispered a thank you to her and she nodded.
"How could you drink do when we need to move so soon Cameron? I thought that you knew this. Didn't we agree on that?"
"The king will come for us. He still has to get rid of Kirstin and Kamil. We won't be rid of him, not until he has what he wants, or we kill him first." The words were a spell all of their own. It invoked silence among the crew men, who looked truly uneasy at the thought of slaying a crowned king in Umbriel. Damien was aghast, one hand clutching his shirt. Kirstin stood stock still beside him, averting her eyes as she studied the deck of the ship.
"You never thought about it, father? Darius is mad, there is no doubt. He thinks that the High Father has chosen him to come to Dynasty? What a pathetic joke! If he ascends to the throne then Umbriel will suffer like no war has ever made it suffer!"
"You're drunk, Cameron," Damien said plainly. His voice was devoid of emotion as he spoke, "Perhaps after the drink had left your blood we will speak of this further. Until then, I would suggest keeping your mouth shut."
Cameron stared hard at the priest, so still that some of the sailors were starting to think that he had fallen asleep standing up, when at last he did open his mouth again…and vomited all over the floor of the deck. Kirstin made a sharp hissing noise and stepped back quick as Cameron doubled over, loosing everything that he had for supper and all of his drink to boot. When he finished, he sagged to his knees and leaned back on the rail, a smile pulling his lips back.
"That's all I have to say about that," he informed them, then settled his eyes a promptly fell to sleep. Klem burst out laughing. Kirstin looked disgusted, wiping her boots over and over on the walk, her nose wrinkled as she tried not to look at the mess that Cameron made. Damien sighed, shaking his head as he sent one of the sailors to fetch him a pitcher of water. If the One was merciful Cameron wouldn't have any more drinking binges until he got to where he needed to be. If the One were truly merciful, Damien thought, he would still be in Hamla, preaching the Testament to the farmers and merchants that lived there. Julia would do well until he returned. If he returned. Making himself forget such thoughts, Damien fixed himself to the task at hand.
The Rising Moon was a shabby tavern on the southern most side of Twin Port. Nestled tightly between two shipping lanes it hosted some of the roughest men that the Turbades Ocean had to offer. Only one planked walk led to the tavern, and most of the more respectable citizens knew to stay away from it if they wanted to keep their purse and their life. That late autumn evening was no different, with men of questionable character filling the common room to full and then some. The smell of strong ale and rotting wood floated freely in the air, but to any that frequented the tavern the smell was nothing new.
What was new, however, was the lone man near the door of the common room, sitting where he could see everybody in ahead of him and spy on any that ventured in through the door. To Gaiden Moonswallow, guild master to the Silent Brotherhood, each man or woman was a mark just waiting to be fleeced. But there were more pressing matters to indulge in first. And picking pockets seemed something below him. He didn't take hold of the mantle of leader only to loosen drawstrings on coin purses.
He had lost face weeks ago on these very docks. Cray Soames was in infamous gambler in the halls of Twin Port. Luck always seemed to be on his side when the cards were being shuffled, until a fated match with Gaiden's shadow master, Varn. The nobleman owed him twenty thousand coin from that night. Killing Cray would be foolish. There would be no profit when the estate was given to the heir. And the young lord was smart in hiding his gold. So Gaiden had waited, putting pressure on young Cray until the lordling sent word to his brother to the north. Creed Soames, rich and famous aristocrat from the port city of Bastual was coming to see what type of trouble Cray had found himself in now. Gaiden was attempting a bold move. Killing Creed in broad daylight would not only prove the Silent Brotherhood's strength to the militia, but show master Soames just how much he needed to pay off his debts. After Creed there would be other family members to hunt down systematically, until Cray decided that twenty thousand coin really wasn't that much to part with after all.
The bold move failed when the assassination was stayed by a small band of travelers that seemed only to be there by circumstance. Several of his thieves were killed in battle with this trio of warriors. Creed Soames escaped the bay even as Dagothian soldiers attacked the ship for reasons that Gaiden had yet to discover. Unanswered questions bothered him. Lack of information was a weakness in the eyes of his subordinates.
"Come in already, Varn," Gaiden said in a gruff voice, you know how hard it is to mask your presence from me."
Another man entered, shorter then Gaiden and swaddled in enough clothes to hide every feature about him, save perhaps that he was a man. Varn sat in the chair opposite him and folded his hands one over the other. Varn waited without word until Gaiden nodded from him to begin speaking.
"None seem to know who the men that attacked Lord Soames are, or where they came from. The local militia does not know of us yet, master."
"But other guilds will, Varn!" Gaiden snarled, clenching a fist and striking the table. Several of the sailors around him looked irritated at the disturbance and then went back to their drinking. "The slaymasters are moving north still?"
"They are, master. I have word from the northern faction that the slaymasters will attempt ambush in the night, shortly after they dock. There is nothing to fear. I am sure that this matter will be taken care of. And the slaymasters will bring Creed Soames' head as proof that the deed is done."
"Excellent," Gaiden replied, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes as he sipped at a bitter wine that he ordered only a moment before Varn had found him. The taste lingered in his mouth, peaking his heightened senses until he swallowed it and opened his eyes. Varn was sitting still, waiting for his master to speak further.
"Has there been word from our spy on the ship?"
"A light from the ship at night that our scouts have seen along the western bank. He will act with the slaymasters leading them into the trap that they are setting. I wonder, master. What would you have me do with Cray Soames? He may attempt escape after the battle at the docks."
"He will not," Gaiden shot back, "He is a brazen fool, thinking that we have blundered and will hide for fear of the law. But he is wrong. This is not the twelfth century and there is no Gabriel Warrek to incite a thieves’ hunt. Let him be. This debt will be collected for the good of the guild, Varn. You are dismissed. You will be my eyes in the city for the time, understood?"
"I understand, master," Varn told him as he pushed the chair back from the table and left without another word. His plain face broke into a scowl marred with anger as soon as he left the door. He wandered down the board walk, barely feeling the biting wind against him. The lights of Twin Port beckoned him.
"I'll be your eyes, master," Varn spoke lowly as he walked, "Just be sure that you don't get stricken blind one day." A sour smile crossed his face as he made his way down the nearest alley. The night was still young.
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