Only Villains Do That

Things were changing around North Watch.

It wasn’t practical to entertain business guests in the kitchen, now that the kitchen was actually serving its intended purpose; preparing food for over a hundred people three times a day, plus cleaning up after all that food prep, meant it was bustling with activity more often than not. The night of my return from Gwyllthean I’d been able to catch it in a lull during dinner while everybody but Gannit was out in the mess hall, and taken advantage of the quiet (once I got some food down) to shout down the goblin tunnel.

Maugro wasn’t in, but a little green fellow I hadn’t met before jotted down my information request and promised his boss would visit in the morning.

So here we were, in the conference room, which necessitated letting Maugro get a good look at my operation as he was led here from the goblin tunnel, but that couldn’t be helped. At least I’d finally managed some proper accommodations: at my request, Kasser had been at work on that goblin-friendly furniture I’d casually promised way back when Maugro and I had first met. I had vetoed a booster seat, both because it seemed condescending and because I expected to have to deal with goblins in increasing numbers in the future and needed permanent solutions.

In the end, he’d really come through; having an actual team of people and a big stockpile of raw khora cut from the surrounding forest meant Kasser could produce results way faster than when it was just him and Harold tinkering together. He had built a goblin chair which impressed me and seemed to please Maugro to no end. The seat and back were goblin-sized, and it was elevated enough that when pulled up to the table… Well, nothing would make Maugro as tall as the rest of us, but it put him more on our level. The chair’s legs splayed outward slightly for stability, and the rungs bracing them were flattened to serve as steps. It even had hinged armrests which could be lifted so a goblin could climb in, and then lowered into place for comfort.

After praising the seat, to Kasser’s visible satisfaction, and partaking of some actual breakfast and tea—I did like having real hospitality to offer my business associates—Maugro got down to the first matter on which I’d called him to consult.

“The kid’s name is Rhaem Flaerdwyd,” he said, setting down his teacup. “All of nineteen years old and freshly Blessed—basically the last person you’d expect to be walking around with a spell like Null. But that’s the thing. He’s a ward of Clan Yviredh.”

“Ahh,” Nazralind said, nodding as if this explained everything. I’d called my full council of lieutenants and advisors to this meeting, and added her to it.

Fortunately, Maugro had better sense than to assume her political knowledge of Dount’s Clans applied to the rest of us, and continued explaining without acknowledging the interruption.

“Yviredh’s small potatoes as Clans go, one of the vassals of Clan Aelthwyn that holds the parcels of land immediately surrounding Gwyllthean. They have a few little farms and one village surrounding their fortress, that’s it; you can stand on the walls of Caer Yviredh and see past their domain in every direction. The one significant asset they do have is a Spirit on the grounds of the fortress, nicknamed Head Start. It’s hard to please, but if people pass its trial, it not only grants the Blessing of Might or Magic, but also a single beginner spell or artifact to go with it.”

“Ooh, that’s a rarity,” Aster commented. “I’ve never heard of a Spirit that’ll give you more than just the Blessing itself.”

Now, this sounded interesting. “What’s the Spirit’s trial?” I asked.

“That’s kinda up in the air,” Maugro admitted, grimacing. “It’s a talker. Something…philosophical and intellectual, it asks a lot of questions and wants to hear input on all kinds of subjects, but to this day nobody’s really sure what it’s looking for. The conversation’s different for every person and the results seem kinda random. Only hard rules that seem consistent are that you fail if you lie to it or try to tell it jokes. That’s what the Clan tells people who take the trials, anyway. Which they let people do twice a year; they hold a little festival in their village for it. Subjects of Clan Yviredh’s authority and invited guests can try it free on festival days, and there’s a fee for anyone else who wants to have a go.”

I nodded, suppressing a grimace. That was definitely a goddess cheat lever. In fact, I suspected that every Spirit was a means for them to put a finger on the scales, but this one wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it.

“So, the Spirit is Clan Yviredh’s main business,” Maugro continued. “Aside from the access fees, when one of their lowborn vassals gets Blessed from it, they generously sponsor their adventuring career. Gear, potions, King’s Guild membership dues, the works—all on loan, with nothing owed up front and at interest. It’s pushing the limits of the law, of course; the whole point of the Guild is so the Clans don’t have control over adventurers. But Clan Yviredh gets away with it cos they’re not directing ‘their’ adventurers to do anything, just financing ‘em and then profiting. It’s such a central part of their income that they even have their indentured farm laborers take the Spirit’s trial, since that’s the biggest source of fresh blood that’s under their direct control. And whaddaya know, less than a month ago an indenture named Rhaem Flaerdwyd walked in there and walked back out Blessed with Magic—and able to cast Null, of all the damned things.”

And I even knew which goddess was leaning on the scales this time. From the sound of it, Sanora couldn’t even have intended this spell to go to Yoshi; she was just dropping something on Dount that would be likely to ruin my day. I frowned, leaning back in my chair. “Hm. Has the Spirit ever given somebody that spell before? Or one similarly valuable?”

“Not that I was able to dig up a specific account of, but it’s a known phenomenon. You know how it is with Spirits and dungeon rewards. Everything’s random, within certain tolerances; sometimes somebody gets lucky. These are the stories that keep wide-eyed young adventurers out doing the stupid shit that gets most of ‘em killed.”

Minifrit exhaled a streamer of smoke, which nobody else seemed to object to in this enclosed room over breakfast. Oh, well, I guess Fflyr culture was more tolerant of disruptive behavior, and anyway it wasn’t that unpleasant. Smelled more like incense than tobacco.

“How did this boy go from the control of this Clan to Lady Gray?” she asked.

“Now that’s where the story gets interesting,” Maugro said with a wide grin, clearly enjoying his role as storyteller. “So, a sorcerer who can cast Null belongs on a whole other level than a dinky little Fflyr Clan like Yviredh operates on, see? Kings would pay to have somethin’ like that in their arsenal. And since this kid is legally indentured, the Clan can all but literally sell him. Seems like a hell of an asset to risk in some scheme of Lady Gray’s, right? Well, here’s the thing: the likes of Clan Yviredh can’t just approach anybody able to afford to hire or outright buy their Null sorcerer. People like that don’t entertain random propositions from nobodies telling unlikely stories like this one. We’re talkin’ international diplomacy here. Only access they have is to the Fflyr authorities, the King or Clan Aelthwyn, and they can just straight-up take the kid without giving the Yviredhs shit for their trouble. Can, and would. Clan Yviredh needs to keep him secret from their superiors in the Fflyr hierarchy, while using him to gain either connections or the shit ton of money that’ll buy them connections, because he’s the only asset they’ve got that even could do that. And there’s limited work in that field. A Null caster is the ultimate anti-caster caster, and…not much else. So, yeah, working with the likes of Lady Gray was obviously a huge risk, but she was not only desperate enough to pay out the ass for Flaerdwyd’s services, but probably the only option they had.”

I drummed my fingers on the table, thinking rapidly. I could feel a plan forming; I’d started this line of inquiry on the assumption that the Null caster was a loose end I would need to brutally tie up, but this situation was more complicated—and if I was careful, potentially beneficial to me.

“What’s the status of this guy now?”

“Safe and sound, back home with the Clan,” Maugro reported. “Apparently made it out of Gwyllthean the minute Lady Gray allegedly finished you off. Glad to see that account was exaggerated,” he added with a wink. “The speed and severity of the crackdown that followed seems to’ve spooked Clan Yviredh good an’ proper; they’ve had their whole fortress locked down and on alert ever since. Flaerdwyd’s in there, secured along with whatever Lady Gray paid them. Oh, and here’s another tidbit: a couple weeks ago, in the fuckin’ middle of bringing in the harvest, Clan Yviredh suddenly freed all their indentured laborers and didn’t replace ‘em, instead paying for much more expensive freeman labor to finish the work. So we know what he’s used up his leverage with Clan Yviredh on.”

“Damn, now I kinda like this guy,” Nazralind said, grimacing. “Do we really need to kill him, Lord Seiji?”

“First of all,” I said with a sigh, “we don’t need to discuss our strategic plans in front of the neutral information broker.”

Maugro grinned, Sakin cackled, and Nazralind lowered her eyes, blushing.

“Generally speaking, I mean,” I added. “In this case, though… I think not. Sounds like my argument is not with Flaredud—”

“Flaerdwyd.”

“—that’s what I said. Anyway, it’s Clan Yviredh I need to talk to. They’ve apparently got no problem with me and it sounds like they don’t want trouble. There will be a discussion about my trouble and what I’m owed for it, but that can be as polite as they’re willing to make it. Maugro, I know the Clans are a little out of your purview, but what can you tell me about this family?”

“Hey, Lord Seiji, it’s me! Maugro!” He brandished his teacup, not quite sloshing it but prompting Minifrit to lean away. “Clan politics might be over my head, but I can still getcha full profiles on all Clan members and a strategic rundown of their Clansguard and fortress.”

Nazralind cleared her throat loudly. “Lord Seiji, I can provide you all of that for free. I can also get you into that fortress—through diplomacy, subterfuge, or over the walls in the night, whichever approach you prefer.”

Maugro gave her a very even look, which she met with a big, simpering grin. Nazralind had definitely not forgiven him for that business of him charging her protection money and then selling her out to me when she couldn’t pay.

“Sorry, Maugro,” I said with a shrug. “I value your business, but there’s no sense in paying for what I can get free.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he agreed, nodding with no outward display of displeasure. “I never blame a man for showin’ solid business sense. Well then, that’s that matter. Concerning the other subjects you asked me about: I can’t get an exact head count or names, but I can assure you that most if not all of the Gutter Rats remaining in Gwyllthean are now residing in the Convocation orphanage in the middle ring. That seems to’ve caused a stir among the middle ring itself, but with the paladin Rhydion backing this arrangement, nobody’s willing to raise a peep about it. The Clans are generally watching him real careful-like since he went off-script in the first place. You know, you scared the hell outta those kids,” he added, frowning. “I had to reach outside my usual sources for info on Convocation business and the priestess I managed to contact made sure to emphasize that quite a few of ‘em are still having nightmares about what the Healer did.”

“That’s fair,” I sighed. “Nightmares go away in time.” I really hoped they did, anyway. Mine hadn’t shown any sign of it, but in my case there was some fresh horror every fucking week. Hopefully the Rats would have time to heal. “And the most important matter?”

“The least useful answer,” the broker admitted with a wince. “I hope you’re realistic enough not to be too disappointed, Lord Seiji, but right now everybody in the country wants to know where the fuck Lady Gray went, and nobody knows jack shit. Those five kids she killed were the last anybody heard from her, and then…poof. You better believe I’ve got ears to the ground and while there are other clients interested, I promise you’re at the top of the list. When I know something, you’ll know something. I do happen to know the last person who had direct in-person dealings with Lady Gray, but unfortunately, somebody nailed him to a wall.”

“Mm.” I sipped my tea. “Shame about that.” I probably should have asked him some questions, yeah, but…

“Can I ask you a question, Lord Seiji?” Maugro was watching me closely, but with a neutral expression.

I tried for a wry expression. “Oh, should I be charging for this?”

“You want to?”

I enjoy banter as much as the next fellow, but my heart really wasn’t in it these days. I just sighed again and shook my head. “Go ahead, Maugro, what’s on your mind.”

“What’d you do that for?” he asked, still studying me. “It ain’t like anybody ever doubted Uncle Gently’s career would end badly, but that was…a bit…much.”

“I’m pretty sure I made my point clear at the time. Spelled it out, you might say.”

“Yeah, everybody got it, no killing kids. Good rule. Thing is, though, nobody was doing that anyway. The Gutters are a rough place and the Rats met bad ends fairly regularly, but people were not out deliberately murdering them to make a point. You’ll notice that Lady Gray doing that shit was the exact thing that set the paladin on her case, which will undoubtedly be what ends up killing her. You know me, I’m an information guy; anything I don’t understand chews at the back of my brain til I get answers. You’ve always been so admirably pragmatic and far-sighted, Lord Seiji, it’s one of the things I enjoy most about working with you. That business… I don’t get why that point needed to be made that…hard.”

For a moment I just met his gaze, silently pondering an answer.

“Some people just need to get nailed to walls, Maugro,” I said at last, my voice quiet.

“Hear fuckin’ hear,” Sakin agreed. Aster and Nazralind exchanged a loaded look, while Minifrit frowned and shook her head, exhaling smoke through her nose. Kasser sat rigidly in his chair, apparently believing that the conversation couldn’t see him if he didn’t move.

“Well, okay,” the goblin said with a shrug.

“Find me Lady Gray,” I said in the same soft voice, “and I will make it as worth your while as I possibly can within my not inconsiderable means. I mean it, Maugro. This is priority number one. I want that woman’s head.”

“I will do everything I can,” he said very carefully. “You know there’s a lot of competition for that, Lord Seiji. Still, bein’ frank, I suspect you’ve got a better chance than most—and probably without my help, much as it professionally pains me to admit it. Lady Gray wants your head just as badly. You may not have to go to her.”

I didn’t need the reminder.

“That being said, just because she’s priority one doesn’t mean there are no other priorities. All right, people, we’ve got a lot to get done, both generally and before tonight’s operation. Maugro, I’ll have someone see you back to the tunnel. Always a pleasure.”

“I can’t help feeling that was anticlimactic,” Adelly said about fifteen hours later, standing in the middle of a campsite full of corpses.

It was the middle of the night, and we were in the base camp of the bandit gang Auron had identified as too brutal to bother recruiting. In fact, we’d used the same tactic by which we’d taken out his gang: Kastrin sniped the lookout with her sedative-laced stinger, then lobbed an alchemical sleeping bomb into the middle of the camp and I’d ignited it with a Spark. It worked just as flawlessly.

Except this time, the operation was faster and cleaner. There was no tying people up, no airing grievances, no showtime. Once they were out, we swept in with blades and silently finished them off.

“Good,” said Sakin, wiping blood off his sword. “Cherish that feeling, Adelly. Anticlimactic is the absolute ideal for discreet ops, and things will all too rarely go this well.”

“Boy, ain’t that the truth,” I muttered. “Half of what I try to do blows up in my face. Biribo, any holdouts?”

“Nope. Clean sweep, boss. We got seven bandits, and seven corpses. Well, except…”

As it turned out, I’d brought more than twice their number; even had we not killed them asleep, the advantage would have been ours. Hell, I probably could have taken them out alone. Now, though, I turned to my familiar.

“Except? Is there trouble?”

“There’s…” Biribo’s face was hard to read, especially in the glow of my Firelight spell, but I had the impression he was grimacing. “Uh, trouble’s a word. No danger, boss, but… Hell, you’d have found it anyway when you swept the camp for supplies. Over there, that wall of crates? That’s food storage. And behind it is, uh, food prep. You’d better have a look, boss.”

“Well, this is good and fucking ominous,” I muttered, stalking in that direction and taking my Firelight with me. At least I could be assured the camp was cleared of enemies. Whatever he was being coy about, Biribo took his job seriously and would have warned me had there been an actual danger.

I stepped past the incongruously neat stack of boxes to an area that was clearly used for meat butchering and storage. Obviously this gang had hunted to feed themselves. There were knives and a rusty-looking cleaver lying casually on a big, roughly flat chunk of akorthist which made an impromptu table; even in the orange light I could tell it was bloodstained, as was the ground. Around that they’d erected several racks and hung cuts of meat to dry, with a few more nearby holding stretched pieces of leather in the process of being tanned. Behind the table was a pile of bones, though it looked like any inedible soft tissue had been disposed of elsewhere. Made sense, you don’t want your compost near your food storage. At any rate, this was clearly the source of the smell that wafted over the camp.

For a few seconds, I just peered around, seeing nothing but a primitive butcher’s setup. Meat was meat, and I wasn’t completely sure I’d recognize all the Ephemeral animals from around here even if I saw them intact. I didn’t put it together until I happened to see the distinctive shape of one of the skulls that had rolled away from the bone pile. Not an old skull, one with scraps still attached. Then, amid the dawning horror, I found there were other recognizable shapes among the pieces of meat hung up to dry.

I didn’t realize Kastrin had come up behind me until she staggered away and was violently sick.

“Holy fuck,” Auron wheezed, having arrived just after her. I’d brought him along on this operation as an approximation of a local guide. “Hell’s bloody revels.”

“Well, you did warn me these guys were assholes,” I said, pleased that my voice was even despite the roaring in my ears.

“Assholes, yes! Murderers and worse. I didn’t know how much worse! Goddess’s loins, what the fuck has to go wrong in somebody’s head before they start to do this?”

I turned around, as much to put my back to the scene as anything, and found most of the rest of my strike team clustered around gawking, those who hadn’t already turned away. Kastrin wasn’t the only one losing her dinner.

“This is…I don’t…” Lady Miriami of Clan Yldyllich, who was with us for much the same reason as Auron, looked like she’d just been punched in the gut. “This is good land. There’s game. My family doesn’t even hunt it! There’s plenty of… They didn’t need to do this!”

Aster gently took her by the arm and led her away.

“It gets to people, sometimes,” said Nazralind. Her own face was just bleak; she wouldn’t look at the butchery. “The isolation. Being separate from society and its rules. Some of the gangs in the really wild country… Well, they start doing…things.”

“Fucking hell, Naz, how many cannibal gangs am I going to have to clear out?” I exclaimed.

She shook her head rapidly. “Lord Seiji, I’d have told you if I knew of anybody doing this. I know you don’t have a high opinion of Fflyr Dlemathlys, but this is beyond the pale. Something went horribly wrong here.”

I started to inhale deeply to steady myself, and the smell immediately made me abort that attempt. “I think we may have killed these guys too quickly.”

“Boss, your paladin buddy’s interested in the zombies on this island, right?” said Biribo. “That’s way to the south of here, but still. If there’s a necromancer behind it… Well, necromancy sometimes results in, uh, peripheral cannibalism. Once you’re only thinking of people as meat to be used, and taking parts off ‘em for the purpose, well…”

“Great, one more asshole I need to kill. If having Rhydion’s eyes on me at all times wasn’t a fucking nightmare scenario I might be tempted to take him up on his offer after this. Okay, everybody, let’s finish up and get the hell out of here. Go through their stuff, grab anything useful. We especially need food, but we’re in no position to leave behind anything that might have value.”

I hesitated.

“Except… Ditch any meat you find.”

No one answered verbally, but they all nodded at me and got to work. Anything was better than standing around thinking about this.

It was a few minutes later, and I was in the process of transferring a set of akorshil carving tools into a gwynnek’s saddlebags (Kasser would be pleased), before Biribo spoke again. He actually landed on my shoulder this time, moving his mouth close enough to my ear to speak in a bare whisper.

“Boss, we got incoming.”

I hesitated, then finished tucking the rolled-up leather tool belt into place without showing outward signs of unease. If Biribo chose to be discreet, it was probably best to play along. I even remembered to pat the bird on the haunch, causing her to turn her long neck and give me a skeptical look that was frankly terrifying. The ladies insisted that gwynneks were very friendly, but you had to make an effort to befriend them. Allegedly it was only scary for the first few weeks until they got to know and like you.

“Details?” I murmured as I turned and went back toward the crate Kastrin was in the process of unpacking.

“Single figure, heading toward us from the northwest. Stealthy—and fast, clearly used to operating in wild khora. Obviously coming right at the camp. They just went up a big glausthauc khora, good vantage to watch us from above or get the drop if they wanted.”

I immediately thought of her, how could I not? My hand made a reflexive twitch toward my sword and the block of mental weight which was Immolate formed unbidden in my mind, ready to be cast, before I made myself stop and think. This didn’t sound like Lady Gray. She was a city person; I didn’t specifically know she wasn’t skilled at silent movement in the forest but nobody had suggested it was among her talents. Besides, if she wanted to stealth up on us, she’d have been using that dagger, which would have prevented Biribo knowing she was coming.

“He’s overhead,” my familiar whispered. “Almost directly. Don’t look up, boss, but you see how that big khora shell splits? The branch that arches over us, he’s leaning over the right side, out of range of the light. About four paces straight up and two to your left.”

He? I didn’t ask for details; the fact that Biribo didn’t offer any more suggested this interloper wasn’t about to attack us. Honestly, it made sense anyone in this wilderness would be curious about what was going on, especially in this camp. In another, less perilous world, I might have been able to let a mysterious neighbor satisfy his curiosity and go on his way.

But this was Ephemera, and I was the Dark Lord, and I couldn’t have unknown quantities prying into my business.

I arched my back, grimacing and knuckling the base of my spine, and then stretched, which brought one of my arms into position to aim at the general spot Biribo had indicated.

Light Beam!

There came a cry, followed by a rustle, and then a heavy thump as somebody landed on the ground, narrowly missing the corpse of a bandit. I winced; that did not look like a comfortable landing. Not to mention that that blast of light right into his dark-adjusted eyes had to have been awful.

Well, omelets and eggs.

My people all around me whirled into action, dropping the supplies they were sorting through, bringing up weapons, and swiftly encircling the intruder. Poor guy was surrounded by armed Dark Crusaders before he could see again.

I, however, could only stare. The fellow on the ground in front of me looked a few years younger than myself, shaggy-haired and unkempt. What jumped out at me, though, were the triangular ears poking up through his disheveled mop of hair, and the bushy black tail which protruded behind him.

“Holy shit, it’s a beastfolk.”