Chief Flame Sergeant Osric Melkire sat at his desk in his quarters. He leaned back in his chair and held up the vial to the light once more, turning it this way and that between his fingers as he stared at the green fluid within.
What is it? What's it for? Why does she need it mass-produced, if it's not meant for the masses? What does he expect me to do with this? Why didn't I just ask him?
He knew why he hadn't asked. Asking would have meant knowing. Without knowing, he wasn't obligated to follow any particular course of action. Without obligation, he was free.Â
Ignorance could be a wonderful thing, at times.
He couldn't help but be unnerved, however, at the unexpected reveal of yet another vial, yet another concoction. Garleans... he shook his head. Clearly, Garlemald had no shortage of ingenuity when it came to death-dealing. First, there'd been the Blue Blood....
He grimaced, remembering the sight of her hand a few suns ago, her palm sliced open down the middle, blood oozing out... red and blue.
First, there'd been the Blue Blood. The refugees outside the Gates had been hit first, and hit hardest. Then Jin'li had come to him, bearing his latest master's "gift".
Three vials of black fluid. Three lifelines. In the spirit of fair play.
He remembered wondering whether Rema knew how to count. Kahn'a, Kanaria, Askier, and himself. That made four. Not one or two or three, but four. Four vials, for four individuals.
Instead? Three.
That bitch, making him choose. As if there'd been any choice at all; he'd given the others theirs, and he'd gone without. Trusted the alchemist closest to his heart to come through, to make more. Trusted her to not fail.
She hadn't. The "cure", if that's what it was, had been replicated. He'd passed off one of the new vials to the Hall. The Flames were still struggling with mass production and circulation; apparently, synthesizing the damned thing wasn't easy.
Meanwhile, people kept falling dead on the streets.
Meanwhile...
He grit his teeth and sat up, the front legs of his chair slamming down on the cold stone floor with a loud thud.
Garleans. This all came back around to Garleans. First, there'd been Askier... but Askier'd been nothing but a pawn under Jin'li. Jin'li, who worked for Adin. Adin, who had died on Pearl Lane alongside his precious slave-servant. Adin had perished... but Jin'li had survived having a sword thrust through his chest. Had somehow survived what should have been an irrefutably fatal and mortal blow, just as he'd somehow survived having his throat slit back in La Noscea.
Jin'li had gone on to serve Rema, one of Adin's subordinates. Rema had become his new master... and Rema was "kind". Kind enough to opt for a different kind of warfare, the kind that left men, women, and children gasping for air. Kind enough to leave him and his friends for last.
Matters had been bad enough, but then Jin'l... the servant, the slave, the tool... Jin'li turned in Rema's hand. He delivered her head to Kanaria. In a jar. As a "gift". Because he was "kind". He had access to and control over Rema's resources, now. And if the latest news on that front was any indication, he'd gone mad. Thought he was yet serving both his former masters, that they spoke to him from beyond the grave, from Thal's domain.
A few nights ago, the albino had held a gun to Kanaria's head.
In Osric's mind, the Miqo'te known as Jin'li Epinoch wasn't long for this world.
That was just the one front, though. The other was Taeros. Jameson Taeros was an inspector and the go-to lackey for the Monetarist faction. He'd been working with Delial... and if Delial was to be believed, he worked for a woman named Banurein. Banurein, who was hiding amongst the Exiles.
Garleans. Garleans everywhere he turned. Weeds, most of them, in need of uprooting.
Delial....
"Delial... is a rotting apple. But mayhap at times you'll find one what with parts that can be salvaged."
"But how do you distinguish something salvagable from something that's not?"
The sergeant smirked at the man seated across from him. "You cut into it and take a look, of course."
"Come on, Osric", the other said with a smirk of his own. "The metaphor breaks down. I know a man who could cut into you in such a way that you'd tell us your own mother was a Garlean. I need something more than that..."
"And you'll have it, if there's something to be had. That, and the proof."
C'kayah Tia looked at him with a smug smile and a satisfied glint in his eye, then he nodded.
He slid the vial back into the wooden rack on his desk and stood up. He turned to stare at the chalkboard hanging on the far wall and at the notes he'd written down on it earlier this sun. Delial... who worked for Banurein and wanted out. Banurein... underneath whom squirmed the lives of three Brass Blades and a hero of the Ala Mhigan Resistance.
Natalie, who had hired Askier to kidnap Roen as leverage against Gharen. Kage, who'd yet again chosen to follow the wrong role model like a lovestruck pup. Roen, who'd been taken by Askier... and by Crimson Mountain. Gharen, who'd been rescued mere bells ago from the harshest pit the Blades had.
The only reason that he, Melkire, had managed to stay ahead was something he truly believed Natalie didn't understand.
Trust.
He'd built himself a network on the theory that a group of competent professionals could be trusted as informants given the right incentive. Each individual had their price: purpose... redemption... opportunity.... He'd handed out pearls as if they'd been as hot as somnus, but only to those he had vetted personally and deemed worth the risk.
That was how he'd known that Natalie and Taeros had met earlier that sun on Pearl Lane. How he'd known that the former 'sworn were on the move. How he'd known that Kiryuu was looking for him.
Aldyet, Alexei, and Ser Crofte had been invaluable that night.
Ser Crofte... he frowned at the white marks upon the black field. Â
Osric Melkire reached up to his ear as he left Wolfsong behind with the two Miqo'te, as he hit the road that led towards Scorpion's Crossing, as the 'sworn lady fell into step behind him.
"We're leavin' the site."
"Da," came Volkov's voice over the linkshell. "Vill deal vith guards vhen are far enough avay."
He let his hand drop from the small green linkpearl lodged in his ear canal, let his hand drop to his side as they walked in silence through the Crossing. He only spoke up once they neared the Gate of the Sultana.
"So... apologies, but you needed to see."
"See what, exactly?"
"Her. How she is, lately."
There was a moment of silence as they ascended the Eighty Sins of Sasamo.
"Did she murder those guards?"
"...no. She had Kage do it. Because she slipped and spoke his name."
"...and he just fell right in line. No better than the one who gave the order. Though at least he had the courage to carry through."Â
He hesitated... then nodded. The disturbing similarity between their positions... his and Nat's... hadn't escaped him. Had it escaped Ser Crofte?
"Y'understand, then," he asked.Â
"Aye."
Clearly, it had. He was starting to grow sick and tired of dealing with incompetent Sultansworn. Then again... maybe she was just green. Maybe she was still growing into it.
Suddenly, Tabitha's face in his mind's eye, her voice in his ear as she read to him. Stories of knights and princesses and dragons....
He turned to face Crofte as they passed through the Gate of the Sultana.
"Well. I'm accountable now. You heard what I told Alexei to do."
She just stood there. Crossed her arms. Stared at him. Spoke.
"I heard many things tonight, Ser. Â Of course, sometimes the wind does blow into my ear."
He sighed in relief. At least with this one, he'd started off on the right foot. Mayhap things would be different, this time around.
He'd be hedging his bets regardless.
"Thank you, Ser."
He gave her the standard salute, which she returned promptly.
"Just let me know when we sail."
"Will do."
He turned left, headed towards the Hall.
She turned right, headed for the Palace.
He shook his head, here, now. Turned on his heel and walked out of his quarters. He needed to speak with Od'hilkas.
Osric Melkire was done with training recruits. He'd found something better to do.
What is it? What's it for? Why does she need it mass-produced, if it's not meant for the masses? What does he expect me to do with this? Why didn't I just ask him?
He knew why he hadn't asked. Asking would have meant knowing. Without knowing, he wasn't obligated to follow any particular course of action. Without obligation, he was free.Â
Ignorance could be a wonderful thing, at times.
He couldn't help but be unnerved, however, at the unexpected reveal of yet another vial, yet another concoction. Garleans... he shook his head. Clearly, Garlemald had no shortage of ingenuity when it came to death-dealing. First, there'd been the Blue Blood....
He grimaced, remembering the sight of her hand a few suns ago, her palm sliced open down the middle, blood oozing out... red and blue.
First, there'd been the Blue Blood. The refugees outside the Gates had been hit first, and hit hardest. Then Jin'li had come to him, bearing his latest master's "gift".
Three vials of black fluid. Three lifelines. In the spirit of fair play.
He remembered wondering whether Rema knew how to count. Kahn'a, Kanaria, Askier, and himself. That made four. Not one or two or three, but four. Four vials, for four individuals.
Instead? Three.
That bitch, making him choose. As if there'd been any choice at all; he'd given the others theirs, and he'd gone without. Trusted the alchemist closest to his heart to come through, to make more. Trusted her to not fail.
She hadn't. The "cure", if that's what it was, had been replicated. He'd passed off one of the new vials to the Hall. The Flames were still struggling with mass production and circulation; apparently, synthesizing the damned thing wasn't easy.
Meanwhile, people kept falling dead on the streets.
Meanwhile...
He grit his teeth and sat up, the front legs of his chair slamming down on the cold stone floor with a loud thud.
Garleans. This all came back around to Garleans. First, there'd been Askier... but Askier'd been nothing but a pawn under Jin'li. Jin'li, who worked for Adin. Adin, who had died on Pearl Lane alongside his precious slave-servant. Adin had perished... but Jin'li had survived having a sword thrust through his chest. Had somehow survived what should have been an irrefutably fatal and mortal blow, just as he'd somehow survived having his throat slit back in La Noscea.
Jin'li had gone on to serve Rema, one of Adin's subordinates. Rema had become his new master... and Rema was "kind". Kind enough to opt for a different kind of warfare, the kind that left men, women, and children gasping for air. Kind enough to leave him and his friends for last.
Matters had been bad enough, but then Jin'l... the servant, the slave, the tool... Jin'li turned in Rema's hand. He delivered her head to Kanaria. In a jar. As a "gift". Because he was "kind". He had access to and control over Rema's resources, now. And if the latest news on that front was any indication, he'd gone mad. Thought he was yet serving both his former masters, that they spoke to him from beyond the grave, from Thal's domain.
A few nights ago, the albino had held a gun to Kanaria's head.
In Osric's mind, the Miqo'te known as Jin'li Epinoch wasn't long for this world.
That was just the one front, though. The other was Taeros. Jameson Taeros was an inspector and the go-to lackey for the Monetarist faction. He'd been working with Delial... and if Delial was to be believed, he worked for a woman named Banurein. Banurein, who was hiding amongst the Exiles.
Garleans. Garleans everywhere he turned. Weeds, most of them, in need of uprooting.
Delial....
"Delial... is a rotting apple. But mayhap at times you'll find one what with parts that can be salvaged."
"But how do you distinguish something salvagable from something that's not?"
The sergeant smirked at the man seated across from him. "You cut into it and take a look, of course."
"Come on, Osric", the other said with a smirk of his own. "The metaphor breaks down. I know a man who could cut into you in such a way that you'd tell us your own mother was a Garlean. I need something more than that..."
"And you'll have it, if there's something to be had. That, and the proof."
C'kayah Tia looked at him with a smug smile and a satisfied glint in his eye, then he nodded.
He slid the vial back into the wooden rack on his desk and stood up. He turned to stare at the chalkboard hanging on the far wall and at the notes he'd written down on it earlier this sun. Delial... who worked for Banurein and wanted out. Banurein... underneath whom squirmed the lives of three Brass Blades and a hero of the Ala Mhigan Resistance.
Natalie, who had hired Askier to kidnap Roen as leverage against Gharen. Kage, who'd yet again chosen to follow the wrong role model like a lovestruck pup. Roen, who'd been taken by Askier... and by Crimson Mountain. Gharen, who'd been rescued mere bells ago from the harshest pit the Blades had.
The only reason that he, Melkire, had managed to stay ahead was something he truly believed Natalie didn't understand.
Trust.
He'd built himself a network on the theory that a group of competent professionals could be trusted as informants given the right incentive. Each individual had their price: purpose... redemption... opportunity.... He'd handed out pearls as if they'd been as hot as somnus, but only to those he had vetted personally and deemed worth the risk.
That was how he'd known that Natalie and Taeros had met earlier that sun on Pearl Lane. How he'd known that the former 'sworn were on the move. How he'd known that Kiryuu was looking for him.
Aldyet, Alexei, and Ser Crofte had been invaluable that night.
Ser Crofte... he frowned at the white marks upon the black field. Â
Osric Melkire reached up to his ear as he left Wolfsong behind with the two Miqo'te, as he hit the road that led towards Scorpion's Crossing, as the 'sworn lady fell into step behind him.
"We're leavin' the site."
"Da," came Volkov's voice over the linkshell. "Vill deal vith guards vhen are far enough avay."
He let his hand drop from the small green linkpearl lodged in his ear canal, let his hand drop to his side as they walked in silence through the Crossing. He only spoke up once they neared the Gate of the Sultana.
"So... apologies, but you needed to see."
"See what, exactly?"
"Her. How she is, lately."
There was a moment of silence as they ascended the Eighty Sins of Sasamo.
"Did she murder those guards?"
"...no. She had Kage do it. Because she slipped and spoke his name."
"...and he just fell right in line. No better than the one who gave the order. Though at least he had the courage to carry through."Â
He hesitated... then nodded. The disturbing similarity between their positions... his and Nat's... hadn't escaped him. Had it escaped Ser Crofte?
"Y'understand, then," he asked.Â
"Aye."
Clearly, it had. He was starting to grow sick and tired of dealing with incompetent Sultansworn. Then again... maybe she was just green. Maybe she was still growing into it.
Suddenly, Tabitha's face in his mind's eye, her voice in his ear as she read to him. Stories of knights and princesses and dragons....
He turned to face Crofte as they passed through the Gate of the Sultana.
"Well. I'm accountable now. You heard what I told Alexei to do."
She just stood there. Crossed her arms. Stared at him. Spoke.
"I heard many things tonight, Ser. Â Of course, sometimes the wind does blow into my ear."
He sighed in relief. At least with this one, he'd started off on the right foot. Mayhap things would be different, this time around.
He'd be hedging his bets regardless.
"Thank you, Ser."
He gave her the standard salute, which she returned promptly.
"Just let me know when we sail."
"Will do."
He turned left, headed towards the Hall.
She turned right, headed for the Palace.
He shook his head, here, now. Turned on his heel and walked out of his quarters. He needed to speak with Od'hilkas.
Osric Melkire was done with training recruits. He'd found something better to do.
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
