The Empress of Beasts, page 87
part #13 of The Wandering Inn Series
“Oh. I am sorry for presuming.”
“Pisces! Apologize to Ksmvr!”
Yvlon shot to her feet. She glared at Pisces. He was flushed as he glared at her. The armored woman narrowed her eyes.
“You’re out of line. Who cares if you’re common-born? You’re overreacting. We know the bounty poster is false. You don’t have to take it out on Ksmvr because you’re embarrassed we know you’re not from an aristocratic house! It doesn’t matter!”
It was the wrong thing to say. Pisces’ eyes widened. He stared at Yvlon for one second and then spoke.
“Spoken like a noble child.”
Yvlon’s cheeks went white. She sat down abruptly and said not a word more. Ceria stared at Pisces. Those cutting words. She clenched her fists.
“You jackass! We put ourselves on the line trying to help you! We’re your team! Don’t we deserve at least some answers—”
“Why? So you can lecture me on how wrong I am? Turn up your nose until you have need of my abilities?”
Pisces whirled on Ceria. She took a step back.
“I—you know Montressa has a reason for her fury! You know that, Pisces! I’m angrier than anyone about what she did! But you have to remember what happened! She does! She broke down when she saw the undead illusion! Pisces! Calvaron and all the others—”
“What of them?”
Ceria had to say it.
“It was your fault they died. It was an accident, but they died. You know why Montressa blames you. I’ve forgiven you. But it was still your fault. If you won’t admit that—you’re every bit the monster that Minotauress called you.”
The table went silent. The room went silent. Everyone stared at Ceria. Pisces looked at her. He was shaking. When he opened his mouth, his voice was wavering. But not with guilt. Not with regret. With pure rage.
“I don’t regret it now. Not at all. I meant every word I said. Calvaron? I don’t even recall his face. I only wish that curse had killed all of Wistram! All of them and—”
Ceria punched him in the face. If it was a movie, it should have been a slap. But Ceria was an adventurer. Pisces’ head jerked back and he stumbled, nearly falling into his chair. Ksmvr caught him, but Pisces struck his hand away. Silently, he looked at Ceria.
She was breathing hard, staring at him, appalled by what she’d done.
“Pisces, I—”
He whirled and strode away. Ceria saw him storming up the stairs to his room. Erin was frozen at the bar. Lyonette stared at Pisces. Mrsha was gone.
In the silence afterwards, Ceria looked at Yvlon and Ksmvr. She worked her mouth silently.
“I—damn it. Dead gods damn it.”
She sat back down. Why did she say it? Now? But Pisces had been—her team sat around her. And the mood in the air was like filth, like bitterness given form. Ceria wanted to go back and break her fist on Montressa and her team. She hated them. Hated Pisces for being him. She sat there—
——
Erin saw it all. And still, she hesitated. She could see herself going over to the team, or following Pisces. And…she had seen it before. She remembered a young woman. Ryoka. But this was even worse. She ached for Pisces. And for the Horns. She tried to do something. But nothing fit.
A square peg in a round hole. Or…a complicated mess that no one shining bullet could solve. Nothing Erin had. She got up, abruptly.
“I’m going out. Lyonette, keep an eye on the inn.”
“Sure. Mrsha? Where’d she go? Mrsha?”
Lyonette looked around distractedly. Her voice was low. Erin walked towards the door. The inn was silent. No one wanted to speak loudly. It was a mood in the air, that even she couldn’t lift. It hung around the Horns of Hammerad, but it hadn’t originated from them.
It spread like rot. They had brought it with them. Wistram’s [Mages]. Montressa’s team. Hatred and anger. Regret. Pain. Suffering. They had brought it out of Ceria and Pisces’ pasts, and what was worse was that there was truth, a reason behind the hatred. Erin walked out of her inn and into Liscor, searching. Feeling it spreading.
The past caught up with the present and brought only misery.
——
“So. It’s true. I heard you were here, but I had to see it to believe it.”
Calruz of Hammerad jerked to wakefulness at the harsh voice. He sat up in his cell. The one-armed Minotaur looked around, blearily, caught off-guard by the voice. It was deep, female. Not like even the female Gnolls. He looked up, blinking in the light coming from the magical barrier of his cell.
And stared. Bezale, the [Spellscribe], stared down at Calruz from across the barrier to his cell. She stood proudly, her robes hanging around her muscular form. Few of Minos were unfit; it was considered a mark of disgrace. She was hardly as trained as a true Minotaur [Warrior]; even in his cell, Calruz was stronger. But she was…whole.
Two arms. And a proud bearing. Her horns wore caps of precious metal. And her eyes flashed with disgust. For him. Calruz stared at her and realized he was on his back. The one-armed Minotaur struggled up.
His two rats, Haldagaz, Vanquisher of Foes, almost pure white and male, and Rhata, Trident-Guardian, the grey female one, crawled up his chest and fled into their bucket-home at the unfamiliar intruder. Calruz sat up, pushing himself up with his arm.
His one arm. The right was gone. Torn away, leaving only a stump. The unknown Minotauress stared at it, dismissively. Calruz’ jaw worked. He couldn’t believe it.
“Who—”
His breath caught. He tried again.
“Who are you?”
“Is that how you greet a Minotaur?”
She snapped at him. The words triggered memory. Calruz blinked. Reflexively, he surged to his feet.
“Calruz of Hammerad. Well met, kindred!”
He held an arm out, as if he could reach through the barrier and grab her arm. The Minotauress stared at him. She spoke slowly.
“Bezale of Maweil.”
She did not greet him. Nor did she make any move. Calruz slowly lowered his arm. Now he was awake, he was confused. And…afraid. Confusion came first. He stared at her.
“Bezale of—it’s been so long since I’ve seen one of our kind. Especially around here! Are you a fellow adventurer? What’s a seafarer from Maweil doing in Liscor?”
Beza ignored his questions. She looked Calruz up and down. He wore ragged pants and a rough tunic, fairly dirty despite Calruz’s attempts to keep it clean, worn from constant use. His fur was matted. She snorted, disgust ringing clear in her words.
“I came to arrest a criminal. And see to the execution of justice. I couldn’t believe it when I heard. One of the House of Minos, losing his mind? Betraying his team? Kidnapping civilians? Murdering them?”
Calruz froze. She knew. And she had come here to judge. He opened his mouth.
“Bezale of Maweil. I have—”
“Be silent. You are a disgrace.”
Calruz closed his mouth. Bezale paced back and forth in front of his cell.
“I couldn’t believe it. One of our kind? Reduced to this? Look at you. You’re more pathetic than I could have imagined. Why are you here? You’ve been judged guilty. Why hasn’t Liscor executed you? You’d be dead in any port of Minos within the day for your crimes! Well? Answer!”
The Minotaur spoke slowly. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe. Explain, though part of him agreed with every word.
“I could have been ensorcelled. I am still not sure if I was—”
“You are not.”
He froze. His heart stopped. Beza looked at him and shook her head.
“I cast [Detect Magic] the instant I saw you. There is none about you, save for the magic in the cell.”
“The Watch Captain of this city believes the spell may be more complex than that. She believes I may be innocent.”
Calruz protested. He watched Beza. She twitched when he mentioned Zevara. What was going on? She glared at him and spat. It hit the barrier and fizzled.
“Excuse. You are a coward who fears death!”
“I do not.”
Calruz’ growled. Even as a captive, even as he was, that stung what remained of his pride. Beza sneered at him.
“You’ve been a prisoner for months! Any self-respecting warrior would have done what’s right. Ensorcelled? By what? You murdered Gnolls. Children. I heard all about your crimes. Because of you, the people of this city feared me.”
The Minotaur [Prisoner] looked down. He clenched his one hand.
“I have no excuse, kindred. But the Watch Captain refuses to grant me death. She believes in me. So I remain.”
“You have no right to call me kindred. And I know what needs to be done.”
Beza’s voice was very cold. She stared at Calruz. She was taller than he was. She nodded down the length of the prison and then stepped forwards. He looked up as she whispered to him.
“I’ll find a way to smuggle in a knife to you. You do the proper thing.”
“But that’s—”
He jerked. She glared at him and pounded a fist on the barrier to his cell. The light flashed, but didn’t even waver.
“That’s the honorable thing to do! You should have done it long ago, coward. Look at you, sleeping with rats? What’s next? I’ll get the knife in. Bribe the guards, perhaps. It won’t take me more than a day or two.”
She turned away dismissively. Calruz stared at her back. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He spoke up, angrily.
“I have a question. Are you an arbiter of the isles? You did not announce yourself as such. Do you have that authority?”
Beza turned. She hesitated, which was answer enough.
“I have the right of every Minos to judge another! I came here because I heard you’d disgraced our kind!”
Calruz’ eyes narrowed. So, not the arbiter he’d feared. Still—a thought occurred to him. He stared at Beza.
“Who did you come here to apprehend?”
She paused. He stared at her.
“Who?”
“Do not make demands of me, traitor.”
She glared at him. But Calruz was unwavering. After a moment, Beza spat.
“A member of your team. Pisces Jealnet. A [Necromancer]. If I thought you could sink no lower, I was wrong. That he claims to be part of a team that calls itself the ‘Horns of Hammerad’? Ludicrous!”
Calruz’s stomach twisted. Pisces? What had he done? No, Ceria had told him something of Pisces’ past. He stepped forwards, towards the magical barrier that kept him caged.
“Did you capture him?”
“We did. But thanks to the laws of this pathetic city he was released. He won’t escape us a second time. Him or the team protecting him.”
Bezale snarled. She was angry. She’d come here angry; Calruz could see it from the red seeping into her eyes. He growled.
“His team? If you touched Ceria Springwalker—”
“You’ll do what?”
Beza stared at Calruz. He didn’t reply. He was breathing hard. Now he understood. Beza spoke slowly.
“I will say this for your honor, Calruz of Hammerad. Kill yourself.”
“No. I do not know that I am guilty. And I will not be judged by you.”
Calruz snarled at her. She’d come for Ceria? Attacking his team? He felt the rage building. Beza snapped at him.
“Coward. You are a coward. Just as much as your team. All of you should have fought to the last in the crypt, instead of fleeing! You, the Antinium, that half-Elf and the broken woman. And the [Necromancer]. All of you are a disgrace.”
The Minotaur saw red. Literally; blood began to fill his gaze. He stepped up to the barrier until he could feel it tingling his muzzle, the fur on his chest. He spoke through the fury building in him.
“Tell me, Bezale of Maweil. How did you win the honor of passage from our home?”
She stared at him.
“I won my right by my skill at magic. By my talent.”
Calruz nodded. Then he reached out. His eyes turned red as he pushed at the magical cell’s barrier with one hand. The magic burned his palm. Beza jerked back. But Calruz didn’t care. The Minotaur raised his voice.
“I won my right by skill at arms! By bravery, by daring! I was an adventurer. And I disgraced myself. I betrayed my team. All this is true. But—”
He stared at her. Calruz gritted his teeth as his palm smoked and burnt.
“But I’d rather sell myself into slavery than take lessons about honor from someone who has no idea what it means to be an adventurer. If you touch Ceria Springwalker, she will break you and whomever you brought with you.”
Beza stared at Calruz, her face twisted with disgust.
“Spoken like the truest of cravens. The House of Minos will hear from me. Hammerad will know their son’s treachery and cowardice!”
She spun. Beza strode from the prison. Calruz bellowed after her, his voice echoing in the prison. The [Guards] rushed forwards, but they stopped when they saw Beza striding away. Calruz stared at Beza until she was out of sight. Then he felt the pain.
His palm was raw, the magic taking it to bits. The Minotaur stopped pushing at the cell wall. He sank to the floor. The pain was there, but it was barely noticeable to him compared to the agony in his heart. He bowed his head.
In the silence, no one made a sound. No one, except for a small, grey shape which crept out of the bucket in the back of the cell. A last Daughter of the Grainsack. The little rat crawled across the floor and up Calruz’s side. She crawled up onto his left arm and sniffed at his raw palm.
The rat wriggled her whiskers as her brother came out of hiding. Calruz stared down at her. He shook his head in silent response to the unspoken query.
“Just a fellow Minotaur, Rhata. She will tell the isles. I wish she had the right to judge. I wish I knew.”
He stroked the little rat’s head. And he refused to listen to the voices that told him to kill it. And his voice, that told him to kill himself.
Misery.
——
Palt, the Centaur [Illusionist], hated his life. He trotted through Liscor, aware that he had tails. Not the one on his behind, but [Guards]. Liscor’s Watch was following him, even after he’d split from Montressa and the others. It wasn’t a good time to be around Montressa, anyways.
She was still mostly incoherent after the illusion the [Necromancer], Pisces, had conjured. Palt was impressed himself; it had been an ugly spell. Isceil and Ulinde were keeping Montressa company in the inn they’d rented and Beza had strode off to do something. Palt was by himself, but he wasn’t alone.
He was talking to someone, using a [Communication] spell. It was advanced stuff, but he was a full [Mage] of Wistram and if he wasn’t specialized in combat magic like his peers, he was well-versed in a number of magics. Right now he was giving a report to someone in Wistram. His superiors. He had no doubt Beza and the others were all doing the same and getting chewed out too.
“Yes, well, she’s too focused on Pisces. I know Wistram is stretched thin trying to follow up on all the leads with the guests, but the Revivalists shouldn’t have pushed to put Montressa in charge of this team. She might be best of all of us, but she’s too young.”
The Centaur listened to the response. He winced, and fumbled for a cigar. No dreamleaf or anything stronger; the Watch had also told him he couldn’t smoke anything illegal—which was practically everything—within Liscor’s walls. Grumpily, the Centaur lit up with a flick of his fingers and replied.
“Yes, of course. Yes, I’ll try—I’m certain. One of the guests. It’s all donkey dung now, though. She’s a close friend of the team we attacked. No, I could not stop it! I’ll try. Yes. Please convey my regards to Master [Phantasmal Trickster].”
The person on the other end, another [Illusionist] in her sixth year he knew, replied shortly.
“I’ll do that. But they’re mad, Palt. Liscor’s considered important and having to send out a bounty and getting in trouble after Tiqr—”
“It’s not my fault! I’m not in charge! Take it up with the Revivalists—they put Montressa in charge! What was I supposed to do?”
“You’re representing our interests. Just try not to break any more laws. And don’t smoke anything in Liscor! Got it?”
Palt paused with the cigar in his lips.
“Of course.”
“You’re smoking something right now, aren’t you? If you get us in trouble, no one’s bailing you out.”
“I’ve got it! Tell Master [Phantasmal Trickster]—”
“I’ll tell them. Just remember what I said.”
“Got it. Bye.”
Palt fell the magic spell dissipate. Grumpily, he trotted faster, smoking hard and muttering under his breath. He could sense his tails moving faster. Gnolls, probably. He hoped they coughed on his cigar smoke.
The Centaur was angry. Angry at Montressa, at that damn Watch Captain who’d had him kicked and beaten up—and at himself for taking this stupid mission. He’d volunteered! What had he been thinking?
He sighed as he puffed away, trotting for the sheer necessity of moving his body. He ignored the Drakes and Gnolls this late at night. He had to think.
His faction had not been pleased with the news and they’d demanded an explanation of the events. They’d bailed him out of course; Wistram didn’t abandon their own, but there would be consequences. Few for Palt for all he’d been involved; he could only imagine what Montressa’s call had been like. But Palt had been reminded of his duties—to Wistram, yes, but to his faction, Ullsinoi, as well.
Some factions in Wistram were small. More like…well, more like entire schools of magic than ideologies like the Revivalists. Palt belonged to a small one, a little under a hundred members, actually. The Ullsinoi faction wasn’t huge, but they had clout where it mattered.
They were also very secretive, made up almost entirely of the illusion school of magic. It gave their [Mages]…peculiarities, especially in how they interacted. For instance, Palt didn’t even know half of the names of the master [Illusionists] in his faction. You just referred to them by nicknames, or classes, like his own master, Master [Phantasmal Trickster]. Palt didn’t even know the gender of his master, if they even had one. They liked to change their illusion and theirs was so complete Palt still couldn’t see through them.
