Chapter 13

Lady Ferranda Villazur, wide awake and miffed at rats invading her camp, pointed her pistol at him.

Though she must be a decent shot, Tristan was more worried by Sanale carefully aiming his long-barrelled musket. Malani had a reputation for being good shots and the same was true of huntsmen: a man who was both was not to be trifled with. Pressing his knife tighter against Lan’s throat, he forced her to stand between him and the threats.

“Muzzles down,” Tristan ordered, “or I slit her throat.”

Ferranda, seemingly more at ease in hunting leathers than she had ever been on the Bluebell, laughed in his face.

“Go ahead,” the infanzon said. “She’s not one of ours.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Tristan admitted.

“Right?” Lan complained. “And here I’d thought we were getting along.”

The surviving twin had yet to even struggle against his grasp, not seeming terribly concerned with being his hostage.

“This doesn’t need to turn violent,” Sarai called out. “We didn’t come here to fight.”

He noted with approval that she still moved to get part of Lan in between her and the potential shots.

“Walk away,” Sanale replied, “and there will be no fight.”

The tall Malani had not moved an inch since shouldering his musket, barely even blinking, but Tristan could not afford to keep his eyes on him: Ferranda was beginning to slowly inch left, towards a better angle of fire.

“We can’t do that,” Tristan said.

He took a half step back, moving to keep Lan in the way of both Ferranda and Sanale, and the infanzona stopped trying to flank him. For now.

“As a neutral and unconcerned party,” Lan opined, “I believe we should come to a peaceful resolution.”

She was unanimously ignored.

“We found this place first,” Ferranda told him. “By right it is ours to use.”

“The temple upstairs isn’t fit for sleeping,” Tristan replied. “The stink is unbearable and there’s no door to keep creatures out – if the choice is between you and crocodiles in my bedroll, I’ll take my chances here.”

He meant it too. It might be best to feign backing down first so they could come back in a while with more muscle, but the thief would not risk sleeping upstairs. Ferranda hesitated, which was unflattering to her stout face: she looked like she was biting down on a twig. She then shared a long look with her hired hand, who eventually nodded.

“We still have first claim,” Ferranda said. “If you want to use this place, your group will have to pay in supplies.”

Group, she had said, which meant she knew it was not only he and Sarai. Tristan spared a moment to glare at a cheerfully unrepentant Lan. She had wasted no time in selling information on them all.

“I even gave them my best guess about your contract for free,” she smilingly whispered. “Because fuck you, Tristan. Did you think I’d let you threaten me without paying for it?”

“That’s fair,” the thief conceded.

He was not offended by the sale on moral grounds, only irritated by the inconvenience of it.

“Do we have a bargain, Tristan?” Ferranda Villazur pressed.

He was still hesitating when Sarai brushed past him, coming fully into the fire’s light and exaggeratedly putting away her knife.

“In principle we agree,” she said. “Now let us talk specifics.”

Ferranda’s face tightened at the sight of the pale skin and Sanale moved his muzzle to aim at her without even realizing it, but when Tristan released a still-smiling Lan the tension released.

“You heard her,” Tristan said. “Let’s haggle.”

—

A day’s worth of rations each, cut in half for all those who would keep watch – which was, in practice, all of them. That was how much they’d pay. Sarai also got the pair to agree that their company could earn back more of the fee through chores: tending the fire, cooking, mending and washing clothes. There was some discontent among their group at the prospect of playing servants to the pair when they outnumbered them so, but sheer exhaustion saw to it no one refused the terms. Some among them might have accepting cutting off a finger for a good night’s sleep in a safe place.

The shrine itself was much too small to accommodate everyone – counting Ferranda and the huntsman, they now numbered ten – so most of them ended up spreading their bedroll right outside it. A round of introductions began then was aborted halfway through when it came out Lan was also here, few taking the revelation of her presence well. By the time tempers had cooled no one was in a mood for talk, so instead they went to sleep.

It was much refreshed that Tristan woke up that afternoon, most the other still sleeping. Yong was seated by the fire with Sanale, the two men talking in low voices as they gestured, and not far from them Vanesa was slowly and carefully plucking feathers off a freshly killed bird. Two more were waiting. The thief watched the careful way she moved, realizing she was trying to learn how to compensate for her missing eye. With everyone else asleep – save for Lan and Ferranda, who were missing – he decided he might as well help her. The discussion between the other seemed too involved to welcome a third.

Wordlessly he picked up another of the bird, some grey-feathered thing about the size of a duck, and got to plucking. Even missing an eye Vanesa was going faster than him, which had her smiling.

“Practice,” she excused him.

She adjusted her glasses on her face, after. Se was forever fiddling with them since the gravebird had ripped through glass and wire to get at her eye. The frame was bent and dug into the side of her head, but it was either that or not seeing much of anything.

“I don’t eat a lot of bird,” Tristan conceded.

Pork was cheaper. You could feed a pig damn near anything and they were much harder to steal than chickens – there was a reason they were the staple meat of the Murk.

“They are one of the only things I can cook,” Vanesa smiled. “My mother despaired I avoided the kitchen, but at least I learned her almond sauce recipe before she passed.”

“You worked, then,” the thief said.

“I am a clockmaker,” the old woman said, then grimaced and reached for the cloth covering her missing eye. “Or I was, at least. I am not sure I could do detail work anymore.”

Ah, Tristan thought. And there was the mystery of how she had afforded her pocketwatch and her glasses solved. Not only was clockmaking a lucrative trade, she worked with watches and lenses. A cobbler never went barefoot. It did not explain what a woman of her age and means was doing on the Dominion, but that mystery was being chipped away at slowly but surely. The thief decided to let the matter lie for now, as obtaining the story there was more a matter of curiosity than need, but Vanesa surprised.

“You must be wondering how I ended up here,” the old woman knowingly said.

“The question has crossed my mind,” Tristan admitted.

“You’re such a polite boy,” Vanesa chuckled, shaking her head. “It is no great secret, I don’t mind telling you.”

She plucked out another feather, dropping it to flutter.

“My son is in debt to the Menor Mano,” Vanesa said. “Enough he was never going to dig himself out, so they decided to send him here as payment. Only his leg was crippled, Tristan, so he was sure to die.”

The thief grimaced. This was an ugly story and he could already tell how it would end.

“I offered to go in his place,” the old woman said. “My husband is gone and tinkering no longer brings me the joy it used to. Better to spare my only son than spend my last years withering on the vine.”

He offered her a sad smile, at a loss of what to say. Was such a sacrifice to be praised? Tristan was not so sure. It was an act of love, but the man saved did not sound deserving of it. How long would it take before he frittered away his mother’s sacrifice?

“You are kind, listening to me ramble like this,” Vanesa said, patting his arm. “Doing so much to keep us alive when some of us are so little help.”

She sighed tiredly, leaning back.

“Do not let the trials burn it out of you,” she sleepily said.

And Tristan felt a sliver of shame, because he was not kind at all. Even as she had talked, part of him had been more concerned with the puzzle than the woman. The same part that’d noted the Menor Mano had sent in two souls this year – Ocotlan, that large Aztlan, had been a legbreaker for them – and wondered if there was anything there he could use.

They plucked the rest of the birds in silence, and when he left afterwards it felt a little like fleeing.

—

By afternoon’s end everyone was awake and the cave had turned bustling.

Lanterns were fully unveiled as everyone busied themselves: clothes were washed and mended, wounds seen to and there was haggling over the fresh meat and use of the fire for cooking. Their refuge had turned into a smallest of villages, a happy one now that everyone was rested and fed, but Tristan knew it would not last. Already Felis was growing prickly, though never when Yong and Sanale were looking, and Lan had somehow charmed Vanesa into speaking with her again. Tristan washed and mended his clothes, leaving them to dry as he sat in little more than a shirt and underclothes.

The currents were plain to see. Aines was furious at her husband for the glances he kept throwing at Lan, who would no doubt fork over some dust by day’s end to get a leash on the man again. Vanesa was too bloodied and exhausted to do much of anything, and whenever Francho wasn’t coughing in a corner he was peering at the carvings to the left shrine entrance – which was irritating Felis, whose bedroll was near there. Ferranda had begun speaking with a surprised Sarai, who warmed to her before long. Much as Tristan would have liked to eavesdrop on that conversation, he had thinking to do.

They needed to cross the forest and bridge to get to the Trial of Ruins, and the obstacles in the way were greater than anticipated. His bet with the Red Eye warbands, that they would be split between the bridges and could be tricked through this, seemed to have paid off. It was the heliodoran beast he’d not counted on, and it made everything harder to predict. Men he could guess at, but beasts? He could not be sure when the monster would decide to wander off, what was keeping it here in the first place and how the cultists would react to its presence.

They were still around, Sanale had seen their warbands searching the tall grass when he went out hunting, but the Malani could only speak to the surroundings of the temple. He had, wisely, not gone further than that. Meanwhile the bridge was in the woods, further north. Were there cultists there as well, or had the heliodoran beast driven them all off? Would the warbands in the grass immediately head for the bridge when the lemure left, were they already clearing out west towards the other bridge? Too many questions he did not have answers to.

Instead of giving in to frustration, he followed Abuela’s lessons and instead attended to unknowns he could find the answer to. There was not mending his medicine cabinet, not with the tools on hand, but the thief set about taking inventory of what remained usable and fixing it up enough it wouldn’t spill everything out. Tristan had already taken a first look when seeing to wounds earlier, but a closer look gave grim answers. Most of what he had left were poisons, which had been kept deepest in: white arsenic, antimony, mandrake and volcian yew. The lodestone extract remained, as did the bearded cat extracts. Neither were mortal, the bearded cat being a mushroom whose extract caused violent bursts of madness in those who partook of it.

Aside from these, he only had the distilled alcohol and the medical turpentine he’d been using to treat his burns.

There was only so much he might accomplish with these. Putting his entire supply of volcian yew in a corpse might possibly inconvenience a beast the size of the airavatan if it ate it – the substance was a poison meant for lemures and lares – but it would not kill it. None of his other poisons would affect it all that much. He was unsure if the lodestone extract would have any effect, since he could not recall seeing a nose on the lemure, and the creature was already blood-mad so there was hardly a point to the bearded cat extract. He could spare neither the alcohol nor the turpentine.

“You’re pouting,” Fortuna teased.

So much activity in such close quarters had mercifully seen to it she did not need further entertainment. Being overly nosy tended to make up swaths of her day no matter where they were.

“I am low on tools,” Tristan murmured back.

And thinking about this wrong, he realized as his eyes moved to the others in the cavern. He did not need to attract the heliodoran beast directly when he could rely on someone else doing so. Dosing Ferranda Villazur with lodestone extract just before they parted ways was likely his best bet: killing the other lemures the scent would attract had a decent choice of attracting the greater monster. Meanwhile their own group could make a run for the bridge and gamble on the cultists not having returned to hold it yet. The issue, he figured, was that Lan might have revealed he had pulled this very trick on the infanzones already. If the pair were watching for it and caught him, the potential blowback could get him killed.

He needed to have a talk with Lan.

“And not paying enough attention,” Fortuna told him. “Sarai’s been whispering with that noble in a corner for half an hour now.”

And that, Tristan thought, might be a problem. When he turned to have a look at the two of them he found that Sarai was rising to her feet. Her gaze swept the cavern, lingering on him, and his stomach dropped. He could see where this was headed already. His companion did not waste much time, sparing only an amused look for the way he was sitting on his knees in his underclothes.

“We should talk,” Sarai told him. “Yong too.”

Tristan nodded, telling her he wanted to dress first to buy himself some time. Yong had struck a quick friendship with Sanale, which was good for them but less so for Tristan. He could guess which way the Tianxi would be leaning in the conversation to come. The five of them squeezed in around the small fire, given the run of the shrine by the others – Lan’s sly offer to tend the flames for them was politely refused – for at least a little while.

“I have been speaking with Sarai,” Lady Ferranda said, “and it appears both our groups are intending to make for the eastern bridge.”

Their plans had hardly been a secret and even if they had been Lan would already have sold them. Tristan had anticipated that Ferranda Villazur would learn this, that much was no surprise. What he had not anticipated was that an infanzona would deign to talk to a pale-skinned foreigner, getting a hook in one of the three people needing convincing before their groups could ally.

“It would only be sensible to attempt the crossing together,” Sarai said. “Between the cultists and the heliodoran beast, we need all the help we can get.”

Sanale met his employer’s gaze for a moment, then turned and shrugged his agreement. A glance at Yong’s face told Tristan that the Tianxi was about to agree.

“That may not be wise,” he slid in before Yong could speak. “A large group will make noise and draw attention.”

“I hardly think,” Ferranda wryly said, “that it will be us two making that noise.”

Yes, Tristan thought, but if you come with us I cannot use you as a distraction. His was a poor argument and he knew it, so he turned the talk around instead.

“It is true, the two of you would have a better chance of sneaking through alone,” the thief said. “Which has me wondering what you gain by joining us.”

If he could not defend, best to make the enemy do so instead. The Malani huntsman fixed him with a flat stare, his bead-covered coat open at the front.

“Blades and powder,” Sanale bluntly replied.

The thief almost grimaced. He’d lost that in a single exchange. Finesse could only get you so far against pure candour.

“Sarai is right, Tristan,” Yong cut in. “We need the help: I want two more sword arms with us if we stumble into a warband.”

And with Yong finally coming down on the side of the alliance, it was finished. Tristan did not rule their company, and though he was one of its leading figures so were the other two. If they agreed, there was little he could do except leave. Continuing to struggle would only lessen him in the eyes of the others, so it was best to capitulate and move on. At least he could try to wheedle information out of this.

“Then it is settled,” the thief said, shrugging his shoulders. “We make common cause to cross the bridge.”

Sarai nodded at him, pleased, and Yong only looked bemused he’d not agreed from the start. It was true that on the face of the alliance was a net benefit: their group had numbers, but they needed fighters. Meanwhile the pair had fighters but needed numbers, enough that they could not simply be overwhelmed by the hollows if they were caught by a warband. It was all too pretty, ever a sign that the story was yet young. Tristan did not doubt for a moment that Ferranda Villazur would sacrifice them the moment it gained her an edge, but that was fine.

He just had to do it to her first.

“In the spirit of friendship,” Sarai said, “Lady Ferranda has agreed to share information about the state of the trials for us.”

Ah, Tristan thought. So that was what she had bartered for when whispering with the infanzona in a corner.

“We encountered Lady Inyoni’s company before they went to fight their way through the western bridge,” Ferranda told them. “They had taken wounds and one of their number was lost.”

That was a surprise. Inyoni had been a grizzled old killer, a veteran, and the rest of her crew well-armed. Two more Malani of wealthy birth, a pair of Ramayans that’d proved skillful and that bland Aztlan woman made for an impressive crew, perhaps the finest fighting force to emerge from those brought by the Bluebell. That this was even doubt could be explained by two words: Angharad Tredegar.

“Lemures?” Tristan asked.

“Cultists,” the infanzona solemnly replied, shaking her head, “but they did not strike alone. Tupoc Xical and his three lackeys were with them.”

A round of grimaces followed that. Lan’s prediction that Tupoc meant to hunt them proving true was grim news.

“Their group rushed straight down the road,” Yong finally said. “They must have been the easiest to find.”

The blonde noble shook her head.

“That had been my guess as well, but Lady Inyoni is no fool: they took a detour west to shake pursuers,” Ferranda said. “It was on their way back to the road that they were attacked.”

Tristan frowned.

“Then how did the cultists find them?” he asked.

It would have been open grounds Inyoni’s travelled, but though darklings could see better in the dark – and some colours were known only to their kind – their sight was not perfect. A small group taking an indirect route would not have been easy to find.

“A tracking contract,” Sanale said.

Was that a sliver of disdain in the huntsman’s voice? Professional pride from a tracker, perhaps.

“It belongs to Lady Acanthe Phos, the pockmarked girl from Asphodel,” Ferranda continued. “Lady Inyoni’s nephew learned this through his own contract, but with Lan’s help I believe we learned how her contract functions.”

Tristan had been given the same information they had and found it was not much of a leap to make.

“Ash and bone,” he said. “Perhaps all human remains? Acanthe can track them once she has touched them, or something close to that.”

Ferranda nodded.

“I imagine they intrigued to plant ash on all of the groups,” she said. “I am surprised yours was not attacked.”

As was he, since theirs was the most vulnerable by far. Tupoc would not have been able to hit them immediately, he would need to first find the Red Eye cult and strike his bargain, but once he had they would have been the natural target. Their crew had been behind Inyoni’s, which had been the first to leave, and high in numbers while low on fighters. Perfect fodder for sacrifice. So why had Tupoc not focused his efforts on them? Perhaps he had not been able to.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Almost none of them had stood anywhere near Acanthe Phos, Tristan noted as he tried to recall their early days of the trial. And almost all of them had a single bag and bedroll, it would have been harder to hide a piece of bone there than within the bags of larger groups. As for ash…

It occurred to Tristan, then, that he had passed some time walking besides Acanthe Phos and she had even once taken his arm. There was some kind of dust on the back of my sleeve, the thief suddenly remembered. Vanesa had thought it dust and soot when she cleaned his coat, but the lighting had been poor. It might well have been ash. The older woman had rid his arm of it quite thoroughly, though, and with a shiver the thief realized that Vanesa’s small act of motherly kindness might just have saved all their lives.

“We must,” he forced out, “have gotten lucky.”

Ferranda’s brow rose.

“The Manes were with you, then.”

Not eager to linger on how close they might just have come to getting killed, Tristan cleared his throat.

“Who was it that Inyoni’s crew lost, if I may ask?” he asked.

“Her nephew’s lover, the girl called Ayanda,” the infanzona said. “He was quite distraught over the loss.”

That the two younger Malani had been lovers was not something he had known, but neither was it a surprise. She had obviously not been kin to them, and there were only so many other things she could be.

“They were lucky only one died,” Tristan said.

There Ferranda scowled.

“We do not know for certain she is dead,” the blonde said. “Lady Inyoni said that hollows were careful to take her alive.”

“The Watch warned us,” Sanale evenly said. “They want sacrifices.”

Better she had died, Tristan thought, than whatever the cult of the Red Eye had in store for her. Poor girl. Yong, though sympathetic, kept the conversation moving.

“Do you know if they crossed the bridge successfully?” he asked.

“They did,” Ferranda said. “We held back and watched. Only there was trouble: they struck the cultists guarding it by surprise, but the fighting drew the heliodoran beast.”

Tristan blinked.

“Then they are all dead,” he slowly said.

“Before it could reach them, the beast fell into confusion,” the infanzona said. “The cultists scattered in fright and Lady Inyoni’s group fled north.”

Yong let out a low whistle.

“That sounds,” he said, “like a very dangerous contract. Do you know whose?”

Sanale shook his head.

“We were far,” he said.

Tristan’s interest, however, had been caught by another detail.

“The beast,” he said, “did it seem lethargic?”

Was this the contract that had been used on him when an attempt was made to frame him for Jun’s murder? The infanzona shrugged.

“As Sanale said,” she replied, “we were far. I can only tell you that when it came out of the daze and found no one around, it fell into a great rage.”

The noblewoman leaned forward.

“And as it rampaged, it shook the earth so strongly that the bridge collapsed,” Ferranda said.

Fuck, Tristan thought. The bet he’d thought had come true had, in a way: in reverse. Instead of the absence of people trying to cross the eastern bridge driving the hollow there to head west, it would be the other way around. All the warbands that had been prowling around the western bridge would be headed this way even as they spoke. Fuck, he thought again. No wonder Villazur had been so eager to make an alliance with them even when she had evidently split from the rest of the infanzones. The infanzone knew she needed to cross as soon as possible. The longer they waited, the more cultists would arrive.

Turning on the pair was no longer feasible, he decided. He must act accordingly.

“When the beast wandered off,” he said, “did it appear to be tracking the cultists who fled?”

Ferranda Villazur narrowed her eyes at him.

“It moved in the same direction as one of their groups,” she acknowledged, then her face hardened. “Are you perhaps thinking of using lodestone extract?”

There was a flat, accusatory note at the end. So Lan had talked. Ferranda’s displeasure was understandable: she had been among those his ploy was to burn, or perhaps even had burned. Regardless, Tristan met her brown eyes without shame.

“There is nothing to fear from me this time, Villazur,” he replied. “You are no longer attempting to use us as bait.”

He had acted out of vengeance, it was true, but also out of practicality. The infanzona’s lips thinned in anger, but she did not argue the point. They had owed each other nothing and it was not her the trick had been aimed at. Yong’s back had gone straight and his own gaze at the noblewoman was unimpressed, so Tristan was not without support.

“Airavatan see odours,” Sanale brusquely said. “It could work.”