Chapter 009

The learning only ends when you die. When is up to you.

“Bring us the survivor, woman!”

The streets were slick with rain, lit only by the dim haze of false dawn. Adhira yawned alongside Sejal, blocking a trio of burly mercenaries from entering the moss-strewn courtyard. Behind them, the house they were renting stood tall against the night. The family was off in an adjacent building. Adhira could still see the younger girls peeking at them from the shutters, likely awakened by the mercenaries’ racket.

The pale cloaks stood in the shadows cast by the gate, far enough that her axe couldn’t reach them easily. I’d have to take a step, angle from the side to keep their sword arms tangled. Capable as they appeared, they’d get off a strike or two before she could reposition, but Adhira could take the abuse. Her armor would protect her from the worst of it.

Battlefield estimations were a delicate art. It was impossible to tell the Depth of someone, but the Hollow Hold taught her the most common signs: a look to the eyes, steady breathing, and a distinct presence of tension across their shoulders and hips. It wasn’t indolence, but a comfort in tense situations.

They were grizzled to a man, but two of them were shifting on their heels. Still, their rough demeanor reminded Adhira uncomfortably of the bandits they’d met on the way north. It put her hackles up.

A thin man, sharpened like a razor, was the apparent leader. He toyed with the hilt at the sword at his waist. “You deaf? We won’t ask twice.”

Adhira smiled and adjusted the grip on her ax. The triple heads of it were dull in the dark, but the reservoir was three-quarters full. It was ready. “Who’re you to demand anything?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a parent pull the little girls from the window. Good. They shouldn’t see this.

Sajel adjusted herself, moving only a half step forward but effectively shielding Adhira from the mercenaries. I don’t need your protection here, Steward.

The thin man eyed her guardian before spitting to the side. “You’re interfering with a chartered expedition—”

“Under whose authority?”

“None of your business, lady.”

“If you cannot name your charter, then I assume it is false, and you hold no more sway than a dockyard drunkard.”

“Listen here, hag—” The thicker of the three mercenaries stepped forward, grasping a sword at his side.

Sejal kicked out almost lazily, forcing the sword back into its sheath—and the man onto his heels.

The three mercenaries stared at the woman, a new caution born in their eyes.

“Enough.”

A tall man waded in from behind the three. He was broad-shouldered and there was a smile on his face, but Adhira didn’t mistake it for kindness. Faded scars crossed his face and there was heavy gray at his temples befitting the badge of captain pinned to his cloak. “My apologies if my men were uncouth.” He gave a slight bow. “My name is Harlan Vell, Captain of the Grim Company.”

Sejal watched him, as unaffected as she’d been when they’d been roused from slumber by shouting mercenaries. “Grim company. Word of your deeds travels the isles.”

“Good word, I hope.” Vell said, his smile gone. “I do not like bothering anyone at such an early hour, but our business is dire. I’m told my men saw you bringing back a survivor from the northern woods.”

Adhira didn’t move, and Sejal was stone.

The captain’s smile returned, though it was a sour little twist of his lips. “I see. Then you must know that foul happenings are afoot.”

Adhira started grinding her teeth but forced herself to stop. They are hunting the artifact. She couldn’t give them anything, not when she was so close.

Sejal raised an eyebrow. “What foul happenings?”

“We found corpses in the woods.”

Adhira drew in a surprised breath through her nose.

The captain swung his gaze toward her. “You did not know.”

She shook her head. “What corpses? Who did you find in the woods? More townsfolk?”

“It was hard to be certain at first.” Captain Vell scratched his chin with a gloved hand. “First all we found were scraps. But soon as we pieced enough together, it was easy to see they weren’t people. And worse, we found sections bound to each other, threaded through with refined gutstring—”

Adhira’s breath caught entirely.

“Illwrought.” Sejal’s expression turned as sharp as a hatchet.

“Aye.” Vell nodded. “There’s a Stitcher about.”

Harker was on the floor.

The pain had returned, a bone-deep ache that had nothing to do with his wounds. It throbbed behind his eyes, traveling down his jaw and spine with every pulse before radiating into his limbs. It was sharp as cold knives, saltsteel traced across every sensitive piece of his anatomy. He shook, tongue pasted to the roof of his mouth, teeth clenched behind bloodless lips.

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He remained silent.

To his relief, the pain was not forever. It faded, retreating from his limbs until it burrowed somewhere behind his eyes. Unpleasant, but enough to sit up. Harker’s vision swam as he did so, bile sloshing half-way up his throat, accompanied by a faint buzzing on his skin that he couldn’t banish. His tongue was thick in his mouth and the soft silence of the room warbled in his ears. Smells lingered—echoes of dust and cold, faded meals—and a thin film of Water lay across his eyes, specters chased away in a blink.

Get up, he told his tingling limbs. Get out.

He twitched as if to look to his escape routes, and found he had no need. As his senses settled, what remained was a dross of details, slathered thick across his mind. Every single route from that room was familiar as the path to the outhouse on a moonless night.

Invisible details stood out now with a clarity that alarmed him: the sliding bolt had swollen due to the humidity in the air and the thin door had a crack at the bottom hinge that would clearly make a racket when opened. The windows were painted shut and the rafters were layered with dust and—

Harker winced, the pressure redoubling behind his eyes. It was as if he’d overdrawn on his reservoir in an instant. A gift of his Talent.