“Ah!” Cian exclaimed as he took a long, sharp breath through his nose, a relaxed smile on his face. “To be out of the Peninsula! Here, in Olica! True, beautiful, wine growing country this.”
Indeed it was. Since leaving the Shields behind, the countryside had consisted largely of green rolling hills, dotted by vineyards with their neat and orderly rows. Perched atop hills, large houses and the periodic mansion broke the pattern, beautiful and articulate in their designs. On the hillsides below them were hovels of a much more humble nature, though from a distance they all appeared to be reasonably well built. Unlike much of the architecture of the Holy Peninsula, all of the buildings in the region were relatively new and in good repair. The region was pleasant and temperate, lush and green, without too much rain nor too much sun. This was the Duchy of Chavol, in the southeast of the Olican Empire.
“Ye don’t like Vera?” Raea asked.
“No, The Holy Peninsula’s been dead a thousand years, acting out life with faith and lies,” the Varathian answered. “But here, in Olica? This is where the West has lived since the fall of the Empire of Vera.”
They crested a hill, bringing a large city into view, sitting on a hill on the other side of a large lake.
“And that’s Sinclair, the capital of the duchy,” Cian explained,
Sinclair was beautiful. Not as grandiose as the White-Gold Square, but still with an ethereal quality all its own. To say that it felt like something out of a children’s story would be a fair description.
“There’s the ducal palace,” Cian noted, pointing at the grand mansion sitting at the top of the large hill. It was white and blue with tall, conical rooftops on its towers.
“And we’re going to ignore it,” Cian continued, turning at a fork in the road. “Instead we shall go to the docks on Lake Serene. We might be able to get a taste of Chavol’s famous wine before they ship it out down the river.”
“What’s the river called?” Raea asked.
“River Serene,” Cian answered. “Because the people of Chavol, for all their virtues, lack imagination.”
Raea studied the rest of Sinclair as they grew closer. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about it.
“It seems less…random than Vera,” she observed.
It was clear that the city was stratified into distinct districts. Immediately below the palace were small mansions, some more subtle and others so bright and colorful as to be obnoxious, as if constantly announcing their own presence. Both varieties could only be peeked at over the city wall, as much a beautiful declaration of the wealth and nobility of those who lived beyond it as it was protection for those people. Sitting outside the wall were the most humble of the buildings, tightly packed in a manner that, even from a distance, seemed suffocating and claustrophobic.
“The people of Chavol do like things to be neat and orderly,” Cian commented.
Raea turned her attention to the only part of the city that did not seem to fit into this picture. It was the most run-down district clinging to the western walls, hidden away like a dirty secret that everyone knew.
“What about that?” Raea asked, pointing at it.
“Ah, the elven slums,” Cian answered. “Don’t bother with that. You won’t find much good there.” He continued on the road to the docks, Raea following on his heels.
Entering into the city it was immediately clear that with the day coming to an end folk were in a boisterous mood. Near the docks a group of workers, done with their labors, were holding a fist fighting tournament. Large, muscled, and heavily tattooed men were at turns fighting, cheering, and drinking, with a single, unusually tall and large woman taking all challengers in the ring. The absence of cursing and hateful slander from the losers of the fights was curious to Raea’s ears. Any fighting ring in Carsani or the few she had seen in the Holy Peninsula were never without those features.
Near the docks was an inn, carrying the uncreative name of The Dockside Inn, where Cian came to a halt.
“Heyyy!” someone yelled as they looked at the inn.
A group of men, carrying bottles of wine, made their way over to the Varathian, one of them holding his drink towards Cian.
“How about you join us, stranger?” the offerer of the wine asked. “Nothing like sharing good drink to make friends and warm weary hearts!”
Cian gently pushed the wine away. “Sorry, been a long day of travel. However, I would ask where the nearest brothel is.”
“Ahaha,” the reveler replied. “I see the kind of…companionship you want, good sir!” He turned and pointed at a side street. “A ways up the hill there's a brothel, Crazy Jane’s. Don’t let the name fool you, they really are lovely people, in more ways than one!” He then patted Cian on the shoulder before walking backwards away from him, tapping the right side of his nose as he laughed
“Come on!” he yelled to his companions, waving his arms excitedly. This had the unfortunate drawback of splashing wine out of the bottle in his hand, soaking his tunic and the ground at his feet. “Aw hell,” he said before laughing heartily and continuing on his way.
“Brothel, really?” Raea asked as the men left.
“I told you, first one I see,” Cian answered.
Raea shook her head, countering, “So what, yer just going to leave me here?”
“Unless you’d like to go to the brothel yourself, sure,” Cian replied.
“No.”
“Good,” Cian said. “After the fiasco in Vera I was wondering if I should give you a chance and leave you to your own devices for a while.”
“Hey!” Raea snapped back, her pride wounded. “I was looking after myself just fine on Carsani, and I think I’ve learned a thing or two.”
“My thought process exactly,” Cian countered before entering the inn.
The inn was simple, with a lived-in look that gave it a welcoming atmosphere. Cian approached the bar, where one man was sitting and drinking in such a state of gloom that others had left him alone, excepting the innkeeper; he was maintaining a steady supply of wine for him. Sitting on the far end of the bar, Cian caught the attention of the innkeeper, who immediately made his way over.
“Ah, helping a man drink his sorrows away, the worst part of the job, except they always pay so well,” the bartender said, chuckling quietly and tapping the right side of his nose with a finger. Raea watched this small act, confused. Cian nodded and smiled.
“I’d imagine he has woman troubles,” the old warrior said.
“Him and the whole duchy,” the Innkeeper replied before leaning into whispering distance. “He propositioned Julia de Vigneron.”
“De Vigneron?” Cian questioned. He looked over at the sullen man, with his dirty clothes and rough features. “He tried to woo a member of the ducal family?”
“Not just any member of the family,” the innkeeper replied. “Duke Julien’s daughter, only child, and heir.”
“Well, the Duke hasn’t had a male heir since his son died as a toddler,” the innkeeper began, resting his elbows on the bar. “He’s shopped his daughter around for a betrothal, but she refuses each one. Apparently daddy can’t deny his little girl a thing.” He laughed at his joke and once again tapped the right side of his nose. “Anyway, the girl’s well into her marrying years and still has not tied the knot. In recent years some of the more romantic among our young men have gotten it into their heads that any common fool can march into the palace and attempt to court the lady. They are summarily refused, like our friend here.” He motioned to the other occupant of the bar.
“Hm,” Cian replied. “Well, as interesting as the local gossip is, that’s not why I’m here.”
“Ah, I apologize sir,” the innkeeper said, standing up straight. “What can I get ye?”
“I was hoping for a room, specifically for her,” Cian answered. “I’ll leave her behind while I find female companionship of a different variety.” Cian tapped the right side of his nose, further confusing Raea on the subject.
The innkeeper seemed to understand this secret message, chuckling and nodding. “Well, my friend, you’ve found yourself a good place. I swear on my honor that no harm shall come to your traveling companion while she is on my property.” The man suddenly stood straight as he could, placing his right hand over his heart and bowing his head.
Raea tilt her head quizzically to the side, confused by the sudden show of bravado, but Cian was unfazed, nodding and placing some coin on the counter. “Good to hear, I’ve always known the people of Sinclair to be honorable folk.”
“You,” he said, turning and pointing at Raea. “Stay here and this time actually stay.” He stood and began walking towards the exit. “Alright, I’m off to have some fun.”
The innkeeper swept the coin off the counter and turned to Raea. “Empty room upstairs, second on the left. You can go ahead and head up.”
“No key?” Raea asked.
“No,” the innkeeper replied, looking mildly surprised. “No one needs locks around here, unless they’ve got something to hide.”
Raea nodded in confirmation before following the directions up to her room. Just like the innkeeper had said, she went to the second door on the left, where she stopped, seeing something that the innkeeper hadn’t mentioned. A piece of paper was nailed to the door, just as there was one nailed to all the doors in the hall, all identical. Normally Raea wouldn’t have given such a thing a second or even a first thought, incapable as she was of reading the words. But this was different. There was a picture of a man in the center of the paper, dominating the space. Intrigued, she tore the sheet from the door before going into the room.
The moment’s curiosity was quickly lost, however, as Raea’s illiteracy kept her from garnering any significant information. She crumpled the offending paper in her hands and slung it into the corner of the room. She then slammed the door behind her and threw herself onto the nearest bed.
Raea turned in her bed a few times before sitting up. She glanced over at the crumpled paper in the corner and for a moment considered taking another look at it before shaking the idea from her head. She turned her attention to the room; four plain beds, two on either side of the room, with a single window looking out onto the street below. Raea glanced at the paper again and again pushed it from her mind.
Finally, her frustration getting the best of her, Raea grabbed the paper and flattened it against the bed. She proceeded to stare at it in a vain attempt to understand its meaning. The man in the picture was scrawny, looking emaciated or otherwise unhealthy. He had a full head of unkempt hair and an equally unruly beard. Beyond this Raea could discern nothing. She snatched up the poster and stomped her way out of the room and downstairs.
Completely oblivious to the fact that her display of emotion was catching the attention of the inn's other patrons, Raea walked up to the innkeeper and held the paper up to his face, angrily asking, “what is this?!”
Momentarily stunned, the innkeeper quickly recovered to reply, “ah, yes miss, I do apologize. Some elf has been coming every so often to nail these to the doors of my guest suites. I will have them all removed immediately.”
“No, what does it say?” Raea interjected. “Oh,” the innkeeper said. “Why, um, it is a wanted poster.”
“Like the kind a Varathian might look for?” Raea asked.
“Well, yes,” the flustered businessman replied. “But it’s mostly normal bounty hunters that go after them. Varathians will only take the bigger and more dangerous ones.”
“So what does this one say?” Raea asked, taking a seat on one of the barstools.
The innkeeper took the wanted poster from Raea’s hand. “It is for a serial killer who rapes and murders elf girls who are caught alone near the slums. Guess this was bound to happen at some point after the Sequester Law was revoked.”
“Sequester Law?” Raea echoed.
“Do you not know about it?” the innkeeper asked. “It was the ancient law that forced elves to live separate from humans. Empress Marie abolished it about four or five years ago now, I’d guess.” Putting the wanted poster on the counter, the innkeeper took an empty glass from the rejected romantic, still moping at the bar, and gave him another drink. “Anyway, the murders have been happening for a few months and some time ago this elf put out a reward for the death of this killer. You’d think that the guard would do it but apparently somebody really high up doesn’t want, or care enough, to put a price on this guy’s head.”
“Has anybody gone after him?” Raea asked.
“Ha,” the innkeeper chuckled, then suppressing it with a cough once he realized that Raea was not amused. “I mean, no, the reward is too small. 20 imperial crowns? That’s a fifth of a typical price of a bounty. It’s just too little for anyone to want to go after.”
Raea sat and thought for a moment. “How would I get to the elven slums?” she asked.
“What?” the innkeeper replied, surprised. “Miss, you aren’t thinking of going after this monster, are you?” Raea stared back at the man, resolute.
“No,” the innkeeper said. “I vowed to your traveling companion that you would be safe in my inn. Now, I can’t stop you from leaving, but I’m not going to tell you where to go so you can get yourself killed.”
“Fine,” Raea retorted. Standing up on her chair, she grabbed the wanted poster with one hand and snatched a knife from the countertop behind the bar with the other.
“Hey, get back here with that!” the innkeep exclaimed. Raea ignored him, leaping down from her seat and walking out of the Dockside Inn and into the city of Sinclair.
***
It had quickly proven to be a fruitless endeavor, wandering the streets of Sinclair. While it wasn’t the biggest city that Raea had been to so far, as Vera took up far more space and had significantly more people, she had only for a brief moment been left to her own devices there.
The layout of the city proved to be of little help to Raea as well. While the docks on the lake shore and the marketplace and warehouses nearby were easy enough to navigate, everywhere else was like a maze. Rows of houses took what purchase they could along the slopes, taking the flatter parts of the terrain for themselves. Between them side streets, tight alleyways, and winding stairs of stone and dirt were interwoven together to form a convoluted web that only someone who had grown up within could understand. The single vein of simplicity was the main street that the whole system emanated from, a cobblestone road that connected the docks directly to the walled off districts of the upper part of the city.
After trying to follow the tangled paths surrounding it, Raea gravitated to the main road, its straightforward nature proving preferable, and began to follow it up the hill, away from the docks. Unfortunately for her it started to rain, leaving the road slippery and wet and Raea’s matted hair soaked and falling in her face.
The main road led to a gate, a portal to the walled upper city. Guards stood at the entrance, wearing bright blues and whites that would have shone brightly along with the steel of the armor they wore, had it not been for the unfavorable weather. Raea stood at the side of the road, watching them. The guards stopped anyone who approached the gate, requesting documents. Any who showed the right ones were allowed through while all others were turned away.
A handful of people in fancy, extravagant clothes, rain flowing off their umbrellas, passed through the gates and beyond the walls. One beggar attempted to go through, but was quickly turned away by the guards. Only one person exited the upper city, a woman, one that Raea could only describe as impossibly pretty.
She had a classic beauty, with thin, arching eyebrows, a small nose, big expressive eyes, and full lips on her face. Long, dark brown hair was partially hidden by a woolen cloak she wore over her shoulders and head to shield herself from the rain, but it did nothing to hide what she wore beneath.
Her clothes led Raea to guess that she was a prostitute, but not the kind that she’d seen on the streets of nearly every city and town she’d ever been to. Like all of those women her clothes were revealing, showing her cleavage and the skirt slit up to the thigh to show her legs. However, in contrast to the drab cotton garb of all the common whores, this one wore a silk dress of crimson that even under the cloak had become wet, clinging to her skin, showing the contours of her thin waist and small breasts, the outline of her nipples visible through the fabric. The guards greeted her with familiarity and let her pass without checking for her documents. Upon crossing the threshold she noticed Raea standing at the side of the road and after a momentary pause changed course to approach her.
Raea looked up at the prostitute, who was relatively tall for a woman. Taller than Raea to the point that she could kneel down and be face to face with the young teen, doing so as she addressed her.
“You all alone out here?” the woman asked with a soft smile, tilting her head to the side as she gently pushed a few strands of stray hair out of Raea’s face. The girl recoiled from the touch.
“It’s alright,” the woman said, chuckling. “My name is Doretta, what’s your’s?”
“Raea,” the answer came, begrudgingly. “What’s it to ye?”
“I just hate seeing little girls alone on the streets,” Doretta said, continuing to brush at Raea’s hair with her hand. “Reminds me of myself when I was a kid.”
“And ye’d like me to be like you now,” Raea replied, motioning to Doretta’s revealing dress.
“It’s not a perfect life,” Doretta admitted, “but you’d be housed, well fed, live a life of luxury, and can even get a bit of an education.”
“All for the sake of whatever man has enough loose coins in his pockets,” Raea responded sardonically.
“It’s true, you have to service those above your station,” Doretta replied with a sly smile, “But sometimes it can be good fun.” She laughed softly and tapped the right side of her nose with her finger.
“What the hell does that mean?!” Raea exclaimed, exasperated, mimicking the action in an exaggerated sweeping motion of her hand. “Everyone keeps doing that!”
Doretta stood up straight, surprised. “What? It just means I’m making a joke, everyone in Sinclair does…that. You’re not from here, are you?”
“Yes,” Raea stated plainly. “Now, do ye know where I could find this guy?” She asked, pulling out the crumpled and soaked wanted poster from her pocket.
Doretta took the notice in her hands and studied it for a moment. “You’re no normal child, are you?”
“So I’ve been told,” Raea replied. “Now do ye have anything for me or not?”
Doretta folded the poster up neatly and handed it back to Raea. “Are you sure about this?” she asked.
Raea answered with an emphatic nod.
Doretta gestured to a side before beginning to walk down it. “Poor elves,” she began as Raea hurried to keep up.
“I feel for them, I do,” the prostitute continued. “If only they understood their station, then these murders would stop.”
“What do ye mean?” Raea asked.
“This is Sinclair, honey,” Doretta answered. “Everyone is provided and cared for, if they understand their place in the world and keep to it. Even a poor, dirty, homeless child like me could live a life of ease and luxury here.”
“Because yer pretty enough for rich nobles to want to fuck,” Raea responded scathingly.
Doretta stopped and glared over her shoulder at the impertinent girl.
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Raea continued, unfettered. “How do ye think the ones at the bottom feel about this?” she asked. “We scratch and claw for every little bit and then someone else comes to kick us down.”
“But sometimes someone comes along and picks you up,” Doretta retorted.
“Sometimes,” Raea echoed.
The prostitute’s expression softened, before she resumed walking. For a while they went silently, going up one flight of stairs to reach a path, only to turn at another that went in the opposite direction so that they could come to where another set of stairs began. Doretta navigated these streets as only someone who had grown up among them could.
She came to a stop on a high piece of ground, overlooking the most run down district.
“The elven slum,” she said. “If this monster targets elven maidens, he’ll be lurking somewhere around there.”
Raea nodded, scanning the dirty, run-down, and ill-organized neighborhood before her.
“Of course, it’s not like this is any kind of good lead,” Doretta continued. “Your search is only slightly less hopeless than it was before. I’d suggest you turn back and return to wherever you came from.”
“I’ll do it,” Raea replied with a confidence that belied her actual belief that she might succeed in her endeavor.
“Why are you so keen on doing this?” Doretta asked.
Raea drew the knife she had taken from the inn out of the waistband of her trousers, turning it in her hands a few times. “Because I’m going to be a Varathian.”
Doretta responded with a girlish giggle. “Are you really? They don’t let just anyone in their ranks, you know.”
“So I’ve heard,” Raea responded.
“By Carag, you’re serious,” Doretta said. “No wonder you complain about people not treating you right, you keep going to places you don’t belong.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Raea replied. “I’ve chosen my path and I have to do everything I can to become stronger.”
Doretta held her shaking head in her hands. “Why? How does a girl like you even exist?” she asked, exasperated. “What do you want to do, change the world? You can’t do that, no one can.”
“This isn’t about the world,” Raea replied, looking up into the falling rain. “This is my life. Not everyone gets cared for, I wasn’t. So I’d rather struggle for something more than settle for whatever’s given to ye.” Raea stepped forward towards the slums, not bothering to listen to Doretta’s response.
The prostitute, for her part, had no response. She merely watched as a girl unlike any other she had ever met disappeared into the rain.
***
Raea found herself slightly less lost after leaving Doretta than she was after leaving the Dockside Inn. Even with the scope of her search narrowed, Raea had a large area to cover and no means of bringing more precision to the endeavor.
She took to circling the general area of the slums, figuring that if her quarry targeted young elven women alone outside of their slum then Raea had only to find such an elf and tail her. Unfortunately, understanding this did not mean that the circumstances would magically align for her.
For several hours Raea traversed the slums, at times crossing though it, looking for any lone elf-women out and about. She found no such thing, or indeed much of any elves. Perhaps it was simply the rainy night keeping them indoors, or fear of the murderer driving them back to their homes. The handful that Raea did come across, largely men, regarded her with either fear or confusion in turn.
As the wait grew and the search proved itself to be the futile endeavor it had always been, Raea tried to change her methods. Her first thought had been to climb the tallest building in the district, hoping that a higher vantage point would be of use to her. The fact there were no buildings above two stories quickly put that plan to rest.
With no idea what to do, Raea came to a stop at the western edge of the slum, near the shore of Lake Serene, the docks lying to her south. Allowing herself to be overtaken by her mounting exhaustion, Raea sat down next to the last building before the empty gap where the slums gave way to the meager fields along the lake’s shore, resting her head and back against it. The rain was finally beginning to let up and Raea tilted her head towards the sky. Looking up past the city, Raea saw the Morning Star, twinkling past the city, barely visible over the buildings on the crown of the hill. Distantly, she recognized that dawn was coming.
“The old man’s going to kill me, isn’t he?” Raea asked herself, closing her eyes.
She’d nearly fallen asleep, except she heard the sound of someone walking through the wet mud. Opening her eyes, Raea saw a lone, young elven girl walk past her, carrying a bowl over her head. For a moment, she barely registered this fact before suddenly coming to wakefulness. She watched as the elf walked down the slope, a sense of trepidation almost pouring out of her, constantly looking over her shoulders. Raea followed her with all the silence an experienced thief could muster.
The elf-girl took a winding path through the fields down to the lake’s shore, filling her bowl with fresh water. Her movements were hurried, her eyes looking everywhere but at her task. As she stood she looked in Raea’s direction and recoiled in shock, dropping the bowl, which shattered against the ground. Raea stood, ready to plead her innocence, but was cut short by a sudden blow to the back of her head, knocking her unconscious.
***
Raea awoke to a pounding pain in the back of her head, face down in the dirt.
“Ugh, not again,” she muttered quietly, pushing herself off the ground into a sitting position.
She was in a dimly lit room, with a dirt floor and shoddily built wooden walls and roof. Propped up against the wall opposite from her was the elf-girl, unconscious. Pacing frantically between them was a tall, pale man, gesticulating wildly with his hands as he spoke with seemingly no one.
“Oh, no no no,” he said, not seeming to notice that Raea had awakened. “She saw us. She was following the forbidden flower, just like we were. She would have seen us, would have spotted us. We had to take her.”
“No!” he interrupted himself, abruptly changing his tone, as if giving voice to an entirely different person. “Others have seen you and you didn’t do anything.”
“None of them got that close,” he responded in the first tone, sounding afraid. “I had to do something and I couldn’t just leave her there. She is not tainted.”
“But she knows about us, this place. She is a threat, you fool.”
Raea watched, confused, as the man continued in this manner. He appeared similar to the picture on the wanted poster, with an unhealthy appearance and dirty hair and beard. Yet, the horrid serial killer striking terror into the local elves was an anxious mess, walking around in uneven circles, biting his nails in trepidation and out of fear of, apparently, his own self.
He finally stopped and steadied himself, looking down at the still unconscious elf-girl.
“Never mind her,” he said, resolute. “The forbidden flower is more important. She is beautiful, too beautiful for this sinful earth. She is tainted, too tainted for this hallowed world.”
He kept repeating the words “tainted” and “beautiful” over and over again, holding his hand to his forehead, a scene that seemed to Raea like a rendition of a half remembered ritual, his voice becoming more subdued with each passing moment.
“She is tainted,” he suddenly said with clarity, “she must be punished.” He wandered over to another corner of the room, away from either Raea or the elf, and produced a rusty knife from the eclectic pile of objects that was strewn about there. He started walking back to the elf before dropping the knife on the ground.
“But no, she is too beautiful,” he said. “She is too beautiful, she must be punished. Punished.” He stood over the elf and began to pull at the lacing of his trousers.
Raea reacted in pure reflex, grabbing for her knife. It wasn’t until after the moment was done that she pondered the fact that her kidnapper had never removed her weapon. She screamed and charged at the rapist, ramming her shoulder into the man’s back. She bounced off of him and he simply turned around slowly, appearing as though he was in shock. She stabbed wildly at his chest, causing his blood to spray out over her. Raea continued to stab the man viciously in a blind rage, regardless of whether or not he was already dead. She continued as his limp body fell over onto the elf-girl, waking her with a start. Raea only stopped when she heard the elf screaming at the shock and horror of having a dead body falling on her, heightened further by the furious girl falling on top of that, viciously stabbing the dead man.
Raea recoiled, jumping back from her kill. The knife fell out of her hands, clattering on the ground, drenched in blood. She breathed heavily and looked down at the weapon.
The elf’s screaming stopped, replaced by weeping. Outside she heard the sounds of footsteps, of several people running, growing louder, approaching whatever building she was in. Through cracks in the wall she could see morning light filtering into the room. Exhausted, Raea collapsed.
***
Raea sat in a comfortable chair, feeling intensely uncomfortable, wishing that she could simply disappear for a moment. Sitting to her left was Cian. Though neither had said anything to the other since being reunited earlier that morning, she could feel a pressure emanating from him. She stared at him out of the corner of her eye, watching, anticipating…something. Anything would be better than the dread of that thing’s coming.
Both of them sat before a large, ornate desk, inside of a beautiful room, blue and white with heirlooms and small treasures displayed throughout. Two blue banners hung on the back wall, depicting a hand tipping over a goblet, an endless stream of wine pouring from it. The Ducal Palace of Sinclair was as beautiful on the inside as it was outside.
Behind the desk a door opened and a man entered the room. Dressed in a blue and white coat that matched the colors of the palace, he stood behind the desk, smiling at Cian.
“Greetings,” the Varathian stated, remaining seated. “It is an honor to meet you, Duke Julien.”
The Duke paused for a moment, as if expecting something more to be said or done. “No, the honor is mine, Master Cian,” he finally said behind a smile, sitting behind the desk. “After all, there are fewer Varathians in the world than dukes. It is a far more special moment to meet one of your ilk than one of my own.”
“Perhaps,” Cian replied. “Still, I have to wonder why you called me here.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that your…traveling companion has created some problems for me,” the Duke said.
“Problems?” Cian questioned, glancing over at Raea. “As I understand it, my companion merely pursued a fair bounty, one which the duchy did not even issue. So again, I wonder as to the purpose of our presence here.”
Duke Julien’s smile faded quickly, lacing his fingers together under his chin. “I understand why you are confused, but rest assured that the matter that your companion involved herself in is very much my concern, both personally and as an issue of state.”
“Go on,” Cian prompted.
“First, the personal concern,” the Duke said. “She is responsible for the death of my son.”
Raea looked at the Duke, eyebrow raised in confusion. He kept all of his attention conspicuously focused on Cian.
“A bastard of yours, I assume,” the Varathian replied. “My condolences, but perhaps you should have kept better track of your offspring.”
“No,” Duke Julien stated, his body as still as stone and he stared at the Varathian. “Nothing so common as that.”.
“As I understand it, your only son died when he was a young child. Plague, I believe,” Cian said. “Tragic fate, but nothing you could blame on anyone.”
“You fail to understand then, but I can’t blame you. That was what I wanted the world to see, after all, ” the Duke responded. “But my son was very much alive until last night, at least in body. His name and mind left him long ago.”
Duke Julien glanced over at a large portrait hanging on the wall, depicting a man in a coat that was similar to the one that Duke Julien was wearing, with his hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy. The man in the portrait resembled the one behind the desk enough that Raea guessed that it was an image of the previous Duke and Julien himself as a child.
The current Duke returned his gaze to Cian before continuing. “You would never know this, Varathian, but we fathers are driven to leave our children something worthwhile, but for the nobility that is accompanied by a desire for heirs worthy of what we already possess. My son failed utterly in that regard. Even as a very small child he showed himself to have a mind too unbalanced and lackluster to carry the duchy into a brighter future. His reign would have meant disaster for my house.”
Raea stared at the Duke with a morbid fascination for what he would say next.
“I was faced with a conundrum, you see,” the nobleman continued without pause. “I couldn’t have my son as heir. I also couldn’t kill him, as that would have been a mark against God. Neither could I simply strip the boy of his rights. Oh sure, he would never have the mental capacity to resent my decision, but a house of my stature must keep appearances and the disinheritance of my son would not have been proper for my family, especially without a spare ready.”
Raea clenched her fist in anger, shaking ever so slightly as her stare became a glare.
“So I hit upon this idea that I could fake my son’s death,” Duke Julien said. “There was a plague running through the city at the time, so I only needed to claim that the pestilence had claimed yet another innocent life. The nature of the death would also explain the need to not show the fake body during the public funeral and the sympathy that it garnered among my subjects made my rule more popular.”
The Duke stood up and strode over to a nearby window, gazing out of it. “As for my actual son, he was hidden away in a secluded location, known only to myself and a few trusted servants that cared for him. I never told my wife, I could never let her know what had actually happened to her son. Better for her to believe that he was dead and gone. Given the way that his condition has deteriorated over the last 20 years, I was correct in my decision.”
“Alright, but how does your son go from being locked away to wandering about murdering elves?” Cian asked.
The Duke smiled, a disgusting, unabashed half-grin that Raea wanted to tear from his face. “It seemed that I had underestimated my son, or at least overestimated my servants. Some months ago he escaped his captivity and began his spree. I allowed him to continue. He had proven himself to be a useful tool at long last.”
“How?!” Raea blurted out.
Duke Julien snapped his attention to the girl, with a glare that spoke of a deep loathing. His eyes flitted back to Cian and his expression softened, taking on the veneer of benign contentness.
“You see, my…great bounty hunter,” the Duke said, sitting back down behind his desk, “my son spread fear amongst the elves, kept them quartered off in their slums. In this world all must know their place and it is the duty of those like me to know where others belong and keep them there. Even in his madness, my son was able to assist in that task.”
Reaching below his desk, the Duke pulled out a book. He turned it in his hands a few times before laying it down in front of him. “My dear Varathian, do you know what year it is?”
“1499,” Cian answered.
“Yes,” the Duke replied in a patronizing tone. “That means that next year will be the 1500th anniversary of the Prophet Carag arriving in Vera from snowbound, barbaric Akerhaus, bringing with him the next great age of civilization and revelation.”
“What’s an Akerhouse?” Raea asked. Duke Julien glared at the girl once again, but gave no further response to her query.
“Akerhaus is a land far to the north of here,” Cian answered her question. “Maybe I’ll take you there one day.”
“Oh, OK,” Raea responded.
“Quite,” Duke Julien said with a sigh, tapping his finger on the book in front of him. “In our holy texts the Prophet proclaimed the misdeeds that elves have committed in the face of God, revealing for all the world their true nature. Elves have denied themselves the gifts of men and as such can never be our equals.”
Raea wished for nothing more than to kill this man. Cian’s expression remained placid as the Duke continued unabated.
“Yet even after nearly 15 centuries there are fools who do not understand this simple fact, poor, well meaning fools like our Empress. Oh, I can understand feeling pity for their circumstances, and simply wiping them out would be too great a task to perform, like ridding a pantry of all mice and insects that could ever enter it. But we can never treat them as equals. When my son began to murder those elf girls he was more effective at keeping Sinclair’s elves in their place than Sequester Laws had ever been.”
Duke Julien leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on top of his desk. “My dear Varathian, this meeting was a courtesy afforded to a fellow man who sits in one of society’s more…prestigious echelons. It is in your nature to pursue bounties, just as it is a citizen’s right to hire others to solve their problems. I cannot blame you or yours for doing as you normally do, but remember this; I will not tolerate you involving yourself in the affairs in Chavol again and certainly not when you do so through the actions of children.”
Raea could feel the tension in her throat and chest. She wanted to take action. What kind she could not even imagine, except drastic. Cian merely stood up calmly.
“Very well, my lord, we were only passing through anyway,” he said before walking out of the room. Raea followed him as Cian held the door open for her and closed it behind them.
“I’m going to kill him,” Raea said to no one in particular, walking down the hall.
“I think you’ve killed enough for now,” Cian responded.
Their conversation was interrupted by a young woman in a pink dress, probably a few years older than Raea, dashing in between her and Cian.
“Oh, my apologies,” she said, taking a moment to curtsy to the pair before continuing on her way.
“Father!” she called out as she opened the door to the Duke’s office. “I need to talk with you about our trip!”
“Of course, my darling girl!” the Duke replied in a bright voice before the door closed behind the woman, cutting Raea and Cian off from the rest of the conversation.
A silent moment held as the pair continued on their way, during which Raea bit her lip, trying to bring herself to say something. “…I’m sorry,” she finally said in a muted voice, “I went off on my own again.”
“Don’t worry, it just means you have more to learn,” Cian replied. “Besides, bad students are more interesting. Certainly more interesting than run of the mill assholes like the Duke.”
Raea smiled before realization hit. “Hey, I’m not a bad student!”
“Ha, ha, ha!” Cian laughed. “Who’s to judge that, the student or the teacher?”
“Ugh…could I at least steal something?” Raea asked, gesturing to the grander around her. “It’s the least the Duke deserves.”
“No, you’ve pressed things far enough here.” Cian answered before striding forward ahead of Raea. “I swear, I’m not going to be able to take you anywhere before long.”
“Oh, come on!” Raea exclaimed, quickening her pace.
Cian laughed heartily before saying, “still, you’ve managed to do some good here. It’s only right you be rewarded for it. You still have the wanted poster?”
Raea reached into her pocket and pulled out the paper, handing it to Cian.
“Ah, I see,” Cian said, reading it, “come on.” He quickened his pace.
“Hey, wait up,” Raea said, struggling to keep up without breaking from a walk.
***
Raea stood in front one of the sturdiest buildings in Sinclair’s elven slums, though it still was more rickety than most of what was to be found around the docks. She took a deep breath and looked at Cian, leaning against the wall, next to the doorway.
“Go on, it’s your bounty, collect your reward,” the Varathian said.
Raea clutched the wanted poster in her hand and walked into the building. It was a store, a general goods seller that sold everything from basic food items to simple tools. An elf was standing behind a counter.
The clerk looked up at Raea and smiled the kind of smile one only wears when they have to. “Yes, can I help ye?” he asked.
“Did…” Raea began, “did ye post this?” She placed the wanted poster on the counter.
The elf looked at the poster, then up at Raea. “Oh, yer her.” A much more genuine smile came across his face. “Here, here,” he said, reaching below the counter, gathering coin in his hands. He deposited the 20 crown reward in front of Raea. “It’s the least I can do, only wish I could give more.”
Raea nodded respectfully and swept the coins off the counter and into her hand. “If that’s the most ye could get together, that’s fine.”
“Oh, I wish that were the case,” the shopkeeper said. “Damn those elders.”
“Hm? What do ye mean?” Raea responded.
“Ye know, it’s not just humans that oppress us,” the elf said. “Sometimes, we do the job for them. How do you think our village elders reacted when they heard my petition to put up a bounty for the killer?”
“They asked ye to collect for the bounty yerself,” Raea guessed.
“If only they had even given me permission to collect coin,” the shopkeeper said, shaking his head. “No, if there was to be a bounty, I’d have to fund it out of my own pocket, meager amount that I could muster.”
“Why would they not want to get rid of the killer?” Raea asked.
“Because, as nasty as the business with him was, the elders were using him for their own purposes,” the elf answered. “They wanted to scare us into staying in the slums. Scare us away from any and all humans, if they could.” He clenched in fist in anger. Raea waited for him to continue.
“Do ye know what the child of a human and an elf is?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.
“Dunno,” Raea responded, shrugging her shoulders. “Some kind of half-elf, I guess.”
“If only,” the elf replied. “No, the product of any human-elf union will always be a human. Sure, they might be a bit taller than their peers or have ever so slightly pointed ears, but they are most certainly human. That’s why some of us fear humanity, more than any other reason. Being forced into these horrible slums, being beaten, abused, massacred. In their eyes that’s better than letting us meet. Their nightmares are filled with strong, charming human men that will sweep every elf-girl off their feet while our young boys are seduced by big, buxom human women.”
“They sound like idiots,” Raea said.
“Ha, ha, ha, yes, they are indeed!” the elf exclaimed, laughing. “It’s not like elven kind would disappear just because a few of us find love among humans and if they do God bless them! Better to be killed through love than hatred anyway.”
“Hm,” Raea replied, nodding. She looked over at a nearby shelf and saw some pouches, simple cloth ones that could fit in her pockets. She grabbed one and placed it on the counter.
“Oh, that’d be five, please,” the shopkeeper said.
Raea placed five crowns on the counter, put the rest of her reward in the pouch and then stuck it in her pocket.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” the elven shopkeeper said as Raea turned and began walking out the store.
“Wait,” the shopkeeper called as the girl reached for the door. “What’s yer name?”
“Raea,” she answered.
“Well, Raea, call me Gusti, and I’d like to thank ye, even if the village elders would refuse to,” the elf replied. “And there’s someone else here who’d like to thank ye too.”
From out of the backroom stepped an elven girl, with red stains on her dress.
“Hi,” she said. “I wish that I was wearing something nicer, but ye ruined my only dress.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Raea responded.
“Oh, don’t be,” the elf-girl responded. “I don’t mean to blame ye. I mean, ye scared me, waking me up like that. But I realized later that ye saved my life. So, um, I came to thank ye. So, um, yeah, thank ye.” The young girl blushed as the words left her mouth.
Raea felt a tightness in her throat, unsure of what to say. Finally she responded with a simple, “yeah,” before exiting the store.
“You done?” Cian asked as the shop door opened.
Raea hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” she finally answered.
“Good,” the Varathian said as he began walking down the road leading northwest out of Sinclair.
“So, the serial killer, was he truly mad?” he asked.
“I think so,” Raea replied. “He kept rambling some nonsense, talking with people who weren’t there. Didn’t seem to be all…together. Ye think the Duke was right?”
“Hm, madness like that often comes from some place deep in the soul,” Cian responded thoughtfully. “But, I don’t think many would have come out sane in his place, given the way the Duke probably raised his son.”
“Horrible man,” Raea said. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Slow down, bounty hunter,” Cian cautioned. “You’ve only just started, no need to rush things.”
“Fine,” Raea replied. “Then can we at least just go?”
“Certainly,” Cian answered.
***
Cian and Raea were on the road leaving north from Sinclair, the latter feeling that she was somehow keeping pace with him better than before. She had no desire to look back at the city, wishing only to continue with the journey. Further along the road she saw a figure, mounted on horseback, waiting at a crossroads. It was Doretta, having exchanged her provocative silk dress for practical woolen clothing, though the change in attire did little to diminish her beauty.
“I thought I might catch you out here,” she said. “It all started to make sense once the news broke out.”
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Cian asked, believing he was being addressed.
“Her name’s Doretta,” Raea answered for her. “A prostitute who…helped me out last night.”
“Oh, I see,” Cian said. “Well, forgive me for being blunt but you are far too pretty to be a common whore here. You belong in the pleasure houses of Lysette.”
“Oh, Carag,” Raea muttered, covering her eyes.
“No, that was actually what I wanted to talk to you about, going to Lysette,” Doretta said. “I thought about what you told me last night, about making my own way. In Lysette the best girls are treated as royalty, they have a power all their own, and I am going to be the most powerful of them all.” She smiled broadly, not the sweet smile that might have been used to seduce a client with promises of letting them live a dream for a night, but one that thought of its own ambitions.
“Hm, well, perhaps I’ll look for you next time I’m in Lysette,” Cian said.
“Perhaps I’ll let you find me,” Doretta responded teasingly. Her smile faded, her expression turning more serious. “You take care of her, now. She’s got something special.”
“We’ll see about that,” Cian said, placing a hand on Raea’s shoulder. “I think I might be able to get something good out of her yet, against all odds..”
“Hey!” Raea exclaimed, pushing the Varathian’s hand from her shoulder, eliciting his laughter.
“Heh,” Doretta chuckled. “Well, I wish you luck.” She then turned and began following the road east.
“And to you as well,” Cian replied, continuing on the northerly route.
