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ared dragged the last corpse away from the camp with an audible groan. Beken and Galyew had not yet noticed Dale’s absence, and Melandru willing, it would take them a little longer so she’d be well away. He walked back to the fire where Oran was gathering the shredded remains of his bag together and swearing at the mess. The oily little man sneered at him.
“Where did the girl go?” Oran hissed.
Gared shrugged. “Didn’t see which way she ran. It’s getting dark so I imagine she’ll come back when she sees the fire.”
“We need her back!”
Gared saw the light of panic in Oran’s eyes; who knew what Sky Gate would do to them when they didn’t pay back at least some of the debt soon? He doubted it would be pleasant and Oran with his essential duties in the treasury would likely pay for it with his hide when the guild’s lord found out. Gared managed a smirk at the thought. ‘Sweat away you little weasel. I hope your precious lord beheads you.'
He shored up the fire and sat down, watching as Galyew came back into the clearing. Beken was no doubt still chasing the last of the skales. The mage surveyed the camp and cleared his throat like an oncoming thunderstorm.
“Where’s Dale?”
“She got spooked. I figure she’ll see the fire any minute.” He repeated. Behind him Oran was rattling through papers distractedly. Gared half wished he had kicked the accursed whole bag into the fire during the heat of the skirmish. Galyew tossed his staff from hand to hand; a nervous habit that Gared had learned signaled trouble.
“Go find her.”
Gared did not need to be told twice. The mage may well have said ‘Go find her or I will awaken your daughter.’ He stood and started searching around the edge of the camp, careful to pretend to be finding a good trail towards Lion’s Arch. After an hour he felt Galyew’s summon him to return. He grimaced at the little snap of pain in his temples and trotted back to camp. He held his secret like a tiny flower within his mind; Galyew must not know. Even as he approached he could feel Galyew trying to pry at him; he was an indelicate mentalist, not as sharp as the ones he had met at other guild halls. Galyew started thinking of Drill; the knot of grief that lingered was enough to foil the mage’s clumsy attempts at discovery.
“What are you hiding?”
Gared shook his head. “I can’t find her.”
“You are such a poor liar. Do you want to see your daughter?”
Gared swallowed. Dale was possibly miles away by now and probably safe, but then again she might be waiting until light to go further. He shook his head; Galyew was sweating profusely from his efforts at trying to gain information. He took the risk that the mage was bluffing and completely unable to read him.
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“No idea?” Galyew took a long painful breath and glared at him before mopping at his forehead.
“She may have run towards Lion’s Arch I think.”
“Gods curse you…useless fool…what the hells use is a ranger that can’t track? I need her.” The mage stamped his staff into the earth. “Give me some blood you bastard.”
Gared took the obsidian knife from his belt and tested the edge on his thumb. Swallowing with discomfort he closed his hand on it and drew the blade through. He felt a tiny surge of euphoria as he touched Galyew’s open hand. The mage was smiling at him, teeth exposed in a shark like rictus. Too late Gared realized that the spell had caused him to drop all emotions and thoughts aside; it required him to concentrate. Galyew’s thoughts grappled and crushed the secret flower.
“You told her to go.”
The mage gripped his hand and took the energy he offered. There was a sudden blaze of agonizing pain in his skull that blackened even the brilliance of the flames from his eyes. Gared screamed wretchedly and pulled away from the mage’s touch. Yet he was greatly relieved that Galyew did not feel the need to take out his fury on Ursula.
“Don’t ever lie to me again. I won’t kill you, but I can make you wish for it.”
At Galyew’s mental urging, he dropped to his knees. “I won’t.”
“Dog.”
Gared suppressed a cry of pain at a second attack and let the numbness of his entrapment take over his senses. The agony drained away to a focused grayness. There was so little to hope for, but if he could delay longer the pursuit of Dale, then all the better. Kouric was a canny ranger and if Dale reached him, she would likely be well protected. At least he could defend one innocent person even if he could not save himself.
The next day it was Beken that decided against hunting down Dale. They headed to Lion’s Arch; there they could renew their supplies and decide if the girl was worth hunting down or a fresh opportunity would arise. Beken was as usual full of schemes, most of them focused on getting enough help to be able to take the Isle of Fog. Currently his plan included a trip back to their guild hall and the simplest way home was by one of the ships at Lion’s Arch. Gared was relieved for Beken’s fractiousness; Galyew argued with him to go hunt down Dale, but the warrior was adamant.
They arrived at around noontide, passing through the great gates and into the seething sea of humanity that was both the glory and curse of Lion’s Arch. Gared took in the noise and motion wearily; he remembered how Drill had loved this dirty, noisy city. His companion was not there to help him feel joy at the oddest things and he regarded the shouting, stinking crowds like a sea of ghosts. Beken led them into the usual inn; a cheap and rickety affair overlooking the jade bright ocean. The innkeeper gave them a dim room on the shadowed north side of the building. After stashing their packs and gear, Beken dragged all of them down to the public room to drink. Normally Gared would have been bemused at the warrior in a generous mood, but the beer was warm and tasted like sludge. He drank deeply however; the promise of oblivion was welcoming. He sat facing Oran and the little man seemed more nervous than usual. They drank for a good solid time until some of his black mood faded into a soft painless mist.
“A lot of Twistwood in town.” Beken said in a lisping voice. Gared turned to see three red cloaked figures near the doorway, their figures swathed in the golden light of the sun. He felt a small flame of hatred in his chest; they who had destroyed all he loved. They had set him on this course and into the trap of Beken’s stupidity and Galyew’s greed.
“Pigs.” Gared said into his beer. There was an odd taint to his drunkenness and he saw how Beken, only four tankards in, was face down on the table. Only Oran looked alert. Blinking, Gared turned to his left and saw Galyew was also unconscious. He tried to rise to his feet and shivered weakly. One of the three figures caught him before he could fall.
“Eh, he stinks. This him?”
“Yes. Now pay me.” The little accountant demanded. “Hurry…they are asleep.”
“Did you give him the dose I said?”
“Yes…maybe a little less.” Oran looked impatient.
“Alright.”
Gared heard the jingle of money being counted onto the table; bars of silver shone brashly against the dark wood. His vision was slowly clouding, but it was not an altogether unpleasant feeling. It was no worse than bleeding oneself or losing the love of your life. He coughed and the person holding him squeezed his arm in a mailed fist. Abruptly they were out in the afternoon sun and he was walking as if on a mattress; his feet were oddly numb.
“Gared!”
He blinked at the familiar voice. He turned in the Twistwood warrior’s grip and saw Dale standing beside a figure in gleaming leathers. Dumbly he stumbled as his captor dragged him towards the docks. He swallowed and tried to fight against the lassitude of his body, he wanted to tell her to stay away. Now the thought of his daughter haunted him at the sight of Dale's similar height. She was still trapped. He had hoped Galyew would release her if they ever gained the Isle of Fog. He felt a scream gather in his throat. It came out as a wracking sob. He struggled and was shaken like a doll by the man, who muttered a curse.
“Gared! Let go of him!”
“Go away!” Gared managed at last. “My daughter…help my daughter…”
“No…no…! Let him go.” Dale had drawn her long dagger. Gared sighed at her persistence. Stupid stupid girl. All heart and no wisdom.
“Dale, don’t be a fool.” It was Kouric who spoke. “They aren’t going to kill him. Twisties usually kill if they mean to kill. He’d be in a gutter by now.”
“Don’t call us Twisties you old coot.” The warrior snarled. “I would leave you in a gutter.”
“No Twisty ever touched me in a straight fight…and you won’t today either.” Kouric laughed sharply. “Go back to your Kurzick latrine.”
Dale had not sheathed her dagger and a crowd was gathering to watch the entertainment. Gared slumped to the ground when the warrior released him to stride towards Kouric’s defiant figure. As yet neither had drawn weapons since Lion’s Arch was by agreed law not a place of conflict. Dale did not seem to know this and waved her blade at the warrior threateningly and the wolf at her side snarled in readiness. The warrior whipped his hand out like a snake and twisted her arm. Gared clenched his eyes shut at the sound of wrist bones popping. Dale dropped the dagger with a gasp. Gared was thankful that the wolf had the good sense not to attack.
“Don’t play with knives, kid.” The warrior said to her as he turned his full attention on Kouric. The ranger folded his arms and faced down the warrior for a few tense seconds. With relief Gared saw the movement of white cloaks in the crowd. The White Mantle garrison had arrived to see what the fuss was and if necessary break up the squabble. The Twistwood warrior sighed with disappointment.
“We need to go, mantle are here….” One of the other Twistwood members snapped. “Pegard! Leave him…just another rube.”
Gared groaned as the warrior hauled him bodily off the earth. His jumbled thoughts scrambled for words again. He saw Dale standing in the crowd, tears on her face, holding her injured arm.
“My daughter…Dale…Dale.”
“Oh shut up….” Pegard snorted as he prodded Gared on to his feet. “First thing for you is a bath..hell if I am staying in a little cabin with you all the way to Kaineng."
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