Chương 47

You overestimate everyone but yourself. Harker's heart was thunder in his ears, almost louder than the lightning he couldn't see. He stood just inside the cave entrance, scarf wrapped fully around his face, staring down at a swath of trap-disturbed earth and two very still figures. It was still dark—the effects of the potion wouldn't fade for a while yet—but Harker had no problem seeing with Sovereign Sight. He coiled up his dagger and vine, securing it to his waist once more.

It had proven useful at keeping the mercs distracted and nervous—he'd even managed to convince them that a plant was attacking them—but it'd take a lot more practice to actually wield in a real fight.

"Quite brutal to use these traps against them." Stillwater grinned.

"I approve." Harker grunted.

"It was either traps or leading them off of a cliff."

"That'd been a sight to see." Stillwater gestured to the dark surrounding them.

"Where did you conjure this from? It tastes of Depths you've yet to earn."

"A gift from Miriam."

"The murderous merchant?" Stillwater cackled.

"You truly stumbled onto a treasure trove there. It is not a casual thing bottling a Talent like that." Harker knew that well. All the stories said it took years of study to transfer a Talent into an elixir or potion. He tried not to dwell on the fact that he'd shattered hundreds of gold worth of potion in a single instant.

"I must say, I didn't expect you planned to work quite so well." Harker looked at the Gilken.

"Then why follow along?" The little monster didn't seem impeded by the dark at all. His eyes found Harker's easily.

"You keep surprising me, human. In a life as long as mine, that is a rarity worth pursuing." He smacked his lips.

"Distracting a few First Depth bunglers like these two took little effort on my part. They couldn't see beyond the Horizon if it bit them on the nose." Harker wasn't sure he understood the last bit. No doubt an Eidhrin expression.

"Easy or not, it was good work."

"Debts must be paid." Stillwater patted his belly.

"I'm down to one now." So it was. The second life debt had fully dissolved. Already the Stature in Harker's center was thicker—and not just there. A density had grown among the rest of his body where he'd stretched his Stature around his new tributaries. Harker flexed his fingers. He felt warm and… steady, as if he were rooted to the earth. The faint sense of tethering to Stillwater remained, but it was noticeably thinner. One life debt left, and then he's free. Harker kept his face as neutral as he could.

Showing even an iota of fear to Stillwater was a bad idea.

"Bargain or not, I appreciate your aid." Harker reached out his hand. Stillwater regarded it like he'd been handed something putrid.

"Of course you do." Harker kept his hand out for a few uncomfortably long seconds.

"It's a gesture of respect."

"It's also a gesture of binding." Stillwater said through a sneer.

"And you're more wily than I care to admit." Harker laughed. The little jerk thought he was trying to trick him into something. He retracted his open hand, not bothering to correct him, and straightened. Stillwater watched him, claws folded across his belly.

"These mercenaries truly didn't know what hit them did they? What other tricks do you have hidden up those sleeves of yours?"

"I could tell you, if you're interested. My Talent, my circumstances, all of it." Harker grinned and extended his hand again. Stillwater recoiled.

"Forget I asked." Light returned as the Essence of Shadow flickered into a retreating mist. In moments it was gone. Suppressing his amusement, Harker turned back to the task at hand. What Harker didn't say, of course, was that he'd come very close to tapping out on every resource he possessed. He had more poisons, sure, but they weren't nearly as useful as the Essence of Shadow. His weapons were paltry and his personal endurance… Harker coughed.

A familiar ache had returned where the Sea still chugged away in his center. Cutting tributaries had relieved a great deal of pressure, but it wasn't a solution. Manifesting his Talent so many times with the untempered Sea was eroding him bit by bit. He had nearly died in this fight. Had the mercenaries spotted him even once his journey, and life, would have been over.

Yet no matter how much he strangled his accomplishments with stark realism and the weight of consequence, Harker couldn't escape the thrill that haunted him. When the mercenaries had entered the valley, He had been concerned about how he was going to tackle the threat they presented. Despite his lack of resources, weapons, or refinement he had taken them all down. First Depth Talents, and they fell to me. Harker swallowed. To me. Trickery or not—winning was winning.

The mercenaries had also failed to resist his Talent. He still had to expend effort and a great deal of Water to do so, but their inner workings had been an open book. It was the first of his victories, and the most essential. The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Why? Having Descended must have insulated them from other Talents. Adhira hadn't Descended once, yet she was an impenetrable mountain compared to their straw mat.

Was her resistance due to her Special Scope and Dual Talents? Delve, his Talent before the Vestige's influence, had been able to investigate through skin, muscle, even bone—but always with the patient's permission. Harker had never healed someone against their will. Sovereign Sight had no such limitations, so long as he was strong enough. And now I'm strong enough to take on serious threats. Neither mercenary had been able to hide from him, and certainly no longer.

He pulsed his Talent, wincing at the slight sting through his feet. Instantly he skimmed past their skin and muscle. Dead or not, both were still far denser than his own by an order of magnitude. What he didn't sense, however, was a similar phenomenon in their organs, bone, or blood. That left them open to sabotage. Ambush tactics were the bane of every predator in the wilds and the same was true for men.

Once he'd separated them it was easy to use their own weapons against them; the arrowheads were designed to puncture flesh at least as strong as their own. Even with those, he'd have never done enough damage to take them out. Already he could see the wounds on the skinny one had healed before he died. Harker had been able to make them bleed, but that would always be the extent of it, at least until he was stronger. The venom of the coralsnout Aberrant had evened the playing field.

He patted his Seed Quiver where the remains of the creature's venom sac was stored. He'd used about half of it in this battle, mostly on arrowheads that had missed their mark during the initial skirmish. Harker lamented the waste. I'll have to ration the rest. It's too useful a counter to the Talented. So long as he could get the venom into their bloodstream, Harker had a weapon against them. The same went for the Aberrant hunting arrowheads.

He still had two tucked into his belt, and made a note to collect the one's he'd shot earlier. Until he found someone to make them, they too would be a limited use weapon against the real threats. According to Miriam's notebook, the Sea-touched venom had a limited inhibiting effect on Locks. If the target wasn't dosed near their Locks, the venom was wholly ineffective—unless he had enough to pump their entire body with the stuff.

Harker didn't have so much, so he'd soaked the Aberrant tips in what he could, stole a bow from the bandits, and took his best shot at it. He was a decent shot—anyone from Vale was—but shooting a man was a sight harder than felling a boar for dinner. He'd gotten lucky. Sovereign Sight was all but useless from enough of a distance, and he couldn't exactly walk up on the mercenaries and expect to survive. Thankfully, the two had been absolutely terrible at stealth.

The skinny one had possessed an esoteric Talent—something to do with sound—and it had helped him move silently through the underbrush, but neither of them had bothered to shed their bright white cloaks. Harker wasn't sure if it was due to stupidity or sheer confidence. He looked down on the pair of corpses sprawled in the dirt. He'd overheard their words about Adhira—about what they intended to do to her—and he bared his teeth. Definitely stupid.

He knelt down, letting his Talent pulse again as he inspected the bodies. Harker kept it shallow, refusing to allow himself a glimpse into their now-darkened innards. Instead he skimmed across their possessions, and all of their pockets, pouches, and secret compartments were laid bare to his senses.

"Hm, useful enough," he muttered. Stillwater watched from nearby, claws toying with his suspenders. Flint and steel, a box of tinder, and small rations were the first things he found. He had them all in his pack already, but one could never have enough of the basics. Aside from armor and a side sword that he had no interest in acquiring, the skinnier one had a bow. Made of layered horn and a waxed sinew, the shape of it curved back toward itself to generate more power.

It was far nicer than the distressed one he'd taken from the bandit's camp, and Harker took it immediately. He also claimed the quiver and the remaining six Aberrant tips within it. Skinny also had a bandolier of throwing knives—thin and well balanced—though only half. The other half were angular, four-sided darts of steel. They were twice as heavy as the knives but similarly well-balanced. Far more interesting were a pair of darts tucked into a hidden sleeve of the bandolier.

Lined by waxed paper, the darts were the same as the others except for the flecks of silver that adorned their length. They glimmered strangely against his Talent, as if they didn't exist. Saltsteel darts… now that's a find. Crafted by expert smiths, saltsteel was the common man's answer to Talents. The material was normal steel in most measures, save for the addition of refined salt into its composition.

Normally an impurity, the tales he'd heard of the metal said that ancient smiths had discovered a way to perfect the detritus of the Infinite Sea. Refined salt was anathema to Talents. A salt steel shield was uniquely effective against blocking manifested Talent, draining the Water of Life and rendering its effect utterly inert. A pair of darts would never be as strong as an entire shield, but Harker kept them carefully sealed in their hidden sleeve.

On the larger mercenary, Harker found similar items, most of which he left alone. Armor, basic kit, and the large warhammer were all useless to him. What he did find was a hardened leather pouch on the big man's hip, inside of which was heavily padded enough to hold two finger-length vials. Inside, a greenish-yellow fluid sloshed about, labeled with discolored paper plastered to their sides. There were no words on the label, only a roughly scrawled image of jagged lines radiating outward. He sniffed it.

Alcohol base. Definitely a tincture of some design. Meant to be burned. Harker took the hardened case and the tincture was with him. He could always figure out their use later. The last pouch of any interest was on the big man's left hip. Inside was a nib pen, a bottle of ink, and a bar of blue wax. A small stamp tangled with the bar, no bigger than Harker's thumbnail. The stamp was embossed with a design—a wolf being strangled by a serpent—the same symbol that was branded across the mercenaries' tabards.

The Grim Company's standard. Used for official documents, no doubt. One such document was at the very bottom of the pouch, tangled among the folds of a torn blue piece of fabric. Harker pulled them both out, carefully inspecting the cloth. A piece of Adhira's cloak. The missive was smeared with ink and folded too many times, but it opened up easily enough. Inside, a hasty hand had scrawled a lengthy message, one that lifted Harker's eyebrows with every line.

"Depths," he swore, just as the sound of approaching his feet pulled his attention away. Adhira appeared out of the winding tunnel. She drew up short, wobbling a bit as she lifted her axe before she recognized him.

"Harker. What happened?" Harker frowned. She had dropped her axe back down immediately to lean against, while her right leg was tilted at an angle. She was clearly still feeling the numbing effects of her poisoning.

"We had some visitors."

"So I heard. You can imagine shouting echoes a long way in this cave." She limped closer.

"Are they—?"

"They fell prey to the bandit's traps." Adhira's face hardened as she took in their bodies. Their cloaks.

"Grim Company. Just these two?"

"Seems so." Harker lifted the unfolded missive out to her.

"We need to talk."