Chương 9

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. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve.

Read this novel on the original website. 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.

"No," he managed through short breaths.

"Not mine." Something was wrong with his Talent, but he hadn't a clue why—nor the source of those words that had flowed through him, displacing his Delve in a gush of white capped rapids.

"Sovereign sight," he muttered.

"What is happening to me?" It had something to do with the golden metal he'd found in that cave. It had to—but how? A Sea-touched treasure, as fantastical as that would be, might have bolstered his meager Talent, but this... It was changed well beyond its Scope, something that could never happen. That was a natural law more firm than his own. Born a Knack, and you stayed a Knack. Forever. Voices raised at the edge of hearing, loud enough that Harker pushed himself to his feet.

In the courtyard outside the western window, he could just make out three white-cloaked figures at the gate. They crowded close to a tall woman and her rather short companion. The nobles from Garon's and the hunters. He tried to wet his lips, but his mouth was a desert. So they were coming here. He narrowed his eyes.

"What are they so heated about?" There was an exchange of words he couldn't make out. One of them went for a weapon, but fell back. Something had happened, something that startled all three of the hunters. Judging by their body language, it was enough to start a real brawl…but a fourth hunter appeared. He spoke quietly. Calmly. In moments, the mood changed dramatically. Harker leaned closer, straining his ears as he stilled his body, enough to hear the last few words.

"There's a Stitcher about." A cold thrill soaked his belly. Harker knew that for certain.

"In order to find him and end the danger to this town," the older hunter said, reasonable as you like.

"You must hand over the survivor. He needs to be questioned."

"Blackened Depths." Harker clenched his jaw. The younger woman jumped in.

"That's what led you to Vale? You were hunting a Stitcher?"

"Is there not a nobler goal?" The captain tilted his head at her, his gaze resting firmly on the young woman's impressively large axe.

"Why are you here, my lady?"

"That is not your concern."

"It is if you are in league with the Stitcher."

"Watch your words, Captain." The older woman warned, and there was real steel in her voice. The older man held up his hands in defeat, though his expression didn't look apologetic in the least.

"I retract my question, but your protection of this boy is nonsensical. We only need to speak to him. Find out what he knows. Any information is useful on a hunt." They brought me here, then. Did they pull me out of the cavern? Did they see the gold? A treasure that could change your Scope was beyond riches. It was enough to slaughter the entire Vale. Harker swallowed, and sweat beaded the back of his neck.

"I need to get out of here. Now." Before he could move his abdomen clenched with all the ferocity of an adder's bite. He bent over, and his chest felt as if it burst. Something broke loose and a rush of Water poured through his chest like a sluice the size of a dinner plate. A choked scream escaped his throat, hacking and retching as every orifice poured out its own measure of Water, splashing onto the floorboards in luminous waves. It dissolved into the air only seconds later, replaced by another heave.

By the time it all stopped, Harker was hanging from the window sill, aching worse than any overdrawn reservoir, as if his guts had been swept out from his pores. His single tributary felt raw, scoured and strained. His hale and hearty bearing from only a few minutes ago had gone, torn free by the raging torrent. Strained diaphragm. Torn throat. He panted through the after shocks, staring as the Water evaporated into nothing. What is happening to me? Whatever it was, Harker was done waiting there.

He lurched to his feet, grabbing what he could from the chest. It got shoved hastily into his torn satchel and he clutched its ruptured sides as best he could. Can't exit the door. It's too loud. The eastern window has no pathway down. There was only the western window and the alley opposite the courtyard. He could climb down… or he could make the jump to the nearest rooftop. It's the only choice. He reached toward his reservoir, old habits and Law-born caution pushing him to Delve for traps.

He'd gotten tricked by such things more than once in his life— Harker stopped himself short. His impression of the window was still fully in his mind. It bore nothing but paint along the edges, sealing it shut. Delving was pointless, and even if he'd wanted to, he didn't have enough water to— Harker paused, hands trembling above the window's catch. It's full. His reservoir didn't hold much, and he had just used his Talent. How is it full? Someone shouted, soon joined by others, but Harker recognized the panic.

In the courtyard below, the hunters had run off, leaving the women staring after with startled expressions. The skies. They had lightened, as if true dawn was breaking. But I'm looking in the wrong direction for that. It wasn't the dawn. Vale was on fire. In the distance, smoke poured from an inferno along the northern rooftops. Bells rang from across town, accompanied by the slam of the newly awakened throwing aside their shutters. They bore witness to black clouds and reddened skies, shouting their alarm.

Howls drowned them out. Flat and deadened, the basso cough of bestial throats stunned neighbors to silence. Dark shapes darted through distant streets, dozens, all of them larger than riding hounds. The bells stopped, and the screaming began. Harker swallowed. Fire and smoke. Illwrought were running wild in the Vale. The Stitcher was no longer hiding. The room shook, dust raining down from the rafters. Someone was thundering up the stairs. Headed for him.