Chương 243: Arc 4 - Chapter 45

Crouching on a rooftop and watching the streets below, the Scarlet Storm stalked the outskirts of her territory. She came upon three figures, two men and one woman, hastily making their way through an alley, weaving around leaking barrels and rotten crates. And as they did, they argued in hushed tones. It was a few hours after sunset, and normally such 'fine' folk as these should be in some half-flooded tavern, drinking watered-down ale. What they were doing, scurrying around like rats, was suspicious.

Were they another set of arsonists? Or were they merely thieves and muggers? Did they come to do harm to the Refuge or to her? The Storm strung her bow, but didn't nock any arrow. That didn't mean those whom she followed were not imperilled. No, she could conjure arrows made of the air itself with only a thought, then loose the whisper-quiet shafts of wind into those that crossed her and her rules.

Unarmoured, as most were in the districts, the arrows would pierce right through thick coats with ease, puncturing skin and gouging finger-thick holes in the flesh beneath. Then the conjured shaft would dissipate with a whoosh and short sprinkling of rain and blood, leaving no proof of a bow's loosing. It was an efficient, safe, way to kill or maim. Distant, too. Much better than knives, clubs and fists. The trio below quickened their pace, casting looks about and behind them, fearful of pursuit or notice.

The Storm silently followed, watching for any wrongdoing to punish. Though her territory was the safest it had ever been, now safer than all but the most prosperous places in the districts, that was only due to her vigilance. And violence, when it was needed. They continued like this for some minutes, until the three figures broke into a run and crossed into the street, over a gutter bridge, then ducked into an alley on the other side. The Storm slowed to a stop at a roof's edge.

The gap the street and stream cut between the buildings was wide enough that she would have to leap it. If she could.

"Spite," she swore. The stretch of empty space was at least twenty feet long, so she backed away, then prepared to jump. After reaching the very top of the slanted, tile roof, she put on a burst of speed and sprinted down the short slope and leapt off the ledge. She soared through the air, cloak flapping, reaching nearly halfway before she began to drop. Though her Passives lent her much swiftness while on her feet, Light Step and Fleet couldn't aid her as she fell.

She knew she would miss the other edge by only a few feet, then would crash into the wall and plummet to the cobblestones below. The Storm wasn't worried, though. Moments like that were where Wind Step proved its worth. The magic rushed from her centre, down her leg and out of her foot, forming a cushion of air on which she used to spring up and forward, landing lightly on the rooftop. Without so much as a stumble on the slippery surface, she continued to chase her quarry.

Spotting them hurry into a half-flooded house, she swiftly made her way to its roof and peered through a head-sized hole in the tiles. Past the rotting rafters, she could see the three huddled by a small fireplace, her Keen Sight and Night Vision allowing her to pierce the dripping gloom with ease. Their faces were young, and their leader, likely the eldest, was the woman. A girl. Who looked to be only sixteen years old, while the boys, tall for their age, seemed to be fourteen or fifteen at most.

They were thin, their cheeks were hollow, and their eyes were hard and scared. A whispered argument was ensuing; however, it was hard to hear in the rain. Sylvia leant closer, turning one ear to them and listened.

"But look at all we got," one of the boys said. The lighter-haired one.

"Look at what we got? Look at what we got!?" the girl seethed.

"We got marked for death, that's what we got."

"What do you mean by that?" the darker-haired boy asked.

"Them kids you robbed was from the Refuge! Idiot!" the girl nearly cried.

"Sid Smiles will come for us. And he'll beat us for robbin' his people. And then there's the Storm. What if he finds us out? What if we're hacked to pieces and dropped into the gutter? Bit by bit. Hands, then head, then the rest, just as they say?"

"The Scarlet Storm isn't real," Dark-hair spat.

"Is too," the girl argued.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"If the Storm was real, and was killin' bad folk, then Clyde Cudgel would be dead by now," Dark-hair stated.

"You know that."

"That's not what I know. What I know is that I haven't seen a dead body in at least a month. Used to be you couldn't go a week without stumbling over some bloated corpse or see one floating down one of the main gutters," the girl said.

"And that's 'cause of the Storm."

"Could be the Shade," Dark-hair said.

"You believe in the Shade and not the Storm? What are you, a baby?" the girl scoffed.

"I'm no baby. And I seen the Shade with my own two eyes!" Dark-hair hissed.

"This again," Light-hair said, sighing.

"What was it? He threw you a gold triad?"

"It was silver! I told you it was silver!"

"Yeah? Where is it now? We could really do with a bit of silver," Light-hair challenged. Dark-hair clenched his fists and scowled, then through gritted teeth he said, "It fell through a hole in my pocket."

"Hah, sure it did," Light-hair said.

"It did! You half-faced leper!" Dark-hair shouted.

"Who are you callin' a leper, you squid-licking prick?"

"Shut up, the both of you. Or I'm leavin' the crew," the girl warned. The boys glowered at each other, but did as she bade. Though judging from their reluctance, this was a common threat issued by the girl.

"Good," she said.

"Better," she amended.

"So what did we get?"

"A few coppers, three apples, a lime, a pie, a carved horse, and four wrapped rations," Dark-hair provided.

"What kind of pie?" the girl asked.

"Squid."

"Yum, give it here," the girl said.

"You can have it. I hate squid. Too rubbery," Dark-hair said, handing her the cold pastry. His eyes lingered on it hungrily. She took it, smiling shyly as she brushed a strand of hair away from her head. The Storm loomed above them, her hand upon the string of her bow. She hadn't conjured an arrow, though she almost had when the boy had admitted to harming the children of the Refuge. Punishment was in order, and a warning was needed, but an arrow in the back would be too much.

She lowered her bow and drew her short sword.

"They say you can join the Refuge," Dark-hair said.

"Yeah, and they'll make you follow the rules and put you to work for a pittance," Light-hair said.

"Better a life of freedom and thievery. True as the rain."" We can join the refuge," Dark-hair stated.

"Better hard work than running around all day and night, stealin' and beggin'. Especially if it gets you a roof over your head. One without a hole."

"What, you would go join up after we just robbed their kids?" Light-hair sneered.

"I'm sure they'll welcome you with open arms, alright. They'll throw you a party, raise you to king of the gutters and coronate you with a crown carved of driftwood. Then you might even get to meet the Storm himself."

"Herself," the girl said.

"Himself."

"It could be a woman," the girl protested.

"It couldn't," Light-hair said, shaking his head.

"Too brutal."

"Women can be brutal," the girl stated.

"Nah, not as brutal as the Storm." The girl huffed, then turned her attention to the pie, taking a few small bites in quick succession.

"You know now, that I think on it, the Storm has been quiet, alright," Dark-hair said.

"Too quiet. As Marie said, ain't been many bodies or much blood around. That's an odd thing, eerie it is. They even say the Cutter has called it quits. It has got to be the Storm, if you ask me."

"Well, no one's askin' you. You've got nothin' but mould where you keep your gold and nothin' to see where your brain should be," Light-hair taunted.

"Piss off."

"You piss off. You stink of skulg-slime."

"That's you, skulg-sucker. You just love to gulp down that sludge. And it makes your breath smell like rotten fish."

"Stop it, or I'll-""Leave the crew," they said together.

"Yeah, sure, we'll stop," Light-hair said. They sat in silence for some seconds, eating their stolen bounty. Sylvia, though her heart had hardened long ago, hesitated. Should she drop down and put a terror upon them? Or should she approach from the door, knock and deliver a boot to the gut and pointed warning? Soon, her decision was made for her.

"The Storm! Run!" Light-hair shouted, pointing up and at the hole that Sylvia looked through. The other two scurried up swiftly, as thieves have good practice doing, and sprinted for the door. Sylvia was quicker, her Reflex, Grace and Agility, as well as all her Passives meant that she could cross the roof in less than a second and could be on the outside of the door before it even opened. Like a gust of wind, she swept over the roof and down the wall to land right in front of the door.

It was thrown open, and the girl sprinted straight into the Storm, bouncing off her with a soft thud and an 'oof.' This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Dark-hair was next through, though, with some wily instinct warning him, he darted to the side to avoid running into anyone in front of him. It didn't do him any good; Sylvia's free hand snaked out and seized him by the shirt collar. The ragged fabric ripped easily, letting the boy tear loose.

She flexed her Reflex, and the world slowed around her. Her hand moved, grasping the boy by his throat. Then she threw him backwards, back into the house. He hit the flooded floor with a splash, then thrashed to his feet and looked around wildly.

"Stop!" the Storm commanded as she grabbed the girl by the shoulder and spun her so she faced the door. They stopped. And it wasn't because she'd used her Treasure ring, but because they were stricken with fear. The edge of her shortsword caught the flickering firelight, and the fear on their faces twisted into terror and despair. Sylvia pushed the girl, Marie, forward gently. She didn't resist.

"Is it... really... you? The Storm... Are you here to kill us?" Light-hair was weeping.

"It was me, all me," Dark-hair rasped, standing slowly.

"If you got to punish someone, kill me. They had nothin' to do with the kids." She thought about it for a moment, not about killing him, but about a punishment. A shallow cut or two to set things right. And a scar to remind them. The pale lines down her face itched. She clenched the hilt of the shortsword, her knuckles white under the leather gloves she wore. Sylvia exhaled slowly, soothing the hard knot of fury in her chest. The Storm abated.

"You hear me!? It was all me!" Dark-hair repeated.

"No, it wasn't," Light-hair hissed.

"It was me!"

"No, it was me!" the girl shouted.

"Shut up," Sylvia said, sheathing her blade.

"You're all going to the Refuge." They didn't argue; they didn't even dare to speak. Perhaps they were stunned by her leniency. And why not? The Storm has no mercy.

"You're gonna give back what you stole and say sorry to whoever you hurt. Then you're gonna do as they say for the week. Got it?" she continued. They nodded stiffly.

"What then? After a week?" the girl asked.

"Whatever you want," Sylvia said.

"But give the place a chance. A bit of hard work ain't so bad."

"Slaver," Dark-hair muttered. Sylvia pretended not to hear him. She might have said the same were she standing in his shoes. If she were younger and more foolish. A warmth bloomed in her pocket, and her stomach sank. Sylvia pulled out the message stone and stared at the glyph.

"Come."

"What's that?" Dark-hair asked.

"None of your skulg-wax," Sylvia said.

"Get your things. You're leaving. Now." The small crew looked mutinous, but they knew they were more than outmatched, so they obeyed. Once they had collected their meagre belongings and stolen goods, Sylvia said, "Let's go. Follow me." They did, walking into the street.

"Oh, and tell me about this Clyde Cudgel."

After leaving the young thieves at the Refuge under the stern eye of one of the militia, Sylvia made her way into the winding tunnels beneath the desperate district. She was not headed for the throne room past the harem, but for another, more intimate, chamber deep below the city. It was more akin to a sitting room, like the one in Fritz's estate. Though it was far more luxurious, despite it being underground. As Sylvia neared her destination, she allowed herself to contemplate the reason for the summons.

Had another of the Bosses or Browncoats cheated or crossed the Nightshark and needed a warning, or had they gone too far and needed killing? Perhaps it was a foreigner attempting to push in on the city's criminal business, ignoring her rule and overturning her loose order? Either way, it would be blood. It always was. But if that was the price for the Refuge, Sylvia would pay it in buckets, baths, or seas. She steeled her features, knocked thrice upon the heavy door and waited.

"Enter," the Nightshark said brusquely. Opening the door, stepping in, then shutting it, Sylvia stared around the room. It was just as it had been, couches and chairs and a table with a platter of small cakes and alchemical substances. The Nightshark was lounging in the corner of one of those couches, her arm lying languidly on the armrest, while her other hand held a glass of dark wine. She was dressed simply. Though she wore something more akin to a nightgown than anything a proper lady would wear.

Perhaps it was simply a nightgown, it was thin enough and hung alluringly over scaled skin. The Nightshark was frowning. An expression she wore often these past months, though it was lessening in severity each time Sylvia saw her. The occasional twitches of her lip and her hands and fingers, however, proved to be more stubborn. Sylvia pulled her gaze away from the merfolk beauty and peered at the silver platter, eyeing one of the sweet delights and wondering if it tasted as good as it looked.

In that moment, she realised she was hungry; she hadn't had a good meal in at least two days.

"You may indulge your hunger and curiosity later. For now, sit and listen. I have a very important task for you," the Nightshark said. Sylvia did as she was asked, moving to one of the chairs.

"No, come join me on the couch," the Nightshark ordered, gesturing her forward with those scaled fingers and terribly sharp nails. Sylvia stiffened, then slowly strode and sat by the woman, glancing up and meeting those blood-red irises. The Nightshark's frown deepened.

"Are you well, Sid? You look like you need rest."

"I'm-""You must take care of yourself," the Nightshark interrupted.

"I will not have one of my best men fail me due to something so simple as inadequate sleep or food. And you'll need your strength for this task."

"I'm fine," Sylvia stated.

"You are not," she replied, then she sighed.

"Have a cake. Be quick about it." Sylvia didn't need to be told twice to eat, but before she put one of the cakes in her mouth, she stopped and asked, "There's nothing funny in this, is there?"

"Funny? Like poison or some lust draught?" the Nightshark asked, a smirk quirking onto her lips.

"No, nothing of the sort. These are for my guests and I. I would not tamper with them." Then she put a finger to her lips pensively and amended, "Well, not these ones. I wish for a clear head tonight." Sylvia studied the woman, then shrugged. If the Nightshark wanted her dead, poisoned or addicted, she didn't need to resort to trickery. She'd just force her to drink whatever vile substance she wanted. She bit into the cake. It was wonderful. Sweet and light, and creamy, with a hint of berry tartness.

It was amongst the best things she'd ever eaten, then it was gone. Only three bites of bliss. Sylvia reached for another and another. She ate them with abandon before the Nightshark stopped her at four.

"That is quite enough," she chided. Sylvia attempted to speak, but coughed instead. She'd eaten too fast, and there was something sticking in her throat. Grabbing the open bottle of wine beside the platter, she drank, washing down whatever was choking her. She exhaled, eyes watering. The taste of the wine lingered, too complex for her to appreciate and not at all enjoyable. It was heavy, sour, woody, and sweet. The Nightshark stared at her with great displeasure.

"Sorry," Sylvia grumbled.

"Do you know how rare that wine is? How much it cost me? I had to smuggle it in from-" she winced, her hand going to her brow and massaging it.

"Nevermind. That's not important." Sylvia grunted another apology. Her lips and mouth were tingling with warmth, as was her throat and stomach. Potent wine. And the aftertaste wasn't so bad, now that she'd had some seconds to savour it. And the warmth, slowly sinking deeper, was nice.

"Sid, as I have said, I have a task for you. One that requires secrecy, and some skill at impersonation."

"Impersonation?" she asked.

"Someone like Fritz would be better for that."

"He would be," the Nightshark said, taking a sip from her glass, then continuing, "However, he has become somewhat of a notorious figure in the Palace Ring. That, and his position precludes him from this particular post. I need a man who is strong, rough, and ready. And whose face isn't well known."

"So what is it that you want me to do?" Sylvia asked.

"The task is threefold. First, you are to inveigle yourself into the Storm Guard-""What!?" Sylvia cried, nearly standing from where she sat. The Nightshark glared.

"I would never join up with scum like that. They're as bad as the gangs," Sylvia protested.

"Corrupt, crude and uncaring to the last man. Thugs with badges is all they are."

"Perhaps that is so, though that matters not. The strings have been pulled and the forms signed. You will report to the Bluestone guardhouse at dawn," the Nightshark stated coldly.

"What about the Refuge?" Sylvia blurted.

"What about it?"

"It's my territory." The Nightshark waved away her concern.

"So it is and will remain to be."

"But... I'm already a known... enforcer," Sylvia said.

"A browncoat. Are they really gonna accept Sid Smiles into the Storm Guard?"

"They will. Because you are a turncoat. You sold out the other bosses and secured yourself a comfy new life as one of the Guard's most promising sergeants. All to protect your Refuge."

"I did not. I'm no traitor," Sylvia growled. The Nightshark smiled.

"It will be known that you did these things, be they falsehoods or as true as the rain. You do not have a choice." Sylvia clenched her jaw, gritting her teeth, stopping herself from spitting straight into the woman's face. Her cheeks heated, and her mind felt fuzzy. The wine had gone right to her head.

"Slaver," she muttered. The Nightshark blinked slowly.

"You name me a slaver? You would need to be human first. You are but a hound on a leash. And without my sanction, without my protection, you would be left worse than that. A mad mongrel, besieged on all sides, biting, snarling, slaying. Staining the gutters Scarlet. Your war against the world lowering you until you are less than a beast." Sylvia bristled, and cold rage crept into her gut, freezing any of the warmth that remained.

She desired nothing more in that moment than to strike, then strangle the woman before her. To squeeze the life from this evil being. To have its vile reign righted as it died, as it needed to. Hands clenched so tight they ached and shook, Sylvia gathered all her will and wits, and pushed down on her howling anger. It would not aid her here. She had to bide her time.

"And, again, you do not have a choice," the Nightshark said.

"Understand?" Sylvia, through great effort, nodded once.

"Good. The second stage of your task is to enter into the ranks of the Royal Expedition."

"What's that?" she ground out.

"The Princess Rain and Prince Ixaron are to Climb the Rain Spire. The Expedition will consist of their team and two others. You are to be in one of those supporting teams."

"How will I even-""Again, these matters have already been arranged. There are, or were, two such positions for the Storm Guard. Filled by those who have done well in their duties, have stood out as exceptional and seek further promotion."

"Promotion?"

"Yes. If you serve me and acquaint yourself well on the Climb, you may be raised to Lieutenant," the Nightshark said.

"And the current Captain, though recently appointed to his role, is old. He may retire in several years, or his health may fail him even before that. Then there you are, a surging tide. Or to borrow a term from foreign lands, a rising star. Ready to take command."

"What? You want me to join up and change the Drizzlers from the inside? You think I believe that can work?"

"No, you will be Captain, and they will do as you say. As far as the 'Drizzlers' are concerned, your word will be law." Sylvia was then going to ask what the Nightshark gained from this ploy, but it was obvious even to her buzzing brain. The Captain of the Storm Guard, her, if things played out as was said, would be under this woman's complete control, marked as she was. Near-complete control, she argued inwardly. Her head swam. Just how deep do the Nightshark's schemes go?

"I can't, it's... it's... impossible, it's not right," Sylvia said.

"On the contrary. As Captain, Lieutenant, or even Sergeant, you will have the right to mete out your justice. Is that not what you desire? Is that not what the Storm was about?" Sylvia stilled, then she sweat, cold drops beading upon paling skin.

"Well?" the Nightshark asked expectantly. Sylvia nodded stiltedly. Her hands were shaking again, but not from anger.

"Good. And lastly, when on this Climb, you will keep an eye on the Princess. Stay close to her side. When the time is right, when she is weak, alone and vulnerable, you will-""I will not kill her," Sylvia stated, voice wavering. The Nightshark's face twisted with fury, her lip and brow twitching fiercely.

"Thrice now have you refused me. I will not have it again. You will do as I bid!"

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Sylvia bleakly sneered.

"What would that do to your schemes?" The Nightshark's hand was a black blur, and fingers as solid as steel wrapped around Sylvia's throat. The nails pierced her skin, and blood dribbled down her neck. Even with Reflex, she didn't have the speed to match the woman's movements. Sylvia struggled, but the hand gripped tighter, and the Nightshark began to hiss.

"My schemes? They would be fine. I'll just find another thug. You've spent too much time with that free-spirited Guide's son and it has given you the wrong impression. Do you truly think you're nearly as valuable? If so, you are sorely mistaken. And in the worst way, too, because I would have you dead nine times over if you spoke to me as he dares. Your life isn't worth even one of his pretty fingers. And do not forget about your Refuge; it exists because I let it.

One word from me and it and every rat within would be swept away as if by a flood. I have that power. I rule here." Sylvia fought, choking, scrabbling at the scaly hand and wrist. Wind whipped around them, cloak and thin cloth flapping. It didn't move the hand or the woman one bit. She glared into the Nightshark's eyes. They were brimming darkly with rage and lust and madness and hate. They locked gazes for a few furious moments. She conjured an arrow of wind in one hand and stabbed.

The edge of wind pierced the Nightshark's gown, ground against scales and cut into skin below, then it dissipated. What was left was no more than a hole in the thin cloth and a thin scratch.

"Stop," the Nightshark ordered. Sylvia couldn't stop. Though the world was blackening around the edges, and the roaring of her Essence of Air was growing softer by the second, she strived viciously to pry the fingers away. It was for nought. Sylvia, finally suffocated, slouched, the wind stilled, then the cruel hand opened, releasing her. In a moment, she was gasping in the warm air, coughing.

"I do not need to be cruel. I will be, though, if you will not obey," the Nightshark stated without passion. Sylvia glared with bloodshot eyes. The Nightshark glanced at her toppled wine glass and responded in kind, sneering.

"You will report to the Storm Guard at dawn, you will Climb with the Royal Expedition. And finally, you will-""I will 'take care of' Princess Rain?" Sylvia rasped. The Nightshark's sneer receded, and she bared her pointed teeth in a smile.

"Yes. Take very good care of her."