Violence.
That was always the answer to every problem. So Nina seemed to debate, while the mercenary pushed her into a wall. The stone was so cold it felt like fire. His fingers burned by contrast when he grabbed her face. He yelled and manhandled her as if she were a puppet. Her eyes were blank. Her hand shakily clenched the poker. Her lips trembled as well, as she struggled – “I am reality”, he uttered – not to laugh.
‘Nice to meet you, Reality. I am Nina.’ Her eyes seemed to say. ‘And I think you are a fraud.’
Not a lie. The truth. Blood and corpses all around, but it wasn’t the full truth.
Because of course they’d be attacked when that someone felt cornered in their own sanctum. Because when you eat people for sustenance, others are more interested in skewering you with their swords rather than discussing the possibilities of ethical cannibalism.
Because Elizabeth was dead and Lez had handed her a poker rather than sticking it through her lungs.
Because someone had to think these things through, even if the mercenary was right.
The mercenary shouted at her, as if he could beat that fear into her, the sort of fear which kept people alive. He almost managed. A chord tensed inside her, to the point of cracking. Then she looked at him, through him. Remembered that stories are often true. Remembered that
humans aren’t that friendly either. Part of her wondered if there was something behind Arnor’s blind anger.
‘I’m Nina.’ She repeated to herself. ‘And I think you are afraid.’
“There’s more to the story than this.” Nina said , voice calmly shaking. “I know it. You would know it too, if you stopped to th-.”
‘Think,’ she wanted to spit out, but the warlord’s outburst stopped her. Nina went silent.
Because Arnor had put thoughts in her head and because if there was one lineage known for using women in particular ways…Well, Menalus wasn’t rumored to have attracted all his wives with his tendency to bring them breakfast in bed, it’s all I’m saying.
The young woman slipped down, her back against the wall, and winced when she had to stand up again.
“Would you mind not stepping on my grave?” Nina whispered to Arnor, before trotting away.
Because the placard above that grave had her name, her full name, her job; ‘Travelling painter’, and Nina didn’t know if there was a body underneath.
Because it didn’t matter.
Not for now. She’d promised to protect. Who, or what, she no longer knew. But she’d given too much to stop.
So she stepped after the warlord and the fog grew thicker, even as it stayed clear of the area immediately around him. A sphere of clarity, and then milky nothingness as cold as a blizzard. Sharp pain pulsed up her thigh as she tried to keep up with the half-giant. Her poker clinked on the stone. The charcoal crackled in her other hand. She heard faint plinks, and realized it was the frost melting into droplets. There was so much magic in the air that Nina could barely breathe.
Then, a shadow. The clear sound of steel-sole boots rang through fog, in front of them.
“Would you mind.” A man’s voice broke through. A figure appeared at the edge of the circle, tilting his head. He seemed rather annoyed at his welcome. White, wavy hair caught in a ponytail. Ageless face. He eyes the half-giant and the mercenary in turn. “I had to come all this way to fix someone’s mess.”
His eyes were colder than the fog as he looked at Nina.
“You’ll be glad to know that there is a way to fix this.” He smiled. “However, you are extraneous. If you wouldn’t mind.”
He threw a small blue bottle at her, labeled with a skull and crossbones.
“Gray?” Nina’s face was white.
“This happened all because of you.” He kindly explained. “Or rather…because of me. I had assumed you could follow simple instructions. I told you not to visit the Master of Crows. He told you, didn’t you? The Clocktower is fueled by death and pain. You know too much. You became a conduit.”
He shrugged.
“Go on, now.” Softly, he spoke. “Unless you’ve made good enough friends that you can rely on them for that?”
If the others talked to him, he would reply, awfully reasonably if somewhat acerbic. If they attacked him, he would dodge, faster than one might think humanly possible. But they might not have much time.
Because the fog was waiting to throw their greatest fears at them in turn.
Arnor Skuldsson
