Ozias's finger traced the rim of the tankard, one revolution after another. Around him, the buzz of the other patrons, accompanied by the clinks and thuds of plates and cups, filled the dim interior of one of the taverns tucked away in Venery. He much preferred the comfort of the pawn guild to this place, but the only reason he was here was because of his master. Here, the distance between them wasn't as great.
"I have an errand at the duke's castle," the Arisen had said, handing him a pouch of coin. "I do not want you to be bored. Go and relax."
"'Tis well after dark now, Master. No one would be allowed there at this hour. What if you're caught?"
She gave him a wry smile. "Don't worry about me. I'll be off, then. And take that big oaf with you."
Ozias lifted his gaze. Said big oaf sat facing him, gnawing at the remains of a steak. Two other plates with sauce-stained bones were already stacked to the side. Such incredible appetite.
The big oaf was nowhere near the namesake given to him by the Arisen. Tall indeed and rippling with strength, but certainly not an oaf. The sword and shield propped up next to his chair was the reason she'd hired him.
Laughter swelled up among a group of men at another table, and Ozias studied them with eyes of green. Human expressions and behaviour intrigued him to no end, and Gran Soren provided him with a wealth of people to observe. But he could never quite understand what caused them to act the way they did, with all the eccentricities and quirks that came from beings bearing emotions. Surely joy and happiness needn't be announced with such uproarious noise. Should it not be enough just to feel it? Instead they wanted to share such feelings with others, to share their state of mind. Strange indeed.
"Hey, you!" A greasy hand smacked his shoulder.
He looked up, and the glinting eyes of five men leered back at him. 'Twas not a good situation, judging from the cobbled-together armour on their bodies, their rugged faces, and the stench of ale wafting from their mouths.
"Ah, so they do respond after all!" the first man slurred. "And I thought these blighters let you push them around."
"You haven't pushed yet," grunted a second.
"Right!"
With that, the man shoved Ozias. A grab at the table saved him from toppling over in his chair. The hilt of one of his daggers pressed against his hip.
The man stuck out his lower lip. "Shoulda kissed the floor."
"Try again, harder!"
Ozias simply looked at them and evaluated his options. Leaving was the easiest. Just return to the inn, and wait for his master to finish her errand. If he got in trouble with the city guards, he would only displease her.
The man leaned forward again—and his head snapped violently to one side, sending him tumbling into an unconscious heap on the floor. Ozias's companion rose to his feet, flexing his wrist.
"That's enough," Muramasa said.
"Oi, oi…" One of the thugs hunkered down, the hiss of steel accompanying his words. "You don't know your place, do you?"
Muramasa narrowed his eyes, cocked his head, and…smiled. In a wicked sort of way. "No, I do not."
The remaining men drew their weapons, steel shining in the light. "Then we'll have to carve it into you!"
A maid screamed and dropped her tray, and in a wild stampede of feet the other patrons pressed against the walls, gaping at the spectacle before them. The barkeep hollered at the combatants to drop their weapons, but a throwing knife thudded into the wall next to his head, encouraging him to duck down behind the counter and keep quiet.
Leaping back, Ozias snatched his bow and quiver, but his companion held out an arm.
"Leave it to me," Muramasa said, taking up his shield.
"We cannot cause trouble here."
"Except these men won't let us walk out now."
Ozias opened his mouth to suggest making a run for it, when one of the men launched himself at Muramasa, who simply bashed him in the head with the shield, dropping him. Howling, the other three charged at once, but with swift steps and turns that belied his frame, he knocked them all senseless one after the other.
The other humans stared, whispering to each other, and the barkeep poked his head up. Knowing it was wiser to escape, the two pawns collected their belongings. Ozias left the proper amount of coins on the table before dashing out the door after his companion.
Having nowhere else to go, they took several twists and turns through the streets before slowing to a walk. Ozias glanced behind them and couldn't detect any sounds of pursuit. Considering how hard Muramasa smacked the men, none of them were likely to regain consciousness until morning.
A familiar silence settled over them. Muramasa was not very talkative. Ozias found it entertaining to chatter with the Arisen, but not so much with a pawn who didn't always respond to attempts at conversation.
"Back there at the tavern," the strider said, shooting a sideways look at his companion, "not only did you strike back at the humans, you also smiled."
"My master dislikes it when I do not react to insults. So he taught me what to do, and I made it a habit." A brief pause. "'Tis a strange sensation, to move your mouth like the humans do, but they respond strongly and I cannot deny its effectiveness."
"Your master must care very much for pawns, then. But are you not aware of the risks?"
"If they strike the first blow, we are entitled to strike back, he said. Pawns we may be, but we have a human shape, and we can use that to our advantage."
"Ah," he murmured. "'Tis that reason, and that reason alone that humans attempt to treat us as their own."
Muramasa cocked his head. "Does your master not hold the same views?"
"She has always been kind to me and other pawns. I daresay she finds pawns more interesting than her fellows. She abhors ill treatment of us and has intervened on many occasions."
"'Twould be wise to consider defending yourself next time some rowdy humans assault you."
"Only if it pleases her," he retorted.
A nagging, tingling feeling swelled at the back of his mind. The Arisen. She was calling for him.
"Master," he gasped. "Something is wrong!"
"We cannot enter the castle," Muramasa stated with infuriating simplicity.
"Wait, she…appears to be near the aqueduct."
"Then let us make haste."
Reaching the canal cutting through the city, they clambered down the ladder and leaped across the broken stones to the slums. The bedraggled humans huddling around small fires paid the visitors no mind, too focused on protecting themselves against the chill of the cold night, their location so near the water making it worse. They were the poorest of the poor, the invisible citizens of the city, forgotten amongst the rats.
It was his first time seeing the slums in person, but he spared nary a glance at the humans. The Arisen was his first priority.
As they wound through a dank, grimy passage, an iron gate squeaked open and a familiar figure lurched out, clinging to the bars to keep her balance.
"Master!" Ozias cried, rushing to her side. "You're injured! What happened?"
With a groan, she slid down against the wall, dropping her bundle of clothing and weaponry. "I just want to go back to the inn. Please."
"Those are prisoner's rags," Muramasa said. "Were you arrested?"
"Aye, but 'tis not the time to discuss it." She hissed in pain as Ozias helped her to her feet, favouring her backside. "A rotting pox on that warden! Should we meet again, I'd like to whip him until the skin falls off his back!"
The larger pawn crouched down in front of them. "I'll carry her, Ozias. She is in no condition to walk, let alone jump."
"I'll take that offer," the Arisen said, and with that she climbed onto his back. "I apologize for being filthy."
"'Tis no inconvenience."
They made an odd sight as they returned to the Union Inn. As the hour was late, they let themselves in through the back door to avoid piquing the interest of anyone who might be in the front ("I pray we do not encounter Asalam," the Arisen remarked), and slipped into their room without being seen.
There, the Arisen tore off the stinking rags and hurled them out the window without a second thought, not caring that she left herself in her undergarments. Ozias, never having seen his master in such a terrible mood before, scurried up and down the stairs to fetch water, cloth and bandages. Horrible red welts marred her backside, some oozing blood and crusted black. Some twinge of darkness rose up for a moment inside him. His jaw tightened as he cleaned the wounds, while the Arisen sat there sullenly and bore the pain without flinching.
"What happened at the castle, Arisen?" Muramasa asked.
"Aeli—The Duchess requested an audience with me," she answered. "I was told to meet her in her bedchamber at night. As luck would have it, we heard footsteps and she bade me hide. It was the Duke. But…he was not acting himself, and I do not believe now that he was sane. Kept shouting for a Lenore to forgive him and then started to strangle the Duchess."
"He did that? For no reason at all?" Ozias exclaimed.
"I couldn't let him murder her, so I stepped out from my hiding place. He seemed to return to his senses then and had no memory of what he'd just done. As for the rest, well…" The Arisen winced. "Shall we agree that she saved us both from immediate execution, and I suffered these wounds gladly on her behalf. She helped me escape afterwards."
"Master, why did you go if the risk of trouble was so great?"
A brief pause. "'Tis something a pawn would have difficulty understanding. Your kind is unfamiliar with the notion of attraction to another."
That subject. A bond that surpassed friendship, causing two humans to remain together, and in some cases becoming the foundation of a family, producing children.
"We know of it as it applies to humans," he said, "but pawns have no desire for such things. We are but solitary wanderers, roaming from one world to the next through the Rift."
She cocked her head. "Tell me, Ozias, do pawns form relationships among themselves? At all?"
"Humans complicate matters—thinking we understand them when they are the ones who do not. 'Tis always a pawn who understands another. We do speak and share knowledge. And sometimes 'tis safer to travel in a group than alone in territories marked by monsters."
"But you do not feel anything, then. Never glad for company, never sad when you part ways with companions?"
"Those are human ways, Master. Coming and going is as natural as leaves blowing in the wind. The world is vast, as are the worlds beyond this one."
The Arisen seemed at a loss of words, but Ozias knew that she did not agree with his views. She chose to remain quiet, perhaps out of respect.
Then Muramasa spoke. "'Tis the Arisen, however, who gives us purpose."
Ozias darted him a sideways glance. It seemed the fighter was more adept at speaking the way humans understood, and knew more about their thought patterns and customs than he let on.
"A 'purpose' is one of many human beliefs," he countered. "We have no such things."
"You cannot deny this. Surely you have noticed that we pawns blessed enough to be chosen by an Arisen become different from their fellows."
"I…I wouldn't know that."
"The big oaf is right," the Arisen remarked. "You seem to enjoy yourself more and more whenever we speak out on the road. But perhaps 'tis only my perception of you, and not the truth."
Had he really displayed such behaviour? Strange—he'd never felt anything when conversing with his master, but she obviously noticed.
"Perhaps he does not realize it, himself," Muramasa said.
"What would you know?" Ozias snapped. "Mind your tongue!"
Craning her head around, the Arisen stared at him. "Are you angry?"
He stared back. Yes, he knew a little about anger. It was what caused those rowdy men at the tavern to attack them. It was…that spark inside of him whenever something attempted to harm the Arisen, or when he saw her injured, like now. But Muramasa had simply made an observation, as any pawn was wont to do—there was no reason to be angry at that. The irrationality of it was perplexing.
Most of all, that irrationality had come from him, for no reason at all. At least, no reason he understood.
"I fear I am not myself," he said at last. "I'm sorry, Master. Perhaps seeing you in such a state is affecting me."
"Don't fret," she murmured. "Strange, though, to see you angry."
"I'll not trouble you," Muramasa said, and left without another word.
In the silence, Ozias finished cleaning his master's injuries and wrapped bandages all around her backside. It would be some time before the wounds healed adequately for her to go about normally again.
"You must rest, Master."
"I'll gladly do that." Crossing over to her bed, she plopped down on it. "You ought to turn in for the night, as well."
Of course he would obey—it brought some sense of normalcy back to him. "If there is aught you need, wake me."