[Author Note: Sorry for the no-show last week! I was moving and naively thought that I would still have energy to churn out a new chapter but that turned out to be a big fat lie. Still a bit tired so I apologize if it's noticeable in the writing!]
The sound of hooves jolted Quinn awake.
Morning light peeked through the ventilation slits on the ceiling.
Outside her father's smithy, a horse neighed and a cart creaked past. The last room in Darragh's shop was a small cubicle containing a stove, a bed and cupboard with pots and utensils. Her father would use the room for those nights when he had been too deep into his tinkering.
Her limbs ached still, waving tickets of exhaustion and demanding more rest but they had to settle with the few hours she'd gotten. Quinn yawned widely as she climbed out of the bed.
She appreciated her father's offer to rest in his shop. After last night's event, she hadn't been in the mood to sleep under the same roof as her mother, nor in the barracks. The warden had been baffled with Jax's release. The bafflement in the warden's eyes then sharpened to daggers when she had recruited Jax as a special constable without giving any concrete reasons. Quinn had then told Jax the location of the dead wyvern, asking him to confirm the corpse and check around for clues. The giant man had put on his helm and clothes, grabbed his lamp post and headed out in the middle of the night.
Quinn kindled the stove and ladled a pot with water. In a stash underneath the bed, she found a container with coffee beans and put a handful in a cheesecloth.
A breeze pricked her skin when she entered the main room with a cold forge. She put the pouch on top of the anvil, grabbed one of the small hammers hanging on the wall and began tapping the content to dust.
On her father's workshop table was an empty mug on top of a paper where she had emptied her thoughts from last night. The name 'Jax' had the number 'fifty-eight' and the words 'minor injuries' under it. According to the Illuminators, all guards had come out with only bruises and small aches, no fatal wounds or even broken bones. Quinn wasn't sure if even one of the Dauntless Vanguard would be able to perform the same feat of control. The purple man was a mystery. His skills were stunning and his actions had been of a taunting nature, but she hadn't detected any threat in his words during their exchange.
Her eyes locked on the third line underneath the mercenary's name: 'White hair, child?'.
When Quinn had entered the barrack grounds, Valor had landed on her shoulder and dropped strands of white hair in her hand before darting up into the sky. She had taken a shot in the dark and discovered that the white hair was somehow connected to the dented bars in Jax's prison cell.
A pot lid clattered from the small bedroom, followed by hisses of water boiling over. She reached for a pair of heavy gloves by the forge and hurried to retrieve the pot, pouring the boiling water in her mug and dunking the cloth with crushed beans in it.
"Will you call for the mageseekers? Will they come to Uwendale?"
Her father's voice echoed faintly in her mind, his face carved with fear.
What if there were no mages? It would only sow more discord and result in another burden for the high council to solve.
Quinn took a sip and burned her tongue. She chided herself for not letting the coffee steep longer. There was no need to rush things based on suspicions. Find some concrete proof first. Next time, it might be more than a tongue burn.
She glanced down at the paper, looking at the next word in big letters: 'Slayer'.
Underneath it, she had written 'warhammer, angel wings, unknown'.
Was anonymity a way to direct the attention to the other features?
Angel wings were a style of pigtails fashioned in the rural lands. But it was also a symbol strongly associated with the Winged Protector. A deity of justice on which Demacia had based their laws upon. But the Winged Protector's weapon of choice was a sword, not a warhammer.
Something Adam, the ranger-in-training, had said tickled her mind.
"...the wyverns' heads were caved in, like the dead bandits on the road and the rabid wolves, so it's probably made by the same person."
Quinn took a seat and reached for a quill and ink. She drew a line from 'warhammer' to a blank space and wrote: 'Harder to identify'.
A wyvern without a head was still quite recognizable, same with a wolf. But a human corpse with a destroyed face would be difficult to identify. Clothes could reveal some clues but they were also easy to tamper with.
Jax's overarching question echoed inside her head.
"Why Uwendale?"
Quinn scribbled on.
From an enemy nation's standpoint, the settlement didn't have any strategic advantage. It was remote, hard to defend, and beasts would come down from the hinterlands during hunting seasons. From another point of view, it would take time for Demacia to send reinforcement if anything were to happen. The town was also close to the borders of Freljord and the Arbormark.
Outside, the visitors and townsmen began to wake up. More footsteps thumped against the pavement, wood squeaked from merchants setting up stores.
The writings looked like a mess, with circled words, connecting lines, question marks and underscores. Quinn felt like she had most of the puzzle pieces already, but she still couldn't put it together.
"How do we know that the corpses were of bandits?"
Jax's insinuation of the Slayer being a murderer didn't fit with the other pieces she had. She needed to talk to the mayor of Uwendale, find out if there had been any rumors of missing people.
The last word in big letters was 'Mages' and she had written 'Illuminators' underneath. The order had a religious background, following the teachings of the Winged Protector. Next to 'Mages', she'd also jotted down 'wyvern, wolf prints'. Quinn couldn't see any other answers to how wolves could coordinate themselves to kill a wyvern and clean their bloodied paws afterwards.
No, there was another answer. An answer which had dug into her shoulder together with Valor's claws. Valor should've been waiting in the warden's office but someone had chased her azurite eagle out. It had also been the reason why Quinn hadn't told her mother any concrete reasons for hiring Jax.
Hypothetically, a ranger with a dire wolf as their animal companion could've done it.
Which was worse, a mage or ranger?
She would need to go through the warden's ledgers, check the list of rangers and find out if there's one who has a wolf as a companion.
When Quinn took another sip of her coffee, it had already gone cold.
The market near Uwendale's town hall clattered with activity. Stalls and tents lined the paved roads and every patch of grass had people performing to a crowd.
People threw Quinn a glance when she walked past but didn't think much more of her when they noticed her wrinkly cotton dress and dark vest. To them, she must've looked like another one of the country girls curious to attend a festival, especially with how she had braided her hair in two short stumps. Some of the town guards with their blue helmets, on the other hand, perked up when they saw her and straightened their backs.
There were a lot of faces she didn't recognize. Some wore the simpler fashions of the hinterlands while others dressed with gleaming accessories like those hailing from the larger cities such as High Silvermere or the Great Capital.
She paced slowly over each stall, feigning interest in the goods while listening to the chatter around her.
"Who do you think the Slayer is?"
"Maybe a Dauntless Vanguard?"
"What about that giant man from yesterday?"
"The Slayer couldn't possibly look like that."
"Anything which catches your fancy, milady?"
Quinn looked up. It was a man behind a stall of jewelries. A merchant with whiskers for a mustache and a striped patch underneath his lips. His clothes were sleek and vibrant.
She smiled and brushed her finger against a necklace with beads of stones. "I'm curious what this is. I've never seen stones this white before."
"You have a great eye, milady.." The merchant hefted the necklace tenderly in his palm. "This is petricite, a unique stone to ward off magic and bad luck. Very rare."
"Really?" Quinn took a closer look, her eyes wide with wonder. "I've never heard of it before. Will it protect me from the mages?"
"Naturally, no vile magic can be cast in the vicinity of petricite. Everyone knows that."
"This necklace must be incredibly rare then?"
"Yes, in fact, it's a family heirloom. A man sold it to me. You see, his family was killed by bandits and he needed coins for revenge. I tried my best to stop him, to not throw away the last remnant of his family. I tried and tried but the man was hellbent to hunt down the killers. Lo and behold, he returned the very next day alive and smiling. He told me that the Slayer had already killed the bandits! I offered the heirloom back, free of charge naturally, but the man told me to keep it because I had tried so hard to stop him. Good rewards good, milady. Which is why I decided to lower the price to a mere four silvers just for you."
The story had everything a curious maiden would've loved to hear; tragedy, revenge, mention of the Slayer, and even a happy ending while putting the merchant in good light. If only he had put the same effort in the necklace as with his story-telling she might've been tempted to buy the rocks out of praise.
"Can I have it for half a silver?" Quinn asked.
"Milady likes to joke. It would be a dishonor to the necklace's previous owner. It's an heirloom soaked in history after all."
"You sure you don't mean painted?"
The merchant froze like a startled deer.
Quinn leaned closer, using the nail of her thumb to scrape off the white from one of the stones on the necklace.
The man's whiskers trembled.
"What's your name?" she asked in a low voice.
"G-Glendon."
"How long have you been in Uwendale?"
"Four days." The man swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. Please, please don't say anything to the watch. Take the necklace. It's free. I —"
Quinn plucked out a full gold coin from her pouch and put it in the merchant's palm.
The man had a bewildered look. "I don't understand."
"Do you know where Darragh the weaponsmith's store is?"
"Yes?"
"Good, I'll meet you there in the afternoon. Let's say after the third noon bell. Don't try and scramble away from Uwendale, bandits can be lurking by the roads after all." She patted the man on the shoulder. "Talk to you later, Glendon."
The merchant's whiskers drooped together with the rest of his face.
Her father wouldn't like how Quinn was turning the forge into a new base but she needed to talk privately with an outsider without the townguards looming over her.
The rustling of armor caught her attention.
People stepped aside as the warden in her full attire walked past. Mealla seemed to be patrolling near the town hall, coincidentally in the vicinity where some of the guards had last spotted Quinn.
Quinn snuck deeper into the mass of people, sliding towards the tents by the grass with crowds of people when she saw a familiar shape sitting on a bench and being tended to by a white-cloak.
"Ouch, lad! You don't need to strangle my arm. I need it to bake my pies."
Samuel, the mayor of Uwendale, looked almost the same with his wide form and large arms. Gray hair split in pigtails matched a sun-tanned face weathered by time. Stubbles and scars patted his chin and jaw. He winced once again, his left hand's knuckles turning white from squeezing the bench as the white-cloak, a young boy with a timid expression, finished wrapping up the wound.
"You need to let it heal," the boy said."A bone fracture can take months to recover."
"Months?" Samuel bellowed. "I'll take three days, final offer."
The boy squirmed. "You can't bargain with a fracture, sir."
"Five days then. Final, final offer."
The warden was already a dot shrouded among the sea of people floating by. The Illuminators had a tent smacked with visitors waiting in line to get advice and blessing. Quinn couldn't see any blue caps close by and headed straight to the mayor. "Been wrestling with your rams again, Samuel?"
Pale blue eyes looked up at her. Lines creased the man's forehead, then softened in recognition."Quinn, I heard from Mealla that you arrived yesterday. Came for a slice of pie?"
"I had one yesterday," she said. "Still tastes just as I remember it."
"Aye, something needs to stay unchanged in Uwendale." He glanced at Quinn's clothes. "You're not in your uniform." His tone was guarded.
"I'd like to ask you some questions," she said. "Could we go somewhere quieter?"
"I'll do it here. There's nothing to hide, is there?"
Around them, people were looking away, acting as if they weren't interested but their gaze flickered occasionally back to Quinn, the mayor, and to the white-cloaked boy, who was looking down and hiding his expression beneath chestnut-colored bangs. The rest of the white-cloaks wore an alert expression but continued tending the visitors in line.
This would probably get back to the warden sooner or later, so Quinn might've as well cut to the chase.
"Fine by me," she said. "Have there been any reports of missing persons?"
"No," Samuel replied curtly.
"What about the rumors of these bandits the Slayer have supposedly killed?"
"Not rumors," Samuel said. "Confirmed. A group of them were found in Westwald forest."
"How do you know that they were bandits?" Quinn asked.
"Filthy clothes and cheap weapons says everything, doesn't it?"
"That's not proof."
"Take it or leave it." The mayor rose from the bench. "Is that all?"
"When did this happen and who took care of the burials of these bodies?"
"Maybe, a month ago? You'll have to ask Tabitha about it."
A spark lit up in a dark corner of Quinn's memories. An image of an old woman wearing a mask of black and white flickered to life. "The village elder is still alive?"
"We don't use village elder anymore," Samuel said. "She goes under the name wake-tender and handles the burial rites and funerals."
"By herself?" Quinn asked dubiously. "She was already old when I left."
"She has a grandchild and an apprentice." He'd said the last word with an edge.
"He's not from Uwendale?" Quinn guessed.
Samuel ignored her remark and tilted his head at the blue banner. "They have their home a few streets from the barracks in the older part of the town. They have a stall selling incense and masks."
"Thanks, mayor." She turned her attention towards the boy and reached out with a hand. "Thank you for your service. The Illuminators are always appreciated. I'm Quinn, the ranger-knight, sponsored by house Buvelle."
"E-Eyn," the boy said.
"Nice to meet you, Eyn. Are you familiar with house Buvelle?"
"N-no?"
"Hey, lad," Samuel shouted, as he unfurled his arm sleeve. "You're all skin and bones. Come with me and I'll give you something to eat. You can take some back and share with the rest of your group."
The boy named Eyn gave a quick bow and hurried after the mayor. Quinn followed them with her gaze until they disappeared inside the town hall.
While it's not openly boasted about in public, members of the Illuminators should be aware of the Buvelle family. The house was their largest sponsor after all. The white-cloak not recognizing the name was like finding a corner piece in a puzzle.
A wave of nostalgia hit Quinn as she passed the barracks and entered the older area of Uwendale. Log houses with slanted roofs of birchbark and timber squeezed a narrow dirt road. In comparison to the bustling market, the people here were few and mostly elderly.
Prickling scents of incense led her to a log house with an open window. A young couple looked at the window frames where masks and vials hung. A boy with a dark mask poked his head out the window, pointing at the dangling vials.
"Tonic of vigor," the boy said, "Good for love."
The couple excused themselves, passing Quinn with flushed faces.
The boy couldn't have been older than eight. His face was so small that the dark mask swung as he turned his head. The mask was wood-carved, with a long snout and pointed ears. On the forehead was a white crescent moon. A mask of Wolf, half of the Eternal Hunters.
"You want tonic?" the boy asked.
He was standing on a footstool in what seemed to be a kitchen. Fire crackled from a hearth in the center of the room, where a kettle was hanging over. On a small table lay a pestle and mortar with bundles of herbs. In a corner, a black-and-white mask hung on the wall. A jar with incense was burning. On each side of the jar were two wooden rods.
"Want a tonic for sleep?" the child asked.
Quinn tilted her head. "You think I need it?"
"Couples want more love," the masked child said. "Lone men want more courage. Lone women want more rest. That's what my nan taught me."
A smirk crept out from Quinn. "And what does your nan think children want?"
"Why, masks of course," a new voice said from behind.
She spun around.
A lanky man in robes carried bundles of branches and herbs on his back. Steady eyes peered through a white half-mask of Lamb. Red burn marks stretched over sunken cheeks and crawled down the man's neck.
She hadn't noticed him sneaking up. She also remembered that she had no weapon at hand. "Who are you?"
The man in Lamb's mask bowed. "My name's Kynon. I'm the apprentice of wake-tender Tabitha. The young man over there is her grandson. Nollaig, introduce yourself."
"I'm Nollaig."
"Well done. Now, I apologize if I startled you, young lady. Could I be of assistance?"
His words had been spoken in a clear and articulate manner, unlike the shortened intonations people from the hinterlands used. Quinn had also detected the slightest of accents but she couldn't pinpoint the origin.
"I'd like to talk to Tabitha," she said.
"Master Tabitha is unfortunately sleeping," the man said, "Is there anything I could help with?"
"Nan likes to sleep a lot," Nollaig piped in.
Goosebumps crawled up Quinn's arms. "I'll need you to wake her up."
"Master Tabitha is of old age," the man in Lamb-mask insisted, "She needs all the rest she can get."
"The town watch has business with her."
The masked man's shoulders slumped. "I see. Nollaig, it looks like you'll have to wake Master Tabitha after all."
Nollaig jumped off the footstool and darted through a backdoor to another room, leaving Quinn and the robed man standing outside.
The narrow road was empty and surprisingly silent. No one poked their heads out from their homes. The few elders Quinn had previously seen had disappeared.
The masked man dropped his bag of branches and herbs, rubbing his back. The short gray hair coiling down his neck made Quinn think he was old but there were too few wrinkles on his neck and chin.
"Kynon was it?" Quinn said, "What did you say about children and masks?"
"It's the answer to your question. Lone children want more masks," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"It sounds strange to me."
"Ah." Kynon's lips split into a grin. "That means you never felt alone as a child. I'm happy to hear that."
Memories of Caleb's death stabbed her in the gut, almost spilling out her temper. She had never been fond of the village elder and this apprentice was not an improvement.
"Where are you from?" Quinn asked.
"Is it my accent? I apologize, I thought I'd gotten rid of it by now but it slips out whenever I don't pay attention."
"You don't sound like you're from northern Demacia."
"You're correct with your assumption."
"How long have you've been in Uwendale?"
"I believe that you can find them all written down somewhere. The guards yesterday were very thorough with their questioning."
"The guards came for you?" She couldn't stave off the surprise in her voice. "For what?"
"You should know since you're here on town watch business, but I don't see any blue cap on you nor any armor." Kynon pierced Quinn with steel-gray eyes. "It's very peculiar."
There was something in the man's way of speaking which creeped her out. It was calm and melodic, the complete opposite from the intensity of his stare.
She had no weapons at hand, the armor was being repaired. Valor wasn't nearby either.
Footsteps shuffled closer together with the thumping of a cane. A door creaked open. The boy in Wolf's mask came out, supporting an elderly woman with a hunched back. Hair lay tangled like spiderwebs against a scrunched pale face. Milky eyes gazed at her.
It was the first time Quinn had seen the village elder's face.
"Oh." Tabitha revealed a toothless smile, saliva dribbling down her chin. "I remember you. Caleb's sister. Come in. Come in. Are you here to tell his tales?"