Chapter Four: Any Other Kind

I see through a veil of black smoke.

I stand behind a chair. In the chair, a dark-haired woman slumps forward, held up only by the ropes that bind her in place. Roped that I've tied, to tight they dig into her skin.

She is bleeding. I did that, too.

There is a weapon in my hand, but not one of my making. A stolen one. A hook, sharpened to a wicked point. The woman's blood drips from the tip. I reach around her, dig the hook into her rib cage, and pull. It tears easily through her delicate flesh, like a scythe through a sheaf of wheat. She screams, and the sound resonates through my whole body, thrilling and invigorating me. Something inside me laughs.

The woman throws her head back in agony, thick, dark hair falling away from pointed ears. A blue feather flutters to the ground.

"Percival! Wake the fuck up!"

Percy jolted awake with a gasp, his brain catching up with his body too late as he tumbled off the bed. His head hit the hardwood floor with a sharp thud that rang in his ears and caused stars to explode behind his eyes. For a moment, he couldn't move, and he simply lay there, groaning, as the last vestiges of his nightmare faded from his eyes.

But, cruelly, not from his memory.

"What in the Nine Hells was that?"

Percy looked up to see Vax sitting on the side of the bed he'd just fallen from, glaring down at him, his right hand clutching at a parallel series of bloody scratches on his side. He blinked in confusion, still gathering his wits. "I don't… what…?"

"You scratched me," Vax growled. "And you were laughing."

"Dawnfather's mercy." Percy pulled himself up to a sitting position, and groped at the top of the table until he found his glasses. His stomach turned as he put them on and saw the traces of blood under his fingernails. "I'm so sorry, Vax'ildan, I… I don't know what…"

Vax waved off his apology. "I mean, if that's your kink, I won't judge. But I'd appreciate a little warning next time."

Percy's face grew hot. "Vax'ildan—!"

"Relax, I'm joking," said Vax. He lifted his hand from his side to inspect the damage, and grimaced. "You did get me pretty good, though."

"I'm sorry," Percy said as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. "I was having a… a nightmare. And I'm not used to sleeping with—I mean, I don't usually have anyone else in my—" Utterly mortified, he gave up. "Oh, damn it, you know what I mean."

"Sure." His face giving away absolutely nothing, Vax stood and looked out the window, then bent down to pick up his shirt. "Sun's coming up. We'd better get going."

From her perch on Grog's shoulders, Pike was the first to see the golden peaks of Castle Gildspire. They gleamed in the early morning sunshine, reminding her of the warm glow of the Everlight. "Almost there, guys," she called down to Grog and Keyleth.

"Think they've got any ale?" Grog asked hopefully. "Or food?"

Pike chuckled. "I'm sure they'll have all the food and ale you can handle, buddys. They're hosting the Sovereign, after all."

Keyleth nodded brightly. "I heard they're holding a huge banquet to welcome him!" Her smile faded. "It'd be fun, if, you know, we had everyone."

"Aw, don't worry, Keyleth," said Grog, patting her shoulder gently. "Vex and Vax'll find Percy in no time."

"Uh, Grog? It's Vex who's missing," Pike whispered in his ear.

"Oh." Grog patted Keyleth's shoulder again. "Don't worry, Keyleth. Vax and Percy'll find Vex in no time."

Keyleth gave him a wan smile. "Thanks, big guy."

But as they approached the castle gates, they found the atmosphere hushed, the flags lowered, and the walls draped with black banners. The two squads of guards who came to escort them inside spoke little and softly, and wore black sashes over their armor.

"What's going on?" Keyleth whispered as Pike slid from Grog's shoulders to walk beside him.

"I don't know," Pike murmured back, "but I don't think it's anything good."

In the courtyard, the Sovereign was formally greeted by a young man clad in Gildspire blue and gold, also sporting a black sash. "Sovereign Uriel," he said, bowing low. "Welcome to Castle Gildspire."

"Thank you, young Wesley," Uriel replied politely, but Pike could see the slight frown on his face. Protocol demanded that he be received by the Count himself, not his heir. Why the sudden breach?

Wesley did not let the unspoken question linger for long. "I apologize for the somber reception, Sire. We received word only yesterday that my father has died—beset by bandits while out searching for my sister, who has gone missing. The household is in mourning, and the family in no small amount of chaos."

Uriel nodded his understanding. "And you find yourself quite suddenly burdened with the title of Count Gildspire," he said kindly. "No apologies are necessary. I and all Tal'Dorei join you in mourning your loss. Your father was a good man, and your sister a charming girl. I pray for her safe return."

"Thank you, Sire."

Feeling compelled to do something, Pike stepped forward. "Count Gildspire, as a priest of the Everlight, I offer my services to you and your family in this difficult time."

The new Count inclined his head to her with a small smile. "While we are not without holy people here, I shall certainly not refuse one more. You have my thanks, as well." He turned to address the Sovereign again. "Please come inside, Sire, and rest from your journey."

At dawn, Redwater's market already bustled with activity. Stands and stalls lined a large plaza in between more permanent storefronts, all occupied by merchants hawking their wares. Some sold food, others weapons or armor, others clothing or jewelry, still others crafting or alchemical supplies. It appeared to be the town's social center as well, with children running about, families picnicking by the fountain, and greetings and laughter ringing through the air.

Percy watched it all as if through a veil of smoke.

He couldn't shake the nightmare from his mind, and it hung over him like a shadow. The memory of Orthax's laughter… the sound of Vex's screams… the feeling of the hook tearing through her skin… Gods above, Vex'ahlia, I would never. I could never. I swear it. But though he meant it in his very soul, it still felt like a lie.

Vax didn't look as though he felt any better, standing at the edge of the plaza, eyes scanning the crowd, tense as a coiled spring. "Where do we even begin?" he muttered, half to himself, his voice tinged with a hint of despair.

The sound of a hammer ringing against steel seized Percy's attention. "The blacksmith," he said. "If Ripley is here in Redwater, she would need to frequent them for supplies. Come on." Beckoning Vax to follow, he threaded his way through the gathered citizenry toward the familiar sound.

The blacksmith, a well-muscled woman with iron-gray hair pulled back in a smooth bun, called out to them as they approached, without breaking the rhythm of her hammer. "Hello there, strangers! Can I interest one of you gentlemen in a fine blade?"

"Actually, we're looking for someone," said Vax. "A stranger in these parts, like us. She may be using the name Anna Ripley?"

"Doctor Ripley?" This time, the hammer did miss a beat, an instant's hesitation that had a ball of ice settling in Percy's gut. "I wouldn't call her a stranger, exactly, not anymore. She's been coming 'round pretty regularly for the past couple of weeks. Gives me the creeps that one, not gonna lie—and I ain't the only one who says so, neither. Might be that metal hand she's got. Real finely made, but I don't know what kind of magic or whatever animates it. She can use it almost like it's real." The smith shuddered. "Something ain't right about it, that's for sure. It ain't natural."

It made sense. Of course an artificer like Ripley would have made herself a prosthetic. And someone with her skill, meticulous mind, and steady hands could easily create a machine that would seem like magic to the average person.

Percy said none of this to the smith. "Do you know where she's staying?" he asked instead.

The smith shook her head. "Somewhere on the outskirts of town, is all I know. If you really need to find her, ask Marcan Lucius, the alchemist. Heard he makes deliveries to her from time to time."

"That is most helpful," said Percy with a tight smile. "Thank you, madam."

"You're quite welcome, young man." The blacksmith glanced around, then leaned toward Percy and Vax and lowered her voice. "And if you two gentlemen could somehow… convince her to leave, I'm sure we'd all be better off for it."

"Believe me, we intend to do far more than that," Vax growled.

She gave a toothy grin in return. "Good luck."