III: Yield to None

Now

"This is a waste of time."

Dace said nothing in response as he tossed a rucksack on the table and sat down, leaning back against the corner wall.

Kythra pulled the side of her hood back and surveyed the smokey tavern. The room was crowded and loud with drunken laughter and carousing, but there was no one here that she immediately recognized. It was a risky move, hiding here so close to the middle of town. They were almost directly halfway on the main road connecting Raine's territory with the Family's docks district. If ever there was a war between the two factions, this is where it would erupt.

On the positive side, this particular inn was relatively close to the headquarters of the city guard. As far back as she could remember, there had always been an unspoken agreement between the City Watch and her father. So long as the Family didn't cause any serious trouble, the guards would turn a blind eye to their operations in the rest of Riftmere. The regular kickbacks from her father also made sure there would be a relative peace in the area.

"We should go to the city guards. At the very least, they could offer an escort to protect us on our way."

"No," Dace murmured, as he began rifling through his pack. "Their kind can never be trusted, least of all during times of contention."

Kythra stared at his left hand, still bandaged in a bloody, grey cloth. The way he carried his weapon earlier told her Dace was left-handed. With his injury, she wondered if his fighting ability would be impaired. Good to keep in mind, in case she needed to turn against him.

"They're firmly in my father's pocket," Kythra insisted. "They'll be loyal to him and his only daughter."

"Just like your friend Harken, I take it?" The mercenary still had not bothered to look up at her. "You cannot trust men who think merely wearing a uniform places them above others."

"The Watch's loyalty is secured by gold."

He stopped searching and glared at her. "That is even worse. Are you completely witless? Your father's influence has waned; both Harken and this man Raine have openly defied him. There will be no difference with your town guard." The old man shook his head and returned his attention to the rucksack. "I have been in this accursed city less than a week, yet I seem to know more about its workings than you do."

He removed two sheathed daggers from his pack and fixed them to his belt. "More likely they will shackle you and hand you over to whomever is pulling the strings in the city now. Corruption reigns in every corner of the world, it seems. But they may yet have something to offer. I need to know more about who is really in charge, and you have clearly been locked away long enough to have lost sight."

Kythra watched as he pulled a lantern halfway out of the bag. He twisted the lid off and put his hand inside.

"The guards confiscated a few flasks of flaming oil I was carrying when I disembarked from the boat," he remarked.

The woman nodded. "Many of the older buildings throughout the market and docks districts are made of wood salvaged from abandoned or retired ships. The guards try to prohibit the use of explosives by anyone besides themselves; it's pretty much the only law they really make an effort to enforce." She leaned back and smirked. "So if you're looking for something that'll blow someone up, you'll be hard-pressed to find anything readily available."

"We will see."

"Oh, it's you. Wonderful," muttered the guard captain. "Looks like I'll need the hard stuff."

Harken waited patiently as Captain Centius produced from his desk two glasses and a bottle, half-full of a golden-brown liquor. The guard poured a few fingers into one glass, which he then downed just as quickly. He then picked up the other glass, spat loudly into it, and slammed it on the desk near Harken.

"My, my. So much bitterness in town tonight," Harken mused as the captain put the bottle away. "Surely you have no good reason for this glumness? The Family has been keeping your office furnished well enough, haven't we?" He smiled and twisted about slightly, enjoying the feel of the plush, expensive leather chair rubbing beneath him.

"Whenever your boss sends you to see me, it means something terrible is about to happen in my district."

Harken's grin broadened. "I'm good for delivering bad news, thanks to my delightful demeanour. But you may be interested to hear that I am not here on his behalf this time." He leaned forward and ran a pinky along the rim of the glass. "You see, my former boss is removed from the picture. I now represent his heir."

Centius slammed his hand on the desk. "Kythra. Ugh, I always hoped I'd be dead by the time she took over."

"Wrong," Harken replied. "Try again."

The armoured man's brow furrowed. "What, her brother? How could Rentris take the reins of the Family instead of her? Hells, a half-blind goose has more fire in its belly than that boy!"

Harken shrugged coyly. "He did what he does best; he made a deal. Unfortunately, the other side of that deal... reneged on one of the terms in their part. Now we have a pair of problems fluttering about your district. And that is what brings me here to you."

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the captain sighed. "Alive or dead?"

"One of them is the prodigal daughter herself. I would have been content to bury Kythra in pieces, but now her brother insists that she be kept intact." Harken picked up the glass and overturned it, letting the spittle within fall onto the desk. "Her companion, however, is some outsider who's taken it upon himself to protect her. No clue why, but I don't care. I want the old man dead on sight." He leaned closer, propping his chin up upon his fist. "A word of caution; I only had a brief encounter, but her new friend seems both capable and experienced. Probably a mercenary. As they fled, I heard him say his name, 'Dace'. Make sure your men know not to take chances with him."

"You talk far too much. Fine, fine." The captain waved toward the door. "Give your description to the clerk at the front desk and have him make a sketch of this outsider. I'll put my patrols on alert and have them start posting bounties at the entrances to the district."

Harken clapped his hands together loudly. "Excellent! I'll be expecting progress from your men. Just make sure these butterflies do not slip the net. Rentris may be the forgiving sort, but I am not. Nor will Raine be, once the rest of the deal is done."

The captain's brow furrowed, and Harken smugly leaned back in the chair, which let out a long squeak. Harken continued, "Oh, that's right, you hadn't heard. I suppose you're just not important enough. Well, let me tell you about the future of our fine island."

"Name," said the harbour clerk, quill in hand.

"Damon."

The dock employee eyed the man with detached interest. His eyes seemed to light up a bit when they saw the large, ornate trunk the new arrival had with him. But he just as quickly returned to a state of boredom as his gaze shifted back to the newcomer.

"Really, you only have a first name? What, were you born a bastard?"

Damon suddenly leaned forward, slamming his hand on the desk loudly enough that the clerk had to recoil. He snarled, "My parents were murdered before my eyes as a child. You want more? How about Sir Damon, Knight of the Holy Order of Helm." He reached under his vest and produced a steel amulet bearing the image of a gauntlet with a single glaring eye on its palm.

It was satisfying to see the sweat starting to form on the dock worker's brow. Damon glared at the man for a few more seconds, then slowly began to eye the logbook. The clerk hastily scrawled the paladin's name down, then slammed the book shut and waved the new arrival on. In all likelihood, he didn't want the knight to take too close a look at all the illicit cargo moving through the docks.

In truth, it mattered little. Damon knew he had no real authority on this island of degenerates, but right now there was a more pressing mission that needed to be dealt with. The killer known as Dace had landed in the city only a few days hence; his name was still visible in the logbook. It seemed odd that he would have left his own name there, but perhaps the killer assumed no one in this ramshackle town would know who he is.

After all these years, Damon was finally close on the trail of his parents' killer. It was hardly a surprise that Dace would be hiding here, in such a dismal place. The feeling of corruption that infested the city was evident from the moment the knight stepped off the boat. Like there was something festering, deep within the bowels of the island itself.

Still, Damon knew that he would need to, at the very least, attempt to reach out to the town's constabulary. He would need to judge for himself whether the guards were honourable enough to provide him assistance on his quest. Carrying his luggage alongside, the paladin set out into the city, resolving that he would not leave until he knew Dace had answered for his crime.