Chapter 31 - Asura (Part II)

"You'll excuse me for not getting up, my lord." Succulent's voice was as cold as the stone he lay on, a world away from 'Lockmeier's' affected accent. "I'd genuflect, but..." There was a low metallic sound, as his manacled arm clinked against the slab.

"-There'd be no point, eh?"

He must have been in agony.

Between Succulent's shattered arm and mangled leg, it was a wonder that he could move without screaming. In his place, I'd have been catatonic, waiting for death or an end to the pain.

Whatever came first.

As much as I hated him for what he'd done, I had to admit: He was hard as nails.

Even speaking must have been an effort, but - somehow - Succulent kept his words clear, only faintly slurred. Whatever the priests had done for him, he was obviously in considerable pain; All the same, he wasn't shaking or whining, or receding into a distant haze of trauma.

Some kind of skill or magic item, maybe. Or just iron discipline, stemming from a life perpetually at war. It didn't matter that he'd had half the life smashed out of him - Succulent wasn't about to give up his secrets easily.

"Get this door open," I said, and Hekkeran gave me a dubious look. I didn't blame him: Imina still had her bow drawn and leveled, one of Firedrake's arrows nocked. Succulent's miraculous revival had startled her - I could see the calculation in her eyes, wondering how long he'd been conscious, how much he'd heard.

Carefully, making no sudden motions, I reached out. Put my hand on my arm, gently easing it down. That got a swift, sidelong look from her, as if she couldn't believe I'd done that - But, miracle of miracles, Imina lowered her bow, and I breathed a little easier.

"Please," I added, lowering my voice to just above a whisper: "What's he going to do? Bite me to death?"

It wasn't particularly funny. But Roberdyck laughed, all the same - A brief, involuntary chuckle, one that made him blush beneath his beard. He coughed to cover his lapse, busying himself with sorting through his pouches: Hekkeran's mouth twitched, once, in the shadow of a smile, and he reached for the key.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Grandmaster," he said, and turned the key in the lock. There was a weighty clunk, as age-old mechanisms - Made to hold back the mindless strength of the living dead - engaged, the door swinging open with the tortured creak of ancient hinges.

I hoped so too.

Before I could change my mind, I stepped through.

I'd been blindfolded before, by corporate security. It was part of the job, the terms laid out in twelve-point text on your contract: At any point during a shift, an employee could be subjected to physical / mental evaluation, for a period not exceeding designated working hours.

You never knew when or why the checks happened, only that they did: At any time at all, you could be marched from your station into one of those blank-walled cells, seated - and then zip-cuffed - in a restraint chair. And you went quietly, of course, because it was the only thing keeping you from the bread-line.

From looking like you had something to hide.

Even now, the faint scent of antiseptic, the soulless, filtered voice of the lie-detector's automatic questions - they haunted my dreams. It was never clear who was doing the asking, or what they were looking for. A reaction, perhaps: the questions were invariably nonsensical, but there was the sense that your answer didn't matter as much as how you answered.

Inevitably, even before the blinders went on, there was always the charged ozone-smell of electronics. If you were careful, you might catch a glimpse of the arsenal of sensors bristling from concealed pods, feeling the coppery bite of the search-field as it swept over you.

But it was the dark that was the worst part. Knowing that you were being watched, like a specimen awaiting dissection. You never knew how many of them there were: Only that they were there, looking on with insect curiosity, secure in the knowledge of your powerlessness.

They felt your fear. And they didn't care.

Succulent, however, was a different kind of man entirely.

He didn't seem particularly distressed by the darkness, or the faint scent of decay that permeated the cells; I had no doubt that beneath the blindfolds, his bruised sockets were following me around the room, tracking my every motion.

"-Never done this before, have you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Being here, now. Talking to a prisoner like this." He grinned, sickly, his smile showing the gaps where teeth had been. Red flecked his remaining teeth, as if he'd bitten into something raw and bloody.

"Getting your hands dirty. Harder than it looks, eh?"

I said nothing. From the way his smile widened - fractionally - that was all the answer he needed.

"Thought so," Succulent said, with an air of something like satisfaction. The corners of his mouth curled upwards, in something like a sneer. "How's the boy?"

Something ugly and spiteful coiled in my gut, but - somehow - I kept my voice level.

"Alive," I said, watching his expression carefully. Not a flicker.

"-How's the arm?"

He didn't rise to the bait. Instead, Succulent let his head sink back to the slab, managing a lopsided half-shrug. "Oh, I've had worse, your lordship. Let's just say I've got it under control, for now-"

That half-smashed grin again, a flash of yellowed teeth. "...Long enough for a chat, at any rate."

"Then get to it," I said. I caught myself, fought down the snarl in my words - "You wanted to talk. So talk."

He seemed to consider that, his head tilting to the side. Flexed his throat and jaw, as if chewing rocks. Steeling himself, maybe, for what was coming next.

"Ah. Well, if I must." One eye fluttered in something that might have been a wink. "Once we've talked terms, that is."

Behind me, I heard Roberdyck exhale, sharply. I didn't turn, though part of me longed to.

"Ball's in your court," I said, and nearly kicked myself as his grin turned quizzical. "I mean - What do you want?"

"Immunity, for a start. A royal pardon, for all sins past and present. A fast ship out of Re-Estize...And gold. Lots of it." His lips peeled back from his teeth, a bloody leer - All teeth and canines and want. Mocking, almost. Building castles in the air. "Fifty thousand, for services rendered...But we both know that's not likely, is it?"

I thought of the fortune in gems I'd pulled into my inventory, and said nothing.

"The question is...What can you offer?" Succulent's voice went flat, now. Calculating. "I've got some inkling of what's going on out there, you know. You've seen what you're up against."

He waggled his head from side-to-side, dolefully. "They say there's no honor among thieves, but the Vanisher...He's a devil, that one. Not a man I'd like to cross, that's for sure."

If only you knew, I thought. For one moment, I was back there: the taste of copper and bile in mouth, as the blades took me to pieces-

I forced that thought down. Made my hands uncurl, from the fists they'd bunched into.

"Man like that - Word gets round to him, you know? Gives one a good reason to keep the faith."

He spoke casually, almost glibly, as if it meant nothing at all to him. But beneath it, I could sense the faintest edge of something more fundamental, more profound-

Fear.

Even here, now - his limbs shattered, bound, helpless and at the mercy of his enemies - Succulent feared the Vanisher.

"You sure he's one of the Six Arms?" Hekkeran said, somewhere behind me. He sounded skeptical, like he was wondering if we'd got the wrong man by accident. When I looked round, he was squinting through the bars, a thoughtful scowl on his face. "Didn't think the 'Phantom Devil' scared this easy-"

Succulent snorted, once, like a wet cough. "That should tell you something," he said, battered features contorting in a scowl. "-You think I got this old by being stupid?"

That shook him, I could tell. Hekkeran said nothing: A bad sign, because it meant he was thinking things over. Not something I wanted him to dwell on, here and now. It was, after all, a bad time for doubt.

I don't think Succulent had guessed the truth, not really - It was too alien, too impossible to fully grasp. The Vanisher's true nature must have eluded him, but he'd sensed it all the same, with the naturalness of an animal. He knew, instinctively, that the Vanisher was something that he could never hope to stand against.

Faced with an unstoppable force, Succulent's decision had been a simple one: The Vanisher had to be joined, for fear of being left on the side that opposed him.

For fear of the punishment that would come.

And that, of course, was the problem.

Gold meant nothing. A royal pardon meant nothing. All that mattered was choosing the side that counted, the side that was sure to win.

What could anyone hope to offer, in the fact of that?

The damnable thing was, Succulent knew it too. Even as his gaunt face turned in my direction, pale and drawn from the wounds he'd taken, I could sense his resolution. The determination to cling fast, ratlike, to the narrow chance of survival.

"Now you're starting to get it, your lordship." He cocked his head to the side, breath hissing from his throat as his splinted leg shifted. "The question is, do they? Did you tell them what they signed on for?"

Imina's expression never changed, but I caught the quick, uneasy glance she shot at Hekkeran. For his part, he merely folded his arms over his chest, his brow ever-so-slightly furrowed: Watching. Weighing.

Waiting to see how things played out.

For one dizzy moment, I thought - I could beat it out of you, and the very idea of it set a sick, nauseous thrill coiling through my gut. If anyone - anyone - could be said to deserve it, Succulent did…

-But there were other ways of hitting.

I didn't answer, not right away. Instead, I looked around. Found a chair, the lacquered finish worn down by generations of long use. The legs scraped the stony floor, as I dragged it close to the slab; the wood creaking, as I lowered myself into it.

"Do you know what a wheelchair is?" I asked. Calmly, as if I had all the time in the world.

Succulent frowned, lifting his head. "What's it to you?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Arche stir, behind the bars. She was on the verge of saying something, when I - carefully, minutely - shook my head. She subsided, twisting the shaft of her staff between her hands, her knuckles white against the translucent crystal.

"Hear me out." I said. Softly, gently earnest, like I really wanted him to know. "It's like the name says: Wheels bolted to a chair's frame. Easier to push, you see? A child could do it, in a pinch. Anyone could get the wheels turning-"

"Do I give a shit?"

"You should," I said, my voice cold. "You're a cripple now, aren't you?"

Dead silence.

Succulent went still. Muscles bulged at the hinge of his jaw, and I could see the abrupt tightness to his narrow features as his throat worked.

At last, he said: "Enjoyed that, did you?"

I won't lie. I did.

I shrugged, though he couldn't see it. "Just letting you know where things stand," I said, evenly. "I could show you, if you like."

I waited, but there was no answer. With a nod, I went on.

"What did he promise you? Gold? Magic? A manor of your own? A title, maybe?"

His lip curled, his sneer growing more savage. "And what would you know about that?"

More than you might think, I didn't say.

"I know he didn't pay you enough," I said, and Succulent's misshapen mouth worked, sourly. For a moment I thought he might spit.

"Aye," he said, grudgingly. "I knew it back at the brothel. Not natural, that was. You're devils, both of you. Should've left you to each other." His gaze tilted downwards, beneath his blindfold. Towards the ruin of his own body.

"Just a job, that was all," Succulent muttered, almost to himself. "Never thought it'd be like this. Bastards, all of you."

I knew he hadn't. No-one ever does: Not for the worst of all worlds. Alive, but helpless - Utterly at the mercy of your own shattered limbs. Some outcomes are too terrible to account for. Too terrible to consider, even in your darkest imagings.

Like doing everything right, and watching yourself waste away to nothing. To be exquisitely, achingly aware of the slow decay of your mind and body, and being utterly unable to do anything to stop it. Dying an inch at a time, a maddening slide into oblivion.

I took a long breath. This, as they said, was the delicate part.

"My guess is, you've got some kind of contingency. My friends are thorough, but I suppose you've accounted for that."

I heard Imina make a low sound, in the back of her throat. She sounded offended; I didn't dare look around, but I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my head.

"The question is…"

I lowered my voice, so Succulent had to strain to hear me.

"What comes next?"

I spread my hands. Thought - unaccountably - of Ser Autumn. Hoped he was safe, wherever he was.

"Let's say you get away. Back to the Nine, even. But then what?" I said, the words scraping in my throat. "You think they can help you? You're a loose end, now. Something to be done away with."

I paused. I'd clasped my hands together, fingers interlaced to stop them from shaking.

"Am I wrong?"

In Loyts, I'd been made sharply, acutely aware of the limits of healing magic - Magic that wasn't my own, at any rate. Each daily sojourn to the makeshift hospitals reminded me, forcibly, that no matter how different, how strange, this world was-

Some things never changed.

I'd thought that it would be different in Re-Estize, but - as Roberdyck had confirmed - things were much the same. Worse, even: the Liberation Army's priests had done all they could to minister to the population, to get the wounded back on their feet. The capital was yet-untouched by the Annual Wars, which made the wretchedness of the infirm and the sick - Not to mention the many, many Dust addicts, like unwelcome shadows at the very edge of perception - all the more terrible, somehow.

Leaving them to fend for themselves...It seemed strangely obscene, somehow. Was that how things would always be? When the Four invested their priests with their powers - Was this the world that they were hoping for?

Unbidden, the Vanisher's words echoed in the back of my mind:

Tell me: Are you happy with the kingdom as it is? The famine, the poverty, the misery…People dying of hunger, just a mile away from Ro Lente-

I shook my head, cleared my throat to cover the lapse.

"-You've got nowhere to go. Here's where you stop."

"I suppose," Succulent said, heavily, "-that you have a point to make."

I'd rattled him, I could tell. Never mind how I'd tried to suppress it; a throttling horror had crept into my voice, all the same. I'd got through to him, somehow: Maybe he could sense that I was speaking from bitter experience.

Or maybe he already knew what I was telling him. Maybe he'd known, all along.

"Just one," I said. "Have you considered that you're on the wrong side?"

He stared at me. Beneath the blindfold, Succulent's expression was impossible to discern. His breathing was more labored than before - His wounds were bad, and whatever trick he'd used to resist the pain was clearly wearing off. I could see it in the way cold sweat beaded on his skin, the way the fingers of his hand clenched and unclenched in an involuntary claw.

I had to hurry, while he was still conscious. If his concentration slipped, there'd be no reaching him.

"The Nine Fingers can't fix you." A slow breath, to let it sink in. "Not the Six Arms, not your employer. The Vanisher? He'd spit in your face, and you know it." At least, I hoped so: Something told me that he hadn't been completely forthcoming about how this could have played out.

Now, I thought, and leaned forward.

"-But I can."

Dead slow. Weighted with significance, heavy as lead.

That got his attention, just as I'd hoped. There was a long, terrible silence, as Succulent let his head tip back, to rest against the stone slab. But even in the dim light of the lamps, I glimpsed the solitary emotion that flickered across his half-shrouded face:

Hope.

"You're-" A low grunt of pain. Succulent was sweating freely, now, features contorting in a sudden spasm; "Damndest way of - making an offer…"

He made himself smile, gritting yellowed teeth. It looked like it hurt him, and - with an ugly twist just beneath my heart - part of me was fine with that.

"-What kind of paladin...are you, anyway…?"

"Good question," Imina muttered, at the very edge of audibility. I glanced back, but her expression was sternly vigilant, as if I'd only imagined it. Even Roberdyck looked discomfited, as if he'd much rather be somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

That made two of us.

I set my jaw. Made myself forge on, all the same.

"I know why you were there. All I want to know is how. How did the Vanisher know we were coming?"

Silence. For one moment, I could feel - actually feel - things teetering, about to go either way. But then Succulent gave a wincing shrug, a spasm of pain flitting across his face.

"-You're a man of honor, eh? Born to the manor, raised to the spurs, and all the rest of it." he said, a cynical twist to his mouth. "Now, my word don't mean much to me...But yours does, I reckon."

I felt - just for a moment - a brief flare of triumph. "You want my word that I'll fix you?"

"More than that," Succulent said. "Lots of people want to send me to Hell, your Lordship: I want your oath that I won't hang." His throat worked, as if fighting down bile. "Working legs won't do me much good, walking to the block." The pain of his wounds were clearly getting to him; he shifted, restlessly, trying to relieve the pressure.

"What do you say, your Lordship? Do we have a deal?"

There was an edge to his words, now. I could sense the strain in his voice - He knew he didn't have much longer. That this might be his only chance.

Yes, a tiny voice yammered, within me. Tell him yes, take the deal-

But I made myself wait. Each precious moment crawling past with agonizing slowness. Watched the rise and fall of Succulent's chest, as he labored to keep his breathing even.

I rested my chin on folded hands, the glimmering mythril of my gauntlets cool against my skin. Told myself: No matter how bad waiting was, for me-

It was infinitely worse for him.

A thought struck me, uncomfortably close to home: Did I want to watch him suffer? I quashed it, ruthlessly - I couldn't let doubt take hold, not now. One way or another, I had to see this through.

Behind me, I heard someone stir, restlessly. I didn't dare look - Instead, I let the seconds tick by. My eyes never left the wounded assassin, as his skin took on a grayish cast, as his right arm trembled from some internal spasm.

It took a full minute.

"Grandmaster-" Succulent said. Quiet, now - If I strained, I could hear the palpable note of desperation in his voice. "Do we have a…"

"Yes," I said, letting reluctance flavor my words. Let him think it was a hard decision, rather than what I'd wanted all along. "-I'll heal you."

Then, a heartbeat later - "You won't hang."

He let out the breath he'd been holding, all this time. The sharp, shuddering relief was palpable, in the way his taut limbs relaxed, the way color rushed back to his face.

Safe, at last. Spared, at the very last moment.

"Then fuck it," Succulent growled out. "Fuck the Vanisher and all the rest." He bared his teeth - Still pink with blood - shoulders slumping even lower as he marshaled his strength. "Fuck that whore too, while we're at it-"

Something about that.

"-What?" I said, an icy prickle of premonition, coursing down my spine.

Succulent's lips curled in an ugly smile. Like the edges of a wound, being pulled apart. He laughed - just once - a bark of joyless laughter that rang in the air like a gunshot.

"Hilma, your Lordship. Hilma not-a-Lady Cygnaeus. She's the one who hired me. She's one of them, you fool. She's always been." He shook his head, swollen features twisted in a pitying leer. "Right in front of you, it was. Must be quite the shock, eh? My Lord."

"You're lying-" I said. Too quickly - Succulent made a grunting noise, something that could have been a snort of incredulous laughter.

"Don't want to believe it? Don't blame you." There was a pitying note to his voice, now. "Here's a question, your lordship: You ever wonder how we got our hands on Lockmeier? How we knew he'd be snooping around?"

I felt it, then. The beginnings of a sick understanding, tugging at the edges of my consciousness.

Somewhere, somewhere close yet impossibly distant, I heard the hiss of an indrawn breath. Hekkeran, maybe. Sensing the vicious reshuffling all that had come before.

"That's-" I heard myself say, without thinking. The words lurching ahead, trailing off as they outraced my thoughts. "She told me…"

"-that the Viscount was going to be there?" Succulent finished. Almost solicitous, a man savoring the misfortunes of another. "With Coco Doll? Really? You believed that?" He sounded incredulous: "I suppose you think we'd have left records, too."

He sighed, shoulders lifting in a lopsided shrug. "Nice bit of tin you gave her, though. 'Something of a heirloom', was it? Must've cost you."

Distantly, I thought: How did he-

And, right on the heels of that: the damn maid-

So obvious. So blindingly obvious, in hindsight. He hadn't even bothered with a false name, not really.

Just like that, something gave in my bruised and battered skull. The last piece of a puzzle, falling into place with the click of a key turning in a lock-

Her voice was inside my head, now. Repeating:

"I came in on the arm of one of Earl Fondoll's by-blows-"

"I wouldn't dream of setting myself against the Crown, but you must admit you've put me in a difficult position-"

The whole time. The whole time.

"He sent me to help make the arrangements-"

"I'd much prefer to leave before they start asking questions-"

I'd been so confident, so utterly certain - Until it was my conscience that had troubled me. Bringing Hilma into this. Betraying her trust.

I'd told her. Enough that the rest was achingly clear, enough that our every action was utterly transparent. She'd been laughing up her sleeve, the whole time: Laughing at me.

At me.

The entire time, she'd been playing me for a fool.

I felt the blood drain from my face. My hands went cold, cold as death. Dimly, through the roaring in my ears - through the dull, leaden pulse of humiliation - I could still hear Succulent's voice:

"Damned gentlemanly of you, though. Offering her your protection, that is. You've got a thing for her; I get that-"

Taunting me.

"Enough," I said. It was a rasp - Stone scraping on stone. I could feel the vein throbbing beneath my skin, a red haze descending over my field of vision.

I couldn't think. Could hardly see, as bile scorched the back of my throat. For long seconds, I knew only the vile, bitter taste of quinine, the astonishing and all-consuming pain of realization:

It was my fault.

Lady Aindra. Gagaran. Gazef, Franzén and all the others…They were out there, in a city on the verge of explosion. Unaware that their every action had already been foreseen, by a cold, calculating intelligence that knew no restraint.

Lockmeier. The Nine Fingers had captured Lockmeier - the real Lockmeier - somehow. Left him rotting in a shallow grave somewhere, after they'd wrung the truth out of him.

Because they'd known what to look for.

Because I'd told them we were coming.

Something clenched in my chest, like an iron vise. It ignited a sizzle in my blood that drew my face tight, that clouded my heart and started a low roll of thunder in my ears-

There was a splintering crack, a sharp sting from my right hand. I looked down; Spiderweb flaws crazed the marble slab, a stone corner pulverized by the fist I didn't remember making.

"Fuck-!" Blind, Succulent lurched away. Trying to press himself back with his good leg, cringing away from the point of impact. His already-pale face had gone paler still, a waxy grey; A sickly sheen of cold sweat gleamed on his brow, trying to shrink back from the shattered stone.

From behind me, I heard Arche's swift, startled gasp. Heard the keys clatter, as someone - Imina, maybe - fumbled with the ring.

I was on my feet, though I didn't remember standing. My shadow fell over Succulent's form, stark and lightless. Each breath hissed from my throat, lungs burning with the need for air. I could hear the triphammer of my pulse, an acrid hatred sinking barbed fangs into my very core.

A twisting in my guts, like venom-

My teeth clenched, so hard I feared they'd crack.

I looked down at Succulent. The smug air of good humor had fallen away from him, the pained grimace on his face more pronounced than ever against his skin. Cords bulged in his neck, his wiry frame tensing as the scabs of his burns stood stark and livid against his skin-

Bracing himself, maybe. As if he could twist away from what was coming.

"Wait," he croaked, even as the tumblers turned in the lock. Thinly, now, shaking his battered head. His remaining arm juddered in futile defense, the chains scraping as the manacle tugged at his wrist-

For all the good it would do.

If I hit him, his bones would splinter more easily than the stone had.

"We had a deal!" Succulent gasped out. "I'll tell you - I'll tell you-!"

For one wild moment, I almost did it. Almost.

But if I started hitting him, I would never stop. Not until I'd smashed him into shreds of blood and splintered flesh. And-

And I still wouldn't get the answer I needed.

It was an effort to make my fists unclench, to fight the blank, wretched bloodlust down. Another, to swallow past the bile in my mouth. I made myself draw a breath, then another, heedless of the savage, stabbing ache that pulsed at my temples.

And I said - slowly, precisely:

"Where is she?"

In the end, the truth was almost disappointingly mundane.

The Nine Fingers had - for want of a better word - a fortress, at the north end of the city. Once, it had been a summer manse, a home-away-from-home for a better class of merchant and well-moneyed patrician alike. The area's proximity to the capital's pleasure quarter was one of its many virtues; Substantial bribes, as well as a natural reticence to pry into the affairs of the rich, had kept the city guard away.

If anything, the Watch cultivated a professional lack of interest in the comings and goings of the revolving cast of aristocrats, dissolute scions and mistresses-of-the-hour. By and large, they policed themselves; When the affairs of the well-heeled threatened to spill over, a handful of gold was usually more than enough to avoid potential embarrassment.

Like the rest of Re-Estize, the rot had set in a long time ago. It had been only moderately inconvenient for the Nine Fingers (Eight, at the time) to turn that multi-storied villa into something that was equal parts sanctuary and stronghold. Even the walls they'd raised had elicited little comment: Drawing attention to it might have meant having to do something about it - And those with the wealth and influence to own a villa were effectively laws unto themselves.

The plan, as Succulent understood it, had been simple. After we'd been dealt with, he was to rejoin the rest of the Six Arms at the manse. The guests, after all, expected protection - That, and a warning not to delay, was as much as he knew.

"-Why?" I pressed, keeping my voice carefully level. "Why tonight, of all nights? What are they waiting for?"

"I don't know," Succulent said. He swallowed, hard, past the pain. "Do the job, keep my mouth shut - That's what they pay me for." There was a sour twist to his mouth, now. "All I know is, she's there. A few of the others, maybe...Not that they'd tell me, the bastards." He frowned, as if something had just occurred to him.

"-Heard the Death-Spreading Brigade was in town. Could be they sprang for them, maybe."

The name meant nothing to me. I looked back: Hekkeran had stepped into the cell, but he'd kept at a cautious distance. Given what had just happened, I didn't blame him.

"Mercenaries," he said, with a shake of his head. "Bandits, really. Used to stay close to E-Rantel...The muster might've got them to up stakes." He didn't look happy at the prospect, scratching thoughtfully at a day-old growth of stubble. "-It's not impossible…"

"How many?"

"Four score, at least."

A small army. Just what we needed.

I didn't have long to consider that. Succulent's manacled wrist clattered against the stone, a gasp sawing from his throat. "That's all I know," he said, then - More forcefully, as if I hadn't heard him the first time - "That's all I know."

Every word cost him, now: I could hear the strain in his voice. "Got...your word, didn't I? You, uh - You swore...You swore you'd fix me-"

I stood up. My steel-shod boots rang dully against the cell's floor, as I made my way to the door.

At the sound, Succulent's face contorted. The tendons stood taut against his limbs as he tried to push himself up.

"I told you!" he hissed, sounding betrayed. "You son of a bitch-"

Hekkeran gave me a look of barely-restrained concern, as he stepped aside. He hid it well, the others less so; Ashe's eyes were wide, in her doll-like face. Imina had lowered her bow, her tight-lipped expression conveying a distinct unease.

But it was Roberdyck I approached. When I pressed the potion vial into his hand, he blinked, as if he'd never seen one before. As if he'd never seen me before: Or rather, like he was seeing me clearly for the first time.

"Give him this," I said, over Succulent's gurgling, agonized breathing. "-Then lock him back in."

For a moment, I thought the cleric was about to say something-

"All right - All right!" the assassin called. "They've got Brain Unglas with them! Brain Unglas! That's the truth...that's how I knew! Please-!"

That name meant something to someone, I supposed.

I don't think, until that moment, I realized how profound it was, to beg for mercy - to beg for help - from a force that you could not stop. From someone who meant everything.

In the first blaze of anger, I'd been more than willing to beat Succulent to a bloody pulp. Beat him to death, even, helpless as he was. But now, seeing him like this - Utterly broken, in body and spirit - just made me feel cruel. Cruel, and more than a little ill.

But - and yes, I admit it - not enough to heal him. Not yet.

Not even if I could.

"-Still need to check," I said, and strode away with my fists clenched.

And with the finality of a falling guillotine, the cell door slammed shut.

"You think he was lying?"

At this time of the night, the chamber of cleansing was eerily quiet. Stone basins of cool water lined the walls, beneath a bas-relief depiction of the God of Water; Petitioners would wash their hands and feet here, preparing their minds for contemplation.

"If you were in his place...Would you?"

Outside, Hekkeran and Roberdyck conferred in low voices, as I rinsed my face in cold water. Try as I might, I just couldn't seem to get clean: Despite my best efforts, dust and ash clung to me like a shroud. A silent reminder of all that had come before, and all that was yet to follow.

"Still - Brain Unglaus. They say only the Warrior-Captain's his equal…"

"That was - what - a year ago, wasn't it? No-one's heard from him since the Grand Tournament."

Lower, more thoughtful: "Wonder what they offered him?"

But it was more than that, and I knew it. I felt soiled, tainted, by what I'd done-

And furious.

There was a pounding in my head, one that refused to subside. Head down, leaning my hands against the edges of the cold stone, I could feel my heart hammering against the cage of my ribs. The tempo was strong, angry, demanding action: I could feel - actually feel - the base metals of paralyzing humiliation, red-mist fury and stomach-churning shame catalyzing into a cold, enervating wrath.

"If he's working for the Nine-"

They looked up, as I pushed open the door. Hekkeran had seated himself on a bench, silver flashing in the coin that danced through his fingers; Roberdyck had his mouth open, but shut it with a guilty click when I looked at him.

Unease radiated from them, like a palpable force. Both men had been through a lot - Getting here hadn't been easy, I knew. There were dark rings under Roberdyck's eyes, and splotches of gore dappled Hekkeran's hair.

I wondered how the hell I looked.

"Here," I said, pulling the purse from the inside of my armor. The coins within jingled, as I dropped it into Hekkeran's hand. "As we agreed, with something extra for your trouble." I paused, trying to find the words, then just shook my head.

"-Take care of Climb," I said, at last. "Tell him...Tell him, I'll see him again. After."

Hekkeran weighed the purse on his palm, frowning.

"You're leaving," he said. It wasn't a question.

I nodded. Slowly, steeling myself.

"I know where they are. I know what I have to do. And-" The words caught in my throat, and I swallowed, tasting bile. "...I've wasted too much time. One way or another...I'm ending this."

"Grandmaster-" I could hear the dismay in Roberdyck's voice, as he stepped forward. "They could have a hundred men. More, maybe-"

"I'll go through them," I said, through clenched teeth. "I don't care if they have a thousand. It doesn't change a thing."

And I could do it, I knew. With the Interfector in my hands, nothing could stop me. I would go through like a scythe through wheat. I'd find Hilma, find the Vanisher, and I would-

"But...It's on the other side of the city!" Roberdyck spread his hands, as if to illustrate the impossibility of the task. "You'll never get there in time. Even if you did-" His kindly features furrowed with worry, eyes wide in his dust-streaked face. "You don't know what you're walking into. What if he's wrong? What if it's empty? What if it's another trap?"

He clenched his jaw, the square growth of his beard bristling. "At least take someone with you-"

I shook my head, too weary to argue.

"You'll only slow me down," I said, more sharply than I'd intended. Roberdyck looked away, carefully avoiding my gaze; Hekkeran's frown deepened. They traded glances, some silent communication passing between them.

"-I suppose your mind's made up, then," Roberdyck said, at last. Try as he might, he couldn't quite keep the quiet reproach from his words.

In the silence that followed, I felt a momentary, overpowering shame - But it was too late for that, now.

"I'll be back," I said, without conviction. I nodded, once, and made to brush past them, headed for the far end of the corridor…

"Well, you've already burned down one building tonight. What's a dozen more?"

I turned back.

Hekkeran's voice was calm, almost negligent. But there was an unusually hard glint in his blue eyes, a certain grimness to the cast of his features that caught my attention.

"What did you-" I began, but he raised a hand for silence.

"Up until now, you've been in charge, your Lordship. We've followed your lead without question or complaint. Never mind that it nearly got us killed; Half the Poor Quarter's on fire, and it looks like the city's next. And you've got Succulent chained up in the dead cells, which means we're up against the Six Arms." His voice was soft, almost a whisper - His eyes studying me intently, gauging my response to each word.

"Your point?" I said, but I could feel the flush of heat beneath my skin. Felt the sting of insult, as the barb bit deep.

He sighed. "I had my suspicions before, and now...It makes sense. Sir Samuel - How long have you been doing this?"

I felt myself tense, instinctively. "I fought at Loyts, and-"

"Yes," Hekkeran said, patiently. "But how long?"

I stared at him, but the pressure of his gaze was inexorable.

"Two months," I said, and Roberdyck actually groaned. Not the most sterling encouragement, but I honestly didn't blame him.

Hekkeran nodded, without surprise. As if he'd expected it all along.

"I know how you feel," he said. "This is the sharp end of things, and you want to get your hands on the bastards responsible. But as someone who's been in the thick of it, let me tell you: Going off like this...You're just going to get yourself killed."

He stepped up, until we stood almost face-to-face.

"Stop thinking with this-" My mythril cuirass rang, hollowly, as Hekkeran rapped it with his knuckles. "And starting using this." He tapped his own forehead, just beneath a bruise he'd picked up at some point. "It's all right to be furious, but we need to know. If there's anything - anything at all - we can do to improve our chances...Tell us."

He paused, to let his words. "You're the only one who knows what's really going on. For the sake of us all, we need a plan."

I looked from Hekkeran to Roberdyck. The stabbing bitterness was still there, churning in my gut, but the beginnings of sense trickled through the red mist. I wrested it down, the acrid taste of bile stinging the back of my throat-

I took a deep breath. Shut my eyes, and sighed it out again.

"You're right," I said, at last. And again: "You're right," to leave absolutely no doubt.

It hurt to say it, but - Like any lesson that ever meant anything - nothing came without a little pain.

When I opened my eyes, I could see both men a little more clearly, now. Before, they'd been dead weight, something to be shed - But now, I could see that I'd been wrong. They deserved better than what I'd intended.

What would Samuel do? I thought, then shook my head. I couldn't think like that, not now.

What should I do?

And at last, I looked up.

And I said: "-I have a plan."

Hekkeran smiled. He slapped me on the upper arm, with a chime of metal.

"-Then let's get to it."

Next: Asura (Part III)