Price of Order, Cost of Life 1

Looking down on aptly named Wall City from above, you will see a labyrinth of defensive measures built on the banks of the largest river on the continent of Emerigo, the Sien River.  No one precisely knows how or why the city was built this way, but rumors say that it was once a walled city only a quarter of its current size.  As the city expanded, they left the original defensive walls and added new ones.  Over time, new construction forced certain parts of the older walls to be removed and new ones to be built until the city became the maze it is today.
Close to the center of this city, on the northern banks of the river, you will see a section that any map will label the North Dockside District, but nobody ever calls it that except in official documents.  If you asked anyone on the streets, they would call it the slums.  And that is what the district is, a place of rundown buildings, abandoned warehouses and shanty houses.  The back alleys and tight crawlspaces created by the city’s walls have never been a safe place, but in the slums, the crime is so bad that the city watch will not go there without reason.  Only the poorest of people live there and those with any money to their names will gladly take the twenty minutes to go around it rather than risk losing their wallet  - or worse.
Somewhere in this dilapidated mess they call the slums, there is an establishment with a particularly bad reputation as a seedy inn and tavern, which is an impressive feat for a city known for its seedy taverns.  To the casual traveler, nothing would appear unusual about this building, but those who look closer will quickly see that its shoddy construction is nothing more than a facade, probably thrown up to avoid drawing attention to itself.  The windows, while dirty, are made of strong glass regularly replaced and although the wood appears to be old and rotten, just beneath it is a sound frame and a solid foundation.  There is a sign that hangs over the door with the insignia of a black eagle’s claw, outstretched in the act of snatching up its prey.  In a plain, hasty-looking scrawl, the sign reads “Eagle Claw Inn,” but, like the district it resides in, those who live there call it by another name.  They call it the “Black Talon Inn,” because that, as everyone who lives there knows, is who really owns it.
Inside the Black Talon Inn, the air is thick with pipe-smoke and the even smell of the sawdust on the floor can’t quite manage to cover the stench of stale vomit.  The innkeeper perhaps puts a little effort into keeping it clean, but not much, since his clients aren’t particularly concerned with smell.  They often have other business besides drinking; business like that being carried out by the pair in the shadowy corner of the commons room, next to the roaring fireplace, but just out of its light, speaking over their beer mugs in hushed tones that only those sitting right at the table could hear.
“That’s only half the price you hired me for, Cutty,” said the woman in the black, studded leather with the cowl of her cloak drawn over her face.
The other - a squat, bulldog-faced man with thin, greasy strands of dark black hair combed over his all-too-rapidly receding hairline, garbed in patched peasant clothes with foul-smelling dark spots that suggested he’d either been sleeping in an alley, or cleaning out chamber pots - grinned, exposing the huge gap in his teeth.  There was a slight twinkle in his otherwise dull, gray eyes, but not one that could in all fairness be called lively.
“The item’s suddenly become a lot hotter than it was when I hired you,” the voice was hoarse and ugly, and it slurred from just a little too much alcohol.  “It’ll be dangerous to take it off your hands, so if you want to be rid of it, you’d best not be expecting that high a price.”
The woman sniffed, and even that sound had a musical quality to it.  “You knew that it would when you hired me.  You don’t steal Mayor Neuman’s jeweled sword without expecting it to suddenly become dangerous to hold.  I considered that when I gave you my price.  What you're offering isn't even enough to cover the risk of the job, much less buy the item.”
Cutty laughed in his throat, but this quickly broke into hacking fit.  Turning, he spat the mess his ragged coughing had dragged out of his throat onto the floor, the sticky mass balling up in the sawdust and staining it a slight reddish color.
“You know, Cutty,” she said, “it wouldn’t be a good idea to play this game with me.  If word gets out that you’re stiffing someone like me on a job like this . . .” She let that hang a moment.  “No one likes an unreliable fence.  If it were anyone else, they probably wouldn’t wait for that cough to kill you.”
“Aye?  And I’d bleed all over ‘em,” Cutty replied.  “They’d come sick with what I got and then who’d get the last laugh?”
“Why would they dirty their daggers with the likes of you when nobody would so much as raise an eyebrow if you suddenly dropped down with an arrow in your back?”
“Tsk, tsk.  Mocking the dead, how shameful.”
“You aren’t dead yet.  And I hardly find anything shameful in speaking the truth.”
Cutty laughed again.  Then he coughed and spat.  Grinning, he wiped the spot of blood from his lips with a filthy handkerchief and gave the woman a hard look into her emerald green eyes.
“Well, I suppose I owe you one for Reichsburg,” he answered after a long, considering moment.  “Not many’d be willing to do what you did.  So, I’ll take it off your hands for fourteen.”
“I didn’t know you thought your own life was so cheap.”
Cutty spat again.  “All life is cheap, babe.  I’d‘ve thought you’d lived here long enough to know that.”
“I could turn it over to the cartel and they’d give at least that much, Cutty.  If you want it, you’ll have to offer better than the regulars. Seventeen.”
Cutty sneered.  “Seventeen is pushing it, even for Reichsburg.  Fifteen, not a penny more.”
The woman might have wanted to argue the point further, her soft, tapered face certainly had the stubbornness set in it to press the issue, but she suddenly turned her head.  Hidden under the cowl, most would not have noticed the movement from a distance, but Cutty, sitting directly across from her, saw it clearly and turned in the direction she was now looking.
The Black Talon Inn was a quiet place by tavern standards, but even so, it amazed the old fence that her ears were sharp enough to pick out the sound of the door opening at the opposite end of the room.  It was probably even more surprising that she gave it any attention.  The two coming in didn’t seem all that unusual, except that they were a little on the short side and perhaps one appeared to be clinging to the other, but they were both dressed in drab cloaks, like you’d expect any patron of the Black Talon Inn.  Cutty couldn’t see their faces clearly beneath their hoods, so he leaned over a bit to get a better look.
“Don’t,” the woman commanded.  “They’re being followed.  We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”
Cutty leaned back quickly and raised the beer mug to his face, although he didn’t tip it enough to drink.
“How can you tell?”
“The way they’re walking.  They’re dressed like they don’t want to be seen, but the way they move looks nervous and the one on the left keeps glancing back over her shoulder.  I’d say they think someone’s on their tail and they’re trying to lose them.”
The woman carefully watched the two figures make their way up to the bar and sit down, moving her head as little as possible, her eyes alert and penetrating.  The fat barkeep eyed them both from his good eye while scrubbing a dirty mug with a rag and asked what they wanted.  The girl answered too softly to hear and the barkeep nodded doubtfully and then called for a couple of ales.
Cutty laid his mug down and leaned forward a little.  “What d’ya think?”
“They’re a couple of kids.  Probably fifteen at the oldest.  One’s a girl, the other a boy; brother and sister I think.  They aren’t thieves, or haven’t been at the job very long, otherwise they wouldn’t stand out so much.  Looks like they’re in some real trouble.”
As if on cue, the door opened a second time and this time most of the patrons of the bar turned to see the newcomers.  Four of them, each wore an identical set of chainmail armor and breastplate, bearing at their hips longswords of masterwork quality.  Hanging from the golden chains around their necks, the all-seeing eye if Luther stared from the hilt of silver sword pendant.  Although three of them were undistinguished by any physical traits worthy of mention - all clean-shaven with dark brown hair and pale green or brown eyes - their leader sent shivering gasps and fearful whispers through the crowd.  Tall, with close-cropped blonde hair and striking blue eyes, his most outstanding feature was the livid scar ringing his neck, a scar by which all recognized the feared inquisitor, Gunter Haushofer.
“Trickster’s balls!” Cutty cursed under his breath.  “Fists?  Here?”
The woman said nothing, but watched with a glare so acidic it could have melted the armor right off the inquisitors’ bodies as they strutted with arrogant confidence to where the pair who had entered only moments before sat.  Trembling slightly, the innkeeper started to greet them, but fell silent with Gunter’s cold gaze came on him.  After a pause, he gave the innkeeper a discomfortingly false smile as he reached into his pouch and withdrew a single silver mark.  He held it up to the light for a moment, then set it in a wobbly spin on the table.  The coin danced in the soft light of the oil lamp before clattering to a halt with the crossed swords facing up.
“Beer.”
The innkeeper nodded, then quickly filled a mug from a bottle he’d kept under the bar.  Laying both the bottle and the frothing cup out, he took a step back and waited, grinning nervously.  Gunter took the mug and raised it to his lips, drinking slowly, each gulp sounding loud and distinct in the tense silence that had fallen over the commons room.  He emptied the cup and then set it down hard on the bar, sighing with clear disgust.
“I suppose you mean to tell me that you call this watered ale beer?”
The barkeep kept smiling, though it clearly took some effort, and said nothing.  Gunter stopped the bottle again and lifted it into the light to examine the label.
“No,” Gunter said.  “I suspect your too cheap for real ale.  It’s probably just horse piss.  Well, never mind; I didn’t expect much from a place such as this.”
The inquisitor turned to leave, but stopped after a few steps.  He glanced back over his shoulder to the cloaked boy watching warily from his seat.  The boy quickly turned his head and drew his hood tighter, but even his cloak couldn’t hide his frightened quivering.  Gunter turned again, signaling his three subordinates with his eyes, who circled behind the two.
“You seem nervous, boy,” Gunter said, an edge like a steel blade creeping into his voice.  “One might suspect you were,” he paused, “guilty of some crime.”
The boy glanced up and chuckled weakly, then let out a startled yelp as one of the inquisitors pulled him from the stool by the collar of his cloak.  The girl started to call out his name - Alex, apparently - but stopped short as two swords were drawn and crossed right at her neck.  She backed away a step, then turned and threw herself at Gunter.
“Please, it wasn’t his fault.”
Gunter raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“It wasn’t his fault.  He couldn’t control himself.”
“He couldn’t control himself when set fire to the barn, killed four sheep and injured two other children?”
The girl tried to grip at Gunter’s armor, but found nothing, her fingers scrapping impotently against the metal breastplate.
“He didn’t mean to do it.  He never even wanted the power.”
“But he did do it,” Gunter replied coldly.  “And he does have the power.”
The girl continued to plead, but from the look on the inquisitor’s face, her cries fell on deaf ears.
“I was taking him to register at Bladespell, just like the law says.  Please, he’s just a boy.”
“A boy who broke out of holding and ran from the authorities,” Gunter returned evenly.  “And you are his accomplice.  Did you really believe that you could escape us?”
“I was taking him . . .”
“To register at Bladespell,” Gunter cut her off.  “So you said.  That is exactly what we would have done.  If it had truly been an accident, then he had committed no crime, but now that you have both run from the authorities, you must be placed under arrest.  That is the law.”
Seeing that any attempt to make Gunter listen to reason was a waste of effort, she turned to plead with the other three, who stood equally stone-faced and silent.  Gunter nodded and the two that had drawn swords sheathed them.  For a moment, the girl’s face brightened hopefully, but only because she didn’t see Gunter’s grip tightening on the neck of the beer bottle.  When she turned, perhaps to thank him for his mercy, he struck her across the face with it, sending her falling back into the arms of one of the other inquisitors, who quickly thrust her back at Gunter.  Dazed, she couldn’t seem to find the presence of mind to defend herself as the glaring, scarred soldier took her by the collar and drove the butt of the bottle down on her face repeatedly, crushing her nose, smashing one eye, shattering her teeth.
“Ella!” the boy screamed, watching helpless as his sister’s face was savagely beaten into a bloody ruin.  “Leave her alone, you monster!  Ella!  Ella!”
Gunter stopped and tossed the girl to the ground, laying the bloodied but unbroken bottle back on the bar.  He turned to the boy with a burning glare, who screamed back at him with a torrent of barely coherent curses and blubbering sobs, then drove his fist into the boy’s gut.  He gasped loudly, then fell limp.
“Take the boy to headquarters for questioning,” Gunter ordered.
“And the girl?” asked one of the others.
Gunter eyed the prone body for a moment.  She was still struggling weakly to stand, but at the rate she was bleeding, she probably would not survive for much longer.
“Take her out back and dump her in the alley.  She was resisting arrest.”
Gunter turned his gaze around, looking over the commons room, scanning the crowd for anyone who had the courage to contradict his verdict.  It seemed that noone did.  Satisfied, Gunter took the unconscious boy from his subordinate’s arms, hefted him over his shoulders and carried him out of the inn, two of his men following at his heels.  The other dragged the girl, still struggling for breath, out of the back door by her leg.  He reappeared a few moments later, scooped up the silver mark from the bar and quickly left to follow his companions.
The woman in the shadowy back corner saw all this, watching from the corner of her eyes while Cutty shrank down in his seat and hid himself behind his mug, all but cowering at the sight of the Fists of Luther.  When the last inquisitor was out the door, the woman rose from her seat and started away.
“Fifteen,” she told the shuddering fence with a firm glare.  “Meet me tomorrow evening.  Don’t be late.”
And then she was gone.  Cutty watched her leave out the back, hearing the front door of the inn close only moments before she closed the back behind her.
In the alley out back, the woman found the girl laying face down in a shallow puddle of dirty rainwater, gasping as she struggled to lift her head for a breath air.  She knelt down beside her and rolled her onto her back, pushing back the girl’s hood and examining her wounds.  They looked bad and the girl would probably bleed to death slowly, or choke on her own teeth and blood if nothing was done to help her.  The woman turned the girl over her arm and patted her on the back, forcing her to spit up whatever she had swallowed.  The crimson puddle that spilled onto the ground had more than just a few bits of broken teeth in it.
The girl asked a single question in a weak, garbled voice - “Who are you?” by the sound of it - and tried to look at the woman through the one eye that could still see anything.
“Don’t talk yet,” the woman replied.  “This is going to hurt for a moment, but try not to move too much.”
The woman took hold of the girl’s nose, now flattened against her face, and gave it a sharp tug.  There was a grinding crack of broken cartilage as it popped back into place, or as close as it could go.  The girl jerked in pain, but the woman held her tight with her other arm.  Softly whispering, the nature and meaning of her words crawling away from the mind even as they danced on the ear, the woman laid her fingers gently on the girl’s face.  For a moment, her hand emitted a soft, white radiance that passed from her fingers to the girl’s face, seeping into the wounds like water before evaporating into the air, taking the cuts and scars with it.
“Ella was your name?”
The girl nodded weakly.  “Eleanore.”  
The words were broken, for though the magic the woman had used could close the wounds and stop the bleeding, it appeared that she couldn’t fix the broken teeth, or restore sight to the bludgeoned eye.
“Alex!  Where is Alex?”
The woman cradled Ella in her arms, rocking her gently.  “He’s been taken to the Fists’ headquarters.  My guess is they’ll question him for a few days before they bring him out for a public execution.  Gunter decided to beat you and leave you to die in the alley.”   With a bitter chuckle, she added, “Killing a little boy is a spectacle, but killing a girl is an atrocity.”
Ella started to rise again, but her strength seemed to give out on her and she fell back into the woman’s arms.
“Stay calm,” she said.  “You’ve lost a lot of blood.  If you try to move too quickly, you’ll pass out.”
“I have to save Alex,” Ella muttered.
“You can’t,” the woman replied.  “You wouldn’t have a chance of getting into the Fists’ headquarters, much less getting him out.”
Ella looked up at the woman, tears welling up in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.  “Why?  It was an accident.  They . . .” her body convulsed suddenly, wracked with sobs.  “They were picking on him, like they always did.  Those other boys.  Alex was different, so they teased him, but he wasn’t mean like them.  I know he didn’t mean to . . .”
“Hush,” the woman said.  “Accident or not, it doesn’t matter to the Fists of Luther.  All they care about is the law and making sure that people keep it.  You shouldn’t have tried to bring him here.  Even if you thought you could register him with Bladespell, the Fists weren’t going to let the opportunity pass to make an example out of him for the rest of the country.”
“We weren’t coming to Bladespell.”
At this, the woman paused.  She could feel Ella trembling in her arms and held her close.  It was possible that her magic was not enough to save the girl’s life.  She opened her mouth to speak, probably to try to calm Ella again, but the girl cut her off.
“We were told to go to the Eagle Claw.  We were told that we could meet someone who would take us to Darren Leingod.”
The woman stared down at Ella thoughtfully.  After a moment, she drew back her hood, letting her long hair flow out in waves of golden-brown over her pointed elvish ears.  She looked down at the girl with a gentle smile.
“Well, in that, if nothing else, you're in luck,” she said.  “I’m Laurelei, Leingod’s second in command.”