I walked over to them, angry, watching as the remaining Hornmen escaped. At least the Syldoon didn’t pursue them and cut them all down. I was ten paces away, and while I intended to hold off and share my protest quietly to the captain alone, I found myself instead shouting, “Why did you kill them like that? They were defeated! Unarmed!”
Braylar was still staring at the last of the Hornmen as they disappeared around a corner and then looked at the body of the soldier Hewspear had just killed. He slipped Bloodsounder onto his belt, bent over, and pulled his helm and aventail off his head, the mail slithering. His hair was slick with sweat instead of the usual oil, and red across his forehead where the helmet padding had pressed tight. Finally he turned to me and replied, each word hotter than the last, “I seem to recall another defeated, unarmed opponent who was granted reprieve. Do you? Do you recall him? Because,” he gestured around Broadbeef and the dead and dying, “that was a triumph of stupidity. And you can be sure I do not intend to allow it to happen again. Now shut your mouth, lest I think you the dumbest shrunken cock ever born.”
All anger drained away immediately, and my cheeks flushed, reminded again that this ambush, the casualties, the mortalities, were all tied to my moment of mercy in the Green Sea.
Braylar put his helm in the crook of his arm and said, “Anything to add? No? I thought not.” The he called out to his men, voice more hoarse than ever. “To the horses. We have overstayed our welcome in Alespell. And Mulldoos, make sure Lugger and Brunzlo get something extra on their next pay. Also, be sure they have to wait at least a tenday longer than usual to get it.”
Braylar led the way, with Mulldoos limping on one side, and Hewspear using his spear as a staff and support on the other, having aggravated his rib injury and possibly compounded it. Two Syldoon ran ahead to be sure the path to the horses was clear, and two more hung back to be certain the Hornmen hadn’t regrouped, or the city watch or Brunesmen hadn’t been alerted to the bloodshed in the streets and come exploring. I kept looking everywhere, expecting to see more soldiers storming down on us, or the ripper plunging out of an alley and tearing someone to pieces.
I hadn’t even noticed Vendurro alongside me until I heard him say, “Saw you back there, when you took out that Hornman. Only thing I caught, but saw you do that. Acquitted yourself real good, Arki. Real good. You keep it up, might end up a better shot than most Syldoon. Not me, of course. But most.” He winked and I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything else. I was trying very hard not to think about what happened. I glanced up at the shuttered windows to see who was spying on the group of bloodied, armed men tromping through the mud below.
But when Soffjian walked past me quickly and fell in alongside the captain, I moved forward as well, wanting to be just close enough to hear but not so close to draw a rebuke.
I heard her say, “Your intelligence was quite something today, brother. Exceptional even. You seemed to know which route those soldiers would take, even before they did. Very impressive. Even Memoridons can’t manage communication with such skill and precision. As ever, I am in awe, Bray. Though I do wonder how it was you pulled that off.”
Instead of replying to her, Braylar turned slightly in Mulldoos’s direction. “Who am I?”
Mulldoos didn’t pause in the slightest before replying, “Meanest plaguing bastard to stalk the world.”
“Fair point. But professionally speaking.”
Mulldoos looked over. “Captain of a Syldoon company.”
“Ahh, yes. Thank you. I sometimes forget that. Since I seem to constantly field questions about every little tactical or strategic decision I make, and the conduct we engage in to carry them out. Peculiar, yes?”
Soffjian tapped her butt spike on the ground as she walked, approximating Hewspear’s gait somewhat, though without needing to support her weight or suffering pain with every step. “I was merely appreciating, brother. One professional to another.” With that she fell silent, though I got the distinct impression she was merely biding her time for more questions, or trying to taunt her brother into a misstep or thoughtless revelation.
I turned to say something to Vendurro but he had moved off again, and was talking quietly to one of the men. Maybe complimenting him on exceptional bloodletting skills. The knot in my stomach pulled tighter.
Even with Hewspear trying to spare the captain, Bloodsounder got bloodied once again. Was Braylar feeling the effects already, absorbing a memory or two? More? I couldn’t ask, not with his sister nearby, and he likely would have only scolded me for acting the nursemaid anyway.
We made our way to the horses without incident, mounted up, and headed to a wider street that intersected Broadbeef, so we spread out a bit and weren’t riding nose to tail. When I realized someone was riding alongside me, I assumed it was Vendurro again, and turned to say something to him, surprised when I saw Skeelana’s pierced heart-shape face instead. She was looking straight ahead, expression blank. But she didn’t move off when she felt me watching her, saying only, “Must be a welcome change, not having to stare at an unshaven ape for once. But still, you are staring. Just so you know.”
I was tempted to turn away, but I knew if I stayed alone with my thoughts I would only dwell on throats being slit and men being dispatched in the mud. One of them by me. So I said, “Skeelana, is it?”
Half her mouth rose in a grin, the other couldn’t be bothered. “Always been, always will be.”
I tried to think of the best way to frame the question, but gave up, saying simply, “I’m curious… back there by the Grieving Dog, when you did… whatever it was you did to the soldier.”
“Most curious people ask questions. Was that intended to be question? It felt like it was going that direction, but then… just sort of didn’t.”
“Yes. Sorry. Why didn’t you simply do what Soffjian did? Why distract him, or whatever you did, rather than simply… take him out.”
“Well, that’s a question at least. Impolitic, to be sure, but a question. They call you Arki, right? On account of you being an archivist?”
It was my turn to smile. “On account of my given name being Arkamondos.”
She looked over then, surprised. “Arkamondos the Archivist? Well, that’s fortuitous, isn’t it? Or did your parents just think that passed for clever to push you into the role?”
My smile disappeared. “I never knew what my father thought, and my mother thought only of herself. Maybe I chose the path because I thought it passed for clever.”
Skeelana let that go. “Oh, exceedingly. But you are an archivist, correct? A chronicler of sights and sounds, a cataloguer of all you survey?”
“That might be overselling things a bit, but I witness and record, yes.”
“So now you’re trying to make sense of what you saw, in order to better record it later. Sound about right?”
I nodded. “About.”
She tilted her head at the Syldoon riding ahead of us. “Well, you might not have noticed, but the Syldoon aren’t particularly fond of our kind. Memoridons, that is. In fact, they’re about as unfond as you can get. And if you’re seen consorting with me too much, getting chummy as it were in order to puzzle out what it was you witnessed back there, well, you might find yourself losing some station, archivist.”
“And you must have failed to notice, but I’m not exactly held in high regard. Hard to fall in station when you occupy the bottom already. Or near enough to a Memoridon to make little difference.”
Skeelana laughed, and then seemed surprised she had, camouflaging it with a cough and her hand.
When the nearest Syldoon turned back around, I said, “So answer the question, please. Very difficult to record what you don’t understand.”
“I could, and probably should, really, tell you to ask the Syldoon. They could explain it well enough, and maybe it would help your relationship.”