Brian Staveley - The Providence of Fire

“When I was tied up,” the assassin said with a shrug, “I was tied up. Now that we have-”

Before she could finish her thought, the door to the tent flapped open and a man stepped inside. He was tall, bent nearly double to get through the opening. At first Gwenna thought it was Long Fist, but when he straightened, his smirk took her in the gut like a fist.

Balendin Ainhoa.

Just discovering the leach was alive had made her furious. In fact, one of the tricks she had for staying sane during the unbearable drive west had been to remind herself that Balendin was still out there, that she needed to stay alive herself, stay sharp, so that one day she could kill him. When Long Fist started taking fingers, it had looked as though he might assume that responsibility himself. It didn’t look that way anymore.

The leach was no longer tied, no longer wearing the same stinking blacks in which he’d been captured, and though no one could put back his missing fingers, someone had provided him with clean cloth for bandages. He wore a dark bison cloak in the Urghul fashion over leather breeches and a tunic, a new set of necklaces draping his neck, a new array of rings on his fingers. The reversal was as terrifying as it was abrupt, and for a moment Gwenna sat speechless, trying to understand how things could have gone so wrong so quickly.

As if reading her thoughts, Balendin smiled. “Happy to see me, Gwenna?” When she didn’t respond, he shrugged. “I’ve certainly missed you. I’ve had a lot of favorites over the years, but there’s never been anyone quite like the volatile Gwenna Sharpe for sheer, unbridled, uncooked, untamed, brute-stupid passion .”

He paused, licked his lips. Annick had stopped cutting, one hand still on the haunch, the other holding the bloody knife loose between two fingers. Gwenna realized with horror that not only was the leach free and walking around, not only was he obviously the recipient of Long Fist’s sudden favor, he was undrugged. All trace of the adamanth was gone from his eyes, and the cocksure, predatory gleam was back.

Gwenna fought down the urge to go after him. He was only a few paces off, standing with his arms crossed just inside the door to the api, but she’d seen enough of the leach’s power to know she wouldn’t make it even halfway.

“You’re a sack of last week’s festering shit, Balendin,” she said instead. The words were a lousy substitute for a knife, but they were all she had. “Brave though, to come in here alone after the reaming we gave you in the mountains. Shame about the rest of your Wing-the bloody pieces are probably spread over a few square miles of mountainside by now. Shame about your fingers.”

The leach frowned. He was thinner than he had been on the Islands, Gwenna realized. He’d always been lean, a whip rather than a club, sinew and muscle twisted around a slender frame, the fine, elegant bones of his face clear under sun-darkened skin. Now, though, by the shifting light of the fire, she could see that his cheeks had gone from gaunt to cadaverous. The dark braids draping his shoulders looked thinner and oilier than she remembered, while the tattoos snaking his arms had crumpled slightly as the skin slackened with the shrinking muscle beneath. None of that made him any less dangerous if he had access to his well once more.

“Gwenna, Gwenna, Gwenna,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve just walked back into your life, free and whole.…” He glanced at his hands ruefully. “Well, almost whole. In any case, you’ve spoken five sentences to me, and already you’ve made three mistakes.” He held up a finger. “First, it takes no bravery to face you; I could pin you to the dirt and burn this tent down without blinking. Second, you didn’t have anything to do with my very temporary setbacks; the fire-eyed fuck got the drop on me the first time, and the Urghul found me the second. Finally, while the bones bleaching in the mountains were, technically, my Wing, you’re wrong in thinking I care that they’re dead. I was always so much better than them, my goals were so much more … capacious. Are you familiar with the word capacious ?” He smiled. “It means large.”

From across the tent, Pyrre raised a hand. She was looking at the leach with frank interest.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. We’ve met several times, but under such unfortunate circumstances that we’ve never been properly introduced. My name is Pyrre Lakatur.”

Balendin raised his eyebrows and sketched a small bow. “And I am-”

“He’s the miserable fuck who murdered Lin and tried to kill Valyn,” Gwenna cut in. She knew she should have held her peace, waited for Balendin to play his hand, but she couldn’t just sit by while the leach and the Skullsworn traded pleasantries as though they were sizing each other up in some tavern. She had no idea where Balendin came by his clothes and rings, no idea why he was free, no idea why he seemed so fucking smug, but the whole situation frightened her, and she hated being frightened. “He was with those Aedolians,” Gwenna said, trying to make Pyrre understand the danger. “He’s a ’Kent-kissing traitor .”

Pyrre ignored Gwenna entirely. Instead, she smiled at Balendin, rolled languorously onto her stomach, then stretched upward like a waking cat. The top buttons of her shirt hung open, and the pose left little to the imagination.

“I remember Valyn going on about that at some length,” she said. “The thing is, I also have a somewhat flexible notion of political loyalty. I certainly wouldn’t want to let something so petty as ‘treason’ come between me and a kindred spirit.” She trailed a few fingers along her arm, then nodded to Balendin’s tattooed biceps and wrists. “I like your art. Is there more under that shirt?”

Gwenna felt like her head was going to explode, but before she could say anything, Annick cut into the conversation, her voice clipped, professional.

“Why are you here, Balendin? Why did Long Fist free you?”

The leach allowed his eyes to linger on Pyrre for a moment. Then he let out a long sigh as he turned to the sniper.

“Annick, just because I had to string up your little slut doesn’t mean you should be so sour about everyone else’s fun.” He spread his arms. “The world is wide, and there are plenty more whores in it.”

The sniper barely twitched, the motion so quick and curt that Gwenna could have missed it, save for the small knife whipping through the air toward Balendin’s throat … then knocked aside by some invisible shield. The leach smiled indulgently.

“Long Fist has requested that I leave you unharmed, so I’ll make believe that you just slipped while cutting your meat.”

Annick’s lips tightened, her hand flexed, as though wanting another weapon, but she refused to take the bait.

“Now,” he said after a long pause, “where should I begin the story of my miraculous survival and sudden rehabilitation? In the mountains, perhaps…”

“It’s not a fucking mystery,” Gwenna spat. “You staggered out of the Bones, and the Urghul picked you up the same way they did us. You want us to be impressed that you got caught by a bunch of horse-fucking savages?”

Balendin’s eyes narrowed. “I would point out,” he said slowly, “that you, also, were captured by those same horse-fucking savages.”

“I didn’t say I was proud of it. I certainly wouldn’t flaunt the fact. You’re stuck here, same as us.”

“Oh, Gwenna,” the leach replied slowly, smiling once more. “I understand your frustration, but unlike you poor ladies, I am hardly stuck here.” He shook his head slowly, watching her expression through the smoke, his eyes bright. “You’re right, of course, that we were both captives of our nomadic friends, and for a time, Long Fist trusted me no more than he did you. Since then”-he shrugged-“our stories have diverged. While you wait here, tacit prisoners, Long Fist has invited me to join him. He has … elevated me. To a position of some importance. The man is a savage, but even a savage understands the value of someone with my talents, with my knowledge.”