Marsheila Rockwell - Skein of Shadows

Sabira whipped her shard axe out and across, catching his left elbow with the cheek of the axe and sending the knife headed for her stomach flying into the courtyard. The force of her blow rocked him back and the other blade went wide. On her backswing, she brought the sharpened dragonshard that formed the spear tip of the urgrosh down into the meatiest portion of the man’s right thigh, then jerked it back out again with equal force.

As blood spurted, he dropped the other blade and clutched at his leg. A kick sent him sprawling onto the ground, where he rolled around in agony.

Sabira turned to face what remained of the crowd, her shard axe held across her body in an easy two-handed grip.

“So. Who else is feeling suicidal today?”

There was a sound behind her and Skraad yelled, “ ’Ware the mother!”

Sabira spun, expecting to see Melcare. Instead, the blade the woman had thrown skimmed Sabira’s cheek before impaling itself into the wood of the building behind her with a quivering thunk.

Stupid, stupid, she chided herself, even as she advanced on the woman who stood up against the tree, dagger held out in front of her. The scar would serve her right for disregarding a potential foe just because she looked more like a washerwoman than a warrior.

Melcare’s eyes were wide and frightened, but determined. She’d thrown her son’s knife, which had landed on the ground near her when Sabira disarmed him. While the woman was definitely skilled with a blade from a distance, it was clear she wasn’t as comfortable in hand-to-hand combat, and the dagger shook in her grasp. But she didn’t lower the weapon as Sabira stalked toward her; instead, she raised her chin defiantly.

Sabira had no desire to hurt the woman. Melcare obviously really believed Guisarme was the culprit, all evidence to the contrary, and she was simply trying to protect her daughter-and now, her son. Sabira could understand the maternal instinct, even if she didn’t share it.

Ideally, she’d disarm the woman and put her in shackles, but that would mean putting her shard axe aside while there were still potential enemies at her back. Sabira had already let her guard down once today and had blood seeping down her face as a result. She didn’t particularly want to add blood from a sword thrust to the ribs into the mix.

So she did the next best thing. She transferred her urgrosh to her left hand with a flourish meant to distract the other woman. When Melcare’s eyes left hers to follow the axe, Sabira pulled her right arm back and punched the hapless woman under the chin. Melcare’s head snapped up against the trunk of the tree and her eyes rolled back, showing the whites. As she dropped the dagger and her knees gave out, Sabira caught the other woman around the waist with her free arm and lowered her to the ground. She made sure to step on the dagger blade this time, just in case the woman was a better actress than she let on.

Then she straightened and looked back at the father. He was alone now, save for three House Cannith monitors who had their crossbows trained on Sabira. The rest of the crowd had disappeared, deciding they hated warforged less than they wanted to be arrested.

“Drop the-” one of the monitors began, then caught sight of her brooch. He lowered his weapon, motioning for his companions to do the same.

“Your pardon, Marshal. We heard a commotion and came to see what the problem was.”

More like, they heard a commotion and watched until they were certain they wouldn’t have to lift a finger themselves to resolve it before stepping in to take credit for keeping the peace. But what were a few pertinent details among fellow defenders of law and order?

“The ‘problem’ is that you stood by and let a mob form to persecute an innocent warforged and got a Sentinel Marshal wounded in the process. You’re just lucky I don’t have time to take this up personally with your superiors, but rest assured that Captain Greigur will hear about this and he will make the time.”

She had no intention of filing a report with Greigur, of course, but the monitors didn’t need to know that.

“According to this man here, Marshal,” said another of the monitors, clearly taking umbrage at her tone, “he and his companions were trying to conduct an orderly, lawful citizen’s arrest on this warforged when you interfered and wounded two unarmed Cannith residents in the process.”

Sabira’s brows shot up and she couldn’t suppress an incredulous laugh. She kicked the dagger toward him.

“Sure, they’re unarmed now — how exactly do you suppose they got that way? Or do you think maybe I threw that knife at myself?” she asked, pointing to the blade stuck in the wall near the ventilation shaft.

“The Sentinel Marshal speaks truly,” Guisarme said, though after seeing the dark looks he got for it, Sabira sort of wished he hadn’t. She didn’t really think his support would earn her any favor in the monitors’ eyes. “The fleshlings accused me of assaulting their daughter, but I have been here working on this ventilation shaft since the first bell. Those were my instructions, to work until the fourth bell, or until the fan was fixed, whichever came sooner. As you can see, two of the fan blades are still in need of straightening. As I have not yet completed my task, I have not left my post.”

“The ’forged is right,” came a gruff voice from above. Sabira looked up to see Skraad standing on the stairs that overlooked the courtyard. She’d wondered where the orc had gotten off to, but assumed he’d left when the monitors showed up, like the others. She saw a hand crossbow hanging from his belt that hadn’t been there before and realized he’d moved to better cover the courtyard. “Humans came looking for warforged blood, and his was the most convenient. If the Marshal hadn’t been here, you’d’ve had a corpse to clean up instead of two rabble-rousers to arrest. You should be thanking her, not aiming a quarrel at her.”

The third monitor, a woman who hadn’t spoken yet, leveled her crossbow at Skraad.

“You telling us our job, orc?”

Skraad raised his hands and shook his head, backing down. Probably a wise choice.

Too bad Sabira wasn’t the backing down type.

“Somebody has to, apparently,” she said. “I’ve no doubt a crime was committed, but not by this warforged.” Not this time, anyway. Sabira wasn’t about to vouch for the metal man’s innocence in any other regard. Dolurrh, he could have assaulted Kanjira, for all she knew-the mob just didn’t have anything resembling actual proof of it. “So let’s not compound one wrongdoing with another, hmm?”

The first monitor-the one who’d had sense enough to apologize for pointing his weapon at her-spoke again, but his voice wasn’t nearly as conciliatory the second time around.

“You’re absolutely right, Marshal. Which is why I’d suggest you and your new friends leave the enclave now while you have the chance. I can’t guarantee that mob won’t be back, and we can’t be everywhere at once.”

It wasn’t a particularly subtle threat, but she supposed it didn’t need to be. Brooch or no, this was Cannith’s enclave, and even the authority of the chimera would only stretch so far.

“Well,” she said, looking over at Guisarme, “I did come here to offer you a job.”

“I already have a job,” the warforged replied, gesturing to the bent fan blades.

“No,” Sabira answered, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think you do.”

Guisarme turned to the monitors and read the truth of her words in their faces. With a noise that would have been a sigh in a race that actually needed to breathe, he hefted his hammer up onto his shoulder.

“Well, then, House Cannith will have to find someone else to keep this machine running for them. And I will retrieve this, as it is part of my armor and so technically belongs to my new employer.” His hand darted into the spinning fan blades faster than Sabira could see and pulled out a finger plate he’d used to jury-rig the fan. With the bit of metal removed, the fan slowed to a stop with a clanking noise and black smoke started wisping up from the shaft in a matter of moments.