Andrew Hartley - Act of Will

We were stopped twice as we entered the city, but even I could see that such challenges were formalities and only some spectacular idiocy on my part would get us into trouble. There was nothing to suggest that even word of us had reached the laconic guards. I couldn’t help being slightly offended that they had lost interest in me, but after a moment’s reflection on Empire execution practices, the feeling passed. By the time Orgos had given a street name, the troops were waving us through with thinly masked apathy. That night I resolved to raise a mug of the best ale I could find and toast Commander Harveth Liefson.

Once inside the city, the party rode as a unit with its weapons stashed in the wagon. Renthrette tied her horse to the back and climbed up next to me, muttering enthusiastically about the different architectural styles and the magnificent seafood. I tried to give her the look of shriveling distaste she had thrown me every hour or so for the last week, but my heart wasn’t in it. Her eyes shone as she soaked up the rain-drenched scenery or haggled for imported mangoes with basket-laden street children. The transformation was astonishing. She smiled while she talked to me and at one point actually said, “You seem to be making progress with Orgos. You learn fast, Will. If you need any help or advice, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

I stared at her, speechless (not a condition I often find myself in, as you will have gathered), wondering what I had done to deserve such sunny chumminess from Renthrette after our former sojourn in the frozen wastes. But it was soon clear that it wasn’t just this bloody city which delighted her so much.

“She’s just relaxing now,” said Orgos when I pressed him on the matter. We were waiting to cross the Yarseth, swollen with seasonal rain like an overfed anaconda. Its bridges were either completely submerged or showed themselves as crazy little walkways arching in and out of the river like sea serpents. We had to be ferried across in leaky pontoon boats.

“But why is she relaxing?”

“She is comfortable here,” said Orgos, “and perhaps she feels she has to-how shall I put it? — assert herself less now.”

There had been a slight smile on Orgos’s lips as he concluded that last sentence. He was skirting around some crucial factor.

“Fine, Orgos,” I interrupted bitterly, knowing he was holding back. “Don’t tell me, see if I care.”

“Well,” he laughed, “I think you’ll figure it out for yourself when we meet the party leader tonight.”

So that was it. She was practicing her charm for her big-shot lover. She didn’t need to fend me off anymore, because he would do it for her. For all her posturing, she would rely on her boyfriend’s sword arm after all. But all was not lost. Now, while her guard was down, I would charm my way into her heart. I would show my wit, perception, and sensitivity (the last one I would have to fake, but it had worked before), and she would fall for me. Give me a couple of days and, to Renthrette, the “party leader” would be an embarrassing, bone-crushing thug compared with the sophisticated William Hawthorne.

Still, that image of the bone-crushing thug rather slowed me down a little. I didn’t particularly want to find myself chivalrously jousting some seven-foot bonehead for her hand. I toyed for a moment with the idea of turning the “leader” in to the Empire guards, but that seemed vaguely below the belt, even for me. See? After only ten days with these clowns I was already letting my judgment get clouded by their laughable principles.

Perhaps it was Renthrette’s letting her hair down (literally, as it happened), and generally being amiable and gorgeous, but I was rather going off the idea of breaking company with the party here. Partly it was Orgos’s broad grin, partly it was Mithos’s noble tolerance of my existence, partly it was the fact that Garnet didn’t ax me in my bed, and partly it was because I felt out of my depth in Stavis with its urbane, colorful populace, its Empire guards, and its immense ocean. By comparison the party felt like old friends. Well, kind of. Maybe I would travel with them until I found some placid nation of imbeciles who liked theatre and playing cards. I figured I should at least meet their “leader” and hear their plans before I decided. Who knew? Maybe there was money in this adventuring lark.

The house was in a wealthy suburb with roofs of blue slate and glass in the windows. The grey stone buildings dotted with ancient shells were as different from the lurching ruins of Cresdon as the paved, guttered streets were different from Cresdon’s ratty alleys. On the corner, two men sold spidery crabs and immense lobsters. Orgos enthused about steamed lobster, but I took one look at the massive claws of one antique blue monster and wagered a few silvers on the beast taking the arm of anyone who tried to get it out of the tank.

As we stabled the horses and unloaded the wagon, Mithos said to me, “The party leader is not expecting us yet since we left Cresdon earlier than intended. I am not sure what the precise nature of the task ahead of us is, but if you wish to come further with us, I could speak on your behalf. Unless you have other ideas, of course?”

“No,” I muttered uncertainly, “I have no other plans.”

I wasn’t actually thinking about my plans at all, because something in the reverential way Mithos and the others referred to their nameless leader was beginning to get to me. My mildly resentful disinterest was quickly being replaced by curiosity. whatever I felt about my companions, I could not avoid the fact that they were a rather unusual group of individuals. Once I had admitted this grudging respect for them I was faced with the problem of putting a face to the leader they so clearly looked up to. When I tried to get some information out of Garnet concerning their mission east of the city, he told me that he didn’t care what they were doing as long as “the leader” decided the cause was worthy. For a second he looked reflective, so I jokingly broke the mood by asking him if he would lay down his life for his precious leader.

“Unquestionably,” he replied instantly.

Idiot.

The rain began again in a sudden flurry and we hurried into the house, stamping our feet and shaking our cloaks. Somewhere upstairs I heard footsteps: the party leader? My heart was beating a little faster as we entered the dim hallway, but Mithos just turned to me and said, “Will, we will meet the leader alone first and then invite you in.”

I nodded dumbly and they left me standing there, listening to the rain drumming on the roof and wondering what I’d got myself into this time.

One by one they creaked their way up the wooden staircase. I pushed a door open and stepped into a bare room with a couple of chairs and waited, listening to the wordless muttering above me.

They were gone for five minutes. Maybe a little more. It felt like an hour. Then came footsteps on the stairs and Mithos appeared, beckoning to me. Instantly my heart began to patter again and I followed him up, sucking in my stomach (no mean feat) and squaring my shoulders.

At the top of the darkened stairs a door was ajar from which light and gentle conversation trickled out onto the landing. Mithos, now no more than a bulky silhouette above me, pushed the door wide and stepped inside. Before I had even crossed the threshold I heard him speak my name in introduction and, trying to look strong and silent, I glanced around.

The room was small and windowless, lit by an oil lamp that hung from the rafters and glowed yellowish, the shadows russet and amber. Garnet, Renthrette, and Orgos sat at a table looking at me, and a girl in a long dress of blue cotton stood on the other side. I caught her black eyes and, taking her to be the maid, thought vaguely that she was going to offer me a beer. I looked around for the party leader.