Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Interlude: Avery

 Notes: a brief diversion today before we hunt down the rest of the plot ;)

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Interlude: Avery 

 

***

 

Interlude: Avery

 

Photo by Chandan Chaurasia

To Be or Not To Be

 

One of the most wondrous things about Narion was his capacity for deep insight. His eyes might have been rendered useless by a battle gone bad, but he had the ability to sense things that eyes wouldn’t always pick up on anyhow. He was the only person Avery could go to after his disastrous meeting with Marlon, the only one he knew he could show his weaknesses to without fear. Avery might not be able to speak under that bardic bastard’s geis, but Narion didn’t need him to speak after they’d spent so many years together.

“Sit with me,” the elderly elf said kindly as he drew Avery over to his table. Not the scarred workbench in the front room of his shop, both practical and a boast for those who were incredulous that he could do his job. This was a small, round wood table made from a tree so ancient Narion’s elven ancestors might have worshipped it. When those trees fell, pieces of it were distributed to clan members to make into an object that would be used. Utilitarian, but beautiful—a way for them to keep their faith close and remind them that change would always come, but it didn’t have to be the end of everything.

Avery tried not to feel resentful about that as he stared down at the warm, polished wood. It’s the end of everything this time. It is. Everything I have and am and things I barely had a moment to treasure…

“Tea?” Narion asked as he cleared away  the remnants of his breakfast.

Avery cleared his throat. “Yes, please.” He watched Narion’s long fingers brush over the fronts of his herb jars before stopping on the last one. He opened it, and the scent of fresh lemonmint permeated the room. Avery hadn’t had this tea since he’d cared for Hiram, brought him into his home…his den…and made him a part of it. The scent of him still lingered there, renewed by every moment they spent together.

Now it would go stale and eventually fade away altogether.

Narion poured from a hot kettle, added honey to the mug, and set it down in front of Avery. He sat himself and held out a hand.

For a moment, Avery hesitated. He’d already drawn Narion so deep into his problems, why bother him with this one? When there was nothing he could do but feel bad about it after the fact? Perhaps he’d be better off pulling away, standing up and taking his leave and—

“Dear boy. Please.”

Tears welled up in Avery’s eyes. Narion was the first and only person to treat him as family since the death of his mother. He’d done so ever since their adventuring days, and never pushed Avery away even when he knew he clung too hard. He took a low, shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and held out his hand. Narion took it gently, and Avery relaxed into the reading with relief. At least I’m not alone.

He’d never understood the art of palmistry, but Narion was an expert at it. It had come in handy numerous times when their band had to disguise themselves as traveling performers—palmistry was a lesser means of fortune telling at best, but it didn’t require the involvement of a deity to use, and so Narion’s booth had always been popular. It was more than that to the elf, though; it was a piece of his personal history, a way of reading the whorls of a person’s fate the same way one read the whorls of history in the remnants of a fallen tree. He brushed the pad of his thumb over the center line of Avery’s palm.

“Ah. Marlon is back.”

Avery swallowed hard, pain welling up in his throat.

“No, don’t try to speak of him, my boy. Never hurt yourself for his sake if you can help it.”

He laughed weakly. “I don’t think I can. Not this time.”

Narion nodded. “The second ask was the one where you could have permanently severed your connection to him if you’d chosen to. Ignorance shielded your first mission to the Tower, but he couldn’t compel you into the second. He wasn’t strong enough back then.”

“I went for love,” Avery whispered. “I thought I loved him.” I never thought he loved me. Avery had known that then and he knew it now. But he’d hoped against hope that helping Marlon in such a way would secure his love.

He’d known better. He’d done it anyway.

“This time, he has the power to ensure you aid him. He probably knew from the moment he saw you that pulling on your heartstrings would no longer work.”

Delicate love mingled with sharp, aching pain flowed through Avery like water. “True. My heart belongs to someone else now.”

“Mm. Hiram Emblic is an interesting choice.” Narion tilted his head. “I thought you wanted to investigate his power. See if he could be used to free you from your curse.”

“I did.” The sense of power in Hiram, the sense of something leashed that just evaded Avery’s understanding, had been the initial source of wanting to spend time with him. But now… “I couldn’t keep my distance, I’m afraid.” He glanced up from his steaming cup of tea. “Do you still think he’s got some sort of great power?”

“More than ever,” Narion said dryly. “I couldn’t tell you exactly what it is, but I do know that he’d probably be more than willing to exert himself on your behalf, all things considered.”

Avery shook his head. “I can’t do that to him. I can’t put him in that kind of danger.”

“Then you’re content to say goodbye to him forever?”

“Are those my only choices?” Avery knew he sounded angry, desperate, but he couldn’t help it. He was desperate. “Either I leave him and everyone I know for M—” His throat seized, and he coughed into his free hand. “Or,” he continued once he’d caught his breath, “I lure Hiram into trying to help me under false pretenses and put him in Marlon’s line of fire? I won’t do that to him.”

“Why would the pretenses be false?”

Avery huffed. “He can’t read me like you can. And I wouldn’t be able to explain…” Everything.

“You don’t even know what kind of power he has, and you’re already dismissing it.” Avery opened his mouth, but Narion cut him off with a sharp slash of his hand. “No. It makes me positively sick, how willing you are to throw yourself to the gnolls without even trying to reach out to the people who care about you.”

“I’m here with you,” Avery pointed out weakly.

“This time. You should have come to me the last time. I would have been able to act myself back then. Now…” Narion sighed and let go of Avery’s hand. He curled it around his mug to retain the sense of warmth he’d gotten from the elf’s grip. “I don’t like you having to rely on someone with so many unknowns,” he said frankly. “I know more about the nature of that man than most people in Lollop, I think, but even I haven’t gleaned very much. What can we say we know for sure about Hiram Emblic?”

Avery thought about it for a moment. The most obvious thing was: “He’s an herbalist.”

“He is, and a good one,” Narion acknowledged. “Possibly too good. His teas and poultices are unusually effective. What does that tell us?”

“He has some sort of hidden or latent power,” Avery said. “But he’d not a very religious person. He doesn’t wear the symbol of any god I know of, or pray to any of them in town.”

“Indeed. So.” He held up a finger. “A highly effective herbalist. Not an outspoken worshipper of any god. What else?”

“Kind.” Everyone in Lollop knew that. “He’s a kind man.”

“He is.” They both paused, and Avery was sure Narion was thinking of the unexpectedly positive outcome for Letty Devane and her family yesterday. The town seemed to be holding its breath this morning, waiting to see how Granth reacted to losing everything so publicly. “He’s kind, maybe recklessly so. What sort of people can afford reckless kindness?”

“Powerful ones,” Avery said.

“Precisely.” Power could and did corrupt, but in some select people it simply gave them the means to do more good. “And he has a dark past.”

“Yes.” The service at the Temple of Melemor had taught everyone not to pry into Hiram’s history. “And he has a unicorn.” Damn it.

Narion nodded. “He’s a puzzle of a person. Puzzles are always worth solving for those in positions of favor, though, and there’s no doubt that he favors you. If you asked him for help, he would give it to you.”

“But—”

“No buts. Either you go to the man you love and ask him to help save your future together, or you abandon it forever at the command of a man who used you, perhaps giving up your life in the process.”

Avery stared into Narion’s milky eyes, on the precipice of a decision he didn’t feel ready for. He wanted to be with Hiram, wanted it more than anything, but he would never be able to forgive himself if he was the cause of the man’s injury. Or worse, death, and Gemmel’s Tower was a killer. Hells, there was a time when death would have been a comfort to Avery instead of—

Narion’s head turned sharply. “Someone is shouting in the square.”

“Shouting?” Avery couldn’t hear it.

“It’s one of the Devane children.”

Oh, no. “Has Granth come?” Avery asked, both hands pressed to the top of the table as he prepared to stand. He wouldn’t let a child come to harm if he could help it.

Narion held up his hand. “Silence.” A few seconds later, his pale face went gray. “Granth is dead.”

Avery slumped back in his chair. “What?”

“Presumed so, at least. He…” Narion sighed. “He went to Hiram’s home last night.”

Watery relief froze to ice in Avery’s guts. “What?” His inner beast leapt to the fore, snarling against the strict bonds that Avery used to contain him most of the time. “What happened? Is he all right?” Is he alive?

Narion’s slow nod wasn’t very comforting. “He was wounded, badly it seems, but he’d all right now. The healer from the Thread tended to him.”

The healer from the Thread had to be next to useless after so long on the bloody road. Still…no wonder the geis hadn’t yet begun to pull too hard on Avery. If the Thread was involved in finding Hiram, they likely wouldn’t be leaving today. Marlon wouldn’t have a good excuse to make his way apart from them until tomorrow. Better to travel through the forests than the roads these days, he’d said idly to Avery yesterday before things got serious between them. There are so many imperial patrols about, always checking papers and casting reveals.

“Avery…”

“I need to see him.” Even if his beast wasn’t urging it, Avery would have been determined to visit Hiram and check for himself that he was all right.

“He’s at home,” Narion said. “And he has a unicorn.” Unspoken went the reminder of how things had gone the last time Avery had gotten in scenting distance of that unicorn.

A growl of frustration ripped from Avery’s throat. “I need to see him!” But if he didn’t leave his home, and Avery was called away by Marlon…

Narion reached over and patted his hands. Claws that Avery hadn’t even realized had sprung out retracted beneath skin, leaving wet smears of blood behind as the tears slowly healed. “I might be able to do something to help you with that.”

***

Hours later and at the edge of his hearing range, Avery listened as Narion knocked on Hiram’s door. There was nothing for a long moment, and he began to hyperventilate as what-ifs danced through his head, each one more dire than the last. Finally he turned to run over, unicorn be damned, he’d climb the house and come down the chimney if he had to—

The door creaked open. “Master Emblic,” Narion said in his perfectly smooth “professional” voice. “I have a somewhat odd proposition for you.”

There was another pause, and then—“I’m listening.”

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 18 Pt. 2

 Notes: We're getting there, friends! Forgive me a bit of a cliffhanger in the interim...

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 18 Pt. 2

***

Chapter Eighteen, Part Two

 

Photo by Yoksel Zok

Settling Down

 

One would think that, since the healer was already there, actually doing the healing would be a simple matter.

Naturally, it wasn’t that easy.

“This house isn’t consecrated to Bayd,” Filian fretted as he worked his fingers in and out of the standard prayer symbol to his god. “I’m having a hard time drawing on His holy power here.”

Mistress Michelson huffed. “You’ve healed people in town squares, in forests, in caverns—I saw you heal someone underwater once! Why should a little thing like a roof matter to Bayd?”

“They matter more than you might think,” Filian said snidely. “Natural environments are fair play to all gods unless you’re dealing with a druid temple or the backlash from a massive festival or the like. Personal quarters are much more attuned to the owners of the home and their deities. Who do you pray to most often?” he demanded of Hiram.

“Ah…no one in particular.” That was the gift of the wizard; they drew primarily on internal power, not external. It meant someone with a vast reservoir or personal energy like himself almost never had to pray directly to the gods in order to get something from them. “But this hasn’t been my house for long,” he added when Filian’s brow began to get thundery. “I don’t know the preferences of the prior tenant. Probably Melemor.” It would make sense, given the temple.

Tilda nodded from where she sat on the loft’s only chair. “Raileen was a devout follower of Melemor.”

“That explains it, then! Melemor is a jealous healer. Even if his worshipper has been gone for a while now, his presence is still too strong to allow for a rival.” Filian stood up and brushed off the knees of his robe. “Well, I suppose that’s that. You can call upon a minor priest of that temple to come and—”

“The man’s not hurt so badly he can’t go outside, you daft thing,” Mistress Michelson snapped. Without her new acolyte around to model behavior for, her acerbic side was running free. Letty was getting her nerves out by weeding the garden and giving the choicest bits to Knight as she went. Knight… Hiram was relieved the rabbit was okay, far from a given after they were ambushed by such a terrible excuse for a human being.

His earring warmed slightly, Phlox’s usual way of soothing him when he wasn’t free to speak. He wasn’t exactly sure why Phlox thought he needed soothing, he’d seen him go through far worse, but he didn’t mind the kind touch. “I’d like to go outside,” Hiram agreed. The air still smelled coppery, and the sooner he could get these people out of his private chambers the better.

“But—”

“Filian.”

The pallid man glowered at Mistress Michelson. “Fine. Fine. But when I collapse on the road and you’re left with no one to wrangle the children on the path to Garrison, don’t blame me!”

“Given that you always ride next to me in the wagon, I don’t think I have much to worry about.” The stout lady sat down beside Hiram and tapped her shoulder. “Loop an arm over the top and lean on me, I’ll steady you.”

Hiram wanted, on principle, to refuse the assistance, but as he was an old hand at being beaten up, he knew it was better not to tempt the gods of mischief with his aching head. The last thing he needed now was to fall down the stairs. “Thank you, Mistress,” he said instead, and bit back a hiss as he slung his arm over her shoulder. His broken shoulder blade was on the other side, but the entirety of his back was a solid sheet of fire at this point. Luckily, Mistress Michelson had the constitution of a mule; all she did was shift her weight slightly and get a firm grip around his waist.

‘Good lad,” she said, and Hiram laughed breathlessly. “Let’s get it done, then.”

The trip down the stairs took several minutes, with Tilda in front of them to act as a support in case one of them stumbled, but eventually they made it down and out the front door…where more steps awaited them.

And Uriel, stalking toward them from down the road, a fearsome look on his face.

“Blood!” he shouted, shaking his fist. “Sunk into the dirt almost an inch down!” He stopped just in front of Hiram and flung his hand behind him. “Not fifty feet distant! How did you do it, eh? How did you kill him?”

“Uriel!” Tilda snapped. “What—”

“No, no,” he interrupted her, “none of your smooth words this time, no intervening on his behalf. He killed Granth Devane, I know it! The amount of blood out there on the road, no one could survive that.” He turned his beady eyes on Hiram. “How did you lure him out there? What did you say, hmm? Did you make him some sort of offer? What did he tell you?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” Hiram said with total honesty. His earring pulsed once.

Tilda’s eyes narrowed as she caught sight of her cousin’s hand. “Is that a flogger’s friend you have?” The flogger’s friend was a slender piece of silken cord, or occasionally leather, that had been soaked in the blood of whoever it was spelled to. It responded to that blood, twitching the bearer out like a hound after a rabbit as long as the scent was fresh. They were an ancient device that had once been a common way to track down escaped slaves. “Why in Melemor’s name do you have a flogger’s friend linked to Granth Devane?”

Uriel’s rage settled as he realized he’d given something he hadn’t meant to away. “He…he gave it to me himself,” he said after a moment, tucking the thin, rust-colored piece of silk away in his breast pocket. “Told me it had been made long ago and that he didn’t trust it in his own house. And you can’t simple destroy a flogger’s friend, you know that. It opens too many dark doors. I promised I’d preserve it for him.”

Hiram had so many questions, but now didn’t seem the time to intervene as Tilda folded her arms. “And why would you think to bring it here? What made you assume that Granth was going to be with Hiram?”

“Well, where else would he be?” the mayor blustered. “After being so viciously disrespected yesterday—”

“You mean, when he finally lost control of the poor family members he spent years and years abusing? That disrespect?”

Hiram wanted to lean into the conversation, but in that moment all he could do was sit down. Mistress Michelson helped him sit on the stairs, leaning him up against one of the porch posts. “Far enough, Filian?” she asked tersely.

“Hmm, well, deeper into the trees would be—ah, I mean, I’ll try,” he concluded after seeing the Guide’s glare. The Priest of Bayd closed his eyes and made the symbol of Bayd with his knotted fingers, then smiled suddenly as his hands began to glow pink. “Yes, yes, now I can feel him once more. Blessed Bayd, God of marvels, He who succors the wounded and eases the bodies of the diseased…” The prayer went on for a bit, but the culmination of it was a wash of warm pink light over Hiram, homing in on his head and back. He felt skin knit in an instant, and the break in his shoulder blade went from a stabbing ache to a mere throbbing one.

“That’s all I can do,” Filian said after another moment, releasing his hands with a gusty sigh. “I’m exhausted from so much healing lately, and this porch is still very close to the purview of Melemor, and—”

“Thank you very much,” Hiram cut in, easing himself to his feet. Yes, that was much better; he could handle the rest on his own. A few quick sips of his cure-all or a touch of the right talisman and he’d be bright as bluebells.

“—don’t get to question my methods when it comes to preserving the safety and security of our town!” Uriel was shouting in Tilda’s face. “I’ve known there was something off about this man from the moment he arrived in Lollop!” He turned his florid face in Hiram’s direction again. “Everything was too smooth and easy with you,” he said, spittle flying from his lips. “You’re not what you pretend to be, I know it. I know it! And whether I can prove you killed Granth Devane or not, you better believe I’ll be keeping my eye on you from here on out!”

Well, damn it. There went the use of the cure-all. Hiram couldn’t afford to look suspicious right now, not with Uriel clearly convinced he was more than a simple herbalist. Which, of course, was absolutely correct, damn the man. “I’m sure I’ll be safer than ever under your watchful gaze,” Hiram said, letting some of his own irritation come through at last. “Given the depths of your devotion to the well-being of the men of Lollop.”

Tilda smirked, and Uriel turned from red to purple. Hiram looked back at Mistress Michelson and Filian. “I truly appreciate your time and care,” he said. “I know it’s caused some problems for you, but I’m fine now. You can be on your way without worrying Letty.”

“Oh, it’s already too late for us to leave today,” Mistress Michelson said with a shrug. “Don’t want to get caught between inns in that forest if we can help it. Gnolls and such, you know. No, we’ll leave tomorrow instead, early. One day’s delay won’t hurt us.”

“Robb will enjoy prolonging his performances at the tavern as well,” Filian added. “He’d been earning coppers off people since breakfast!”

The tension in Hiram’s back eased a bit more hearing that. If Robb—Marlon—whatever he went by was busy at the inn, then Avery was safe for now. Perhaps Hiram could go to him tonight, once it was dark enough out he didn’t have to worry about being seen.

And perhaps after he’d had a shower to take the rest of the blood out of his hair.

 

The attack took more out of Hiram than he’d reckoned. He wasn’t left alone until after lunch, a meal that Letty made and served up for him, Mistress Michelson, and Tilda. Uriel and FIlian returned to town shortly after the mayor’s outburst, and Hiram was glad to see the back of both of them. It was ungracious, perhaps, seeing as Filian had done his best to heal him, but Hiram was tired, grumpy, and in pain. The longer he had to put on a pleasant face, the harder it got.

It was Tilda who saw it and made his excuses for him. “You must be desperate for some more rest, Hiram,” she said as she set down her empty teacup. “We’ll give you some privacy.” Mistress Michelson followed suit by standing up and heading for the door, but Letty paused.

She leaned in toward Hiram and whispered, “Do you really think my father could be…dead?”

“I really and truly do,” he told her. He almost apologized as tears welled up in her eyes, but then she beamed a smile at him.

“Thank you, Master Emblic!” She bounded over to the door like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and finally it was just Hiram and Knight once more.

And Phlox.

“Honestly, you’d think they have better things to do than hang around here all day.”

“Don’t start,” Hiram murmured, rubbing his fingers across his aching temples.

“And that healing. So shoddy.”

“He did the best he could.”

“That doesn’t speak very well of his god’s power or favor, does it?”

Hiram groaned softly, then said, “He is dead, isn’t he? Granth?”

“Quite. Esme made very certain of that.”

Ah, Esme. Of course it had been her. She could have eaten Granth whole, no telltale blood stain left behind. That she’d done so meant she’d intended his death to be known. Now there would be no uncertainty haunting the rest of the Devane family, no fears the man might ever come back. He was gone, forever and ever. “She’s a good friend,” he said.

“I think she did it for the boy, personally. You know she’s grooming him to be her next high priest.”

That should have alarmed Hiram more than it did, but honestly he was so tired right now he could barely sit upright. He glanced over at the stairs, and just the sight of them fatigued him more than he could say.

His armchair, though, was quite close and very comfortable in and of itself. Hiram got up and staggered over to it, settling back with a wince. “I might be getting too old for this sort of thing,” he muttered.

“Sleep then, old man,” Phlox said, his voice taunting and gentle all at once. “I’ll guard your slumber.”

Hiram leaned his head back and let go of consciousness. Unkempt and ill-healed as he was, he still slept like the dead until a loud knock on his door jolted him awake. There was almost no light coming in through the windows now; he’d dozed off for at least five hours, perhaps more. He felt as though he could easily sleep another dozen.

Maybe I can just ignore it…

The knock sounded again, louder.

Or not. He pressed wearily to his feet and forced himself to methodically place one foot in front of the other on his way across the room. He opened it on a yawn, then—

“Master Emblic.”

Oh. Oh. What in the name of all the heavens was he doing here?