Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1 - Chapter 71: Chapter 71

"Ah, shit."
Arlen watched nettle wine pool onto the table and then drip off the side onto the floor in a steady stream. He scowled and righted the bottle. He thought about struggling to the hearth for a cloth to mop it up, and then chuckled and rolled his good eye to the ceiling. What was the point?
A constant companion, the dull ache in his leg only added to his misery. It was healing – one thing that had gone well for him, at least – but remained swollen and tender. When he removed the bandages they revealed a purple stump yellowing at the edges, criss-crossed with sutures, and a thick red line where his skin had been grafted over the open wound. It sickened him to look at it. The castle was under siege from demons, the perfect opportunity to rob Harkenn blind, and he was marooned here. Even more galling was the fact that Usk had asked him to provide the map and the knowledge needed to break in, just before leaving him out of the operation altogether.
Fucking amateurs.
He turned his scowl on the window, starting to rock back in his chair before remembering he was fundamentally unbalanced and that falling to the floor could set him back days. He drained the nettle wine he hadn't spilled and then threw the bottle, smashing it against the wall. A small pile of broken glass already occupied that corner, and it reminded him of the mountains in the light season. Sometimes he'd find himself staring at it for minutes at a time, watching the light of the candles shift over the fragments. There wasn't bugger-all else to do.
In the far distance, he could still hear demons screaming, but it had faded from the cacophony of the hour before. It surprised him that it had gone on so long; demons often didn't try getting through a barrier more than once or twice unless they could sense weakness or were profoundly stupid. The castle nets had held for decades. Arlen found it hard to believe they were wearing out now.
He felt separate from the entire world, sat at his table alone, a single candle and the slow burn of alcohol his only companions. And the dull pulsing of pain in his leg, over and over again. He had thought himself immune to the usual cravings for contact with people, but that was back when he could come and go as he pleased. When he did not force them to, no one came. No one came, and he never left.
Except for Silas.
A shape appeared in the window, and Arlen's face pulled into a deeper scowl automatically. He'd rather be cemented into his home with bricks and mortar to ensure total isolation than constantly being forced to spend time with the brat. He had been obsequious to the point of nausea, still stupidly hoping that Arlen would change his mind about the apprenticeship. But there was an edge to it, hidden just out of sight; I have power over you now.
Arlen never left his hunting knife behind anymore. As the boy climbed into the room with a sack over his shoulder, Arlen's hand crept to the handle and rested there.
"News?" he asked. Silas was the only option while Usk was out, and he might as well be useful for something.
"The outer wall partially collapsed," Silas replied. He only briefly hesitated at the wine spillage on the table. He didn't even look at the addition to the pile of broken glass. They were both getting used to it. "But the second held. The Unspoken got there right after the breach and someone in the merchants' quarter said all the demons fled at once not long after, like someone had told 'em to. So at least it's over."
Arlen nodded slowly, though he didn't share the optimism. He didn't want to show how much it disturbed him. However one felt about Harkenn, his castle had the strongest defences against demons in the Reach and all its districts. Demons managing to get through them spelled bad news for everyone. He didn't claim to be an expert , but even he knew that the one thing demons never did was act together, not between breeds, and certainly not in large numbers. If he hadn't heard the screaming he'd have had a hard time believing it.
"Any word from Usk?"
"No."
"What's in the bag?"
"Food."
"Anything good?" Their voices stayed light and conversational, but underneath was the weighing-up. If Arlen wasn't feeling well, Silas started pushing his luck. If they misjudged each other, things escalated quickly.
The boy's time with the Devils had hardened him, as it did with all of them. Arlen confessed himself surprised the brat had managed to stay alive, but Silas seemed to be relaxing a little into his new role. He was trying to grow a beard, by the looks of things, but his face hadn't received the message. He still looked boyish - but he'd got a lot faster with a knife.
"Not really. You didn't give me much money."
"I gave you plenty. You're just shit at haggling." Arlen picked through the packages Silas had dumped on the table. Some bread and cheese. Another bottle of nettle wine. Some potatoes and butchers' offcuts. If Usk hadn't been going to the castle instead, there'd be a lot more than this, but while Arlen was unable to loot warehouses and pantries to supplement their supply, he had to take what he could get.
Silas sat in the other chair with a sigh, and then got up with a noise of disgust and patch of wetness on his trousers from the spilled wine. He stalked over to find a cloth and began to scrub the mess with a ferocity that Arlen supposed was for his benefit, but by this point he was far beyond shame.
They ate dinner in silence, as they always did. Arlen kept his ears sharp for Usk's return, eager for more details of what had happened. Silas could only get second-hand information from the Devils' information networks, but Usk had been there, and Arlen found himself looking forward to hearing about it. He almost scoffed at himself. He wasn't a kid.
But there really was fuck-all to do.
The Varthian still hadn't returned when Silas left for his new quarters at Marick's beer hall, an arrangement made possible by Marick himself which Arlen was sure he'd have to pay for in future. The silence closed back in. The demons were no louder than usual anymore; whatever frenzy had come over them, it was gone now.
He opened the bottle of wine Silas had left and took a long drink from the bottle. Oblivion, he needed oblivion.
Just until the pain stopped.
It couldn't have been long afterwards that he was woken by Usk's noisy arrival with Jesper and Akiva in tow, shaking the floor with their landing, though his perception of time was increasingly unreliable. They didn't speak to each other or Arlen as they entered, but Akiva was muttering to himself and Jesper couldn't stay still, tapping out a rhythm on the floor as he moved around the room. Usk dumped a sack by the wall that rattled and clanked and then fell over, spilling silverware across the floor to join Arlen's pile of broken glass.
Arlen rubbed sleep from his eyes. His head throbbed, and his mouth was tacky and sour, but he probably still looked better than any of these three.
"News?" he asked. He sounded like some old hermit stuck in a hut, saying the same things over and over to each traveller that passed. Someone had told him a story like that as a child. Now he was that hermit. He fidgeted and pushed the bottle of wine over to Usk as he threw himself in the chair opposite.
"Nict's balls," the Varthian said, sighing it out on a long breath. "Nict's balls."
Arlen leaned forward, eager, and then checked himself. He didn't need to look desperate. "What happened?" He glanced at the bulging bag of goods. "Looks like a decent haul."
"Yeah, but it doesn't feel like it was worth it," Jesper put in. He finally came to a stop, scowling at the bag like it had caused personal offence. "For a start, they weren't exaggerating about a swarm. It's a miracle we got in there."
"Then another of those...things shows up," Usk added darkly, "the ones who've been killing the witch men. Almost killed your favourite, Arl."
Arlen sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"
"The Unspoken boy. Yddris's kid." Akiva crossed his arms tightly across his chest. "Saved him by the skin of his teeth and almost had my head lopped off for the trouble."
"Never seen anything like it," Usk grunted. "It cut him, and his magic just went out like a snuffed candle. Thought he was gonna die of the shock. He'd already been beaten up by a demon from the looks of him."
"Miracle he was walking," Jesper added. "His face looked like a butcher's window."
"His magic's...gone?" Arlen repeated. He had known in theory what happened in these attacks, but had never spoken to anyone who saw it first-hand. He had thought it an exaggeration; that the weapon stunned or momentarily disarmed the demon catcher long enough to get under their guard.
"Don't think so." Akiva put his back against the wall and slid down to the floor under the window, throwing his face into shadow. Arlen could still see how shaken he was. "Me and Jes drew it off, but it lost interest real quick. Went running when the demons did. I swung past the hall to see he made it there, and when I looked in he had a flame going. Still looked half-dead, mind, and his shoulder was right hacked up and all, but it was back."
Arlen frowned, wishing more than ever that he could have been there to witness this. He was curious, and more than little angry. The boy was his mark.
"Marick wanted me to give you this," Jesper said. He pulled a note from his pocket and handed it over. Still frowning and half-distracted trying to puzzle out what they'd told him, Arlen didn't register the words on his first read.
The boy has agreed. You'll meet with him in two days' time to discuss his terms, which you will agree with me tomorrow evening. I'll have a carriage ready.
He blinked, and then read it again.
"'Grats, Arl," Jesper said with a weary grin. "Got yourself a 'prentice."
"If either of us can even move anymore," Arlen replied. He folded the note up, initial grin fading, and then put it down on the table. Any victory he felt was quickly dashed by a glance at his leg, but that was a problem for another day. "So...what? The demons just turned around and left?"
"Aye. No warning, no nothing," Usk said darkly, "Right unsettling, it was. Almost as one. We were just trying to figure out how to get back out again, round the back of the castle, so we saw it happen. Some of the Unspoken went after them, but they weren't interested anymore."
"I don't understand it," Jesper said, starting to pace again, "They could've got through. They would've got through. Harkenn's second rune wall is piss compared to the first."
"Maybe they got what they wanted," Akiva said from his spot in the shadows, but Jesper scoffed.
"They're demons. They're not clever enough to coordinate an attack for one thing."
"Maybe someone was controlling them."
"You don't think Marick would know by now if there was some freak Unspoken who could control demons?"
"Didn't say it had to be Unspoken," Akiva fired back.
"Who else would it be?"
"Oh, shut the fuck up or get a room!" Arlen shouted, and both men fell silent. "Does Marick know about all this?"
"Undoubtedly," Usk grumbled, and Arlen avoided the look in his eye.
He frowned. Marick hadn't called a guild meeting , and anything that might majorly affect the Devils' operations warranted a meeting. Though he still refused to believe any Devil would involve themselves with Caelum, that was strange. He had no doubt that Caelum had some sort of hand in the Unspoken murders; there was no one else mad enough. The demons' behaviour left him at a loss, but it seemed too coincidental. Absently his hand fell to the edge of his bandages and began to fiddle with a loose thread as he processed that, then he realised what he was doing and jerked it away with a grimace. Instead he grabbed the nettle wine back from Usk and took a long drink. He was starting to get a headache, and he didn't need a hangover on top of everything else.
"Anyway," Jesper sighed. They all seemed to decide at once that they didn't want to discuss it further, and Arlen didn't press. "It was a good haul, all considered. Though Usk managed to lose some of it."
"Fuck off," the brute grumbled. "Dinner plate ain't worth much, anyway."
Something touched Arlen's hand under the table, and he grasped the slip of paper Usk handed over. While Akiva hauled the bag over to the table and began emptying their spoils onto it, reeling each item off as it clanked onto the pile, Arlen unfolded the note and glanced at the list of names and businesses and felt something in his stomach twist. He looked up as a copper-plated goblet rolled off the table and into his lap, and picked up to examine it before anyone paid closer attention.
"This looks pricy," he commented, folding the note back up one handed and hiding it under the hem of his tunic. "Copper's in high demand at the moment."
"Harkenn had tonnes of the stuff just sitting in his pantry." Jesper cackled. "Like you'd put anything that valuable in a room with a back door. Arrogant shit."
"I'm sure his bank vaults will survive it," Arlen said, thoughts elsewhere. The boy had pulled through. Arlen hadn't allowed himself to get his hopes up, but Haverford had come up with the goods. A smile tugged at his lips which he quickly smothered before anyone saw it. He appreciated someone who did what they said they were going to do, and now Haverford had agreed to apprentice to him; things were starting to look a mite less bleak.
"Where's that from?" A familiar and unwelcome voice spoke from the direction of the window as Silas hopped inside. Arlen ground his teeth. The boy was getting far too presumptuous now Arlen couldn't physically kick him out. Marick had only ensured that the brat didn't sleep in Arlen's home; the rest of the time he took as an invitation to come and go as he pleased.
"Nict's balls," Arlen muttered. Usk met his gaze over the rim of the wine bottle and rolled his eyes. "Have you not got anything better to do than bother me, kid?"
"No," Silas said. He picked up a silver spoon with gold inlay on the handle and turned it over, the metal reflecting as a glint in his wide eyes. "Is this Harkenn's?"
"Least he's honest," Jesper chuckled under his breath. Arlen narrowly stopped himself from throwing the goblet at the smug look on his face.
"And what about this?" Silas asked, putting the spoon down at picking up a metal decanter. He and Arlen both spotted the note underneath it at the same time, but the boy was faster and snatched it from under his fingers. Arlen cursed the drink as he held his hand out.
"Give that back."
"You're actually doing it?" Silas cried, after scanning the note for a split second. "You're taking on that...that freak?"
"Night take me, kid, don't act like it's news," Arlen snarled. "Not my fault you were too thick to see it coming."
Silas stared at the note in his hand as if expecting it to change and say something different. Arlen might have felt some degree of satisfaction in finally having an excuse to shake him off, only the look on Silas' face made him uneasy. A wide-eyed, almost fanatic gleam came over him.
"Then I have to prove I'm a better candidate," he said. His lips barely moved, but then he looked up sharply, brandishing the note. "I'll prove it! I told you I would, and now... Yeah. I'll kill him. Then you'll see. You'll have to take me on."
"Silas..." Arlen began. He started up from the chair and was stopped by a wave of dizziness as the wine and the pain in his amputated leg clashed in his brain. Silas was already heading for the window, a rigidness to his step. He was muttering. "Someone make sure he doesn't do something stupid."
Akiva put a finger to his temple and darted out the window after the boy, silent as a shadow. Jesper crossed the room and looked out into the night, then turned to Arlen.
"That kid's proper funny in the head," he said. "Marick sure knows how to pick 'em."
"He's probably written you love letters," Usk grunted. "I bet he keeps them under his pillow at night."
Jesper laughed. "He's probably got a creepy shrine for you, Arl."
"Fuck off. This isn't good."
"Oh, lighten up," Jesper retorted, also readying himself to leave. "He'll probably just watch the witch kid from a bush for a couple of weeks and get bored." He put a foot on the sill. "I'm gonna hit the hay. See you around." He paused just before swinging himself out and looked back. "If you try and swindle me on the sale of that stuff, Usk, I'll bollock you."
"You can try," the Varthian growled, an animal grin contorting his face. It faded as Jesper dropped out of view. He turned to Arlen, who sighed and got out the list Jordan had procured for him. "You actually think he'll try and kill the kid?"
"Oh yeah," Arlen muttered, scowling. "I don't think Marick will allow it, but he'll certainly try. If we're lucky he'll get himself in some deep shit and we won't have to worry about him anymore." He tried to sound offhand, but he still burned with resentment that he had to ask other people to sort out his problems like he was some kind of invalid.
"I hope he doesn't. I kind of like the kid. The witch man, I mean." Usk grinned. "He's got balls."
Arlen snorted, but watched the brute out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't prepared to contend with Usk over an apprenticeship. He made a mental note to keep them away from each other as far as possible; he hardly wanted Haverford making friends with men who would gain advantages from seeing Arlen fail. Before the conversation about the boy could go any further, he held up the list.
"So. Where d'you reckon I should start?"