Frost 21, 117
It had been somewhat more than a year since she’d felt the brand pressed into her flesh during her initiation, and Imogen Ward had grown quickly in that time.
Not in height, of course- to her great disappointment, puberty had ended at the proper time, and she was no throwback to her Ecithian ancestry. She had also taken her mother’s advice to heart for the first time in many years, and had not pushed to achieve the Cardinal Rune of Negation, which was perhaps the second-most common power deployed by the Sunsinger order. Something about the experience of struggling nigh-unto the brink of a fate worse than death itself had put a guard on the exuberance of learning magic, and that wasn’t even mentioning the recovery. She still had a bright, puckered scar on her left calf where she’d trapped Master Gerhard’s spear with her own leg.
…speaking of which.
After her initial recovery had completed and she could once again stand on her own two feet without assistance, Master Gerhard had offered to help complete her training. This was the man who had spent days rejecting her efforts out-of-hand without explanation, of implying a personal or racial animus, slandering her family and then punishing her for enduring his barbs; even after initiation when he’d revealed the lie for good, he’d never apologized, really. Yet she’d accepted at once, and without a second thought. He’d simply been that impressive in their duel.
Ansel Gerhard, she’d learned only after her initiation, had something of an illustrious career in the coven. He’d been an active guerilla in his youth, captured and tortured by the Order, escaped, forced to spend years outside of Zaichaer, only to return as one of the most sober and patient officers the Sunsingers had ever known. He’d been a Captain in his day, but retired from that role soon thereafter, citing the rigors of age.
He was also, as Imogen could attest, absolutely fucking deadly with that enormous spear.
So she’d spent several months trailing him. She wasn’t there to learn swordplay–she’d been well and truly trained in the use of her sword before the initiation–or even strictly Reaving but rather the whole art of the Coven’s job.
And this… was mostly waiting. She’d known that. The ideal commission for a Sunsinger involved guiding a mage through the streets for a few days, encountering the Reconciliators not even once, and accepting the client’s money at the end with no further fuss. If the heat showed up, the ideal stratagem was to get to safety, lie low for a few days, and then walk right back out the South Gate. If the sun-reaved swords came out, that meant the job had gone sideways.
Tonight’s job had gone sideways.
By the time Ansel-–that is, Master—Gerhard had met up with her on a street overlooking the empty house they were scheduled to meet their client at, the problem was obvious.
”Men in the house.” Imogen said as Gerhard arrived, wasting not a word in greeting, ”No sign of the client.”
Ansel glanced at Imogen, face stern. “Well, calm down, Corporal. Remember, panic is never helpful, and danger is no excuse to forget decorum.”
The Orkhan girl’s mouth opened in surprise, as though she could not believe she was being given a lecture in etiquette for having announced their client’s abduction wrong. But Master Gerhard meant it. He always meant it. She forced down her frustration (and, she might as well admit, more than a bit of nervous energy).
“My apologies… Master Gerhard.”
“Don’t let it trouble you, Imogen, it’ll get easier with time. Now, go ahead, give me your report.”
Her report? There wasn’t much to say. “Yes, sir. It’s been like this since I got here. There’s at least three men in the house, I think waiting to see if we’re going to show up to rendezvous. The client isn’t here.”
That could just mean that they’d gotten wind of their client’s illicit activities and seized him, or it could mean that the entire thing had been some kind of sting operation from the very beginning. A fake name, forged signs to prove that he was a witch, perhaps even stolen from some other poor sap they’d put to death halfway across the realm. Imogen suspected the former, though. If they’d had all that time to set the Sunsingers up like this, they wouldn’t have secured the point with lookouts so obvious that even she had been able to spot them.
(This was why Master Gerhard had taught her to always set up a rendezvous point where you and your team could observe the client before meeting with them. Many traps became obvious if you spent a few minutes watching for them.)
“A fair assessment, Corporal Ward. Thankfully, I can fill in some of the gaps. Our client is a Dratori man, which was his undoing; they trailed him for hours after he passed through customs. He was seized once he came here, which means we’ll have to burn this location for future clients, and taken to the station two blocks west for processing while they wait to transport him to the Hall.”
Imogen blinked, speechless again. Though she did not say “How the fuck do you know all of that?”, the question must have been plain enough on her face. Ansel gave her a small, smug, grin and patted her lightly on the shoulder. He did have to reach up to actually condescend, though, which was some small comfort.
“You pick up a couple of tricks by the time you’re my age, Imogen. Now, how would you approach this conundrum?”
The Ork sighed. She should have known that a literal emergency would not be enough to shake Ansel’s perverse love of turning everything into quizzes. If a fucking dragon attacked Zaichaer tomorrow, she expected that the first thing she’d hear after the flames began to die down was a patented Gearhard lecture.
“We have two options. Abandon the meeting and lie low, or retrieve the client before he is moved to the Hall.”
Gerhard nodded, gesturing at her to go on.
“He’s a client in name only- we haven’t received payment, or any such thing. He can give up the line of communication he used to reach us, but little else. But we’re not going to do that, because it would be wrong.”
“And it would harm our reputation.” Ansel interjected, with a tone of warning. Morals were important, but reputation was something the Sunsingers lived and died upon. Imogen nodded, and continued.
“So we have to rescue him while he’s in holding, and not in the Hall, because the guards here will be lighter, less-prepared, and we’re closer to escape of the city. Either we hit the precinct, or we hit the carry wagon.”
Gerhard nodded. He didn’t look pleased, but the fact that he didn’t look upset spoke volumes more.
“They’ll move him in three hours, give or take. We’ll take up a position to watch, determine when the wagon will pick him up, and hit that route, rescue the client, and leave with a minimum of fuss.”
That sounded like a confident prediction, but Imogen heard it for what it really was- wishcasting. There was absolutely no way that things were going to go that smoothly.
“As you say, sir.”
The two Sunsingers turned as one, then walked away, in totally different directions. They weren’t being watched, but… you could never be too careful.
Imogen reached the point overlooking the precinct in record time, but Master Gerhard still beat her there, somehow. Both the old man and the young woman had taken pains not to be observed, up to but not including any measures which, if noticed, would themselves incur suspicion. After all, nothing was more suspicious than trying to be unnoticable.
Just as Ansel had foretold, it took about one and three-fourths of an hour before the carry wagon rolled up to the precinct. It was a casual operation, to be sure; only someone looking for it would have noticed two extra uniformed people in the wagon itself. Reconciliatiors, for certain, and probably at least one Negator. If not, they certainly had some manner of Abjurinium device.
Worthless, though they couldn’t yet know it. Abjurinium was an impressive tool against the minor covens, but did little to quell the silver flames.
The two Sunsingers watched from a distance as the Order’s orderlies loaded their witless client into the wagon and began making preparations, sealing it against escape.
“Luck is with us.” Ansel said, his voice hushed even though they were far enough away to speak with ordinary candor, “They’re going the southerly route, around the mines.”
“The wagon moves faster than we can follow.” Or faster than she could follow, anyway. She had no idea how the devil Ansel had made it over here so fast. “They’ll come this way, but our ambush must be within two blocks, I think.”
Gerhard nodded, looking almost pleased. “I’ll stop the wagon. You open it up, disable the negator, and get the client free. Tell him to run back towards me, then prioritize your own escape. Understood?”
Adrenalin boiled within Imogen- she felt like she was sweating hot enough to steam. “Yes sir..”
It had been somewhat more than a year since she’d felt the brand pressed into her flesh during her initiation, and Imogen Ward had grown quickly in that time.
Not in height, of course- to her great disappointment, puberty had ended at the proper time, and she was no throwback to her Ecithian ancestry. She had also taken her mother’s advice to heart for the first time in many years, and had not pushed to achieve the Cardinal Rune of Negation, which was perhaps the second-most common power deployed by the Sunsinger order. Something about the experience of struggling nigh-unto the brink of a fate worse than death itself had put a guard on the exuberance of learning magic, and that wasn’t even mentioning the recovery. She still had a bright, puckered scar on her left calf where she’d trapped Master Gerhard’s spear with her own leg.
…speaking of which.
After her initial recovery had completed and she could once again stand on her own two feet without assistance, Master Gerhard had offered to help complete her training. This was the man who had spent days rejecting her efforts out-of-hand without explanation, of implying a personal or racial animus, slandering her family and then punishing her for enduring his barbs; even after initiation when he’d revealed the lie for good, he’d never apologized, really. Yet she’d accepted at once, and without a second thought. He’d simply been that impressive in their duel.
Ansel Gerhard, she’d learned only after her initiation, had something of an illustrious career in the coven. He’d been an active guerilla in his youth, captured and tortured by the Order, escaped, forced to spend years outside of Zaichaer, only to return as one of the most sober and patient officers the Sunsingers had ever known. He’d been a Captain in his day, but retired from that role soon thereafter, citing the rigors of age.
He was also, as Imogen could attest, absolutely fucking deadly with that enormous spear.
So she’d spent several months trailing him. She wasn’t there to learn swordplay–she’d been well and truly trained in the use of her sword before the initiation–or even strictly Reaving but rather the whole art of the Coven’s job.
And this… was mostly waiting. She’d known that. The ideal commission for a Sunsinger involved guiding a mage through the streets for a few days, encountering the Reconciliators not even once, and accepting the client’s money at the end with no further fuss. If the heat showed up, the ideal stratagem was to get to safety, lie low for a few days, and then walk right back out the South Gate. If the sun-reaved swords came out, that meant the job had gone sideways.
Tonight’s job had gone sideways.
By the time Ansel-–that is, Master—Gerhard had met up with her on a street overlooking the empty house they were scheduled to meet their client at, the problem was obvious.
”Men in the house.” Imogen said as Gerhard arrived, wasting not a word in greeting, ”No sign of the client.”
Ansel glanced at Imogen, face stern. “Well, calm down, Corporal. Remember, panic is never helpful, and danger is no excuse to forget decorum.”
The Orkhan girl’s mouth opened in surprise, as though she could not believe she was being given a lecture in etiquette for having announced their client’s abduction wrong. But Master Gerhard meant it. He always meant it. She forced down her frustration (and, she might as well admit, more than a bit of nervous energy).
“My apologies… Master Gerhard.”
“Don’t let it trouble you, Imogen, it’ll get easier with time. Now, go ahead, give me your report.”
Her report? There wasn’t much to say. “Yes, sir. It’s been like this since I got here. There’s at least three men in the house, I think waiting to see if we’re going to show up to rendezvous. The client isn’t here.”
That could just mean that they’d gotten wind of their client’s illicit activities and seized him, or it could mean that the entire thing had been some kind of sting operation from the very beginning. A fake name, forged signs to prove that he was a witch, perhaps even stolen from some other poor sap they’d put to death halfway across the realm. Imogen suspected the former, though. If they’d had all that time to set the Sunsingers up like this, they wouldn’t have secured the point with lookouts so obvious that even she had been able to spot them.
(This was why Master Gerhard had taught her to always set up a rendezvous point where you and your team could observe the client before meeting with them. Many traps became obvious if you spent a few minutes watching for them.)
“A fair assessment, Corporal Ward. Thankfully, I can fill in some of the gaps. Our client is a Dratori man, which was his undoing; they trailed him for hours after he passed through customs. He was seized once he came here, which means we’ll have to burn this location for future clients, and taken to the station two blocks west for processing while they wait to transport him to the Hall.”
Imogen blinked, speechless again. Though she did not say “How the fuck do you know all of that?”, the question must have been plain enough on her face. Ansel gave her a small, smug, grin and patted her lightly on the shoulder. He did have to reach up to actually condescend, though, which was some small comfort.
“You pick up a couple of tricks by the time you’re my age, Imogen. Now, how would you approach this conundrum?”
The Ork sighed. She should have known that a literal emergency would not be enough to shake Ansel’s perverse love of turning everything into quizzes. If a fucking dragon attacked Zaichaer tomorrow, she expected that the first thing she’d hear after the flames began to die down was a patented Gearhard lecture.
“We have two options. Abandon the meeting and lie low, or retrieve the client before he is moved to the Hall.”
Gerhard nodded, gesturing at her to go on.
“He’s a client in name only- we haven’t received payment, or any such thing. He can give up the line of communication he used to reach us, but little else. But we’re not going to do that, because it would be wrong.”
“And it would harm our reputation.” Ansel interjected, with a tone of warning. Morals were important, but reputation was something the Sunsingers lived and died upon. Imogen nodded, and continued.
“So we have to rescue him while he’s in holding, and not in the Hall, because the guards here will be lighter, less-prepared, and we’re closer to escape of the city. Either we hit the precinct, or we hit the carry wagon.”
Gerhard nodded. He didn’t look pleased, but the fact that he didn’t look upset spoke volumes more.
“They’ll move him in three hours, give or take. We’ll take up a position to watch, determine when the wagon will pick him up, and hit that route, rescue the client, and leave with a minimum of fuss.”
That sounded like a confident prediction, but Imogen heard it for what it really was- wishcasting. There was absolutely no way that things were going to go that smoothly.
“As you say, sir.”
The two Sunsingers turned as one, then walked away, in totally different directions. They weren’t being watched, but… you could never be too careful.
~~~
Imogen reached the point overlooking the precinct in record time, but Master Gerhard still beat her there, somehow. Both the old man and the young woman had taken pains not to be observed, up to but not including any measures which, if noticed, would themselves incur suspicion. After all, nothing was more suspicious than trying to be unnoticable.
Just as Ansel had foretold, it took about one and three-fourths of an hour before the carry wagon rolled up to the precinct. It was a casual operation, to be sure; only someone looking for it would have noticed two extra uniformed people in the wagon itself. Reconciliatiors, for certain, and probably at least one Negator. If not, they certainly had some manner of Abjurinium device.
Worthless, though they couldn’t yet know it. Abjurinium was an impressive tool against the minor covens, but did little to quell the silver flames.
The two Sunsingers watched from a distance as the Order’s orderlies loaded their witless client into the wagon and began making preparations, sealing it against escape.
“Luck is with us.” Ansel said, his voice hushed even though they were far enough away to speak with ordinary candor, “They’re going the southerly route, around the mines.”
“The wagon moves faster than we can follow.” Or faster than she could follow, anyway. She had no idea how the devil Ansel had made it over here so fast. “They’ll come this way, but our ambush must be within two blocks, I think.”
Gerhard nodded, looking almost pleased. “I’ll stop the wagon. You open it up, disable the negator, and get the client free. Tell him to run back towards me, then prioritize your own escape. Understood?”
Adrenalin boiled within Imogen- she felt like she was sweating hot enough to steam. “Yes sir..”