The Exarch & the Errand Girl Ch. 05

"You two make a lovely sight," laughed the Sorcerer, pulling open the door and leaving.

Rouran rose hastily to her feet, hurrying to the basin, where she avoided Yvain's gaze by dipping the razor in the water, then wiping it on her sleeve. Yvain rose, finding his blue Guard's tunic, pulling it on and doing up the buttons.

"Lord Islan will be tending to the vai Auin stables at this time," said Rouran.

"Well, we should go there, then," said Yvain, realizing he'd agreed without saying much of anything. He could not think why he was struggling for words.

"Your shirt is done up wrong," said Rouran.

"What?" asked Yvain.

"You missed a button," said Rouran. She stepped towards him, her hands finding his collar and undoing the buttons down his chest, without even hesitating. There was a long moment as Rouran pulled his shirt apart, catching sight of his bare chest just a breadth away from her hands, and she paused, then glanced up at him.

"I'm...I'm sorry," she said. "I used to do up my husband's shirts for him. He was useless with buttons. You can dress yourself."

Yvain smiled at her, the only thing he could think to do. He only knew her as a mad woman, and to discover this softer side of her was confusing to him.

"Well, as you say, I'm useless with buttons," he said. "Lead on."

"I didn't mean it like that..."

"I know, Rouran. I was just teasing."

"You're a brute, Sergeant," she told him, although despite her complaints her fingers moved to his buttons, doing them up. Rouran's eyes fell back to the exposed sliver of chest, and Yvain could've sworn she bit her lip, although it might have been only for a moment.

Her hands seemed to race up his buttons, sealing his shirt off in no time at all. When she was satisfied with his appearance, Rouran let him go, watching as he buckled his sword on and pulled the lamellar cuirass on. He gestured her out of the room, locking his quarters behind him, then followed her out of the Guard's barracks.

"How did your husband die?" asked Yvain, as they walked the road to the Guild Hill.

"Why?" asked Rouran, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"I meant no offense," said Yvain. "I just realized I don't know very much about you. We've heard you're a refugee from one of the villages along the River Joi, but nobody knows anything beyond that. Seems strange to see someone every day and know nothing off them."

"Did Siara tell you much about herself?"

"That's different. She's a Sorcerer," said Yvain.

Rouran sighed.

"I suppose you're right," she said. "I don't understand you Vashili, sometimes. Everything in your lives revolves around the Sorcerers, and the laws and rules they set for you, but they never have to follow them."

"Is Tia Joi any better? Princess Fione is surely just as difficult to control as the Sorcerers."

"I wouldn't know. The most we ever saw from the Princess was a tax collector."

"The Guard collects taxes in Tia Vashil."

"I'll bet you're more successful than Princess Fione's men, then. Half of them get run out of town. My husband hated them. Used to keep fish heads to slip into their cart."

Yvain laughed at the idea of this, and Rouran laughed too, until it didn't seem funny anymore. Neither of them could think of something to say after that, and the silence that grew quickly became a giant.

"Flu," said Rouran, after Yvain thought he might simply scream to break the tension.

"What?"

"My husband, Naklas. He died of the flu. Fishing in cold weather, I was told."

"I'm sorry," said Yvain.

"I'm not sure I am," said Rouran. She didn't look at Yvain, so she was unable to catch his surprised glance at her.

"But you've kept your hair long in mourning," said Yvain. "Not many people in Tia Vashil who still do that."

"I think I've kept my hair long out of appearances," said Rouran. "Or because I wanted to? I don't know. I don't miss Naklas. He was a philandering dolt. And if he'd lived, who knows what might've happened to me. I might've stayed in the village and fallen victim to the Dragon Clans."

"What made you leave?"

"Pol Burr. Well, Sorcerer Pol, I suppose now. If he's still alive."

"The warlock that abducted Lady Kiera?"

"He didn't abduct her. They ran off together."

"Oh. We'd heard he'd stolen her, along with his Dragon Clan accomplice. Quite the scandal."

"Really? That's what they're saying down here?" asked Rouran.

"Well, you can't trust warlocks and you can't trust the Dragon Clan. And everyone knows Lady Kiera is a virtuous woman. So, stands to reason."

"Well, that's not what happened," said Rouran. "She just didn't want to marry Sir Tau."

"She didn't want to marry a vai Keller?" Yvain whistled. "I'd marry any vai Keller that asked me. Even one of Lord Cail's sons."

"I don't think you're their type," laughed Rouran.

"You might be," said Yvain. "A pretty woman like you, with a head for politics and knowledge of the vai Ullans. I'll bet half the Noble Families have tried to arrange you into a marriage with one of their sons."

Rouran blushed sharply and turned her head away, an act Yvain found charming.

"I'm a Joian refugee," she said. "Half of what I have are gifts from Lord Ked, including the pay he gives me as his clerk. I have nothing to offer the nobility. And I'm not pretty. I have sunburned skin, hair down to my ankles, and I stink of fish."

"Rouran, you don't stink of fish," said Yvain.

She glanced up at him, confused by this response, but by then they'd reached Lord Islan's stables, and Yvain pounded on the door set inside the gate.

"Yes?" asked a reedy groom, barely more than a boy, who answered.

"We're here to speak to Lord Islan," said Yvain.

"Lord Islan is attending to the horses. He isn't to be disturbed, except by those who would wish to buy a horse."

"He'll want to talk to us," said Rouran.

"I don't think he will. And I won't be the one to pass the message to him. Now be off."

"I'm a sergeant in the Guard," said Yvain. "I'm asking to speak with him."

"Sergeant, surely you know as well as I that the Guard has no authority over the Five Noble Families," said the groom. Yvain could almost see the man's nose attempting to raise into the air.

"I do know that," he said, picking over his words very carefully. "That's why I'm requesting that you tell him that I'm also requesting that he speak with me on his own accord."

"Would you tell him that we are here to speak about the murder of the Sorcerer Arthir?" asked Rouran.

"Are you?" asked the groom.

"Yes," said Rouran. "I'm Rouran Metil, Lord Ked's personal clerk. This is Sergeant Yvain Wair, the man Lord Islan himself chose to lead the search for the killer."

"Ah," said the groom, looking back and forth between Yvain and Rouran. He seemed to be retracing his steps in the conversation. "I believe Lord Islan will be quite interested to speak with you. Would you please step inside and follow me?"

Rouran smiled at Yvain as he ushered her in first.

"A little kindness and some words, Sergeant," she murmured.

"It's him you should be telling," said Yvain.

The smell of horse manure and damp hay struck Yvain's nostrils, enough that he almost coughed. Rouran, to his surprise, seemed largely unaffected by it. The groom, despite his nose in the air, also seemed largely immune to the overpowering scent.

"This way," said the groom, marching down the stables.

Lord Islan was what Yvain's father would have called "a proper lord." He wasn't dressed in his finery—it would have looked out of place among the horse shit and grime that covered the stables—but he looked very much like the battle leader he was well known to be. His beard was grey, with flecks of the dark black it had once been poking out from under the snow. A long scar ran down his face, which Yvain had always heard told as being from a fight he'd won single-handed and unarmed against a Canian alpha. Yvain could believe it, looking at the man.

"Sergeant Wair," said Lord Islan. He even spoke like a proper lord should, as though Yvain was only his equal for the moment, and then as soon as he left, he'd revert back to just a sergeant in the Guard, and Lord Islan would keep on as the scion of the House vai Auin.

"My lord," said Yvain.

"Lord Islan," greeted Rouran. She did not seem as impressed with Lord Islan as Yvain was.

"Rouran Metil. How goes the investigation?"

"It has led us here," she said.

"Oh? Is that true, Sergeant Wair? Have you come to my home seeking answers? Not trying to find your killer, I hope."

Yvain could've cursed the woman. They had agreed to go at him sideways, to woo him with words first, then come back if he proved out to be involved.

"About a weapon, my lord," said Rouran.

Lord Islan perked up. He stopped brushing the horse he was working on, and turned around.

"A weapon?"

"Yes, Lord Islan," said Yvain. He took out the hilt of the shattered dragon jade dagger, handing it to the noble.

Lord Islan turned the hilt over in his hands, examining it closely.

"Vashili made, of course you know that," he said.

"We suspected," said Yvain. "Well, we suspected that a noble had it crafted. We were interested to know if you could tell us about the mark on the bottom."

Lord Islan's eyebrows raised, and he turned the dagger hilt pommel up.

"I need to take this into the light," he said. He walked out into the yard, Yvain and Rouran following after him.

"Master Quellar's mark," he said. "He makes ornamental weaponry, for the most part. You know, a knife that you can wear on your belt at a ceremony, or a sword to cut cake with at a wedding. Most of the other smiths in town lack his ability with softer metals like this. Why should they bother, after all. They know their purpose is to make weapons of war. He's popular with a few of the houses. Lord Ked uses him, Lord Cail. The vai Banda as well. And a number of upstarts from the burghers who can only afford one or two of his finer pieces, but play at being the so-called Sixth Noble Family."

"Did you commission this blade, my lord?" asked Rouran.

Lord Islan smiled at her.

"It would be most convenient for you if I had, wouldn't it, Rouran Metil? A nice, neat little bow. I stand against the Guild, and now the Guild has suffered a murder at the hands of some anti-Guild rebel. So easy to pin it on my House. After all, were the vai Auins not responsible for the last anti-Guild riot?"

"I'm from the countryside of the River Joi, my lord. I know nothing of Vashili history," protested Rouran. She looked at Yvain. "There was an anti-Guild riot?"

"A long time ago," said Yvain. "A few of the Noble Houses, the vai Auins chief among them, as Lord Islan says."

"And the vai Ullans. Your master's family, Mistress Metil," said Lord Islan. He tossed the hilt to Yvain. "I'm sure Chair Heldi would be happy to see this crime pinned on me, but I am afraid I know nothing of this knife beyond its mark."

"We did not mean to imply you were responsible for it, my lord," said Yvain.

"I'm sure you didn't," said Lord Islan. "Although I'm sure you were curious. Maybe even hopeful."

"I apologize, Lord Islan, if I caused you any offense," said Rouran. "I swear I knew nothing about this riot."

Lord Islan looked back and forth between Rouran and Yvain.

"I have heard that, among the Guard, there is a certain trick where one plays dumb to lure a confession out of someone," he said.

"Rouran is not a Guard," said Yvain. "She has no head for that sort of subterfuge."

"Says who?" asked Rouran, indignantly. Yvain started as she rounded on him. "I could be pretending to know nothing easily!"

There was a quiet moment as Yvain stared at her, both of them puzzling this last statement out to its full implications.

"I mean..." said Rouran. The finger she'd been holding up in Yvain's face dropped. "I don't know anything about it. But if I had, neither of you would know."

"I suspect that you are exactly what you seem on the surface, Widow Metil," said Lord Islan, chuckling to himself. He picked up his brush again, turning back to the horse he'd been grooming.

"Quellar, the man's name is. Alvodar Quellar. He'll know that knife and its provenance, I'm certain of it."

"Thank you, Lord Islan," said Yvain.

"Think nothing of it," said Lord Islan. He looked over his shoulder at the two of them.

"Widow Metil," he called. "Tell Chair Heldi, and your own master, if Ked should wish to know, that I desire that this murderer is brought to justice just as quickly as any right thinking Vashili man would. My feelings about the Guild do not mean that I am impervious to the requirements of the law."

"If it should come up, I will vouch for you, Lord Islan," said Rouran. "I know you are an honorable man."

"Good," said Lord Islan. "I suspect they will trust you more than they would ever trust me. Now off with you. Before you mistake me for a Dragon Clan warrior and gut me with a scaling knife."

"It was the neck, Lord Islan," said Rouran.

"Ah, well, then at least it'll be quick," laughed Islan, waving them away.

Yvain shot her a confused glance when they were back out on the street. He'd never thought he'd considered the streets of Tia Vashil to be "fresh air," but they were certainly cleaner than the stables Lord Islan kept.

"What did he mean, 'mistake me for a Dragon Clan warrior?'" he asked the former fisherwoman.

"Oh, it's a joke," said Rouran, waving a hand. She started down the road off the Guild Hill, apparently determined to reach the Artisans' District as soon as possible, from her pace.

"A joke about what?" asked Yvain.

"During the war, I had an encounter with a Dragon Clan warrior, and Lord Islan finds it humorous."

"An encounter?"

"I..." Rouran trailed off. She put half a pace's extra space between her and Yvain, her eyes searching the cobbles in front of her. "I cut the throat of a Dragon Clan warrior before he could kill the Sorcerer Pol."

"With a scaling knife?"

"Yes," said Rouran. The word came out even smaller than it was.

"And he makes fun of you for that?"

"Lord Ked mentioned it to the Noble Council when he first introduced me as his clerk. He apparently thought it would help the council understand why he had chosen me to clerk for him. Lord Islan found it amusing. I guess it didn't quite match his perception of fisherwomen from Joian villages or something."

"That's still no reason to make fun of you," said Yvain.

"I'm used to it," said Rouran.

"You really killed a Dragon Clan warrior with just a scaling knife?" as Yvain. "How big is a scaling knife?"

"Not big," said Rouran.

"How big was the Dragon Clan warrior?"

"Bigger," admitted Rouran. "His back was turned though. He was very determined to kill Sorcerer Pol."

Yvain stopped in his tracks.

"You are telling me that you killed a full grown warrior of the Dragon Clan with a small knife you use to scale fish?"

"Yes," said Rouran, her tone sharper than she had intended it. It was nothing she liked speaking of, actually. Or thinking of, for that matter. Killing a man had not been like killing a fish. Or maybe it had been too much like killing a fish. She could never really decide, and it unnerved her to think about for very long.

"You are a woman full of amazement, Rouran Metil. Just when I think I know who you are, something new pops up," said Yvain.

Rouran said nothing, only kept walking.