Strife & Valor: Book II of The Rorke Burningsoul Saga by Regina Watts (red queen ebook .TXT) 📕

Nightlands. Surely—surely, Father, it was the right thing to stand by my honor and do as Weltyr commanded me?”

“It was, of course. You know the culture of the Order…you’ve never been suited to it. If you were not such a superb fighter I would tell you to join the brotherhood of priests—but then, you are as much a wanderer as Weltyr himself! And when he commands us to wander where we are not comfortable, we must swallow our fears for his sake.”

I nodded, somewhat more vindicated, and looked over the runes with curiosity. “So, Father—where might I find the men called Grimalkin and Hildolfr?”

“Hard to say…” Humming, looking over the runes, Fortisto said, “There’s so much…feminine energy here. And…money…one of these traitors wasn’t a woman, was it?”

“She was, but she has since repented for her crimes and agreed to assist me in reclaiming the Scepter.”

“What a good time you seem like you’re having! Making so many friends. Well…hm, then I don’t know what all this female energy is amid these messages…”

Yes, it was strange. Of all the men I’d ever known, Grimalkin was perhaps the least feminine by far. In fact, I’d heard it said the whole race of dwarves knew nothing of femininity—that even their women had been seen wearing beards. Whether this was true, I couldn’t say: all the female dwarves I’d known were smooth-faced. Whatever the case, Grimalkin tended to love women of other races…and he did love them. Women were the one matter on which we agreed—until, of course, our final conflict.

We’ll all be dying eventually anyway. Might as well die rich, fat, and well-laid.

“A brothel,” I said suddenly, crying out in delight to realize my own foolishness. “Of course! Where else would Grimalkin be? His last nights in Skythorn…naturally, he’ll be spending them in one of our brothels.”

“Good show, Burningsoul!” Excited to have been whisked even peripherally into the quest upon which I’d been sent, Fortisto slapped his hand to his fist and said, “That’s the way Weltyr’s sight works…through us, my boy. Through our knowledge.”

“So it is, Father.” My attention caught by the arrangement of runes upon the map, I indicated one that had fallen at the very edge of the board. A blank rune sat just outside the city boundary. “What does this one indicate, sire?”

“Ah—Weltyr. There are some priests who believe that, because the blank rune was incorporated later than the others, it is less valid…but Weltyr would not have inspired the meaning had he thought it inappropriate. All runes have some purpose, some definition, as much as the letters of the alphabet are defined by their sounds. I would take this to mean”—he prodded the blank rune just north of the map—“that Weltyr is watching over you very closely, Burningsoul…very closely indeed.”

“What a gratifying thought that is.” My hand pressing to my heart through the plates of my armor, I nodded at Fortisto. “Thank you, Father, for your time and service. Now it’s a question of discerning just which house of ill repute he’s chosen to visit! There can’t be that many, can there?”

GRIMALKIN AND THE SINGING NIXIE

HOW NAIVE I was! Looking back, I laugh at my relative innocence. Not having ventured far from the Temple until that far-venturing took me away from Skythorn altogether, I had not explored the more derelict districts of my own city and was therefore out of touch with them until we took rooms in the Mongoose. I therefore did not understand how desperate the poorer citizens were for any form of entertainment, be that an old-fashioned tavern brawl or the embrace of a woman paid for a few minutes of tenderness.

After bidding Fortisto good evening, (and assuring him more than once that, whatever the outcome of my duel with Zweiding, I accepted it was the doing of Weltyr), I exited the Temple. All the time, I looked for Elishta. Finding no sign of her, I resolved to check in on her the next day but then sadly had to rearrange my priorities away from concern for my friend. The most pressing issue was, in my opinion, the matter of finding Grimalkin. If I didn’t catch him soon, it would be some trick to subdue him in either the airship or Rhineland.

Therefore, my heart with Elishta, I hurried through Skythorn and headed again to the outer districts. As the air thickened with putrid chemicals, I slowed to more carefully assess my surroundings.

Amazing. When one wasn’t looking for them, they blended in completely…but, when the eye searched the crowd for a working woman, the fast-acting mind could pick them out in droves. Amid the artisans and hard-working laborers of the factory and production districts, a woman scanned the crowd on nearly every block.

Now realizing this process might have been a mite more challenging than previously anticipated, I regretted not having brought at least one of the women along to approach the prostitutes on my behalf. The truth of the matter was that, to a Skythorn woman looking for clientele—whether she was independent or affiliated with a brothel—the tattoo on my neck and the armor I wore was the ultimate sign of authority. The Temple had legal power as well as religious power, and the city guards were trained as part of the Order before being disseminated to cause trouble for already very troubled people. Add to that Strife at my hip, and I appeared to be an extremely unsubtle officer of the law looking to harass the working poor.

Therefore—thanking my good looks and even pausing by the window of a nearby leather-worker to fix my hair—I approached a ragged but motherly-looking older woman poised in an alcove where she intently scanned the faces of passers-by.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying to soften my tone further when she cringed at my coming and turned toward me with hard eyes that defied me to arrest her.

Speak from the heart, said a spirit inside me. Another of Weltyr’s messengers: intuition.

“Do you have a moment to answer a