Kasoria spent the trials that followed in something like seclusion, if such a thing can be found on a vessel at sea. Even the most curmudgeonly of men finds it hard not to be social on a floating wooden township. The aftermath of the battle had seen the crew treat him better than they otherwise would, that was for sure. He'd been an interloper before, an invader, uninvited and unwanted. At the cusp of matching blades with Graeslin and her crabs. But he'd shown himself willing and brave and both these things without being asked.
Kasoria didn't point out it was his arse he was saving, too. The crabs were prudent enough to ignore the notion.
He sat on deck and ate his meals, did whatever light duties were asked of him, for all but the most generously-monied guest worked on Graeslin's vessel. He felt the quiet mourning envelop the ship, punctured here and there by desperate, almost-silent hope. He saw Den stutter and stumble around, spewing out odd words here and there. The assassin, the murderer, the killer without scruples... yes, even he found himself hoping that same cocky light would return to the man's eyes. But it didn't. And as the days went on, Kasoria couldn't hide the restless shiver that was growing in him.
The battle was over, the voyage was nearly done. The bodies were lost or buried at sea, and he had no patience for dwelling on those long-dead.
He was almost home. Within sight of the green pastures and plowed brown fields beyond Foster's Landing. He closed his eyes on deck more than once, with naught but flat, shimmering ocean on the horizon, and could smell the salt-soaked piers, the rotting fish that permeated every stone, and hear the clamor from a score's worth of vessels coming or going. On the last sunset before they sighted land, he'd almost smiled.
Land, then road, then Westguard. Almost home, son.
Kasoria had such plans, and added to them constantly, though he kept them all safely ensconced in his head. Bangun Vorund was dead. Slaughtered alongside his faithful Hound and the treacherous underling who'd done the deed. That's what all the underworld, all the city, all the world would believe. And why not? Kasoria had been shot and slashed and pierced a dozen times. He'd been pitched into the river like garbage and never found. In the chaos that followed, as a score of petty ganger princes fought for the vacant throne, he would be forgotten. Another relic of a past generation, like the old man himself.
Two loose ends, he reminded himself every night before he slept. Drix. Yusef. Two more mouths to shut forever. Then I can walk away.
The Raggedy Man had smiled in his sleep at thoughts of his final murders. They comforted him. For they would be the nails in the coffin of a life he'd never have to return to again. After their bodies had dropped, it would be Westguard and fields and countryside and his son growing older under his eyes. A new life, new name, new future. The day they sighted land, these treacherously happy thoughts clouded his mind. He rushed to the deck and didn't hear the alarm in all the voices crying for land, for movement, for a flotilla of fleeing ships. Not until he got on deck and rushed to the railing and his smile-
Died. Mayhap, Zarik wondered, he would never smile so openly again after that day. That first sight.
"... what?"
The Quacian had never heard the Etzori so confused. Not broken, for the full horror of what had befallen his people would not be clear to him for a while. But at the tone of his voice, Zarik had to turn to be sure it was still the same man standing there. That single word was so tremulous, so hollow, it might have come from a child. He turned and saw Kasoria staring with wide eyes at the exodus streaming from Foster's Landing. The water thick with ships, many plunging headlong from the port, many circling the bay, yet more taking up every foot of pier. An endless tide of ragged, filthy, desperate Etzori were swamping them as they arrived. Hundreds, thousands of his countrymen, fleeing without thought for anything save the loved ones they could hold on to and the sparse possessions on their backs. Then he looked up, beyond the town, into the horizon...
Kasoria muttered something in Ith'ession that Zarik didn't understand. It almost sounded like a prayer.
The sky was burning beyond Foster's Landing. Smoke rose in great, towering clouds thick as mountains. Even in the sunlight, bright and clear and crisp, the glow of fires could be seen beyond the trees. The Southwood River seemed to snake towards it, or flee from it. Some great conflagration deeper inland that had spewed forth a tidal wave of refugees. Kasoria gripped the wooden railing until his fingers turned white. His home was there. In the middle of that burning horror. Towns and villages, depopulated and sent running away from... who?
"What the fuck happened?!"
Kasoria did not have the patience for polite questioning. As the ship docked, he grabbed the nearest man in armor that looked like a Blackjack and threw him against a wall. No niceties, no words save for what he growled, and a dagger at the man's throat to speed along the thought process. But that didn't seem to matter to the man with a bloody bandage over one eye. The remaining one just slid down and looked at the little man, then shook him off with a growl.
"Gerroff me, yeh mad bastard! Dun' you know? Whole fuckin' world's ending!"
Kasoria stood and listened and the ice in his guts only grew heavier. Lissira. First Audrae and her shadow-cunt spawn, now the Plague Mother from even further South. They ether storms had rolled across Etzos like everywhere else, stealing magic, ruining the defenses the city's mages had put in place... and the hordes of Lissira had not missed the chance to invade. Already the Southern Reaches were in ruins, entire towns burned or swept clean of life by plague. They were moving north, heading for the Big Rock itself, but spreading out tendrils of monsters and raiding columns of nightmares. The Etzori Army had fought and fought and been butchered every time. For they were but men, without mages to aid them, and the warred against the Mother of Infections.
"So fuck it, I'm fuckin' offski!" The Blackjack said with another snarl, stumbling away from the Raggedy Man. He pointed to the bandage. "Lost this, an' me kids, an' wadoo I get fer it? Watched me fuckin' Block get slaughtered like cattle at mart! Fuckin' war's done, wee man. Fuck off back the way yeh came, that's what I'll tell yeh..."
Kasoria let him go without a word. His plans. His future. His son. They were all just tatters at his feet now. Crushed under the ambitions of one inscrutable to his kind. He stumbled a step or two, until he'd steadied himself at a railing. For long moments, he stood there, and just breathed. Focused on the rote suck and push of his lungs. No... No, this was not the end. He would not allow it. He didn't overcome a continent's worth of obstacles to be thwarted now. The plan... the plan hadn't changed.
Westguard. The boy. Then loose ends.
Kasoria walked down the gangplank without a word or a gesture to anyone. Not to Graeslin, or her crew, or a dumbly waving Den. Not to Zarik, his mentor, or his children. Not to Jorsie, who was as stunned and pale as himself. The voyage before had not happened in Kasoria's mind. There was only the future for him now, and all the past was irrelevant. Blood pounding in his ears, weapons and clothes hurled across his back and thumping lightly against him with every step, the Raggedy Man returned to Etzori shores, and even those fleeing an Immortal got out of his way.
Kasoria didn't point out it was his arse he was saving, too. The crabs were prudent enough to ignore the notion.
He sat on deck and ate his meals, did whatever light duties were asked of him, for all but the most generously-monied guest worked on Graeslin's vessel. He felt the quiet mourning envelop the ship, punctured here and there by desperate, almost-silent hope. He saw Den stutter and stumble around, spewing out odd words here and there. The assassin, the murderer, the killer without scruples... yes, even he found himself hoping that same cocky light would return to the man's eyes. But it didn't. And as the days went on, Kasoria couldn't hide the restless shiver that was growing in him.
The battle was over, the voyage was nearly done. The bodies were lost or buried at sea, and he had no patience for dwelling on those long-dead.
He was almost home. Within sight of the green pastures and plowed brown fields beyond Foster's Landing. He closed his eyes on deck more than once, with naught but flat, shimmering ocean on the horizon, and could smell the salt-soaked piers, the rotting fish that permeated every stone, and hear the clamor from a score's worth of vessels coming or going. On the last sunset before they sighted land, he'd almost smiled.
Land, then road, then Westguard. Almost home, son.
Kasoria had such plans, and added to them constantly, though he kept them all safely ensconced in his head. Bangun Vorund was dead. Slaughtered alongside his faithful Hound and the treacherous underling who'd done the deed. That's what all the underworld, all the city, all the world would believe. And why not? Kasoria had been shot and slashed and pierced a dozen times. He'd been pitched into the river like garbage and never found. In the chaos that followed, as a score of petty ganger princes fought for the vacant throne, he would be forgotten. Another relic of a past generation, like the old man himself.
Two loose ends, he reminded himself every night before he slept. Drix. Yusef. Two more mouths to shut forever. Then I can walk away.
The Raggedy Man had smiled in his sleep at thoughts of his final murders. They comforted him. For they would be the nails in the coffin of a life he'd never have to return to again. After their bodies had dropped, it would be Westguard and fields and countryside and his son growing older under his eyes. A new life, new name, new future. The day they sighted land, these treacherously happy thoughts clouded his mind. He rushed to the deck and didn't hear the alarm in all the voices crying for land, for movement, for a flotilla of fleeing ships. Not until he got on deck and rushed to the railing and his smile-
Died. Mayhap, Zarik wondered, he would never smile so openly again after that day. That first sight.
"... what?"
The Quacian had never heard the Etzori so confused. Not broken, for the full horror of what had befallen his people would not be clear to him for a while. But at the tone of his voice, Zarik had to turn to be sure it was still the same man standing there. That single word was so tremulous, so hollow, it might have come from a child. He turned and saw Kasoria staring with wide eyes at the exodus streaming from Foster's Landing. The water thick with ships, many plunging headlong from the port, many circling the bay, yet more taking up every foot of pier. An endless tide of ragged, filthy, desperate Etzori were swamping them as they arrived. Hundreds, thousands of his countrymen, fleeing without thought for anything save the loved ones they could hold on to and the sparse possessions on their backs. Then he looked up, beyond the town, into the horizon...
Kasoria muttered something in Ith'ession that Zarik didn't understand. It almost sounded like a prayer.
The sky was burning beyond Foster's Landing. Smoke rose in great, towering clouds thick as mountains. Even in the sunlight, bright and clear and crisp, the glow of fires could be seen beyond the trees. The Southwood River seemed to snake towards it, or flee from it. Some great conflagration deeper inland that had spewed forth a tidal wave of refugees. Kasoria gripped the wooden railing until his fingers turned white. His home was there. In the middle of that burning horror. Towns and villages, depopulated and sent running away from... who?
"What the fuck happened?!"
Kasoria did not have the patience for polite questioning. As the ship docked, he grabbed the nearest man in armor that looked like a Blackjack and threw him against a wall. No niceties, no words save for what he growled, and a dagger at the man's throat to speed along the thought process. But that didn't seem to matter to the man with a bloody bandage over one eye. The remaining one just slid down and looked at the little man, then shook him off with a growl.
"Gerroff me, yeh mad bastard! Dun' you know? Whole fuckin' world's ending!"
Kasoria stood and listened and the ice in his guts only grew heavier. Lissira. First Audrae and her shadow-cunt spawn, now the Plague Mother from even further South. They ether storms had rolled across Etzos like everywhere else, stealing magic, ruining the defenses the city's mages had put in place... and the hordes of Lissira had not missed the chance to invade. Already the Southern Reaches were in ruins, entire towns burned or swept clean of life by plague. They were moving north, heading for the Big Rock itself, but spreading out tendrils of monsters and raiding columns of nightmares. The Etzori Army had fought and fought and been butchered every time. For they were but men, without mages to aid them, and the warred against the Mother of Infections.
"So fuck it, I'm fuckin' offski!" The Blackjack said with another snarl, stumbling away from the Raggedy Man. He pointed to the bandage. "Lost this, an' me kids, an' wadoo I get fer it? Watched me fuckin' Block get slaughtered like cattle at mart! Fuckin' war's done, wee man. Fuck off back the way yeh came, that's what I'll tell yeh..."
Kasoria let him go without a word. His plans. His future. His son. They were all just tatters at his feet now. Crushed under the ambitions of one inscrutable to his kind. He stumbled a step or two, until he'd steadied himself at a railing. For long moments, he stood there, and just breathed. Focused on the rote suck and push of his lungs. No... No, this was not the end. He would not allow it. He didn't overcome a continent's worth of obstacles to be thwarted now. The plan... the plan hadn't changed.
Westguard. The boy. Then loose ends.
Kasoria walked down the gangplank without a word or a gesture to anyone. Not to Graeslin, or her crew, or a dumbly waving Den. Not to Zarik, his mentor, or his children. Not to Jorsie, who was as stunned and pale as himself. The voyage before had not happened in Kasoria's mind. There was only the future for him now, and all the past was irrelevant. Blood pounding in his ears, weapons and clothes hurled across his back and thumping lightly against him with every step, the Raggedy Man returned to Etzori shores, and even those fleeing an Immortal got out of his way.
