Cards on the Table

“You need to relax. If you tense up any more than you already are, they’ll assume you’re about to strike them.”

“How am I supposed to relax going into this?” John grumbled, though he did his best to at least loosen up his posture slightly. He wasn’t really sure how tense he could look next to someone like Moira; her stiff posture and demeanor would’ve put the most disciplined soldier to shame.

“If you will not do it for the sake of our meeting, do it for the sake of the people. Surely you’ve noticed how many more eyes are on us than usual?” Moira half-whispered, lowering her voice so that she couldn’t be easily overheard above the clattering of the Abyssal Market crowd.

“I did notice a few people staring… I figured not all of them were running recon for the mercenaries,” John admitted.

“Springfield has been fortunate in the past to never draw the attention of any absurdly powerful mages – and the ousting of the Cabal, as well as the elimination of the Albidians, leaves the three-way truce between the Order, the Moon Clan, and the Forgotten Legion as the most powerful **** in the region. The fact that we have not yet abandoned our homes and fled has given those who remain some hope that we believe the Northern Ashes will not reach Springfield… so long as we do not appear as if we ourselves are ready to jump at the first mouse that crosses our path,” Moira lectured.

“Maybe you have a point. I think you’re making a bigger impact than I am though. The Warden is a big figure – I’m just a random mage with a bounty and a bunch of rumors about him.”

“Hm,” Moira grunted, her voice becoming slightly more melancholic. “You’d heard about that, then?”

“Yeah. Back on the west coast. You didn’t mention it, and I sort of had other things on my mind when I first got back,” John elaborated. “Were you hoping I didn’t know about it?”

“I thought you should know at some point, but as you said… other matters are more pressing. Besides, a bounty alone is not inherently concerning. They can be placed for any number of reasons. As a matter of course, every Warden and Warden Lord in history has had quite the bounty placed on their heads – the Wardens’ much higher than their counterparts, typically.”

“I’ve never heard you worry about yours,” John noted.

“Only a handful of crazed madmen have ever claimed to come after a Warden solely due to their bounty. The Blessing itself is a far higher prize for anyone who would seek to capture me alive than any monetary prize. But it is rare for one to be so bold as to come after it. If the Rose ever left the possession of a member of the Order, particularly by ****, there would be no divide between the American and British Order – or for that matter, the German or Indian branches – until it had been reclaimed, and the ones responsible eradicated.”

”I wonder if that’s the real reason no one has come after me… I keep hanging around with powerful people. Even Moira and Kim are much stronger now than a year ago. And even though she seemed to want to keep my visit a secret, if anyone has spread any rumors about me being associated with Himiko...”

John did his best not to visibly react to the thought. Himiko frightened even him, despite her professed affections… he could certainly see why even the rumor of such fondness might stifle any thoughts of collecting a bounty on him, no matter how high.

“I suppose in some sense, many bounties function more as indirect threats than an offering one expects to be claimed,” Moira continued when John remained silent. “Those strong enough to claim valuable bounties are often wealthy enough for the returns to be a pittance, and those wealthy enough to lay bounties high enough to make it worth the effort typically have forces powerful enough to enact whatever vengeance they seek on their own.”

“So why place them at all? Who even posts them?”

“They are yet another function of the Abyssal Auction, one of their less savory ones, though perhaps not the worst. As for why they are used at all… well, it is unusual for them to be claimed, but not unheard of. The Abyss is as dangerous as always. Often they are likely meant to simply make their target nervous, to **** them to question every interaction, fear every shadow. Be on your guard, as ever. Still, you have many allies in Springfield – and when we head north, you will be known as a friend of Adantia, a woman long thought dead and well known for strength of magic and character alike. It would take a truly tremendous bounty to make tangling with her worth even a moment’s consideration.”

“As your father can attest.” John smirked, still amazed at the display he’d seen.

“Very much so. Now, let’s go this last block in silence. No need to give any information away unless it benefits us to do so.”

The two of them weaved their way through the crowded marketplace, toward a small diner near the heart of the market. It was mostly empty, as all the shops seemed to be now, with just a handful of wary-looking mages sitting around nursing half-empty cups. Eyes turned to them as they entered; a few lingered, particularly on Moira, but most very consciously returned their gazes to their beverages after just a quick assessment.

All but one. A man sitting in a booth up against the windows at the front of the store met their gazes and gave a seemingly friendly gesture to join him. The man Moira had told him about, the man who had taken the reins on mercenary work around Springfield since Arista’s imprisonment – Glen Talisker.

He was a rather disheveled looking man, not exactly ragged, but certainly unkempt. The brown slacks and belt he wore were the only part of him remotely tidy, and that very much included his scraggly face – covered in a layer of stubble too thick to be called shadow, yet too ragged and short to be titled a beard, and topped with a messy hedge of blonde hair. His long-sleeved white shirt was ill-fitting and wrinkled, adding to the laundry list of small imperfections in his appearance John had almost never seen on those within the Abyss. Such trifles were so menial with the aid of magic that even John’s narrow and limited scope of abilities could handle wrinkles, tears, or ill-fitting clothes quite easily. The rather slovenly presentation was amplified by the nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him, and the half-filled glass he wasted no time in tipping back after catching their attention.

”He either enjoys presenting himself in this way or he’s doing it to seem less threatening and make us take him less seriously. If he thinks I’m going to do that after the last year...”

Moira and John walked over together and took their seats in front of the man, who spoke with a rather gruff voice that filled the air with a British accent twice as thick as the Brightons had ever seemed to have, even when Lord Brighton let it slip in annoyance.

“Ah, eeyar then, showed up after all, eh? Figured with the way you were playin’ hardball with the boys, I’d be dinin’ alone tonight,” Glen said, holding his gaze on Moira only long enough to finish his words before immediately shifting over to John. “And you too, my word! ‘Arder to get ‘old of you than to get an audience with Batu himself, ain’t it? I’ve got some good trackers, let me tell you, and you stumped ‘em all. When you wanna disappear, John Newman, you really know how to disappear, don’t you?”

“Can’t say I noticed. They must have been farther off the trail than you thought if I never even caught sight of them. Might want to start looking for new hires instead of me,” John mused. Moira remained unmoved by both of their jibes, keeping her face stern and focused.

“You were on a manhunt for one of the Order’s own? You didn’t mention that during our negotiations,” Moira noted, sounding neither pleased nor surprised.

“I did, and you’d be a damned fool if you could tell me honestly you thought I was the only one, sweet’art,” the man responded effortlessly. “Besides, ‘one of the Order’s own’? Come off it, lass. You can claim ‘im an’ talk about the three great powers in Springfield all y’want, but push to shove, everyone ‘round these parts knows this lad’s got the muscle to lay as much claim to the city as any of ya, barrin’ ol’ man Brighton steppin’ out of that dusty ol’ Manor for once. Ain’t nobody in their right mind callin’ this one another lapdog of the Order.”

“Your opinion is noted, and irrelevant. The fact remains you’ve been tracking one of my allies and attempted to use our contract negotiations as a way to finally make contact with him. I want to know why you’ve been so persistent,” Moira said, body relaxed but a definitive edge sounding in her voice.

“What, you’re still whingin’ on about that? Figured with you as the closest thing to an answerin’ machine for this one, you’d be used to it by now,” Glen said with a shrug, reaching for his glass for another long swig. “Ain’t a mage in this part of the country that wouldn’t like five minutes to chat with this lad, some for better reasons than others.”

“Maybe you’re just the only one too stubborn to take a hint. Well, you’ve got your chance, so go on – I’m right here. So tell me what was so important,” John said bluntly.

“Maybe I just wanted to shake your ‘and, ever think about that?” Glen laughed at that, holding his hand out as if he expected John to actually take it. “After all, you got me this job, didn’t ya? Even if you hadn’t, you’re still the one who took out the Albidians. Why do you think I’m not out ‘ere mistakin’ you for some Order pet on a leash? Takes more than a well-trained dog for the local hall prefects to do that kinda work, no matter ‘ow sharp its teeth are.”

“I had a lot of help,” John growled, trying not to even acknowledge Glen’s hand, still hanging in the middle of the table. Everything about this man seemed designed to irk him deeply, from his appearance, to his mannerisms, to the way he addressed them, particularly being one of the only people he’d ever seen treat Moira with active disrespect.

“Oh, maybe for that first one, sure. And you always have those beauties with you, don’t you? Few of ‘em outside right now, actually – no, no, no need to worry.” Glen held up only the hand he wasn’t still offering to John for some reason in a placating manner. John hadn’t bothered to even try to subdue the fire that lit in him when Glen called out the presence of his family. John strained not to let his eyes wander to their health bars immediately, trusting that he would have heard something through their rings if they were in any danger. John took the time to make an exaggerated gesture of annoyance, rubbing at his eyes and using the cover to glance to the corner of his vision. He was unsurprised yet still relieved to note that his three shadows were all still unharmed.

“My lads are just keepin’ an eye on ‘em, that’s all. We want this to go down all friendly and peaceful like, don’t we? I know I sure do. Only a fool would after the stories we’ve ‘eard about you! Like I said, you may ‘ave gotten some assistance with that first den, but you sure dug the rest of ‘em out in a right ‘urry, didn’t ya? The tales we got out of the few people ‘angin’ around when you did your dirty work, boy oh boy… should ‘ear the way they described it. Nothin’ left of those places when you were done with ‘em but blood, stone, and ghosts. Not even anyone left around to scream anymore – but I’m sure you ‘ad ‘em screamin’ a’plenty when you were there, didn’t-”

“Enough!”

John’s hand left his eyes and batted away Glen’s stubbornly offered hand in an instant, bad memories rushing back to him and bringing a touch of their old wrath with them. For just a moment, the background noise of the shop went quiet. John saw in his peripheral as everything seemed to stop moving, and Glen’s eyes widened slightly as his hand was batted away.

Then the grungy man chuckled, in a way that sounded somehow less **** than during his verbal jousting, and everything seemed to resume. “My, my. Didn’t take you for such a sensitive one. My mistake – let’s put our cards on the bloody table then. I don’t want anythin’ from you, John Newman. Not your life, not your magic, not even your bloody money. I just wanted to meet the man who got me this job and see if he lived up to the image in my head.”

“I didn’t get you this job,” John corrected. “You keep saying that, but it was the Order that imprisoned Arista, not that she didn’t deserve it.”

The glass in Glen’s hand shifted uneasily on the table, his knuckles whitening as he reached to pour himself a new glass. The scent of **** drifted across the table as he poured, talking the whole while.

“Well, agree to disagree on that part, shall we? The Order may have locked Arista up and tossed away the ol’ key, but as I ‘ear it, you were the one that made sure she wouldn’t try to take her old job back. You were the one what dragged her back into the light… just so you could do ‘er in yourself.”

John’s eyes narrowed, and despite her best efforts, John could see Moira’s posture tighten up as she leaned forward on the table.

“Perhaps your trackers are a bit more skilled than we gave them credit for,” Moira noted. “Just how closely have you been watching the Order dungeons, precisely?”

“Hah! No love lost over this little tidbit, nothin’ to lose your ‘ead over anyway, dearie. Believe me, I like my gossip, but I know well enough what goes on in those dungeons without puttin’ boots in there. Nah, I found out when Johnny-boy ‘ere booked it out of town the next day. Gotta admit, didn’t believe it when the trackers first reported back – wasn’t expectin’ the first time we’d spot you would be buggerin’ right out of town after a year of fuck all,” Glen admitted. “Car all wired to hell too, more illusions and cloakin’ spells than I’ve seen on some full blown assaults. Kudos to whichever one of your birds pulled that one off, only my best and brightest could follow that trail.”

“So you were tailing us as soon as we left.” John wanted to smash something, but he held his frustrations back. There was a reason being back in the old world always made him feel so insecure. Besides, Layla had followed him out of town – even if she did seem to be something of a prodigy among aura readers, he didn’t expect her to be the only one capable of doing so.

“I’ll admit, there’s a gap or two in our coverage, but my boys watched enough to know this… you left Springfield with Arista, and you came back without ‘er. We know you still ‘ad ‘er with you when you showed up to Randal’s place, with a shiny new **** collar around ‘er neck. Never ‘eard of you or the Order doin’ anythin’ like that before – which makes me think you knew just how much she’d hate it. After all, she’s the woman who ‘elped the Albidians pull a quick one on ya, got you into the bloody mess of it all and ‘urt you so bad you spent a bloody year down in some dark ‘ole somewhere lickin’ your wounds. Makes me think you did it just to make ‘er suffer, see the pain in ‘er eyes before you slit ‘er throat.”

A beat passed, silence reigned once more. John wasn’t sure who was closer to making the first move; all three of them were equally tense.

“Even if you were right, and you have no idea how wrong you are, what do you care? Like you said, if she’s dead, you never have to worry about her coming back to take her place. And it sounds like you knew what she did, so could you blame me if I had?”

“Mate, let me make myself as bleedin’ clear as I possibly can,” Glen said, voice darkening. “I do blame you. Much as I blame myself. I’d love for ‘er to walk back into this shithole an’ reclaim ‘er throne, nothin’ so much in the world. If I could, I’d ‘ave seen your ‘ead on a pike a year ago. An’ I ain’t the only one. Only two things that ‘ave kept you alive since you showed your face ‘round ‘ere. Would you like to know what they are?”

”Stand by. I want you three ready to burst in here at any moment. Come through the windows if it’s faster and easier – everyone is a target.”

“Good looks and charisma?” John offered. His mind reached out, connected to the Rune of Puppeteering in his sword, preparing to draw it without the use of his hands if need be. He wanted to ponder on Glen’s words a bit more, feeling sure the angered man was leaving things intentionally vague, but his mind was too busy pouring over the layout of the building, already mapping out his first moves.

“Cute, awful smooth for a bastard,” Glen sneered.

“Cute is inviting us down here only to make threats,” Moira warned, her voice as dangerous as Glen’s. “Shall I inform your superiors of your conduct?”

“Threats? I’m not threatenin’ anythin’,” Glen professed, though he didn’t soften his gaze or his voice in the slightest. “If the higher-ups were gonna let us do anythin’, you’d never ‘ave made it to the west coast. Like I said, two things ‘ave kept you alive, just thought you might want to know them.”

“Enlighten me.”

“First of all,” Glen began with a long sigh, “technically Arista was never one of us. She ran the mercs around this place, and the association never saw a reason to expand. Not enough value in the place to pay us much more than scraps if we’d be competin’ with others who were doin’ a proper enough job already. We offered to take ‘er in, many times… many times. She ‘ad ‘er own code, though, an’ rules she enforced on ‘er ‘appy few that we wouldn’t agree to follow, or enforce if someone broke ‘em. So she doesn’t get the same protections my men do. Doesn’t get the full might of the association bearin’ down on this hellhole to make sure nobody thinks they can start fuckin’ with us for ‘ow we make a livin’. Same code that says the fiery-haired lovely over ‘ere can get me in big trouble if I were actually tryin’ to threaten you while were ‘ashin’ out these details.”

John didn’t say anything, waiting to see if Glen would shift in his seat, twitch slightly, make the slightest indication of his next move. But the man sat like a statue, taking a deep breath and another sip of his freshly filled glass before continuing.

“Second reason’s related, but different. Arista didn’t do what she did as part of a contract. Like I said, she had her own rules – and rule number one for her lads and lasses was to never take a contract from any blighter who dealt in the **** trade. Didn’t matter if they were murderers, human traffickers, kidnappers, insane cultists for dead gods… just as long as nobody was putting anyone in any of those infernal collars. From what a few of her ex-swords-for-hire told us, the only reason she cooperated was because they told ‘er she was gonna do it one way or another – either of her own free will… or very much without it.”

“So they knew about her past and used it against her. Does that excuse what she did?”

“Never said it did. Just said you’re lucky – if she didn’t have morals, if she didn’t stand by her principles, she could’ve sold you down the river for a load of cash and phoned us up the very next day. Never would’ve seen a cell, a collar… or that last flash of red right before it all goes dark,” Glen said. He swirled his glass a few times, pondering his own reflection in the whiskey. “But she didn’t. She wasn’t one of us, and stuck by ‘er morals over common fuckin’ sense. And even if a few of my boys thought about takin’ it out on you anyway, goin’ it alone without the backin’ of the big lads… we’re not like ‘er. We know how the world works. We know if we start pickin’ a fight with every arse that hurts someone we care about, we start stickin’ our necks out for anyone an’ everyone, we’re just gonna wind up in the same grave.”

Tension left the air, but not John’s body. Moira’s armor clanked only slightly as she leaned back, still alert but moving to a position less ready to raise her hammer from the floor near her foot and crack someone’s skull open with it.

“...She’s not dead.”

“Pull the other one,” Glen said, voice still low, but more resigned than threatening. “I just explained it, didn’t I? I’m not ‘ere to pick a fight, so you don’t ‘ave to try an’ sweet talk me.”

“I’m not lying. I told you earlier, you don’t know how wrong you are about how things went down. She… how did you phrase it again?” John asked rhetorically, trying to recall Glen’s exact words. “I’d love for her to walk back into this shithole and reclaim her throne, every bit as much as you would. But that option was never on the table. Arista is never coming back, that much I can promise you. But she’s not dead.”

“Worse than dead? Stuck ‘er in some cell like the Order? Keepin’ ‘er around to toy with, bit of light **** when you get bored? Ain’t much better than dead.”

“No, not…” John pursed his lips, brain going into overdrive to find a way to explain without actually explaining what he’d done. Something about the way Glen had spoken, the anger and pain in his voice… there was a twisted reflection in it. For all his threats and obvious anger, John couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to offer at least some measure of peace to the man.

“John…” Moira murmured, not taking her eyes off Glen, but making her voice a clear warning.

“You know there are gaps in your story, you admitted as much, especially around Arista’s fate and where she went after we left that mercenary safe house on the west coast. I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you, but what I’m telling you is the truth. You’re never going to see Arista again, I made sure of that. But she’s not dead. I swear.”

Glen looked skeptically over John, as if looking for some physical abnormality that would give the ruse away. After a few moments, he offered his hand to John just as before – if a bit slower this time.

“Tell you what, let’s say I don’t believe you, but I’d like to. Make it a promise – a gentleman’s agreement. Let’s shake on it, for real this time.”

“...Are you serious?” John said, scoffing.

“I insist.”

“Well… if you insist,” John said reluctantly. Moira had half an objection formed on her lips, but whether she couldn’t phrase it properly or was simply glad to have things end in something other than an all-out brawl, she let it die before it left her lips. John clasped hands with Glen… and to his surprise, the man gave him one firm shake and released it. Nothing passed between them so far as he could see or feel, even with Observe – no mana, no stealthily passed note, only an understanding.

Silence reigned, and the clattering of silverware and the soft clicking of the waitress’ high heels on the tiled floor returned to the forefront of John’s ears. John took the brief window to make contact again without breaking his train of thought.

”Seems to have gone as well as it could… for the moment. Stay ready everyone, but you can relax. Just a little.”

“...Why did you insist on bringing him here to do all this, Glen? Did you simply want to tell John what you thought of him to his face before refusing our contract?” Moira asked, steering the conversation back toward the matter at hand. She seemed eager to either get down to business or leave, and John was more than amicable to either option.

“Bloody ‘ell, love, did you ‘ear a word I just said about our little association?”

Glen laughed, some of the false humor returning to his voice, and the glass once more returning to his lips as he made a show of guffawing for several seconds before finally continuing. His grin shone like a jovial man’s, like a man that hadn’t just informed John how much most of the mercs under his control wanted to see him dead.

“We don’t ‘old grudges around ‘ere, can’t in this line of work. We don’t have none of Arista’s silly rules about who to work for, either, only the rules carved in iron that ‘ave kept us all alive this long. I didn’t tell you this to refuse your offer.”