Part I
Ren Winde could quickly think of plenty of other places she would rather be than Gevosa’s Bar. It was underground, barely illuminated by red neon lights, swelteringly hot, exceptionally loud, and cramped with tourists and Torch locals alike. Thankfully, it was a smaller, lesser-known dive that didn’t flaunt ridiculously dressed dancers just outside the front door to entire passersby to enter, but there was still plenty of activity to keep most entertained. The servers, darting between the bar and their tables, wore little clothing, partially out of desperation from the heat radiating from such a close gathering of people and partially to get more tips. Three video screens hung above the bar, showing a local news station, a serial melodrama, and a merjua tournament, simultaneously. She could pick out several languages, including common Trade, discussing general topcs like regional politics and culture, the overall attractiveness of the crowd, and even news about the recent murders on the outlying Estoire Islands. Despite the multitude of distractions, Ren was able to keep focused on the couple who were busy feeling each other up in a booth in the front corner, only a few meters away from the door. The female seductively traced her collarbone with an ice cube and ran her other hand up the thigh of her male companion, who guided her same hand to his crotch. Ren rolled her eyes.
Macio Gevosa, the owner and head bartender, leaned over the counter to refill her wine glass.
“Sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you much tonight,” he said over the din as he shoved the cork back into the bottle. “I may need to hire some more help soon.”
He wiped sweat from his brow, looking at the two other barkeeps who were frantically trying to mix drinks. His stocky frame had shrunk slightly since the last time she saw him, probably from a lack of sleep, if the dark circles under his brown eyes said anything.
“Yeah, it’s a wee bit busy in here right now,” she responded, only briefly taking her eyes away from the pair in the corner. They weren’t going anywhere – for a while, at least.
“Ever since that duchess vacationed down here a few months ago, things have been getting crazier in Old Town.” He grunted as he poured himself a shot of whiskey. “Luckily, she never came in here. I think we’re a bit low-class for her tastes. I heard horror stories from other bar owners, though.”
Ren had read about Duchess Lalia’s series of visits to the southeastern city-states and territories, as had nearly every person on the continent and the surrounding islands. She was supposed to be the new face of the royals from Forsitha, the last true bastion of the Third Empire, but seemed to care for little more than her own amusement. During her tour, she’d held lavish parties and press conferences, spent her inherited money on exotic “Southie” clothing, which she paraded at a fashion show for her family and friends when she returned to her home. Despite outrage from the general Southeastern populace, she even wore ritual makeup designs and jewelry during these exhibits. Needless to say, even several centuries removed from their ousted predecessors, the former rulers of the empitre did not even seem to be trying to improve their image.
“Good thing I missed all that,” Ren said with a sardonic chuckle, still locked onto the couple who were now leering at the other people in the bar while pausing briefly to nearly slobber over each other’s faces in an attempt at kissing. This whole display of theirs was quickly becoming nauseating.
“Which reminds me, where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in, what? Eight months?” Macio started filling the dishwasher with dirty glasses.
“I’ve been … traveling.”
Ren’s profession, if you could call it that, as a Legion was best left unsaid. She’d known Gevosa for nearly six years, stopping by for a drink when she passed through Torch on a mission or for some well-earned vacation time. Not once had they discussed what she was actually doing, and this time would be no exception. He might blow her cover as a simple bar patron, for all she knew.
“He yours?” Macio jerked his head in the couple’s direction. So he had noticed her watching him. She’d have to be more discreet next time.
Ren scoffed. “He wishes.”
“I was about to say he doesn’t really look like your type,” he said, wiping the counter. “I should get back to it. You sure you just want the cheap shit? I feel like I should be paying you to drink it.”
Laughing, Ren replied, “It’s fine. I think this is my last one, anyway.”
“Last one? You’ve been nursing that first one for over an hour and a half!”
She shrugged. She hadn’t intended to get drunk or even slightly buzzed, at least not until after. This arrangement was the best for the both of them; she had to keep her skills sharp, and he had to make a living.
“Well, if you decide to kill him, at least take it outside,” he joked, winking. “Don’t need any deaths in here, tainting my reputation.”
“No promises,” Ren replied, smirking. You have no idea.
Amused, he shook his head and quickly returned to the rest of his customers, one of whom seemed to be making his way around the bar, desperately searching for his blind date.
Ren sipped her wine and leaned back slightly in her chair, dwelling on the taste of the drink in her mouth. She began wishing she had the ignorance of nearly every other person in Gevosa’s: enjoying her alcohol, watching the game, or searching for companionship or meaningless sex, but no. She had a duty. She would have to face the duo soon, hopefully one at a time; she chuckled at herself for allowing the thought. She knew well enough that she would not be that lucky, even if the male did look slightly wan. Steadying her gaze back on them, she wondered who they would select next, when the female leaned forward to grab the arm of a passing blond woman and motioned to a small empty spot right next to her. Ren straightened her posture slightly but otherwise gave no other indication of her alarm. The blond woman waved to a tall man at the bar, getting cocktails, and the two joined Ren’s targets.
Well, you’re certainly predictable.
It was a set of two, like all the rest, and from the looks of it, neither was a Torch native. The man was much taller and leaner than most Torchi and had very fine blond hair, and the similarly built and complected woman wore a cheap imitation native crafted tunic she most likely bought in a souvenir shop a few blocks away. They were obviously intoxicated, and Ren was determined to make sure that she kept her word to Macio. No deaths … human, at least.
“Excuse me, have you seen anyone named Ren Winde?”
Ren felt her stomach drop. She could barely breathe or move.
The date seeker had reached one of the men near her and kept repeating the question, each time louder than before and in a different tongue or dialect. He spoke perfect Trade with a slight accent but was having trouble translating into more local languages, stumbling over syntax and verb tense. No one seemed to be paying attention to him, which made him raise his voice even more with each iteration. Ren diverted her eyes to the young man for a second, who was already inching closer to her, immediately returning to study the now-quartet across the establishment. While the male’s demeanor had not changed, instead concentrating on the gentleman who had just joined them, the female at the booth had taken notice of the young man. She alternated her attention between him and the woman recently joining the table, anxiously adjusting her top and scanning the fellow bar customers for an unseen threat.
She knew Ren was there.
“Excuse me, miss.”
The young man had reached her and touched her arm; Ren rotated her stool and maneuvered to stay out of her prey’s line of sight while avoiding engaging with him, but to no avail. The female was watching the young man, who looked at Ren with naive blue eyes, rummaged around his bag, and extended his hand to her, happy that someone had actually acknowledged him. He couldn’t have been a year out of his teens, with chin-length wavy blond hair and earnest light eyes, framed with nearly white lashes.
“Have you seen someone named Ren Winde? I’m not sure what he looks like, but he’s a Legion and -“
Just as he said her name, the female locked eyes with Ren, and she reached to her partner and together, they bolted toward the door, knocking a few guests over and leaving the other couple extremely confused.
“Fuck.”
Ren pushed the young man out of her way and leapt onto the bar, not even bothering to apologize for the spilled drinks and boot-squashed food, despite irate swearing from the guests. In just two strides, she landed on the floor on the opposite side of the bar, only a few seconds behind the fleeing pair, but the man formerly being courted by them barred her path to the front door, expecting to intimidate her with his size.
“You just spoiled -“
As if he were as lightweight as a small child, Ren knocked him to the wall and lurched up the small stairwell into the alleyway of Suanluz, only to find the late-night bar-hopping crowd and no leads as to where the couple could have gone. She stared down the street, hopeless.
“Fuck!”
She clenched her fists, dismissing the prying eyes her outburst had attracted. Three weeks of tracking, all wasted. She spun on her heels and stormed back into Gevosa’s, where Macio and the enraged customer were just inside, waiting for her. Great, just what she needed.
“I was talking to you before. I want -“ began the man in a thick Vitorian accent.
“What?” she asked angrily, cutting him off. “What the hell do you want?”
“Look, she must have had a good reason to chase after those people … and to force me to refund these people for their trouble.”
Macio glared pointedly at her, but Ren ignored him, instead rigidly placing her fists on her hips and staring directly into the Vitorian’s eyes.
“If you two want to have kinky sex with random strangers, I couldn’t give a shit less, but how about you make sure your would-be lovers aren’t blood sucking demons next time.” She clenched her jaw and looked at Macio. “Nowhere is safe. Not even here.”
Only now was she thankful for the loud music, as only a few people within a very small radius heard her, although nearly everyone was still staring in her direction. The Vitorian began muttering to himself in his native tongue and sat back down with his girlfriend, who had a very perplexed look on her face. She either only spoke Vitorian or had understood and was’t sure what might have happened had Ren not intervened.
But then she saw the young man cowering behind Macio.
“You!”
She pointed at him and stomped toward him. He flinched and backed up against the wall he had not realized was there. Macio put his arm out in front of her, as if that could have stopped her, but she stopped.
“There can’t be any fights in here.”
“Oh, don’t worry, there won’t be one.” Her tone was menacing, and a snarl was beginning to creep on her upper lip.
He moved to stand between her and the boy. “Take this outside.” His voice was hushed. “These people just want to get back to their drinks … Legion.”
Ren glanced around the relatively small bar, noticing the fearful expressions and craned necks, and nodded. As much as it pained her to think it, she knew that Macio calling her “Legion” instead of her name meant that she was probably not welcome back. This wasn’t the way she liked things to go; usually, people didn’t even realize she was there.
“Talk to Viji. He’ll have the Council compensate you for your damaged food and drinks.” She sheepishly looked at the bar and the broken tumblers and plates. “And the … everything. They’ll be good for it.”
Macio jerked his head in understanding, and Ren scowled at the young man behind him.
“You’re with me.”
She yanked him by the collar of his jacket, and he stumbled after her as she lead him through the crowd and into the backstreet beside Gevosa’s. She easily tossed him nearly halfway across the alley, and he hit a trash bin before catching his balance.
“Who the hell are you?” She began the interrogation with the easiest question.
He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I-I’m Mason Alderic.” He pulled at his jacket, one of the most expensive pieces of clothing Ren had ever seen: the weave was intricate and thick, but it felt so light when she’d grabbed it. She knew good craftsmanship when she saw it.
She shrugged her shoulders and raised her hands. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Alderic again went through his leather shoulder bag to remove a crinkled sheet of paper, struggling through his anxiety to read what was written on it. “A-are-are you Ren Winde? I thought you were a man, sorry, but-but I was sent by the Grand Council to -“
Irritated, Ren snatched the paper from him to read an official edict from the Grand Council of the Guardians, signed by none other than Phelan Dormani.
You have got to be kidding me.
“It’s just temporary,” Mason offered hopefully. “I’m just supposed to record your missions and travels for the Chronicles and -“
“I can read.” She growled in annoyance, imagining a sneering Dormani as he humorlessly saddled her with this child. “I don’t have time for this. You can just go back to Sain Barthon or wherever you came from and save us both the trouble of you dying before your time.”
After crumpling the paper up and throwing it in the trash bin, she started down the alley back into the mass of partiers, hoping to both lose Mason in the swarm and possibly get a lead on where her pair of demons had gone, not that she expected such good luck on either count. The boy was persistent and managed to keep up with her fast pace.
“I’m just doing my job, ma’am,” he said, narrowly missing a drunk man falling in his direction.
“Never call me ma’am again. How old are you, Alderic?” she asked, browsing the crowd for her fleeing quarry. They hadn’t had any fresh blood that she knew of in about five days since they left the Estoire, so they were probably starving by now. In Gevosa’s, she noticed their skin had a somewhat sallow appearance, although that could have just been the terrible lighting.
“I’m twenty-four,” he announced a little too proudly, “and I’ve been well-versed in the dangers that your job entails.”
Ren genuinely laughed, her gait minutely slowing. “Sure. You know I’m not just a regular Legion, right? That they hate me enough that I get sent on what are essentially suicide missions?”
She hadn’t really ever said that about herself or her kind before, but now that it was out there, she felt her heart sink a little. Every assignment could be her very last. It wasn’t something she really felt like dwelling on for too long.
“I thought the Shadows was just a squad name.” She wasn’t sure if he was saying this to her or talking to himself, but she was more focused on the flowing throng.
Mason tripped over a raised brick in the road but quickly regained his step. “Regardless of the difficulty of your missions, I’ve trained extensively for the last six months. I was selected right out of the Ansgarine seminary as a highly qualified -”
She stopped abruptly and spun around to stare directly into his eyes, and he nearly ran into her.
“Six months. Doing what exactly?”
He stuttered a few words but could not form a cohesive response. Ren sighed and threw up her hands. This kid was going to die.
a little more juju 