Chapter 30: Interwoven Threads

Freedom. It washed over Heath like a river. He ran, feet silently carrying him down the cobblestone streets as the shadows streaked past him. Streetlamps cast long shadows, but he felt as though he could outrun the light. 
Heavy footfalls echoed behind him, his pursuers following through the night. Heath ran on, wrenching on his own leash to keep himself from pushing too far. But he yearned to let go, to embrace the shadows as he raced through the city. His heart leapt in his chest, a feeling he realized he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.
A part of him hungered to turn, to no longer be the prey, but instead to turn on the gilded guard and become the hunter. He fought that hungry part of himself, driving himself to draw them farther and farther away. He ran, forcing himself to shorten his strides, slowing as to not leave them too far behind. In time, the urge was overwhelming and he ran on.
Eventually, the footfalls behind him faded, and silence surrounded Heath as he stood in an empty street beneath the glowing orange sky. Thunder rolled overhead as Heath found himself breathing heavily, hoping the others had made the most of the opportunity. He looked around, blinking as he tried to regain his bearings. He was surprised as he recognized streets and alleys, he had covered far more of the city than he thought, and he turned on his heel to head towards the Docks. 
Heath turned a corner and came nearly face to face with two darkened figures standing in the street blocking his path. Tall, silent. Expectant. The tops of black longbows and sword hilts peeked over their shoulders. Black Archers. 
“Welcome, brother,” one said.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” the other said. “Betrayer.” Their voices were bitter and rife with accusation. 
Heath laughed coldly, a harsh sound, as he gently leaned his own bow against the stone. “Did you flee with her all those years ago? Or did you end up here after being exiled on your own?” 
Ignoring his words, the first archer stepped forward. “Where is she?” His voice was dangerous, belying violence. The other matched his movement, closing towards Heath. 
Heath only smiled. The men said no more as they slowly drew curved blades from their backs, edges flashing in the night. 
Heath dashed to the side, breaking into motion. He threw an arc of flechettes at the farthest archer as he drew his dagger. The blades were scattered by a rapid parry, but one found its target as the archer hesitated. 
The other archer was on Heath in an instant, his curved blade a blur in the dark. Heath barely got his own blade up in time to parry. He slipped under another thrust, kicking out with a leg before another stroke fell. 
He sidestepped, moving into the opening and drove a flechette deep into the man’s leg. The man arched, and slammed his elbow back into Heath’s side. He felt his ribs crack from the force, but slammed his dagger into the man’s back. The blade was turned by the thick leather, missing the archer’s spine, but Heath felt warm blood cover his hand. 
Heath pulled out the dagger, creating space as he shuffled back and began to circle. It had been a heartbeat, but the first clash had left Heath holding his side and blood sprinkled across the street around the Black Archers. They circled him slowly, the one to Heath’s right limping and his breathing was growing louder. 
He’ll bleed out in minutes, Heath thought. They all knew it, and the archers would need to end it before then. 
The other archer charged Heath, using his larger frame to force him back as he struck out with blade and fist. Heath backpedaled, furiously knocking aside blows as the other fell on him from the other side. They sought to overwhelm him, forcing him back with unrelenting blows. Heath was a blur, trusting his instincts to guide his body as he ducked, spun, parried, and swayed between the torrent of steel around him. 
He knocked a curved blade aside, slashing through the meat of an arm with his dagger. A wild slash went a hairsbreadth over his head as he pirouetted, kicked out and felt a knee crack as the archer fell to the ground, crying out in pain. Heath ducked under a desperately thrown fist, driving his heel into the archer’s sternum, then his fist into his throat. He fell back, choking as he tried to draw breath and his ruined leg collapsing under him. Heath grimaced and drove a flechette down into his neck, a rush of blood splattering across the cobblestones. 
Heath turned, pushing the limp body back as he faced the remaining archer. The man hesitated, his left arm dangling and dripping crimson. His eyes strayed to the unmoving body of his companion, then back to Heath. 
Heath saw it. The terror. These men had known who he was, what he had been. But then, in that instant, he saw Heath and knew fear. The darkness in Heath’s chest crowed with ferocity, seeing the fear weaken the man who dared stand before him. The archer took half a step back, gripping his sword tightly.
Heath was a streak of shadow. He crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat. His dagger drove deep into his back, up under his ribs and driving the breath from his lungs. The archer gasped, but no sound came out. 
Heath’s other hand already clutched a flechette, and he drove it into the man’s belly. He wrenched both blades, withdrawing them with savage twists. The body that hit the stones at his feet was already dead, the last feeble attempts to cling to life futile as the light faded from its eyes. 
Heath looked around, his breathing slow and steady. He was deathly calm, and he knew that should terrify him. But all he felt was a steadfast confidence, such that he had not felt for a long time. He quickly turned the bodies over, drawing his blades from the corpses before dragging them off the street.
He pushed them into a stinking drainage ditch, watching as they sunk into the foul muck. He picked up his longbow, and threw the archer’s weapons into the filth after them. A sudden burst of pain in his side nearly doubled him over. He looked down, and saw the narrow hilt of a dagger protruding from his ribs. He swore under his breath as another wave of pain hit him. He spared one last glance as the gleaming blood that covered the street and walked away.
Making his way towards the market, Heath turned down a narrow alley to his hidden storehouse. Closing the door behind him, he lit a candle. He peeled off his leathers, dropping the bloodied pieces to the ground. He hung his bow on the wall, and tossed his other weapons to the side. He cut away his tunic, looking down at the dagger still in his side. He braced himself against the wall. He slowly wrapped his hand around the hilt, and drew it out with a single, smooth motion. 
His vision went white for a moment, and he felt hot blood pump over his hand as he tried to staunch the flow. He blinked, feeling light headed. He grabbed a clean bandage, wiping away the fresh blood as his other hand came forward, twisting in the air. The air shimmered, as tendrils of shadow drifted from his fingers, and the ragged hole began to heal, the skin knitting itself together. 
Heath froze, looking down at what he had just done. It had been instinctive, and he had barely realized what he was doing until the wound was already closing. His breath caught, it had been years since he had done that.
He wiped up the remaining blood, and bundled up the soiled garments. He would burn them later, but he needed to reach the boat. He had already taken too long. He dressed in clean clothes, and pulled a dark cloak over his head to obscure his features. He belted on only his knife, settling for more anonymity. He was too intent on making it to the rendezvous to risk anything more noticeable. 
Heath stealthily moved through the desolate landscape of Aleria at night, moving to the edges of the Silverfrost River. The thunder rolled directly overhead, the smell of rain thick in the air through the night was still devoid of rainfall.
Reaching the Docks, Heath slowed as he approached the mooring Rordrigo had directed them to. The boat was there, a wide barge more than a boat, isolated from many of the other vessels at dock. The darkened forms of scattered lookouts dotted the raised docks and walkways, some guards and others posing as vagrants. A stab of worry went through Heath as he saw no sign of the others or the cart. He pushed the thought aside.
Heath ducked through a stone archway, hiding his face from the Bordovians around a smoldering brazier. He vanished into the darkness and stepped out into the light near a pair disguised as common sellswords. 
The men jumped as he pulled back his hood, their hands reaching to their sides. As the torchlight illuminated his face, Heath raised his hand. 
“The others,” Heath hissed under his breath. “Did they make it?”
One guard gathered himself quickly. “They’re inside,” he said, eyes glancing behind Heath. “Arrived not ten minutes before you.”
What the hell delayed them? Heath thought worriedly, but pushed past the guards onto the boat. The hatch to the hold was open, and a faint glow came from below. 
Silently padding down the stairs, Heath saw another two Bordovians waiting in the hold. They nodded to him, recognizing him from the inn, but gave no other indication. The hold was lit only by the dull glow of a single lantern next to a heavy barred door. Heath knocked, and a peephole opened.
“It’s him,” a voice came from inside. The slot closed again, and the door swung open. 
The low light of a single lantern gave way to the brightly lit room crowded with figures behind the door. Heath was ushered in quickly, and the door latched behind him. 
Kriv clasped him on the arm, looking relieved. “Good, we were beginning to worry.” Heath nodded wordlessly and looked around him.
Standing by the door, Rodrigo spared a look at Heath and a glimpse of relief crossed his face. At Rodrigo’s left stood an unfamiliar man with silver hair, clad in heavy plate armor and a sword at his hip. A strange, hooked glyph was carved into the breast of his armor, silver against the dark metal.
To the side, Mars grimaced as Orsic traced a pattern of glowing sigils across the deep lacerations on his side. Adrie stood quietly at his shoulder, blood at her temple and side of her mouth. Her tunic was rent and covered in blood, but she did not appear to be in any danger. 
Cael was shadowed in the corner, and nearby Victra looked at Heath was an expression that left a thousand words unsaid. Her sheathed swords were darkened, and Heath spied new gouges in her black armor.
It was, however, in the center of the room, in a great iron cage, that a figure held all of Heath’s attention. They sat chained to a chair, unconscious and slumped forward against its restraints. A faintly glowing ring of glowing red runes encircled the iron cage. Heath’s entire world came to a stop, all his confidence vanishing in an instant as his breath caught in his throat. 
He saw Murmur. Not her in a guise or a glamour, he saw her. She wore clothing of black, form fitting and elegant. She always made sure to give everything more than one purpose. It was utilitarian, yet more than flattering, even with tears and marks of a struggle. She wasn’t wearing the clothing of a noblewoman, she was dressed as Murmur.
Her head lolled to the side, and her long, black hair shifted to  reveal the gentle curve of her jaw, the purpling bruise on the pale skin of her neck. Her eyes were closed, but Heath knew the piercing violet eyes that could cut deep to his core would be there when she woke. 
She was beautiful, but she reviled him. The agony twisted itself inside him, the pieces of himself fighting in a hopeless struggle that would have no victor, and would only leave him bloody. She was twisted, a cruel instrument that relished in the tortuous purpose to which she had been bent. They had seen that she was equipped to be the best, as they all had been, and she had reveled in it. 
Heath swallowed and forced himself to look away, back to the others. A nearby table had an assortment of scattered items across it, likely whatever was recovered along with Murmur. A pair of daggers, a handful of small trinkets, and a contrastingly ordinary armring of iron. 
“What happened?” Heath asked, barely trusting himself to say more. 
“They were ready for us,” Victra said. “And there were more waiting than we were led to believe.”
“She had an entire contingent waiting in the building,” Rodrigo said. “They never left, not that any of our scouting saw. And it was very nearly our downfall.”
“One of many,” Kriv muttered.
“We sure gave them hell though!” Mars grunted through gritted teeth as Orsic continued to weave his healing magic. “Left a bloody mess behind though.” Heath looked over Mars again, realizing how much blood was on the man. His boots left bloody footprints, his clothes were splattered, and his hands still dripped red. On the ground, Orsic’s warhammer sat on its head, blood crusting along its surface. 
“So now they’ll be asking questions?” Heath shook his head. “Some heist.”
“It could have gone a lot worse given how things started,” Adrie shot back. “We were committed as soon as you made that call. We could have gotten out of there.”
Heath grimaced, biting back a reply.
“What about you?” Kriv asked. “Are you certain you weren’t followed?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Heath said. “I led the guard south and then headed east again in case any were on my trail. I dropped my disguise in the river before crossing back across the bridge.” The simple lie came easily to Heath.
Not wanting to discuss it any further, he pulled the ring from his finger. He tossed it to Kriv, glad to be rid of it. “Here, I still don’t know how you stand those damn whispers.”
“You sure that was all?” Victra asked, her eyes boring into him discerningly. “You look a little worse than someone who just ran across the city.”
“It’s fine,” Heath growled. He didn’t need her to press him. “I wasn’t followed, and I made sure that there won’t be any messes of mine left over.”
Rodrigo stepped forward, his hands raised. “But you all accomplished your task nonetheless. Whatever comes on the morrow, we shall deal with it.” He turned to the cage where Murmur’s body remained limp. “For the time being, we have a far more difficult task ahead of us.”
In the cage, Murmur stirred. Her head lifted as though she were just waking from slumber. She blinked, and Heath’s heart skipped as her deep violet eyes looked up. She shifted, her restraints pulling taut as she stiffened. Then she laughed, an achingly familiar sound to Heath’s ears. But there was an edge to it.
She coughed, and spat to the side. Traces of blood streaked across the floor. She gave another laugh as she flexed against her chains, looking around the cage.
“Well done indeed…” She whispered, to no one in particular as she looked up. Her voice was smooth, like black velvet. It caressed the air, almost a purr. She lifted her eyes, looking to the faces that all watched from the other side of the bars. 
Heath felt himself waver. He reached deep, clawing for the cold disconnect he had welcomed earlier. It was there, waiting for him. It washed over him, and he clenched his jaw as he remained motionless as Murmur’s violet eyes met his. She was almost exactly as he remembered her. Her face framed by cascading dark locks, the only change was the thinnest white scar on her left cheek below her eye. Heath drew his lips to a thin line, his entire body tensed and coiled like a spring.
She held his gaze, and he stared back. Then she looked away, as though dismissing him as an afterthought. As she turned, the glint of metal around her neck caught Heath’s eye. A simple band, dark metal with bands of copper. She looked around the room, pausing as her eyes rested on Victra. She cocked her head, looking the elf up and down.
“I know you,” she said in an even voice, as if trying to recall something long forgotten. “It seems fate has more to say than I thought.”
Heath furrowed his brow. Victra stiffened as Murmur’s words seemed to disarm her. Heath saw her fists clench as she stood there ramrod straight. However Murmur simply continued to look around.
“It’s good to see you all,” she said, smiling slightly. “You certainly didn’t keep me waiting long. But at this point you should know to keep your noses out of business that doesn’t concern you.” She nodded her head towards Rodrigo. “My business is with him. The Messenger. The one who tries to hide behind the name Rodrigo, rather than his true name.” 
Murmur snorts, and sneers at Rodrigo as he stands unmoving. “He owes a debt, and I’ll see that it’s paid in full. One way or another. So I say one last time, stay out of my way. I’d rather not have to watch the rest of you die for his sake. Trust me, he’s not worth it.”
“I think you don’t understand the situation,” Kriv hissed, arms crossed as he glared at the cage. “You aren’t one to be talking, let alone make such demands.”
Murmur looked up, her smile brimming with confidence. It unnerved Heath, and a look around the room told him he wasn’t alone in the feeling. 
Rodrigo stepped forward, hands clasped behind his face. “Why are you here, Murmur?” He asked it so evenly that Heath was caught off guard. Rodrigo was poised, far more so than Heath felt. 
“What are you doing in Aleria?” Rodrigo repeated, slowly pacing in front of the iron bars. “I know you hate me, that you blame me. But you’ve had time. It’s not like I’ve been hiding. Why here, why now?”
Murmur leaned back. “You don’t think this is better?” She leered at him. “All this time, wondering if I’d find you? Maybe you thought I’d given up. Maybe you hoped I was dead. Years. Years!” Her shout made everyone start, hands reaching for weapons. Murmur laughed. “And what happens when I do come for you? You didn’t even see me. We even danced, do you remember?”
Heath watched Rodrigo, saw his clasped hands tighten into fists. HIs jaw clenched, but he continued his slow, steady pace. Heath knew Murmur saw it.
“And what a reward for my patience,” Murmur purred. “In the midst of everything, leaving poor, noble Miguel gasping for air on those steps. He really ought to have been commended. He always was the heroic sort, trying to save everyone. Pity he didn’t have someone to protect him in case he saved the wrong person.”
Rodrigo spun, fists shaking at his side. Heath slowly uncrossed his arms. He saw the raw emotion played across Rodrigo’s face. 
“Easy,” Heath whispered, hand reaching for his dagger. Murmur’s eyes momentarily flicked from Rodrigo to Heath. He held her gaze, but he saw the hunger in her eyes. 
“I did that to him, and he knew to protect those that he cares about,” Murmur looked around the room, her voice almost crooning. “I will strip away everything and everyone each of you love. I will lay bare every thought, I will break every good thing. Those who you profess to love, those you protect… I will take them from you.” Her eyes settled on Heath. He felt the truth in her words. She knew. And in her eyes was a promise. “No matter where you hide them, I will be there.”
“Ye be testing our patience, lass,” Orsic rumbled. “Be thankful those bars are in place, otherwise I might’ve already planted my hammer betwixt yer ears.”
“All she has is her words!” Mars said. “Don’t listen to her, you told us that.”
Rodrigo stood still, chest heaving. 
“He doesn’t have to listen to me,” Murmur said quietly, tilting her head as she watched Rodrigo. “I’m just saying out loud the words he’s been telling himself since Miguel was put-”
“Pati deseren.” The knight with silver hair raised his hand.
Murmur’s scream split the air. Red runes flared along the chair in the cage as her back arched in pain. The knight unclenched his closed fist, and stepped back. The others all looked around furiously, hands still grasping for weapons. Heath felt his anger flare.
Murmur slumped forward, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Her laughter came, ragged as she lifted her head. Rodrigo turned away.
“None of you know what you’re doing,” Murmur said between breaths. “I bet you barely got out of that building tonight. A little surprise, not quite what you expected? Did you have to flee? You don’t look like you made it out unscathed. Did any of them escape? Ah, I can see they did. Well, you can be certain they’ll come for me. Did you deal with the archers? No? They weren’t at the building tonight. They’ll doggedly pursue you until-”
“They’re dead,” Heath interrupted. Murmur froze, looking at him. Her eyes widened, and for a moment she looked surprised. “And no one will find them. No one is coming to rescue you.”
Murmur regarded him openly for the first time that night. He almost swore her expression softened and she gave a small smile. Immediately she covered it, and the corner of her mouth curled.
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change how this will end.” Murmur straightened in the chair, her composure regained. She chuckled. “What did all of you even expect? A band of misfits and outcasts who want to play heroes? Thought you’d grow up to be knights like in the stories you heard growing up? Now you’re here, and even from here I can see you’re all out of your depth. And for what? You trust the word of a liar, and ignore the one even more dangerous than I.”
Heath felt his blood run cold as Murmur fixed her eyes on him. He forced himself not to move. “This is a waste of time,” he muttered. He looked at Kriv, almost pleading. “We aren’t getting anything, we should be done with-”
“This, so-called ranger, you welcomed into your pathetic little band,” Murmur said, her voice suddenly dripping with venom. “How much do any of you really know about this one that walks like a wraith in your midst? Surely you must know he’s no mere woodsman. His capacity for death exceeds any I have seen. He’s the Hunter. A Hunter of great and terrible things. A Hunter of kings. He is the red hand reaching from the shadows. He is the War Bringer.”
Eyes were on Heath, and he forced his expression to remain impassive. This was everything he had feared. She was unmasking him. Dredging up every blackened thing he had sworn to leave behind. She was laying him bare, and only hate and accusation filled her eyes as she wielded her knife. “He shaped the world around you. He is the hand of Fate.”
Kriv stepped forward, sparing a single glance towards Rodrigo, then to Heath. He faced Murmur, putting himself between her and Heath. “Maybe,” he said, voice rough and dangerous. “Maybe there are things we don’t know. Maybe we are idealistic. Some of those are things for another time. For now, we have you. You’re the one locked in a cage. You lost. You are the one who will give us answers. And at the end of it all, you’re the one that won’t live long enough to see the sunrise.”
Murmur’s lips curled back. “You think there is any single thing you have that can threaten me? You may carry weight in this city, guildmaster, but I was formed by one such as you will never comprehend. And my purpose here is not yet complete.”
Rodrigo pushed his way forward. “Then let one who has also made pain their banner unburden you of your secrets.” He waved the knight behind him forward. “We have little time, and I for one grow tired of your games.” He nodded, and the silver-haired man began to whisper under his breath.
“Good, let’s end this charade,” Murmur cut in. Her eyes took on a pale green glow as she locked her gaze on Heath. The runes of the chair began to glow a deep crimson, unbidden by the knight. Murmur gasped as her back arched in pain, and her voice took on a monotone, far off sound, as though undeterred by the pain. “He is here.”
Heath took a step forward, eyes flashing. A faint vibration and warmth from around his arm was barely an afterthought as he reached for the cage. “No-” 
There was a flash of white and heat. And Heath was gone.