Told In Stone Chapter 11: A Wikkan Deal

Riot burst into the tavern sweating and panting to find Gwilhelm sat at a battered piano playing a janky tune. Around him a dozen hardened tavern brawlers were singing at the tops of their lungs, and judging by the words of the song it was one of the Princes own compositions.

Riot scanned the tavern and found to his surprise that no-one seemed to wish the young Faelen prince any harm, then he saw why. Despite the large crowd in the, one area was completely empty, and sitting at a small table nursing a mug of ale, was a Wikkan.

The witch looked straight at Riot, then pushed out the chair opposite her with her boot and nodded to it. The short blond hair was unmistakable. She was the Warcaster that had opened a black hole in the sky and called through creatures from the abyss that had ripped the Faelen to shreds. Not the type of girl to say no to.

“How many taverns did you go to before this one?” She asked as Riot sat down.

“Four taverns and two brothels,” Riot replied. “You followed us from the Inn? I didn’t see you.”

“That was rather the point. My name is Deacon, and you must be Nathanial Riot, the famous Last Man.”

She was smaller than he’d thought, short of stature with a soft, round face. She must have been around eighteen. You might be forgiven for thinking her harmless, but for the eyes, that were inky black like all witches.

A serving girl brought two mugs of ale and Riot took a deep draft, wiping his hand on the back of his mouth. “I’m going to guess Kerne sent you, so go ahead and tell her what happened. If there’s a worse punishment than being his babysitter then I think I’d actually like to see it.”

A smile cracked the Warcasters stoic expression and she drained her whole mug with the air of a professional. “Oh I don’t think we have to say anything about this to Ritta Kerne. The night is young, and you haven’t heard Gwilhelm’s rendition of ‘The Faelen Queen’s Boudouir’. If his mother heard it, she’d have him flayed alive.”

Riot scanned the tavern. Fighting men and women threw dark looks at the Wikkan, but aside from that Gwilhelm wasn’t in any immediate danger. In any case, if the Warcaster decided to summon some fiend to murder them all, there wasn’t much he could do about it anyway. He drained his cup and signalled the barkeep for another. “He hasn’t spoken to his mother in weeks.”

“He won’t be able to soon, she’s dying,” Deacon replied.

The news hung heavy in the air between them and Riot leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “The Faelen Queen is dying?”

Deacon nodded. “Gwilhelm could be King by the end of the span.”

The janky tunes of the piano struck up once more and the Wikkan watched him carefully. Riot flexed his hand, watching the silvery scars catch the firelight. The last time one of the witches took an interest in him he had been bound to an Arcane leyline that had tried it’s hardest to burn him to a crisp. That was the thing with Wikkan, they always had another game being played, or two.

“Why tell me? You need Gwilhelm to change your fortunes?” Riot asked, trying to make it an offhand comment.

There was a stillness to Deacon as if she was made of stone, giving nothing away. “My motivations are my own, but yours are clear enough, a fighting man reduced to babysitting a princeling. You want to fight–”

“And if the Queen dies, Gwilhelm will lead the Royal Faelen regiments,” Riot finished the thought for her.

He leaned back in his chair. Serving in the Faelen regiments couldn’t be any worse than the Arcanum, he could even see his way to wearing their ridiculous uniform. If he were a captain, he could lead a company. If he were a major, he could lead a half battalion.

“What if I’m happy where I am. I’m not getting any younger, a royal guard on full pay with all my arms and legs is a retirement most would dream of.”

“There’s also your men, taken prisoner. What were their names?”

Riot looked up sharply. “Fletcher and Martin. What about them?”

“They were taken into the by the Cetic. A religious order of monks that live in the deep Echo. They believe in the purity of the leylines, so you can imagine what they think of Leybound.

“They were the ones who attacked us at the battle. You’re telling me they’re just monks?” It made sense really when he remembered how lost they seemed after the charge.

“Just monks. If Gwilhelm is king he could easily give you the resources to go in and get your men. And I know my way around.”

Riot remained silent. Games upon games, and he knew he was a poor player.

Deacon continued. “I propose that together, we take a more central role in the welfare of the future king, what do you say?” Deacon, said, holding up her cup.

For Fletcher and Martin, his captains pendant, and a high ranking future? It wasn’t even a choice. He lifted his cup, knocking it against hers. “I’d say I’m here for a good life, not a long one.”