Chapter 6

"Hark, these foul cads must be brought to justice, tis disgrace that we have allowed this social rot to fester!"

Tyrian and Renlin exchanged glances. Helion strode around the room, his face stormy as he waved around a parchment as though it had personally offended him. The pair had to stand back so as not to catch a gauntlet across the cheek.

In the six years Tyrian had known the giant of a man, he had never seen him remove his armour, not once. He had started to wonder if he even could.

"This is the ruin of society as we know it! Extortion, malpractice, blackmail, smuggling. Tis but a brief recounting of all the ignoble deeds these cads have committed, leaving too much unspoken. Tyrian, Renlin, you too shall be mine own sword and shield for this task. Strike down these foul curs in my name, all my coffers are open to thee"

Tyrian and Renlin gave quick salutes, stepping out of cramped office Helion insisted on keeping 'modest', and gave each other a knowing look.

"Test?" Renlin asked conversationally.

"Test" Tyrian confirmed. 

"You think he'd be more subtle about it" Renlin complained as she strode down the halls, Tyrian by her side, "Who gives recruits fresh out of training full access to their treasury? Not that I'm complaining though, shows he has faith in us"

"True, feels like we're proper knights now, even if we will have Helion's men shadowing us the whole way"

The two strode in companionable silence for a minute, before Tyrian turned to Renlin with a slight blush

"Say, Ren, I know it's a little early to be planning celebrations but... There was this new restaurant that opened across town, and I was wondering if we could celebrate our success there"

"That sounds great" Renlin beamed, "I'm sure the others would love that"

"W-well..." Tyrian stammered, "I was wondering if it could... Well, just an idea but... What if it was just the two of us?"

Silence filled the air, Renlin blinking at Tyrian with an unreadable look. For a second Tyrian could feel his world crumble. Did she not like him? Would this ruin their friendship? If he jumped out that window, would the impact kill him quickly?

A wide smile split Renlin's face as she gave Tyrian a playful punch to the shoulder, her silver gauntlet ringing out against Tyrians dull grey armour.

"Took you long enough, thought I'd have to be the one to ask" she leaned in close to Tyrian's stupefied form, "That's a yes by the way, meet you once we come out victorious"

Renlin puffed out her chest and sauntered off, a slight flush to her cheeks. For his part Tyrian simply stood, stunned into silence.

...

"And you are sure this info is correct?" Lithiana asked sceptically.

"Positive" Tyrian replied distractedly, polishing his blade to a mirror shine. He had cast his armour to the side while he worked, the heavy half plate and chainmail lying neatly arranged at the foot of his bed. He didn't have a helmet yet, they were a bit of a status symbol in the oath keepers, oath magic by its nature detested deceit of any kind, and it viewed obfuscation much the same way. You had to prove yourself to both the order, and oath magic before you could be trusted to cover your face even a little in the order.

"Truth spells are trivial for oath keepers, one of the first spells we learn that effects others"

"And the man you questioned, where is he?"

"Prison, I promised I wouldn't kill him, but I couldn't let them stay on the streets. I caught them in the middle of extorting a bakery, wouldn't be right to let them off free"

"Which one"

"Prison or bakery?"

"Bakery idiot, why would I care what prison the gutter rat's in?"

"That one at the edge of north town, down Goswick street. Nice draconic woman runs it"

Lithiana froze, her eyes narrowing.

"On second thoughts, what prison is he in?"

As it turned out, the bakery had been a favourite of Lithiana, and the owner was a friend. It took nearly an hour for Tyrian to talk her down from storming the prison in a blood fuelled rage, though not without getting some of her nastiest traps and concoctions and promises to make the ones who committed such villainy pay dearly. Knowing a witch hunter paid sometimes.

Walking out of the barracks with enough weaponry to start a guerrilla revolution, Tyrian met the concerned looks of both Esther and Rokar.

"Y' startin' a war?" Esther commented, eyeing the bulging pack and pouches of traps and more nefarious equipment.

"May as well be" Tyrian muttered, "Provoking the biggest crime syndicate in the city, not much else you could call it. Not that they stand much of a chance"

"But does it have to be you to poke the bear?" Rokar asked, worry etched onto his face.

"And why not me?" Tyrian answered shortly, "I see no better candidate than I"

"He didn't mean nothin' by it" Esther interjected before Rokar could protest further, "We're jus' worried about y', even if it is a small hideout, going in alone is reckless"

"Alone I won't be, Helion should have men tailing me and Renlin. He is not the kind of man to throw us in to the wolves alone so early, it's not his way. And besides, I alone will be enough"

Esther and Rokar exchanged a look. The shadow of uncertainty passed over their faces, before Esther shrugged, a subtle smile playing across his lips.

"Give 'em a reason t' remember y' name"

"Come back alive" Rokar grunted.

"I swear it"

...

Observing the dingy building as stealthily as a man in half plate could, Tyrian could feel the faint touch of magic on the boarded up windows and peeling paint. From a distance, the building seemed structurally unstable, but the many hidden enchantments turned it into a veritable fortress. Concealment was attempted on the magic, but the work only held up to scrutiny from afar, they clearly couldn't get a decent enchanter despite all their ill gotten gains. Greed from the top most likely, but it helped him to no end.

It didn't take much for Tyrian to guess the purpose of the enchantments, even from his stationary vantage point from an nearby alley. The building would be near indestructible for him, and anyone inside Tyrian was sure, so it meant bursting through a wall or boarded up window was an impossibility. For his purposes here today, the building had only two entrances, the front door, and a back entrance he had spotted a few thugs exiting earlier that day.

Ten hours he had been waiting outside the location, noting down any and all activity in the dingy hideout, and impatience was finally starting to set in. He had found no trace of prepared ambush or fatal trap laid out before him, so his admittedly already thin concern at the task was fading by the second.

Though, before stepping into the lions den, he had one last task to complete. Moving surreptitiously around the building, he came to the back entrance. Wouldn't do to have any of the thugs inside from running to the streets to call for aid before he could make his escape, he wasn't stupid enough to believe he could take out an entire organisation on his own.

Reaching into the stuffed pack on his back, he produced a particularly nasty, but non lethal creation of Lithiana. It should be enough to stop them from running, but what if they moved without his knowledge? Something loud to alert him of the triggering would be best, but then...

Five minutes later, Tyrian stared with slight trepidation at his certainly lethal cluster of magic and steel. Did  he want to try to do this with as little bloodshed as possible? Yes. Was he going to remove the trap? No. Was it because he had stacked too many traps in one spot and was afraid any form of further interference would set off a cascading chain reaction of pain and death? Definitely not.

Moving as slowly as he could, Tyrian backed away from the death trap and made his way to the front of the building, making a mental note to never come within a ten mile radius of the back door if nothing set it off. Just like the majority of the time he had been watching, there was no one outside the building the back alley the building sat in deserted of all regular foot traffic. It was like they were declaring to the world illicit activities occurred within.

Detecting others was not impossible through oath magic, only extremely difficult. While he had a shaky grasp on the principals, Tyrian was still capable of using oath magic in such a way, though only in short bursts and only up to a few paces away. Not very useful for evading prying eyes as him and Renlin had learned the hard way, but enough to peer past a threshold of wood and stone, and that was all he needed.

A frown crept onto Tyrians face as he felt the response of the magic, something a second attempt did nothing to dissuade. It wasn't that the walls were blocking his magic, far from it, the problem lay in that he could sense no one in his range. The few times he had managed to glimpse inside, there had always been a set of guards stationed by the inside of the door.

That was when he noticed them, about ten men, all wearing loose fitting fabrics that looked rough even from a distance. Each held either a dented mallet or mace, or a dulled blade caked in rust and grime. They weren't flashy weapons, heavens above they were barely functional, but they could do damage, and that was all they needed to do.

Tyrian nearly slapped himself, he had gotten too cocky, to sure of himself and dismissive of his enemies. Thinking about it, the syndicate probably new the moment he had left the beaten path.

One question remained in Tyrian's mind, was it safer to fight out in the open, or in the hideout? It didn't seem like they had prepared anything when he caught glimpses inside, so he should be fine inside right? Enclosed space with the ability to make sure his back was always against a wall, no chance of archers that may be hiding in any other building getting a clean shot on him.

But what if inside was a magical explosive, or an equally horrific contraption waiting for him to pass the threshold? What if there were one hundred armed men waiting to strike him the moment he entered?

He wasn't thinking straight and he knew it, he was grasping at shadows, his mind fabricating thousands of horrific visions to torment him in his final moments. Frozen he stood, the impossible choice filled with unknowns and inevitable death causing him to shake. He was going to die here, wasn't he? Was he so foolish to stuck his head in the lion's maw and expected not a scratch when he emerged?

"Exhale your worries young Tyrian, for they shall do naught but act as a fetter and loadstone. Let not thy mind be consumed by spectres of fear and confusion"

Tyrian didn't know why his inner monologue came in the form of Helion, but it was needed advice all the same. With a steadying breath, he brought his mind to focus.

While these ten men posed little threat by themselves, likely street thugs more used to tavern brawls and extortion than proper fights, there numbers posed a significant threat. While he might be able to walk away from the fight, it would be injured, tired and walking into who knows how many more. There was no hope of running.

He was screwed and he knew it.

May as well face the end with a firm resolve. Tyrian squared his shoulders, set his expression in as unconcerned an expression he could make, and walked through the door of the hideout.

"Well lads, looks like the little shite didn't make a runner. You owe me thirty copper Yasha"

The speaker was a burly orc man that sat in the middle of a gaggle of thugs of all shapes and sizes, flanking him on either side like a personal guard. A simple wooden crate acted as The Orc's throne as he lounged before Tyrian with a confident smirk.

Rippling muscles covered in scars and burns accentuated the orcs powerful physique, short cut brown hair doing nothing to hide the mess of scars and missing eye that made up his face. Rokar stood head and shoulder above Tyrian with a build to match, this orc made Rokar look like a child with an aversion to exercise in comparison.

He wore simple clothes, though next to the men outside, he may has well have been draped in royal finery. In The Orc's hands was a well maintained sabre, polished to a mirror shine and shaped to a razor's edge, a bandalier of daggers across his chest a fine accompaniment to the lethal weapon.

An equally mangled draconic woman reached into a pouch and flung three copper coins at The Orc, who caught them deftly without turning to look. 

"Well, well, well. Looks like a little knight got caught up in play pretend lads" The orc said in a mocking tone as he stood, "What's wrong lad, got lost on yer way to the nursery? Well, won't find a kind crowd here, didn't momma teach ya not to go into strange buildings alone?"

Something in that mocking drivel caught Tyrian's attention amid the low chuckles of the gang surrounding the orc. They thought he was alone, and though lying was like a burning iron against the skin for oath keepers, he had no other choice.

"Alone?" Tyrian asked with mock confidence, biting back a gasp of pain as his tongue was set aflame with agony, "Why would they send a novice alone, I am simply the first to enter. My companions are simply dealing with those outside as we speak, I was simply sent to give the option of parley"

This sent a ripple of unease through the gathered cronies as they began to turn to their fellows, mutter uncertainty under their breath. All except The Burly Orc, who simply eyed Tyrian with a raised brow, half respect, half condescension.

"Nice speech kid, had me going fer a second" The Orc rose to his feet giving mock applause to Tyrian, "Only a small issue kiddo, I know that insignia, and yer poker face ain't worth shit" The Orc strode across the distance with enough leisure to appear relaxed, but enough speed to stop Tyrian from unbuckling his shield and unsheathing his sword.

"So, little Oath Keeper" vitriol invaded the words as The Orc spat them like a curse, "Yer alone, out matched, and quite frankly shit out o' luck. But I'm a merciful man, so I'll give ya a chance"

Tyrian suddenly found a well kept sabre pressed to his neck, a thin line of blood pooling along the edge as the blade bit his flesh, "Pray fer a miracle lad, fer yer gods t' strike me down. An' if one comes, I'll let ya unsheathe yer weapon before I hack ya t' bloody chunks"

In that moment, in that single instance, Tyrian was the most devout of belivers as he cried internally for even an errant angel to come to his aid. Death was not a kind prospect, his life too short for all he had wished to achieve.

He would never see Renlin, Rocar, Esther or Lithiana again.

That's when the air became filled with screams muffled through walls lathered in enchantment, and the door fell open from the outside, letting blood pooling into the shabby room.