Rogue Weavers, Oathbreakers, and the scum of society are the most active during twilight, thus so am I. His Uncle's words reverberated in Ivan's mind, and they rang true on this chilly autumn night.
His target was near. A clear path of snapped twigs, and stray wool threads hooked to freshly disturbed underbrush led him to one of the many secluded glades of the Golden Poplar Forest. He crept amongst the bushes and peered through their dry brown leaves. His orange eyes scanned across the grassy clearing, lit by cool rays from a pale moon and its brigade of stars.
Ivan spotted two figures. A teenage boy of average height but scrawny in build, and the boy's master, who towered over his young charge by two heads or so. He was also the person Ivan had been pursuing for weeks, a Weaver dressed in a stunning emerald green cloak.
The boy shivered in a thin sweater that looked like his father's hand-me-down, and Ivan noticed it was riddled with large holes.
That sweater is just about finished. The brambles and burs the kid crawled through to get here killed it. At least, it left a trail of threads for me to find.
Ivan then studied the boy's master and frowned. He should have bought the kid a coat with his money, instead of wasting it on whoever ruined his General Weaver cloak. He took a symbol of Niviliese pride and defiled it with gaudy jewelry and poorly stitched embroidered spiders! And look at him! Strutting around, proudly in that mess! For shame! A swine in pearls is still a swine.
The Weaver beckoned his so-called apprentice to step forward.
"You have something for me, master?" The boy respectfully removed his newsboy cap, revealing a head of plain brown hair without a tinge of another hue.
Another common-born. Ivan narrowed his eyes at the Weaver. Unconventional and downright suspicious, especially choosing a common-born with so little promise. Why not pick someone from a Weaver Family? Is he a fraud?
Ivan curled up his nose with disgust. This must be a sick joke for him. Luring marks in with false dreams and then ridding them once he gets bored. He certainly is not doing this for charity. I hope his master is dead. It would spare him from the shame of having this scoundrel as an apprentice.
The Weaver fished for something in his pockets. "Indeed, you have made great progress, and it is time for the next stage in your development."
"Really! Will I be accepted into an academy this year?"
"If you keep up what you are doing, I'm sure of it!"
Ivan gripped the branches of his hiding spot until they nearly snapped. "Great progress," he says.That Weaver is just blowing smoke up his rear!
His gaze returned to the boy, who was now leaping for joy, and Ivan shook his head. That poor fool is as clueless as they come. All those weeks of training, and he still can't land a simple aether arrow on target that is inches away from his face. And this scoundrel says he is ready for an academy! It would take dumb luck and a hefty bribe for him even to be considered at his current level.
He knitted his brow. "Great progress"… such a cruel lie.
"Quigley, may I have your hand?" The Weaver coaxed him with a voice as smooth as silk.
Ivan watched him pull out a glass vial of clear liquid from his pocket and place it into the boy's palm. Small and inconspicuous. No flashy colors or intricate glassworks. Looks like a homebrew. Ivan's attention remained on the bottle. No labeling, and I doubt he has a permit to sell consumables. This must be it.
The boy studied the contents of the cylindrical bottle. "What is it?"
"It is medicine that my master created to help a Weaver reach his true potential."
"Do you want me to drink it?"
"Only if you're ready to achieve your dreams and become a Sublime Weaver, far greater than anyone else has seen."
The boy cracked a smile large enough for Ivan to see from his hiding spot.
Drat, he hooked him and is now reeling him in! Ivan's heart began to race, and he looked behind him. Where are you, Uncle?
The boy popped the cork and sniffed its contents. He seemed to flinch from the smell and pulled the bottle away from his face.
Ivan intensely watched the boy waver. Don't do it, kid! You are retching from the stench, for heaven's sake! Trust your instincts and don't drink it!
Nervously, the boy looked up at his master, and with newfound courage, he lifted the bottle to his lips.
Idiot!
Before the kid could act further, the bushes rustled, and the Weaver grabbed hold of the boy's hand.
"Ah, I was wondering when you would make your presence known to us. Don't be shy, come out. I won't bite." The Weaver slid the bottle out of the boy's grasp.
His apprentice remained frozen in place, wide-eyed and confused. Ivan looked at the kid with disappointment. A naive little fool. And then he glared at the boy's master. And a manipulative miscreant of a master.
The despicable Weaver slipped a slender hand out of his sleeve and gestured for Ivan to come closer. He called out again in a melodic tone, "I'm waiting~"
Ivan gritted his teeth and emerged from the bushes with sweat rolling down his ashen face. Blast it, he did this on purpose. How long did he know I was here? When did I slip up?
He could not see the Weaver's face, obscured by the dark of the night and his large hood, but the cruel amusement in his voice was loud and clear.
Ivan's pale face flashed red. This blighter is going to be irritating. He hesitated to step forward and entertained the trigger mechanism hidden underneath the cuffs of his black pinstripe shirt. Maybe I can take him out from here. Ivan calculated the distance between them, but frowned when he noticed the Weaver placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. He conceded with a pained sigh. No, the kid is too close.Drat, why did he have to be so clueless?
The boy looked up at his master with his large horn-rimmed glasses. "Mr. Sable, you knew he was here the entire time?"
The Weaver softened his tone for his young ward. "I had a feeling there was something else wandering around these parts for the past weeks. There was a rustle here, a snap there, but I could never quite catch him. I assumed it was a timid fawn at first, and then I thought it might have been a curious little raven."
This blighter… Ivan forced back a grimace and dusted the dirt off his protective black vest.
The Weaver chuckled and patted the boy on his head. "But who would have thought that I would have a secret admirer from such an acclaimed Weaver family. I never knew that my reputation preceded me so much."
Ivan wiped the sweat from underneath his silver bangs and straightened his tie before entering the glade.
The boy shrank behind Sable. "What does he want?"
"Hmm… oh, that is right! How could I forget?" Sable capped the bottle with his thumb and eyed Ivan as he approached them. "I'm glad you could finally join us. If you are here to collect my overdue Weaver licensing fees, can't you wait until normal business hours, Sir Inquisitor?"
"Inquisitor!" The boy's heart nearly leapt out of his throat as sweat peaked from his pores.
Ivan noticed the kid frantically looking up and down at his padded black uniform. He gestured for the boy to move away from the scene, but the kid missed it because he was too busy gazing at his badge, a silver emblem of a crow with a magnifying glass and a sword. Ivan conceded again and kept a healthy distance between them. Clueless.
He looked upon the Weaver standing relaxed before him. "You wouldn't mind telling me what is in that glass vial?"
"Unfortunately, I am ignorant of its ingredients."
Ivan outstretched his hand. "Would you allow it to be analyzed by the Emperor's authorities?"
"My master worked tirelessly formulating this batch. If it is wasted anywhere other than down someone's throat, it would be a major disservice. What is this about, Inquisitor? "
"I don't like that answer, Sable. Especially since there were three previous poisonings, six months apart, and the victims were found in this very forest. All of whom were your former apprentices."
The boy trembled and tentatively looked up to see Sable's reaction. Sable remained strangely composed as he listened to Ivan's accusations. Whatever the boy saw made him uneasy, and Ivan could sense the Weaver's malevolent nature oozing out like an inky miasma.
He finally dropped the act. Ivan's visage darkened, and his smoldering orange eyes glared at his target. "This is all extremely suspicious. I'm going to have to ask you to come to Inquis' Headquarters and answer a few questions."
A chilling gust passed through them, whipping up Ivan's silver hair and letting out a wailing howl. He turned his attention to the boy who failed to read the murderous atmosphere. "You should go, kid."
"Mr. Sable?" The boy's voice trembled.
"Leave us."
Another glance up Sable's hood was enough to convince the boy to bolt away from the two men.
About time! I hope he has enough sense to run straight home.
Sable's cloak whisked in the breeze, and Ivan caught a bit of the man's pale face and a mischievous glint in his green eyes. "Ah, I can tell this is going to be a soul-crushing evening, another fruitless venture."
"If you are innocent, I don't see how aiding authorities is going to be a problem." Ivan adjusted his black leather gloves, finishing the action by cracking his knuckles. "This is all a misunderstanding, right?"
Sable's robes shook as he let out a loud clattering cackle. "It is never just a few questions." His hand reappeared from his sleeves, and it outstretched to the Inquisitor. "Based on your looks, I can tell that you're a scion from the Mindrattler family, but I sense no aether coming from you, eh?"
Ivan felt a blood vessel poke the skin on his forehead. Of all the blighted skills Weavers possess, I hate that one the most!
Sable continued while holding back a laugh, "So that can only mean one thing, you lack an aether heart and are incapable of controlling aether, despite coming from one of the great Weaver families!"
Ivan's eyebrow twitched out of annoyance. "What of it!"
Performatively, Sable placed his hands over his heart and shook his head."Pardon me, but I can't help but pity you. Is that why you became an Inquisitor, eh? You were born a poor aether-less whelp and became a traitor to your own kind out of jealousy. Truly tragic." He then gently coaxed Ivan with his tone." But my master can help you with that. Spare me and I'll take you to him."
"The only traitor here is you, rogue Weaver." Ivan bared his teeth. "You were blessed with great talent, and you dare abuse it to manipulate the weak and foolish! You clearly treat your oath lightly, shameless scum!"
Sabled laughed. "If you think any respectable Weaver is content at being one of the Emperor's dogs, you are delusional. I found someone better to serve. A greater calling!" He raised both of his hands with a dramatic flair and then lowered them back to his side. "My offer still stands. Accept it and we'll see how long you will be satisfied playing hero for those idiots."
"Oathbreakers are less than the dirt beneath my feet." Ivan twisted his toe on the ground and gave Sable a smirk. "So, I'll pass. Now, don't make this harder on yourself, and place your hands on your head and turn around slowly."
Sable laughed and whipped out his pointer finger.
Accursed blighter, he is gathering aether!
An ominous purple light glowed from his finger, but before he could act any further, Ivan had already shortened the distance between them and caught a glimpse of the Weaver's smug grin.
Pity! Save that pity for yourself! Ivan threw a bone-crushing punch.
Sable shielded his face with the back of his forearms and immediately regretted it when Ivan's hard-knuckled gloves made impact. He winced.
Ivan hurled another jab.
Sable dodged and began to draw a simple square pattern with his finger, only to be roundhouse kicked in the gut by Ivan. Sable gritted his teeth and winced in pain.
"Such unrefined barbarity!" Sable landed on his back and retreated by rolling. He rose to his feet and was stunned by another one of Ivan's unforgiving punches. It connected with his jaw and drew first blood in their match.
"You are sturdier than most Weavers I go up against."
Ivan swung a blow that Sable barely evaded with a sidestep, and Ivan cracked a smile. "Do you want to be my punching bag for tonight?" He maintained pressure on Sable, viciously swinging at him and preventing the Weaver from drawing an aetherian pattern.
Despite being at a disadvantage, the Weaver maintained a cool head, and after he narrowly dodged Ivan's kick, he smirked when he formulated a plan to outwit his brutish opponent. Sable effortlessly slipped out of his cloak, revealing a bold plaid suit. His dark-brown, shoulder-length hair flitted around wildly as he draped his cloak over his left forearm and fiercely swiped at Ivan with it.
What! He is also a common-born! Ivan dodged Sable's cloak and fired a needle from his sleeve. With a swish of his cloak, Sable blocked it and forced Ivan into the defensive.
Drat!
When Sable was able to push Ivan away to a comfortable distance, he drew a pentagonal pattern, which formed into an arrow of ominous black energy that he launched towards Ivan.
Ivan managed to sidestep the blast. He advanced only to be pushed back by another swipe.
That accursed cloak is getting in the way! Not only that. It is concealing his movements!
Ivan grabbed hold of the cloak, but this action worked in Sable's favor.
He tossed it over Ivan and blasted him with an intricate pentagonal pattern.
A line of dark energy struck him through his abdomen. The aether-canceling padding in his vest failed to absorb the bulk of the Weaver's attack, allowing a shock wave of searing pain to spread throughout Ivan's body, soon followed by numbness.
Darkness clouded Ivan's vision as he fell to the ground. While Ivan lay there paralyzed with his remaining senses, he smelt burnt paper from his nostrils and listened to a deafening ringing in his ears. Ivan laid sprawled on the ground, looking up at the sky, and then Sable eclipsed his vision.
Sable reached down, lifted his cloak off Ivan and dug his foot into his chest. Tilting his head to the side, he gave Ivan a pitying gaze and crooked smile. "My, my, Mr. Inquisitor seems to have a passable amount of aether resistance. Amazing how far a drop of Weaver blood can go."
Ivan glared at Sable and tried forcing his hand to move, but he only managed to twitch a finger. Come on, move!
Sable put his cloak back on and shook his head with a condescending smirk.
Dash it into bits!
Sable pulled out the vial from his pocket and swirled the solution around. "I was going to give this to my pupil, but you seem to need it more than him."
Sable removed his foot from Ivan's chest and knelt beside him. He uncapped the bottle and pried Ivan's mouth open with his right hand. "Now, now, stop struggling. I'm trying to help you."
This man is mad! Ivan tried to bite off the Weaver's fingers, but his weakened state made it an impossible feat. It was not long until Ivan received a mouthful of the bottle's contents. Instinctively, he wanted to spew out the disgusting liquid, but Sable smothered his nose and mouth with his hand.
Sable gently sat him up. "Make sure to savor every bit and appreciate my master's work."
Ivan closed his eyes and held his breath. Calm down. Focus. The only thing I can do now is wait, and then I'll get him!
Sable tightened his hold around his mouth and chest and then leaned forward to whisper into his ear. "You know, you remind me of myself when I was younger."
Not one of these…
"A hopeless loser, who believed if I toe the line and be a good boy, I would gain the respect of my peers and achieve success. What a joke."
Sable looked off into the distance, while his green eyes twinkled from fond memories. "Thankfully, that all changed when I met my master. He opened my eyes to something better. Now, I have power that is beyond anything I could have imagined, and more importantly, I found a purpose I believe in. If you survive this, I'm sure you'll feel the same. "
Now! Enough feeling returned to Ivan's hands for him to trigger the mechanism hidden in his sleeves. He stuck a needle through Sable's forearm and felt the Weaver's grip weaken. Ivan grabbed Sable's hand by the wrist, pried it off his chest, and rolled backwards. Sable became off balance and soon lost his grip on his captive.
Ivan slowly rose to his feet and expelled the solution from his mouth. "A touching testimony, but the two of us are nothing alike."
He wiped the residue of the potion from his lips while Sable pulled out the needle from his arm and scrambled to his feet. "I don't care about the Mindrattler's name or how they feel about me. As a member of the Inquis family, my loyalty lies with the Empire."
Sable's right arm went limp, his left hand began to tingle, and his legs grew heavy. Despite this, a murderous glare flashed through Sable's eyes, and he gritted his teeth. "So be it, remain a fangless viper! I'll find someone else!"
Sable rushed toward Ivan with his right arm, lifelessly dragging beside him. He weaved a black arrow with his left hand. The energy from the pattern became unstable and disintegrated the flesh of his hand when he shot it at Ivan.
Ivan sidestepped his attack, caught his left arm, and cracked it over his knee.
Sable cried as Ivan threw him to the ground and used his weight to pin the Weaver in place.
Ivan scrunched up his face with disdain. "I get that you had a rough life that left you with a low sense of self-worth and bitterness, tsk. But it does not give you the right to poison naïve teenagers and mutilate their corpses. Your master failed you in all regards."
Ivan cuffed him and rested for a moment. His tongue touched the roof of his mouth, and he dry heaved. Ah, that was vile. It tastes worse than cod liver oil.
He noticed blisters forming over the Weaver's shiny red skin and heard the man quietly sniveling. "Tsk." He pulled out a small first aid kit from his inner vest pocket. He should have just placed his hands on his head.
"I see you successfully caught the suspect," said a gruff voice. Ivan turned to see an imposing middle-aged man in a black trench coat emerging from the shadows of the trees. His stature was built like a monolith, topped with slick black hair.
"Uncle Iker, you were here the whole time?"
Iker silently observed Ivan's battered appearance and then knocked him on the back of his head. "Madcap fool, you chose to get in a fist fight with a Weaver when you had better options. What is the first rule of an Inquisitor when fighting a Weaver?" Iker's sharp obsidian gaze could slash through the firmest composure, and Ivan was no match for it.
"Subdue them before they can thread aether."
"And you took a swing at him instead of tackling him to the ground or using your throwing needles. Why?"
Ivan's eyes darted to the left. "I-"
Iker interrupted him. "Look at me, boy, if you are going to tell a lie."
Ivan's gaze returned to his uncle's hard, chiseled face, further creased by an indignant scowl.
I could have gotten him if he didn't have that blasted cloak, but Uncle is right. Ivan lowered his eyes and rubbed the back of his head. " My apologies, Uncle."
"Hmph!" Iker sniffed before crossing his massive forearms. "And what do I always say when you screw up?"
Ivan sighed. "An apprentice is a reflection of his master, so the grievances of the apprentice will be paid twofold by his master."
"Do you not understand how much of a liability you are to me when you choose to ignore basic instructions? Shape up! Before, I demote you back to guard duty."
Ivan's face dropped. But that is worse than collecting overdue Weaver fees.
"Yes, Uncle."
Iker returned to his usual stoic expression and looked down at the Weaver's ruined left hand in the cuffs. "The idiot tried to thread aether after you drugged him?"
"Yes."
Iker's stern demeanor gave way to a small smile that was mostly hidden by his glorious mustache. "Good job at not getting yourself killed."
Ivan smiled and treated the wound as his uncle watched.
Once he was finished, Iker grabbed the paralyzed Weaver and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Let's take this one back to headquarters. I want to hear what he has to say about that makeshift clinic of his that I found in the forest."
"He mentioned something about a master being responsible for the potions."
"Oh really, did he now?" Iker tapped Sable on the legs. "Do you mind telling us who your master is? It will spare you from execution."
Sable glared at Ivan. "I do mind, dog."
"Cheeky little devil, this one." Iker laughed, turning to Ivan. "We will find out soon enough. From what I've seen in that shack of his, this appears to be a part of a larger operation."
"How big?"
"Massive."