Caracara's Hunt 103 What It Means To Fight Back

Arawn watched him for a moment, trying to understand the reason for his outburst. What had come into the doctor after entering the castle that left him in a constant bad mood?

"You know that's not it, and yet you're still going with it…" Arawn murmured more to himself than Sylvester. "What are you trying to achieve?"

He ran over what the lady had said, about Sylvester stopping an epidemic by himself, receiving royal favor, and then disappearing into thin hair, which did not seem like him. He never forgot to put down his profession, so why had he run away from recognition won by his own hard labor?

He should have lived in wealth and splendor as a royal physician, not as a n.o.body in some random n.o.ble's secondary house of residence.

Was it because he was extremely nationalistic and wanted to live in his home country? But that didn't seem likely with how easily he had left Ayersbert and how there was not a shred of respect in his voice when he spoke about the king.

Based on Corwal's story, there were also no friends or family to weigh him down. So why would he leave behind the fame and glory and become a n.o.body again? It made no sense.

"If you wanted to run around freely, you should have left from the start," Sylvester said in a cold voice. "Now that you chose to come with me, you have to follow my lead."

"Do I?" Arawn asked with a tilt of his head. "What if I choose to leave?"

Something flashed through Sylvester's eyes, but he hid it before Arawn could make any sense of the emotion. "Go ahead then. Leave and get killed in some random corner of this G.o.dforsaken country."

"I wonder which of us will find our end sooner if I do that," Arawn said with a smile that had no mirth to it. "I'll be taking Mutallu with me."

He hadn't thought about it before he said it, but when he did, he was sure that Mutallu would follow him. For some reason, he was certain of it.

Sylvester looked a little taken aback and glanced over his shoulder at the dark-skinned boy behind him who said nothing, not denying the words.

Arawn decided to hammer in his point. "You didn't want to be known for who you are, but Lord Bernard did not understand it. Now you've been exposed, so if you're left alone, your only choice will be to escape in the middle of the night once more, won't it?"

A shadow fell over Sylvester's face. Helpless fury twisted his features, and he seemed on the verge of lashing out, but as suddenly as they showed up, the signs were gone. A mask of indifference settled on his face, empty of any emotion.

"What do you want?"

The sudden change left Arawn unable to react. He had been expecting everything but acquiescence. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, like he had done something he shouldn't have.

An apology was at the tip of his tongue, but one look at Sylvester's dark eyes was enough for him to know it wouldn't mean anything. The man had closed off from him.

"I want to learn your craft," he said in the end. "And for you to not treat everyone like they're maggots crawling over your corpse."

"That's it?"

Arawn nodded with his stomach in knots. Why did it feel like he had made a mistake? But the way Sylvester had treated him the past days and the lady just then had been atrocious. What right did he have to make them feel like a waste of s.p.a.ce?

"Something's happening?" a voice called over from the direction of the feast. It was a portly woman hanging on the hand of her rather thin husband. "We thought we heard raised voices."

"And if they are maggots?" Sylvester murmured under his breath in a voice that wasn't loud enough for human ears, but Arawn caught it.

Before he could say anything, Sylvester relaxed his features and welcomed the newcomers. He wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine, but his words were level and held no underline of mockery, whether visible or not.

"I was just telling my young bodyguards about how much Lord Bernard supports the arts. His gardens are simple marvelous."

The elderly lady seemed a little disappointed when neither Mutallu nor Arawn contradicted that statement and fell behind Sylvester in quiet unison, but she hid it behind loud laughter and shared a few of her favorite pieces before leaving into the distance.

Once they were alone again, Sylvester straightened his clothes, dusted them off from invisible dirt, and led them to the ballroom. Dancing had started, and soon, Sylvester was called out by a few madams who wanted him to meet their daughters. He was extremely polite to them and charmed the three girls with his compliments to their appearances and way of dancing.

In a blink of an eye, the evening celebrations pa.s.sed, and the guests began to leave. Most people came to share a last word with Sylvester, wanting to leave a better impression on him. They promised to call on him again and come visit when it was appropriate. A few were even daring enough to give hints about wanting to hire him themselves and being ready to offer any price he named.

Once the last guest entered her carriage, a servant came over to call Sylvester to Lord Bernard's study. Exhaustion was on the doctor's face, but he nodded and went up the stairs to the second floor.

The lord was waiting for them with his daughter sitting beside him. Her eyes were a little red, but that was the only sign of something having happened. She looked like a prim and proper lady in her new forest green dress.

"Tell me, what happened earlier this evening?" the lord said. His voice was mild, una.s.suming, but his expression spoke of anything but being happy about the situation.

"I went a little overboard there," Sylvester said with a slight lowering of his head. "I apologize."

As if lightning had struck them, both Lord Bernard and his daughter jumped to their feet. They stared at Sylvester with open disbelief in their eyes.

"What happened to you? What's wrong?" the lord demanded once he found his mouth.

An amused smile made its way onto Sylvester's lips. "Nothing. She just caught me at a bad moment earlier." He met gazes with the young woman who looked like a startled doe. "I shouldn't have said those words. Can you forgive me?"

"Y-y-yes," she barely stammered out, her cheeks going peach-colored again. Her gaze instantly went to the floor, and her father gave her a stern glare which she couldn't see.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Whatever. As long as she forgives you, I cannot find fault with you. Come. Let me show you something."

As he said that, he went to his large desk and picked up a small parcel. Out of it, he brought out a handful of shoddily made round white badges with a black line across them. The paint was uneven, and on half of them, already falling off. Still, the general design could be recognized.

"Do you know them?" the lord asked.

Sylvester shook his head, but Mutallu nodded. "Moon Slayers." His words brought everyone's attention to him, and he stepped forward to pick one the badges. "The white is supposed to be the moon and the black line a dagger. They're an a.s.sa.s.sin guild from the capital. Not large or especially notorious, but they get the job done. They have a reputation for being able to infiltrate any place."

"And you know them how?"

"Best to know your compet.i.tors," Mutallu said like it was the most normal of things. "I had arranged to apprentice under them for a bit, but we got a job at that time, and it didn't work out."

The lord's brown furrowed as he reevaluated the una.s.suming kid that usually stayed quiet. From his expression, it was clear that he suddenly was no longer so certain if he was a.s.sociating with the right people.

"They operate only from the capital, so anyone there could have hired them," Mutallu said, ignoring the complicated gaze of Sylvester's employer.

Arawn shook his head. There really was only one person who would go after his head. It was no mystery at all.

"It's the king. I don't know anyone in the capital, let alone have a grudge with them. You don't get in contact with too many people when you spend your whole life in a dungeon."

His attempt at humor, however, did not go well. The girl's eyes went wide, and she took a step back while the lord's expression grew guarded. He leveled a heavy stare at Sylvester. "You want to share something with me? An a.s.sa.s.sin and a criminal?"

Arawn expected a glower his way for his carelessness, but Sylvester didn't even glance at him. With a shrug, he took off his coat and sat down in the armchair he had occupied earlier in the day.

"You've seen what he can do," he said with a nod Arawn's way. "He was imprisoned since childhood for the crime of being too strong. As for the kid, he's an orphan saved by a friend of mine. I don't like him much, but we're all refugees right now, so I picked him up as a favor to my friend."

"And you trust them?"

For a moment, Sylvester didn't say anything. He looked over his two 'bodyguards', then sighed and turned back to the lord. "The blonde idiot with my life, and the kid a little less. Still, I know he won't leave me to die if he can help it."

The lord's expression eased a little, and he sat down on the corner of his desk. "Since you left us, you've come to keep strange company. I'm not even sure I know you anymore."

"That's because you never really knew me to begin with," Sylvester said while leaning back against his armchair with tiredness written all over his face. "I kept worse company before we met."

Then, before the lord could react, he narrowed his eyes and said, "But you're no better. I should leave for what you pulled at the feast."

"I didn't—"

"Yes, you did. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Instead of ensuring your guests didn't overwhelm me, you disappeared from the scene right after putting me in the spotlight. Then, when I still refused to play your little game, you went out and put me on the spot.

"If I didn't bring out proof, I'd have been seen as charlatan and fame-seeker. You might have received a small blow to your reputation for believing in me, but I wouldn't have been able to stay anywhere on this side of Mairya."

The lord's expression tightened, but he didn't defend himself. "I did it for you, can't you see it? You deserve the recognition. You should be known as the best doctor, not that clown Norbert!"

"Really?" Sylvester asked with a dark chuckle. "And it's not because Norbert works for Hammertons, with which you have a blood feud?" He stood up and went to the door. "Thanks for telling us about the a.s.sa.s.sins. I'll stay here until the chaos in Ayersbert dies down, but no more. Have a good night."

With those words, he opened the door and left. Arawn and Mutallu went after him, both lost in their own thoughts and guesses.