This madman was going to get him killed.
Lessons once learned on pain of death were hard to forget. But even so, Cwyndeth surprised himself that – rising above the uneasy mixture of terror, the familiar thrill of danger, the ambitious hope, the panic (because the gods only knew how he was going to explain this whole mess to his Patron) – what he felt strongest of all was professional annoyance. Rigwyn was so sloppy, so careless, so disdainful of the usual things people on the wrong side of the law did to prevent detection. It hasn’t even been a week since the Diaboli had first cornered Cwyn with his talk of sides and trust (the seeds of a possible alliance) and already people were talking, watching, guessing, gossiping and worrying.
Cwyn would have to take more care. And make it very clear that if Rigwyn wanted anything from him (that pale shade of mutual self-interest that passes as loyalty between people like them), the public meetings in the street would have to stop. As well as that shoddy excuse for a messenger, shouting Cwyndeth’s name for the whole of Hydlaa to hear while aggravating people left right and centre. Perhaps if you were the mighty Rigwyn Setson, you could afford not to give a damn. Cwyn couldn’t.
Even a month ago, Cwyndeth would’ve ran very fast in the opposite direction at the mere mention of Rigwyn’s name. But now a dangerous recklessness had taken hold of him, in the service of something bigger and more important than any petty grudge, imagined or not. As a result, it was the perfect opportunity, landing so gratifyingly in Cwyn’s lap even when he wasn’t seeking it out:
Days earlier, the Dermorian had been trying to follow Rigwyn as the man had stormed out of the tavern after an altercation with Evirea and Chays. Cwyn must’ve gotten careless, because embarrassingly, he ended up being followed himself by the subject of his chase.
“I thought you were on my side? Why didn’t you stick up for me?” Rigwyn demanded.
Cwyn feigned ignorance to stall for time. Of course, it was unlikely that Rigwyn would’ve heard any of the rumours that the Dermorian had left carelessly lying around Hydlaa, but even if he had, they only needed the smallest of embellishment to work in Cwyn’s favour. But did these questions mean Rigwyn had either not seen him that day at the magic shop, or otherwise had been in no state to observe him, or misinterpreted Cwyn’s presence, or perhaps couldn’t remember anything? Either way was good. It meant less lies needed to cover his tracks, and on top of that, a golden chance to prove something, to return some of his Patron’s investment. Was this Xiosiamas? It felt like it.
Of course, things were bound to go wrong at some point or another. The first indication was when Cwyn left the comfort of a spectator’s role and took action. He placed himself between Rigwyn and the soft-hearted Dermorian lady who’d managed to slide her dagger into the Diaboli’s throat in return for his threats, attempts at coercion and worse, and who ended up being drained of her life force as the Diaboli cast a weakness spell on her. (Cwyn chose not to examine his reasons for stepping in too closely, he had a nasty suspicion as to the answer and didn’t much care for it.) Whatever the reason, Cwyn offered his own life force instead, urging the lady to get away as braced himself for the painful result of being on the wrong side of a weakness glyph.
It was all he could do, drawing on every last shred of willpower, not to collapse to his knees as Rigwyn kept on draining his strength even after the wounds had healed. But for whatever dark reason of his own, Rigwyn then offered Cwyn his own life force in return – chanting, swearing, naming that darkest of names: Baazel. It was invigorating, tainted, intoxicating, wrong, and left Cwyn revitalized but frantic with panic.
But there had been no answers forthcoming from Rigwyn about what it was what he had tried to do – or already did – to the Dermorian. Instead, a few days later it was followed by a proposal, a tentative agreement on mutual protection of interest, some vague promises of connections and protection.
It was too late for doubt now, past the point where Cwyn could’ve still backed out. The need to know whatever Rigwyn had done when he gave his life force to him made sure of that. Now it was just a matter of making sure that: a) carelessness didn’t get him killed; b) his own hidden agenda – bluff and double-bluff and bluff again – didn’t get him killed; c) his Patron didn’t find out about this before Cwyn could get a damn good plan in place to convince the Patron that Cwyn had a good reason for all of this, and above all, knew what he was doing.
Stupidly, out of these, it was this last one that worried him the most.
