Avengard: The Fall of Senvia

Even after leaving Senvia, I had always eaten well at the inn at the crossroads. Moose, deer, bear, boar. It was mostly game, as I had plenty to hunt. Livestock were expensive, and with a deer, I could reinvigorate the menu for guests. Once, while I was still in Lyana's court, I had the chance to taste the meat of one of the beasts of Refiriem at a special welcome banquet in Eaden Helm. It was rubbery and fatty, and I nearly gagged when the champion who had killed it described his kill, a three-headed snake that kept itself invisible in the tall, white grasses of the endless fields.

It was strange, because as sickening as his description was, and as unpleasant as the texture of the meat, I enjoyed the taste. Like the sort of food you wanted to hate, but was actually quite a delight.

Game was not new to me, but I was quite unfamiliar with rabbit.

Eskir snatched the piece I handed him and dove into it eagerly. We had other food in the wagon, but it was salted meats and beans, root vegetables, and hard breads. Foods that would keep for months or years. They weren't hot, they were sustenance.

Clearly, Eskir found no hesitations in lean rabbit. I looked at mine with an ill sense in my stomach. I found myself remembering the Kindred champion's description of his kill, and I nearly vomited over my rabbit.

"Don't eat meat?" he asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "Why would I have gone hunting?"

"Well, eat up," he said.

He said.

To me.

The person who had just fed him.

"All my days," I breathed, "you are useless."

He stopped eating.

"You can't fight," I said to his shocked expression, "You can't speak. You need us to stop so you can, how did you put it? Do nothing. You exposed us to an ambush because you wanted to. Do. Nothing."

"Well, I think they would have caught us anyway—"

"Shut up," I snapped, placing my rabbit down on my lap. "You said you should shut up if we stopped, so shut up. Stop talking. Or, if you insist on it, tell me who you are."

"You're talking too."

"I'm the one keeping us alive!"

"I'm only human."

"Ah! You're only human! Well, that explains any incompetencies you might have. A perfect excuse to not be able to look after yourself."

He looked down, dejected. "I wasn't raised my entire life to be the perfect fighter. I can lift a sword by technicality, but that's about the extent of it. I'm a scholar, not a soldier. I shouldn't even be on this road."

"You called yourself a soldier earlier," I pointed out.

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Did I...? Oh, I suppose... I shouldn't have said that." He paused for a moment, recollected himself, and murmured an apology.

I sighed. "I don't want an apology, I want the truth. So you are a scholar, then? Why did you say you're a soldier?"

"Please don't ask me that," he begged. A glint of panic flashed in his eyes.

"Or what? Afraid your voice is going to stop you? It didn't before."

"Y-you don't understand," he said. "This thing I have, curse, stolen voice, whatever you want to call it, it's not... it's not like it has defined limits. Earlier, I did something. Or rather, I didn't do something. Say something, specifically. I didn't tell you anything, but I hinted—"

"When you didn't mention Bell Haven as one of the paths we could take from the inn," I suggested for him.

"AH!" he shouted. "Why would you do that?"

"What?" I asked blankly. "Do what?"

"You realised! You told me that you realised! This isn't about my vocal chords, it's about my ability to express. I can't tell you what made Senvia vanish. I can't tell you who erased a city from the world. I can't say why or how or anything like that. But it's more than words. I can't tell you by way of elimination. That's too obvious. I can't nod along, I can't confirm what you say or suggest, none of that. I was able to suggest a path by not suggesting a path because it wasn't obvious. If I were to say that it wasn't any of the other three paths, it would be obvious that the correct path was the fourth."

"So," I said, "you're saying if you want to communicate something, you can't? This stolen voice of yours will stop you?"

"Yes! Exactly! There are ways around it, but they're not direct. The minute I realise, whether I want to or not, that you've figured something out, whatever method I used to convey it to you just joins my repertoire of forbidden actions. I can't intentionally reveal anything to you, but I can do certain things that do not reveal any information. The problem is, once you figure out what I did, the information is revealed. And the action is banned. It makes it impossible for us to develop any form of code or strategy to communicate."

"But if I don't tell or hint to you that I've figured it out..."

"Then the action won't be banned. But I won't know. And if I guess, if I figure out that you've solved the puzzle, then I can't use it anymore. It's frustrating, because it's somewhere between intent and a lack of intent. I intend to say these things, to do these things, and as long as I don't expect you to understand them, I'm safe. Theoretically, I could even come close to telling you the truth outright, but only if I knew that you wouldn't understand it. I can talk to myself, if I know beyond a doubt that I'm alone. Just, I know that you have that... really sensitive Kindred hearing. So now that we're travelling together, I can't do that anymore."

I paused for a minute, bewildered at his conclusions. "How in the stars did you figure this all out?" I said at last.

"Trying to talk to people," he chuckled. "And a half remembered passage of a very old book that described something similar."

"That's... deranged. Like a perpetual game, and not the sort I like."

"Yep," he said. "Deranged is one word for it. Would you like to know where it gets really messy?"

"Okay," I huffed with exasperation.

"I said something. Earlier, in this conversation. Something hinting at the truth. Half of me is hoping you spot it, the other half is... ah, I can't say that. Sorry, you're on your own. I would have pointed it out earlier, but this voice bit would have stopped me."

I glared at him. "Okay Xera," I started with a sarcastic tone, "I've buried a secret in our conversation about my inability to divulge secrets. Have fun!"

He shrugged, a playful grin curling up his lips. "I wish this were easier."

I finally took my first bite of rabbit. It was cooling off, but the insides were still warm. It wasn't quite as dry as I'd imagined, and nowhere near as gamey as larger animals. It was almost like chicken.

"So just to summarise," I said, pointing a rabbit leg at him after a swallow, "you can hint at things, but only if you don't think I'm going to catch the hint, and—"

"Correct."

"—if I do catch the hint, you can never use that hint again, unless—"

"Yes."

"—unless I don't tell you that I've figured it out—"

"Yes."

"—which means I might start forming tangents and conclusions based on hints that aren't even hints, just my mind finding patterns and implications where there aren't any?"

He nodded.

I groaned. "Well, I'm not going to bother trying to recall this entire conversation and pour over every word."

He laughed. "I don't blame you. You know, sometimes I wish I were just the perfect soldier. So much less hassle. Much more straightforward. Kill or be killed."

"That's the second time you've called us perfect," I said, then pointed at the spear he had removed from the Kindred I had skewered into the road. "Does that look perfect to you? Did his body look like he was a perfect fighter when you were burying it?"

"No," he whispered. "I suppose no one is."

"So," I said, trying to change the subject away from more death, "Eskir who?"

"Just Eskir."

"You're human, not Kindred. Shouldn't you have a surname?"

"Ah... I abandoned it."

"You abandoned... why?"

"I told you about my father when we first met," he said. "He saw the world as it should be. He died a long time ago. My mother took over his part in raising me. They were an odd match. He hated the world as it was, and she was a trueborn patriot. So I left. Once upon a time, I was Eskir Navarro. Now I'm just Eskir."

"I've never heard of a Navarro before."

"No, I don't expect so. We were never very wealthy or renowned. My father was the human son of a nobleman from Espara, with all Kindred siblings. He was kicked out and disowned, and met my mother in Lucky Lake. They raised sheep, up on the cliffs that overlooked the lake. Just a shabby cabin, barely holding together. Pleasant in the summer, if small, but freezing in the winter. We lined the walls with wool as insulation. Not the best wool, not the best meat, just middling on all counts." He had finished his rabbit, and was staring off in a sort of trance at a random point in space.

"Were you praying when I returned?" I asked.

He looked up, surprised.

"I know it's rare," I said. "But I've met people who prayed. People from Lysina. They prayed twice a day, once to Laog in the morning, and once to Duun before bed."

"I follow my Path," he said.

Prayer was an odd concept to the both of us, but this meditation always did remind me of the concept. There were no gods to pray to, only his Path.

"So," I said, moving on to our days to come. "Bell Haven. It'll take us eleven or twelve days to get there at our current pace. If you want to stop the wagon to do... whatever you do, every day. Plus, I smell rain. Our speed will be cut in half if that happens."

"Isn't there an inn ahead?" he asked. "The Lakeside Inn. It actually has a name. I'm sure its accommodations will be suitable for a rest if it rains."

We were long past the inn at the crossroads. Lakeside, bordering Ghost Lake, was a hefty hike from my former little abode. And it was, in all earnest, a good inn, and travellers passing on that very road would very often stop at both, if they could afford a night in an inn. We had a dedicated tavern, and they only had an alehouse for drinks. Their restaurant did sell some alcohol, but only the more expensive variety, not the basics that the alehouse would supply to thirsty travellers aplenty. That restaurant was in the same building as people slept, adjacent to the lobby.

An unusual concoction.

It was unusual to see a proper restaurant at all in an inn for travellers outside of any town, but our shared road was a secondary thoroughfare for four major cities. They weren't any real competition to the inn at the crossroads, more of a complement to our own services.

And despite their lacking a tavern, Lakeside was a sight to see, almost making the inn at the crossroads look as plain as a packstaff.

Almost.

It was a good suggestion, really. I shouldn't have been quite as annoyed as I was at Eskir's willingness to give business to our competition.