Chapter Sixteen
The ceiling of the inn room was stained with soot, and for the last three hours, Siurad had memorized every crack in the plaster.
He lay on the bed, fully armored in his dark leather gear, staring up with eyes that burned from lack of sleep. The bed was soft with clean linens, a real mattress and yet he felt like he was lying on a slab of granite.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the captain’s face.
He saw the confusion. He saw the trust. He saw the life leaving the eyes of a man who was just doing his job.
I killed a leak, he told himself for the thousandth time. It was necessary.
But the logic tasted like ash. It didn't feel like a correction. It felt like a crime.
'...STASIS IS INEFFICIENT,' Obi’s voice droned in his skull, devoid of sympathy. '...THE SUN IS UP. THE WORK WAITS.'
"The work can wait," Siurad croaked, his voice wrecked. "I'm calling in sick."
'...SICKNESS IS A BIOLOGICAL FLAW. PURGE IT.'
"I'm not sick, Obi. I'm..." Siurad searched for the word. "I'm defragmenting. Leave me alone."
The door kicked open, slamming against the wall with such force that the washbasin rattled.
Yona stood in the doorway, framed by the hallway light. She looked annoyingly fresh. Her red hair was pulled back in a tight, practical ponytail, and she was holding a tray laden with steaming mugs and a plate of something that smelled like grease and heaven.
"Morning, Sunshine!" she chirped, kicking the door shut behind her. "Rise and grind. Or in your case, rise and brood."
She marched over to the small table and set the tray down with a clatter.
"I brought coffee. Well, it’s chicory and hate, but it’s hot. And bacon. Real bacon, not that salted leather we’ve been eating."
Siurad didn't move. "I'm not hungry."
"Liar," Yona said, grabbing a piece of bacon and chewing it loudly. "You're a calorie furnace. You're starving. You're just wallowing."
She walked over to the bed and leaned over him, blocking his view of the cracked ceiling. Her amber eyes were sharp, scanning his face like a mechanic inspecting a broken engine.
"You look like hell, Shepherd."
"I feel like hell," Siurad muttered, finally sitting up. The room spun slightly. "I feel like... I don't know who the bad guy is anymore, Yona. That captain... he wasn't a bandit. He wasn't a slaver. He was just a guy with a ledger."
"And you removed him because he was a threat to the flock," Yona said, her voice dropping the playful tone. "It sits heavy. I get it."
"It sits like lead," Siurad corrected. "I don't want to be a murderer, Yona. I want to be... I wanted to be the correction. But that? That just felt like wet work."
"So let's change the narrative," she said.
She reached into her belt pouch and pulled out the bundle of crumpled letters she had looted from Kel’s camp; the paperwork she had mentioned back in the woods but hadn't shown him yet.
She tossed them onto the bed next to him.
"What is this?" Siurad asked, picking up a parchment stained with wine.
"This," Yona grinned, a shark like expression returning to her face, "is therapy. My kind of therapy."
Siurad unfolded the letter. The handwriting was elegant, jagged, and arrogant.
To Captain Kel,
Regarding Shipment 404: The mines in Silverspire are demanding more labor units immediately. Payment is enclosed. Do not fail me again. The others can wait.
Signed, Magister Vane.
"And look at the second one," Yona said, pointing to a smaller receipt. "The local one."
Inventory Request: 50 Iron Collars. 20 Cages. Paid in Full. - Magister Vane.
Siurad read it twice.
The heavy, suffocating guilt in his chest shifted. It didn't vanish, but it made room for something else. Something hot.
"Vane," Siurad whispered. "Who is he?"
"Magister Vane," Yona explained, hopping onto the table and swinging her legs. "I asked around the common room this morning while you were staring at the ceiling. He runs the trade guild here in Brookshire. He controls the grain prices, the wool exports... and apparently, he was Kel’s wallet."
She tapped the paper.
"He's the guy who hired Kel. He's the guy who paid for the cages. Kel was just the muscle, Siurad. Vane is one of the reasons the captain had to die. Because Vane put those kids in danger in the first place."
Siurad felt the ring pulse.
'...THE ROOT OF THE FLAW,' Obi hissed. '...HE FUNDS THE CHAOS.'
"So what's the plan?" Siurad asked, looking up at Yona. "We go kill him?"
"No," Yona shook her head, pacing the small room. "Killing him is messy. He's a Magister. A pillar of the community. You kill him, the King sends an army. And honestly? Killing him is too quick. It doesn't fix the balance."
She stopped and pointed at him.
"You feel bad about the Captain? You feel dirty? Then let's do something clean. Let's do something that hurts him more than a sword."
She leaned in close.
"Siurad, welcome to your first lesson in corporate warfare. We aren't going to assassinate him. We are going to audit him."
"Audit?" Siurad frowned. "Like... taxes?"
"Exactly like taxes," Yona beamed. "But with burglary."
She began to pace again, her hands moving as she laid it out.
"Think about it. This guy is rich. He got rich by selling kids and starving the town. That wealth? It’s not his. It’s a glitch in the system. It’s resources allocated to a variable that hurts the whole."
She winked at him.
"You call it a correction. I call it asset forfeiture. We walk in there. We expose him. We take his gold; every single copper. We give it to the temple to ensure those kids never go hungry again. And we leave him alive, bankrupt, and terrified."
Siurad looked at the letter. He looked at the ring.
He thought about the captain lying dead on the road. A tragedy caused by necessity.
And then he thought about Magister Vane, sitting on a pile of gold made from selling children. A tragedy caused by greed.
The logic clicked into place with the satisfying snap of a dislocated joint being reset.
'...LOGIC SOUND,' Obi confirmed. '...RESOURCE HOARDING IS INEFFICIENT. REDISTRIBUTION REQUIRED.'
Siurad stood up. He finished the coffee in one gulp. The fatigue didn't leave his bones, but his eyes were no longer dead. They were focused.
"An audit," Siurad repeated, testing the word. It felt clinical. Cold. Correct.
"We balance the books," Yona said. "And we have a little fun doing it."
Siurad strapped on his black steel sword. The crushing weight of the captain's death felt manageable now. It was a debt he had incurred.
And Vane was going to pay it.
"Okay," Siurad said, his voice dropping into the Shepherd's register. "Let's go to work."
Brookshire was too small for secrets, but perfect for predators.
Siurad and Yona sat on a bench in the muddy town square, blending in with the farmers and wool merchants. Siurad wore his cloak, the hood pulled low to hide his face.
"That's the house," Yona whispered, pretending to examine an apple she’d bought.
Across the square stood Vane’s home. It wasn't a castle, but compared to the surrounding shacks, it might as well have been. It was built of sturdy, dark timber with glass windows, a rare luxury, and a heavy oak door reinforced with iron.
Two private guards in chainmail stood out front, looking bored.
"There he is," Yona murmured.
The oak door opened. Magister Vane stepped out. He was a portly man in a velvet coat that was far too fine for the mud he was stepping into.
A local farmer ran up to him, clutching a hat in his hands.
"Magister! Please! The grain tariffs!"
Vane didn't even stop walking.
"The tariff stands," Vane sneered, adjusting his silk gloves. "If you can't pay, you may apply for deferred payments at a cost of a lien to your land. We need more grazing space for the sheep anyway."
He climbed into a waiting carriage, not even looking at the man he had just ruined.
Siurad watched the farmer weep in the mud. He felt the cold logic of the Ring slotting into place.
Vane wasn't just a criminal; he was an inefficiency. He was hoarding resources, stifling the system, and funding chaos for profit.
'...THE TARGET IS INVALID,' Obi pulsed. '...REALLOCATION OF ASSETS APPEARS REQUIRED.'
"We take everything," Siurad whispered.
"Everything," Yona agreed. "Tonight."
The moon was hidden behind heavy clouds. The town of Brookshire slept.
Siurad and Yona crouched on the thatched roof of the bakery next door to Vane’s manor. Siurad adjusted the black cloth mask over his face. Just silent, supple leather.
"Patrol pattern is simple," Yona whispered, her eyes blackened with soot. "Two guards out front. One in the rear garden. Can you make the jump to the balcony?"
"I don't need to jump," Siurad said.
He reached out with his mind, finding the shadows on Vane’s balcony. He felt the familiar cold of the Void.
Pop.
The guards below didn't hear a thing.
Siurad moved to the balcony door. It was locked. He placed his hand over the latch and twisted. The metal snapped silently.
Yona vaulted the gap a moment later, assisted by a gust of wind. She landed lightly beside him.
"Showoff," she whispered.
They slipped inside.
Vane’s office was upstairs. It smelled of beeswax and greed. A large desk dominated the room, covered in ledgers.
"Find the safe," Siurad said softly.
"Way ahead of you," Yona said. She moved to a large tapestry of the King. "It's always behind the patriotism."
She lifted the tapestry. A heavy iron wall safe sat embedded in the timber.
While Yona worked the tumblers, Siurad moved to the desk. He searched through crumpled letters and half-opened envelopes. Inside were a few loose coins, exotic quills and a small key with the words grain etched in its side. As Siurad searched the desk, he noticed one drawer had a false bottom.
“Jackpot,” Siurad said.
Inside was a large, worn leather-bound ledger. It held tax records, the kind Vane didn't show the tax collectors.
He flipped through it. The third page contained an entry that appeared to be a receipt. It was all there. A payment to Kel, returned funds received from Kel, and a small math equation on the side showing his 40 percent profit share.
And on the final page, a note in the margin: Valerius is demanding the package. Ensure Kel delivers to the Spire by the new moon. Advise he has more guests than usual. Remind Kel to be punctual.
"Got it," Yona whispered. The safe door swung open.
Siurad turned. The safe was stacked with gold bars, pouches of gems, and deeds to half the farms in the valley.
"Bag it," Siurad said. "Leave one copper."
"One copper?" Yona paused.
"So he knows we didn't take it all," Siurad said coldly. "So he knows we left him something."
Yona smirked beneath her mask. "That's mean. I love it."
They cleared the safe.
"Bedroom," Siurad pointed to the adjoining door.
They crept in. Vane was asleep in a large feather bed, snoring softly. He looked small and pathetic without his guards and his velvet.
Siurad watched him. He could end it all right here. One squeeze. One spike.
'...TERMINATION FOR THIS ONE IS EFFICIENT,' Obi suggested.
Yeah, Siurad thought. Death is too easy. Poverty is slower.
He took the contract, the one linking Vane to Kel, and pinned it to the bedpost with a dagger he had taken from the dead guards at the camp.
He leaned down, bringing his masked face inches from the sleeping Magister. He let the void leak out, dropping the room temperature until Vane’s breath puffed in white clouds.
Vane shivered in his sleep, pulling the blankets tighter, sensing the nightmare standing over him.
And just as quickly as they entered, they left without causing a scene.
They hit the roof of the Temple of Ceuci twenty minutes later.
The streets were quiet except for the occasional drunk stumbling about and wildlife foraging through the trash.
Yona held the heavy sack over the chimney.
"This is going to make a mess of his hearth," she noted.
'...THIS LEVEL OF NOISE IS IDIOTIC.'
"He can afford a broom," Siurad said. Ignoring Obi.
Yona upended the sack. A golden rain poured down the chimney, clattering onto the stone grate below.
"That covers the food for the kids," Yona said, dusting off her hands. "And the roof. And probably a few years of operating costs."
She patted her own belt pouch, which jingled slightly.
"And I kept a finder's fee for our travel expenses. Just the operational minimum."
"Define minimum," Siurad asked.
"Enough for a carriage to the mountains and a very nice bottle of wine," she winked.
They dropped to the street.
"Silverspire is North," Siurad said, looking at the stars. "Valerius is waiting."
"Then let's go introduce ourselves," Yona said.
They walked out of the town gates just as the first hint of dawn touched the sky. Behind them, Magister Vane was about to wake up to a very bad day. Ahead of them, the road to Silverspire beckoned.
Siurad adjusted his sword belt. He looked at Yona.
"You were right," he admitted.
"Usually am," she shrugged. "About what?"
"That helped," Siurad said. "I still see the Captain... but now I see the balance too."
Yona bumped his shoulder with hers. "See? Stick with me, Shepherd. We'll clean up this whole damn continent, one ledger at a time."
“I swiped a key with the word grain etched into it. Should we find out where it goes?”
“No time tonight, shepherd. We'll take a rein check on that one.”
“Deal,” Siurad grunted, turning toward Silverspire.
'...AUDIT COMPLETE,' Obi signaled. '...NEXT TARGET VALERIUS.'