The Fractured Tower

Scarlet and Steel was located on the northeast side of the city, not too far from the corner the high families had carved out for themselves, but not so close as to be ruinously expensive to rent the property. For all Sorin knew, though, the store could own its lot outright. He doubted it, because family dynasties tended to hang onto their property. It was always more profitable in the long run to rent it out than it was to sell it, and none of the current high families had been in dire financial straits in the last generation or two.

He didn’t need to peer through the plate glass window to know who was inside, but he found himself checking anyway. It was only an excuse to see his reflection, though, and while he couldn’t say he was really surprised by how rough he looked, he was somewhat appalled. I don’t think anyone would have trouble believing I just came back from a multi-month climb.

While his skin was scrubbed clean after a long, hot bath before he’d passed out the night before, his shirt seemed to have all but disintegrated in the wash. The pants were leather and had held up better, but they were still shredded and stained with dyed blood where they hadn’t been scorched black. Only his boots were still in one piece, but that wasn’t to say they were unharmed. Acid splatter has discolored the leather and burnt smooth patches, leaving it with an odd, mottled texture.

There were three people inside Scarlet and Steel. One was a teenage girl, a year or two younger than Rue. She was manning the sales floor and moved to smoothly intercept him as he walked in. The second person was an older woman who was so strikingly similar that they were undoubtedly mother and daughter. The third person was actually in a workshop in the back and paid no notice to Sorin’s entrance.

“Oh, my,” the teenager said. “Looks like you’ve come to the right place, sir!”

Sorin picked at the ragged scrap of shirt with one hand. It was more hole than fabric, destined for the garbage once he got a replacement or two. “I certainly hope so. I need something a bit more durable than this one, and I’ve been assured that this is the place to find exactly that.”

“I’m certain we’ve got something to fit your needs. Why don’t you tell me a bit more about what you need it to stand up to? We do bespoke enchanting work to ensure the quality of our goods remains untarnished by monster or tower.”

Under her mother’s watchful but silent eye, the girl laid out the sales pitch. At no point during the discussion about base material, enchantments, and style did the subject of price come up. That, more than anything else, assured Sorin that the final product would be high quality, not that it had been in doubt. Yoru had recommended the place to him as a shop that catered to a rich and discerning clientele.

His picks were tailored for fit on the spot, each one only taking a few minutes of work. The alterations didn’t even disrupt the cleaning and repair enchantments, which wasn’t exactly impressive under normal circumstances, but since the tailor was only rank 6, was a suitable showcase of her skills wielding such a limited toolset.

When he left, his money pouch over two thousand danirs lighter, he had a dark blue shirt with a hidden steel silk lining, an overcoat made of drake leather that was reinforced with thin, flexible feather steel bands, a new boarhide belt that the third member of their team had incorporated the enchantments into, and boots specifically enchanted for comfort, durability, and cleanliness.

The coin to pay for all that had come from selling some of the soulprints he’d looted from the trial, though he held onto the majority of them for later. There was already a soulprint vendor he wanted to meet with that he thought would appreciate what he’d collected, not to mention have what he wanted to trade for it.

She did not have a presence on Floor 0, unfortunately. And so his new drake leather bag—part of a matched set with his coat—was just as stuffed as his old one had been. The shop had kindly disposed of his old outfit for him at no cost. They’d even thrown in the secondary belt for him to hang the two lion’s fang daggers from. True, he’d spent a small fortune there on just a single outfit and they were no doubt hoping he’d be a repeat customer, but he still appreciated the little extras.

While they’d been able to appraise the belt buckle—its primary function was an extremely costly short-range teleport—they hadn’t been able to tell him anything about the shard of bark. Sorin was almost entirely sure it was a material component, not an enchanted item, but he didn’t recognize it. Finding a specialist who could identify it was on his list of errands for the day.

Feeling clean, full, and well-rested all at the same time was amazing, but there was always something just over the horizon looking to ruin his day. This time, it was a woman he noticed tailing him shortly after he walked out of Scarlet and Steel. She was probably rank 8 from the feel of her aura, and Sorin guessed she’d specialized into a stealth build based on how difficult it was to keep track of her.

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I suppose I might as well get this over with sooner rather than later.

He deliberately led the woman toward the outer wall of Floor 0. No one wanted to live there, which made it less crowded than the inner slums, though of course space was so limited that there weren’t any truly empty spots in the city. But no guards patrolled, the locals were sparse, and those that did squat there knew better than to get caught up in trouble. They took one look at Sorin strolling along next to the wall and booked it. It was almost amusing to watch the flickers of aura fleeing in front of him.

New and more powerful auras quickly showed up to replace the displaced people. Sorin came to a stop at a T-intersection and walked into the middle of it. Though there was no one visible, he could see the numbers building up behind buildings and in alleyways. In an ironic twist, the woman who’d been following him vanished.

Must have been a freelancer someone else hired. The only question is whether these are Hellion leftovers or if Morlin gathered his vassals to take me out.

An abnormally tall and thin man stepped onto the street a few minutes later. At close to seven feet tall, he probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds, lending him an almost skeletal appearance that belied his true strength. Someone that gaunt should have had a face so hollow that it was little more than a leather mask wrapped around a skull.

This man didn’t look like that. Oh, he had thin features, but not that starved look he would have sported if his physique had been natural. He wasn’t wasting away. He’d used some sort of mutagenic soulprint to achieve the look. Sorin was betting the man was all speed, low power and no physical defenses.

He was also rank 20, which put him close to Morlin in terms of raw power, or maybe higher if he’d been the recipient of one of Samael’s mutagenic recycling builds. The man moved with an easy grace, swaying slightly every step, but always balanced. He approached Sorin at an unhurried pace, stopping when he was only a few feet away.

They studied each other for a few seconds. “You are Sorin,” the man said, though it sounded more like an accusation than a question.

“I am.”

Surprisingly, the man sketched a short, formal bow. “My name is Urd.”

“Hi, Urd. Why are you following me?”

“That’s a bit complicated, but if you can spare a few minutes, I shall endeavor to explain it as best I can.”

“Sure,” Sorin said. “Enlighten me.”

His first thought was that Urd was stalling to finish setting up the trap, maybe hoping that Sorin would focus on him and ignore the movements of the other climbers getting into position. But no one else was moving. They’d approached to a certain point, and they were all just holding in place. If this was a stall, he was at a loss to explain what they needed the time for.

“Though you are an exceptionally difficult man to keep track of, we’ve done our best. Many parties are interested in your movements, you see. You vanished a little over two months ago. It was quite a surprise to receive reports that you’d resurfaced yesterday, though your return drew so much attention that I was forced to conclude you wanted everyone to know that you’re back.”

“Not exactly,” Sorin said. Not at all. It just played out that way. No reason to tell you that if you don’t already know, though.

“Given how long you’ve been out of contact with civilization, I am unsure if you are aware of the recent developments in our city,” Urd said, pausing as though to invite Sorin to confirm or contradict that statement.

“Which particular developments? I’m still catching up.”

“The Black Hellion has also vanished. In fact, he disappeared shortly after we lost track of you. The timing is... suspicious.”

“Are you asking me to confirm whether or not your boss is dead, Urd?” Sorin asked.

Flinching slightly, the skeletal man said, “That is... partially why I’ve approached you. I believe I already know the answer. You would only be confirming what we’ve all guessed.”

“Not denying that you’re part of the gang that’s been giving me problems?”

“It seems pointless at this time.”

“Or the sixty-two people you’ve got lurking nearby?”

“In that, you’ve made a mistake. I only brought fifty-seven with me. If you are sensing more, then the remainder are unaffiliated.”

They stared at each other, Urd with a polite expression on his face and Sorin’s mind churning through possibilities. Whatever the play here was, he really couldn’t piece it together. An ambush seemed less and less likely, but perhaps they’d always intended to overwhelm him with raw numbers. If so, they were in for a fatal surprise. None of them were stronger than Urd, and he was barely a bump in the road.

“Yeah, Samael’s dead,” Sorin finally said. “Sorry to break up the family.”

Urd inclined his head. “It is as we already expected. You are aware that the Hellions have splintered after his presumed death?”

“I heard. You guys are causing lots of problems fighting each other.”

“And many of the climbers at the wall have abandoned their posts. Their fighting spirit seemed to flee from their bodies all at once.”

More like whatever mental manipulation Samael put them through all snapped with his death. They probably realized they were nothing but a legion of suicide soldiers spending their lives for the empty promises of a man who never saw them as anything but expendable.

“That’s a real shame,” Sorin said. “I imagine Floor 24 is a real mess now, probably getting worse every day.”

“So the reports tell me. I do have a solution to propose, however.”

“Is it something along the lines of ‘kill me and parade my severed head around so the rest of your gang falls in line with you as the new boss?’ Because I have to tell you, I don’t care for that plan one bit,” Sorin said.

Blinking, Urd regarded him with mild shock. “What? No, of course not. I know what Samael was. I could never replace him. I lack his personal ambitions, but I shared his vision for a tower free of the void taint.”

Oh, no. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Urd,” Sorin said, “is this a recruitment pitch?”