A Number Less Than Five

"Teller, you have a commendable spirit. But your current predicament can be solved very quickly. Now, I don't mind being forced to take another finger off, but you could just answer the bloody question."

"You seem to have it on some authority that I have deceived you! But I have been as truthful as a star!"

"Really? So that girl has it? You think I believe that? Why not say anything?"

"Hmmm, that very question ran through my mind as soon as I saw your expensive pebble whisked away. Who to side with in such a situation? A mysterious Ashurian girl with a keen mind and manipulative intentions. Or you, a rich, spoilt, immature, lout. The decision was as clear as Maia on a cloudless day."

Dretton violently stood up, knocking his stool to the floor. What a well of relief it must have felt not having to hold up Dretton's personage anymore.

"Do you want your tongue out next you cursed fool?!" Dretton screamed.

Teller burst out laughing, leaning back. He looked down at his missing middle finger on his left and lost it even more. The situation was terrible obviously, but seeing Dretton's rageful spectacle did make up for it. Middle finger gone, terrible pain all over his body, blood smeared over his hand and face, no way out. Everything was terrible. How else could he react?

Teller brought his bound hands to the wooden table as his laugh tailed off, "Why would I lie? Zoria didn't even know I would be making a move that night. And even if I did slip it to her when you weren't looking. Why didn't she rescue me? You obviously don't know her as well as I do, but you do know the types of activities she gets up to, don't you?"

Dretton's face was turning red, and his pours were boiling with anger. He ran his hand through his loose black hair, dripping with sweat. The loose waist coat he always wore was just starting to fray. The angles of his face did constitute a handsome presentation; however, it was always with a hint of grime he couldn't quite explain.

Dretton brought both of his fists up to slam down on the table and swung down aggressively. But he stopped short of the table and gently rested his clenched fists, knuckles first. His head hung down, and he grumbled a low hum like a whale. Maybe Teller had finally broken him? He was always a mentally unstable fellow. The torturer being more tortured than the torturee was a rare thing, Teller often had that effect on people, though.

Dretton lifted his head, staring flatly, and then shouted for someone to come into the small room. The door rattled and heaved as, whoever it was, struggled to open it. Dretton turned his head towards the door, "Kego! Pull! Not push!". The door swung open to let in a tall, wiry man. He sauntered into the room, beady-eyed and almost giddy in demeanour. He bore burn marks everywhere you looked, and had bottles and belts strung all over his body. He walked over to Dretton with his hands clasped, scratching away at his knuckles. Teller could see scars all over his hands. Some were white, others were pink, and one was bleeding. His eyebrows twitched randomly, and his skin amidst the scars was deathly pale. So, this is Kego the Taint.

Kego stopped just short of Dretton, with an eerie, twisted look in his eye. "Yes master? You called for us? Yes? Call us? Yes?" Kego said in-between odd chuckles through his teeth. A reluctant smile crept on Dretton's face, "Yes, Kego, I need you to find someone for me. Can you do that?"

"Of course, yes! We can do this thing, yes, very much, yes!"

"Wonderful. Your target is an Ashurian girl last seen in the Rast District. Short black hair, a light tan, light freckles, and a head shorter than mine. Her name is…", Dretton pursed his lips, and his eyes wandered back towards Teller, who still sat restrained. 

"I'm drawing a blank," Teller exclaimed.

"She told it to your face!"

"I recall you being present as well,"

"Well, I don't remember! I don't pay any creed to a sult's name."

Teller did in fact remember, but he wasn't one to let someone who was going to rob him just get caught like that. He was better than that, he was a morally honest person without a single grey colour to speak of. None whatsoever. I wonder if Miss Selyana will offer me a heartfelt apology?

"Master, more than enough you have given. Yes. This is, yes, good, yes!" Kego turned on the spot and stumbled towards the door, clattering into Dretton's stool that lay knocked over on the floor. He went to open the door, and Dretton took a step towards him, "Kego, bring her alive and unharmed. And find my pendant if it hasn't already been sold into some sult ridden market."

"Accidents happen master. We try! We try!" Kego sputtered from the hallway beyond. Then, he was gone, murmuring, and giggling to himself down the corridor.

"Kego the Taint is as charming as I would have imagined,"

"He's good at what he does," Dretton said, a slight annoyance creeping out.

Dretton hid his disgust and discontentment well, but Teller could see through it. He hated having to rely on Kego, yet he kept his bubble of frustration below the surface. Kego the Taint was infamous for his unbridled cruelty and sheer insanity. Teller had seen some of his work first-hand, and it was as if he treated humans like objects with no regard for the cacophony of pain he wrought, Selyana should be fine, probably.

Dretton picked up the fallen stool without looking at it and slammed it straight down next to the table, then sat. He leant on the table elbow first with his hand clenching and unclenching in a fervent manor. His eyes wandered up and closed before snapping them open again, coming back down and staring at Teller. 

Dretton took a breath and calmed slightly, "Why would that girl be after Jorr's Key?" Teller pondered for a small while; it was a good question. Dretton still has it in two minds whether Teller is deceiving him or not. But why did Selyana seek Jorr's Key? She must have known what it was before sitting next to him, unless she was just an opportunist who saw a shiny necklace worth stealing. But that seemed less plausible, she was eloquent and came with a pronounced air of intellect not exactly befitting of a common thief. Could she really be searching for Veralyr?

"She may seek the same thing we do," Teller replied.

"Veralyr? Why would an Ashurian miscreant seek Jorr's Lost Colony?"

"Maybe for the same reason you do. Perhaps a more likely solution to this question is that we are in the presence of a curious soul. A soul who seeks the truth of Jorr's mythical paradise rather than a lustful gallivant towards a dead man's fortune. Unfortunately, I don't know much about her, her goal may indeed prove to be as shallow as yours is."

Dretton stared at him flatly, "That isn't the only thing."

"What then?"

"This job is from Leradin himself."

Excuse me?

"Really? So, you've met our imperious ruler then?"

"Watch your tongue," Dretton said, a hint of desperation seeping out. "No, I haven't. My father has."

"And?"

"Said he was the most terrifying thing he'd ever laid eyes on."

Peylon Hayworth, scared? Surely not. Leradin Lighthold was as mysterious as Veralyr itself. The immortal ruler of Selles made very few appearances, and if he did, he always remained shrouded in shadows, away from the light. Leradin and The Foundry was something he always wished to bring out of the shade. However, the chances of death are even higher than his current pursuit. One must be careful not to spin too many plates.

"I'm sure the lady who makes your bed each morning could stake a claim on that title."

"We're done here. Guards!"

Two of the Hayworth Keep's guard strode in and gave a slight bow to Dretton. They then swiftly flanked Teller and pulled him up aggressively, roughly jolting him forward until he was face to face with Dretton next to the door.

"As you rot in our dungeon, I hope you come to severely regret your betrayal of me. And when I find Veralyr, I shall then come back here with one of Jorr's matz and shove it down your throat."

"So, I'm dying of old age then?"

Dretton punched him firmly in the gut and then stormed out into the hallway, out of sight. The young lord was never fond of Teller's jokes, probably because most of them hit too close to home. Berating and betraying one of the most powerful young lords in Moonfall was probably a bad idea, but Teller would never lick the boots of this unjust hierarchy. How can one so dumb be so powerful? Now I must spend the rest of my days in Hayworth's spiffing accommodations, what fun!

Teller stumbled slightly in the grip of the grizzly guard, suddenly his head felt as light as a cloud and his vision vibrated chromatically white, passing after a slothful second. Teller looked down at his left and watched the blood try to congeal over his missing middle finger. "I suppose I couldn't get a little maintenance for my hand here, feeling a little smidge of discomfort." 

One of the guards released Teller and procured a dirty cloth from his top pocket, rapping his finger extraordinarily tightly. A sharp gasp of pain spluttered out of Teller. The sting trifled up his arm making him even more light-headed. He panted and held back tears as the guards began escorting him back to his cell.

Teller trundled forward, a languorous air taking hold of him. The guards pushed him out of the door at the end of the hallway into an awe-inspiring courtyard. Hayworth Keep had a great many courtyards, one for each of their idiotic offspring Teller suspected. Nothing but a mild expenditure for Peylon Hayworth, that's to be sure. The space was adorned with beautifully carved pillars with various animals atop them, a serene garden and water feature. High walls with grumpy men standing like tent poles. It was like another world in here. The Light District was indeed a fascinating place, every powerful lord across Selles held some stake here, all of them laying claim to the suffering of some dead water bog out in the Sellian expanse. Yet everything was so peaceful and quiet. The scent of the air was fresh and clear, with fledgling raindrops from high roofs falling into shallow puddles on the ground. The Foundry, being situated so close, towered in the sky above. Its fountain of light rippled through the sky, the spokes of energy crackling in the air, faintly echoing amongst the muted chatter from the few souls that wandered. Maia was a half crescent in the sky, a warning of the sunrise's swift approach. The rain had stopped, and Teller had had an unpleasant evening, it must be said.

The thought of being caged up in Hayworth Keep didn't pain him so much. It was the sinking feeling that for all his effort, Veralyr would remain a shrouded chasm out of reach. His ticket to paradise. Teller mocked Dretton for his greedy lust of Jorr's supposed fortune that lay in waiting, but Teller was no different. Who couldn't be motivated by a lovely mock of matz? Every ailment dispensed by this fabulous world would be a worry, no longer. Now, how do I get out of here?

Teller was taken out of the lovely courtyard into a giant room with a square hole. A lift back down into the abyss… Gears protruded from the floor, turning slowly. The rope heaved and worked as the lift approached them. Hayworth's dungeon was situated far below the Keep, down in the metaphorical depths of hell. The dungeon was more of a personal statement than a mass pit of terrifying criminals. Most inhabitants were citizens who stepped into the wrong light of the Hayworth beacon, forced to repent for their err in the face of their unyielding authority.

As they were waiting, the sweet silence of the night was gradually being uprooted. It's not morning already, is it? The two guards flanking Teller turned sharply, with hands resting on the pommel of their swords and eyes darting around. The one on the left approached the closed door they just came through and rested his ear against it. Sweat started beading off the man, following the cracks of uncertainty on his face. Low rumblings of distress could be heard beyond, the quiet of the night unravelling. 

Men started shouting outside the door, the muted commotion transforming into panic as footsteps outside grew louder and louder. Calls to arms were shouted and wailed. The chaotic confusion melted through the walls, and the two guards looked fervently worried. They shuffled on the spot, their grip now tight around the pommel of their sword. The slow clambering of wood coming from the lift behind them ringed in the dimly lit room. 

Two screams sounded, and a thundering explosion reverberated beyond the walls to the outside, making everyone in the room flinch. Stars above, is she here already? Steel clanged amidst struggling cries, which echoed and were cut short at the sound of a whistling knife thrown in the air. Another cry pierced the low hums of chaos, earning a step back and a shuffle from the two guards staring nervously at the door. Another whistling knife, the fall of a sword, and then. Silence.

The cries outside ceased, and lone footsteps grew louder and louder until they were just outside the door. The guards drew their swords and took a step forward-

BANG. The door blew open. Time seemed to slow. Cracked wood splintered in the air and two knives emerged through the fallout. Two whistles echoed. One hole in the neck of each guard. The two of them fell face first, motionless, dead.

Zori laboured in, her dark tan and ashen hair illuminated by the dim glow piercing through into the room. She strode in with a grin plastered from east to west, "What glorious fucking fun! You should get captured more often Tel! My little birds haven't seen this much action in months!". She placed both her spare knives that still yearned to be thrown back in her belt and walked over to the dead guard. She knelt down and removed her "little bird" from the guard's neck. Each knife had a unique collage of holes in the blade so no two sounded the same, each bird its own whistle. Her long, tired, dark brown coat brushed the polished wooden floor as she searched for the keys to Teller's binds. "Zori, we talked about this…" Teller said, begrudgingly.

"Aye, we did. How exactly did you plan on getting out of this giant fucking well of shit?" She said as she procured the keys from the lifeless body, a crude smile creeping on her face. She stood up and walked towards Teller, her thick boots sounding out against the hollow floor, "I would have managed."

"Sure you would," Zori said, coming face-to-face with Teller. She looked down and undid the binds to his hands. The guard's cloth was still tightly wrapped around Teller's hand that lay in a state. "That Dretton's doing?"

Teller nodded, "I thought he might just pull some finger nails off, but he…" Zori unwrapped the cloth to reveal Teller's missing finger. She stared at it for a small moment and then burst out laughing. "Shitting stars! Look at it!" She said in between stomach-curdling laughter, a tear falling from her eye. "Thank you for the sincerity. Could you please wrap it back up?"

Zori regained control of herself, then grabbed his hand. "Hold still," Zori said, throwing the dirty cloth on the floor. She then dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out some clean bandages, "Has he ever tortured someone before?" 

"Not likely. The whole thing was rather amusing if I'm honest."

Zori gave Teller a questioning look.

"Well, mostly."

The bandage ravelled round and round his hand tight, and then she cut it, tying it up at the back. "I've got no disinfectant, so that'll have to do for now."

"It's better than that dirty snot rag,"

Zori smiled. "That it is. So, what happened?"

"We should probably vacate first."

"Sure. Go and grab one of the dead cunt's swords,"

"How can I fight with this?" Teller said, holding up his bandaged hand.

"You got another hand don'tcha? I'm sure you'll 'manage'."

"The art of fighting did not bestow me gifts when I had two functioning hands, now I'm just a liability."

"Or a distraction."

Teller rolled his eyes and walked towards the fallen guard, picking up the sword that lay on the floor and sheathing it in his belt. He then hobbled to the door, laying an arm on the frame, "Have you planned a route out of this place?"

"Err, no, our escape shall have an improvisational spin", Zori said, gesturing a twist with her hand. Teller let out a sigh, "Once we're out, we need to lay low. Venya should let us hole up, hopefully."

"I thought the old cunt hated you?"

"He does," Teller said wistfully. "But there's not exactly a garden of guests ready to bare host for us."

Zori sauntered over cleaning the knife she just removed from the other guard's neck. She twirled it and held it by the blades edge before nodding towards the shattered door, "After you."