A Matter of Reputation (PG-17) (PG-17)

Writers: Estelle, Miriah
Date Posted: 10th May 2020
Series: The Assassin's Story

Characters: Varlin, Cimplan, Derilt
Description: Varlin gets information from one of Lusilk's attackers
Location: Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 2, day 26 of Turn 10
Notes: Notes: Follows SWE: In a Tavern, Vengeance Begins (PG-17), and continues
a flashback which took place 5 Turns ago.
Notes 2: PG-17 for violence
Rating: PG-17

The day was nearly past when the first stirrings of life came from the
man they'd brought to the abandoned cothold, long enough that Varlin had
started to wonder if he'd done more damage than he'd thought with that
blow to the head. He sat by the door, taking advantage of the last of
the afternoon's light to finish cleaning and sharpening the guardsman's
sword. It was not in good repair and had been poorly cared for by its
owner, but it would do the job it was intended for.

Hearing a low groan, he set it aside and went over to the hearth where
Lusena had used to cook their meals. He'd swept out most of the ash and
debris earlier and prepared a small fire, and now he knelt to light it.
Once the flames had caught, he straightened and turned back to face
Cimplan. They'd dragged him in and tied him securely to one of the least
damaged chairs, though Varlin suspected it was hardly necessary in the
man's state. Then they'd taken turns to keep watch.

Derilt was outside, now, but he'd be able to hear well enough, which
suited Varlin. He wanted word to spread of what happened here.

There was a soft groan as Cimplan's eyes began to flutter as he roused
from both drink and blow to his head. He winced at the flicker of
light, for his head pounded unmercifully. Smacking his lips and
confused that his head was not on the soft down pillow that usually
greeted him in the morning, he made to lift his hand to the throbbing
knot at his skull, only to realize that he couldn't move it. "Wha..."
He frowned, blinked groggily and tugged, suddenly alarmed. What had
happened last night? Why couldn't he move? Why was he sitting up? Why
were his hands...

His head lifted and through the bleary fog of his sight, spotted a
blurry figure nearby. He blinked rapidly, then looked around, alarm
sobering him rather quickly. He recognized the wreckage and as he
looked down at himself, clad in a dirty, uniform flecked with remains
of straw and on a chair, realized that he was tied firmly. "What's
goin' on? Untie me or Lord Rorrigraf will have your hide!"

"I doubt Lord Rorrigraf cares much what happens to a bedraggled smear of
dung like you, Cimplan." Varlin let the man struggle for a few moments,
then moved closer, his eyes locking with the former holdless man's. "You
know who I am?"

"Go /between/ and fe..." The voice dropped as Cimplan finally looked
up and stared at Varlin, his eyes flicking over the scar on the cheek,
the eyes, and the build. As Cimplan's face paled, it was clear that he
did indeed recognize the man. Everyone knew who Varlin was, and knew
his reputation, even if they'd never met him. A sickly green tinge
grew around his lips as fear swelled immediately within him. "Yes."
The voice was a whisper.

A vague memory stirred of the previous night, an older holder, buying
him drinks. The holder's image wavered in his mind, but the eyes...the
eyes and Varlin's were the same. He remembered talking about his
duties and what had taken place when he'd captured Lusilk....Varlin's
woman. He felt sick and swallowed convulsively as his eyes flicked to
the sword that the other man held. "Don't...please don't. It wasn't my
fault. I had to help them."

The response was swift, a vicious blow across the bound man's face.
"Don't waste your breath. You've already told me why you did it." Varlin
paused, breathed deep. When he spoke again, his tone was even, almost
pleasant. "You betrayed us because you wanted that guardsman's uniform
and there was no other way to get your filthy hands on Lusilk. You
disgusted her. She'd not have let you lay a finger on her without being
forced." He shook his head. "That was unwise, Cimplan."

The blow seemed to rattle his brain, splitting his lip as he cried out
in pain and surprise. Cimplan felt blood trickle down the side of his
mouth as his head pounded, made worse from the night of excess. Fear
in him grew to an almost panic. "No, I didn't betray you. I never
mentioned you. Just her and her crew. I swear! The other people in the
crew started talking!" Cimplan began to tremble, flexing his hands in
his bonds as he felt his heart began to pound. "Rorrigraf knew about
her already! He's been trying to stop all of us and if I hadn't told
him, he would have killed me!"

Varlin's lip curled in contempt and he didn't hesitate before driving a
fist into the man's gut hard enough that the chair rocked back on its
legs. "I just told you, I'm not interested in your excuses. Far as I'm
concerned, you betrayed one of us, you betrayed us all."

He reached behind him and drew up another chair, then sat with the sword
across his knees, looking directly into Cimplan's face. After a moment's
silence, he drew a knife from his belt and began turning it idly over in
his hands, while behind him the fire crackled and snapped, the light
glinting on the polished metal. "Fortunately for you, I _am_ interested
in finding out how things stand at Rorrigraf's Hold. So if I were you
and I wanted to walk out of here reasonably intact, I'd stop whining and
start thinking about what you know that might be useful."

Cimplan gasped, the blow knocking the wind out of him and causing
gorge to rise up to burn his throat. He wheezed, eyes watering as he
tried to catch his breath and struggled not to vomit. He had been so
sure...so sure that capturing Lusilk would have been the end of it
all. That he would finally have security and status. Everything had
gone so wrong. Fear replaced any bravado that he might have drawn up
with any other man. "Sorry...sorry..."

He coughed and groaned at the pain in his gut, but looked up at Varlin
with pure terror in his eyes. There had to be a way out of it, some
way to get back to the Hold and back to relative safety. He could care
less about Rorrigraf; he only cared for his own skin. "I'll talk. Just
don't kill me. I'll leave here and never come back I swear. The
crew...most of 'em were sent to Rorrigraf's mines. Had show trials
mostly. They was beat before they went. But Lusilk spat in Rorrigraf's
son's face. They want to make an example of her to the other women.
She's kept at the Hold proper in a special cell. Only the Lord and his
son are allowed to go in there, but they parade her out for the women
sometimes after they whip her enough to keep her from struggling. Lord
Rorrigraf...he says he's going to break her."

"But he hasn't." Varlin's fingers tightened on the knife. Lusilk was
strong, and he felt a moment's pride in her defiance, but he knew it
was only a matter of time and he fought the instinct to crush what he
needed out of the man. There would be a way in, and he would find it
with care, not brute force. "That's a good start. Now give me details.
Where is the cell? How many guards? I want the exact layout."

Cimplain swallowed hard as he saw those fingers tighten. "No. But he
will. There's screams sometimes. She can't last forever. That's what
he's counting on." Licking his lips nervously, Cimplan spilled all of
what he knew. "She's kept in the lower levels near the store rooms
where it's dark. The stairs behind the kitchens. There's a long
hallway with two store rooms on each side of the hall. She's in the
last one on the left. There's a guard on the door at all times and the
only time the door's opened is when the Lord Holder or his son goes to
her. She gets fed through a hole that they sawed in the door.
The...the guards, they change out every eight candlemarks. There's
three that's got keys and they take shifts in rotations. All of 'em
are big men but they don't go into the room. Lord Holder said he'd cut
them where it counted if they did. The Lord's son... Raffic...he goes
down there the most. Says he marked her good and proper so she'll
never be able to forget." He swallowed hard and his voice dropped to a
whisper. "Hear told that he branded her."

Varlin bit back a curse, gritted his teeth. **Slow. Take your time.
They'll pay.** "Go on. Any more guards in the hall? And the food, do the
drudges bring it?"

Slowly, he drew the details out of the captured man. The names of the
guards, the lock, the use of the other storerooms, the times the Lord
Holder and his son visited, where they took her when they brought her
out. Then, as the night drew in, he went over the questions again and
again, burning the responses into his mind, encouraging the snivelling
Cimplan with his knife whenever he complained of exhaustion or lack of
memory.

At last, when the sky outside the windows had long since turned black
and the fire burned low, he turned over the knife between his fingers
one last time, then sheathed it and got to his feet, the sword in his
hand. "Well. Looks like we're done here."

Cimplan licked his dry lips and a flicker of hope showed in his eyes.
"I told you everything. I'll leave here. I'll never say anything. I'll
go west and you'll never see or hear from me again." If Rorrigraf ever
found out what he'd told, his life would be ended; surely Varlin would
realize that. "I swear."

The bandit lifted the sword, ran a finger lightly along the edge. "You
know who I am," he said, his voice mild. "You know how I make a living.
I deal with problems, for those who can pay. I remove...obstacles, shall
we say, in their way." He turned his wrist, watched how the light of the
flames flickered off the blade. "Most people want it done clean and
quiet, have it made to look like an accident. That's the way I prefer
it, actually. Less risky. But now and then, I'll be asked to make
someone suffer. You would be amazed, Cimplan. How much some people can
hate."

He looked down at the man in the chair, his gaze bone-cold. "I always do
exactly what I'm paid for. Even if I could make it quick and no-one
would be any the wiser. It's a matter of reputation. Without my
reputation, I'd be just another starving, holdless wretch, fighting for
scraps. So. When someone forces himself on my woman, beats her and gives
her up to Rorrigraf and his spawn for their vile games, and then boasts
about it to all and sundry...I can't let it pass. A message has to be sent."

Wet heat bloomed in Cimplan's trousers, a acrid smell drifting upwards
as, in fear, Cimplan's bladder released. He barely noticed it as he
stared in horror at Varlin and his face went ashen. Slowly, he shook
his head from side to side and he began to plead with the man.
"No...no no...I'm sorry. I swear! I didn't mean to do anything.
Please, Varlin, please....don't kill me. Don't kill me! I'll do
anything you want! Please! You can have everything I own! Everything?
My sister...she's at the Hold. She'll come to you whenever you want!
I'll make sure the guards never find you or question you about
anything! Just don't kill me!"

Varlin looked down at him with a bitter twist of his mouth. "Funny. In a
short while, I'll wager you'll be begging me to finish you. Maybe I'll
listen." He let the point of the sword drift up to the guard's face,
following the line of the scar Lusilk had given him, in this same room,
when they'd come for her. "Then again, maybe I won't."

Outside, in the still darkness of the night, the screams echoed with
hideous clarity. They seemed to last forever, growing more incoherent,
more animal, and then at last they were cut off with a rattling gasp,
and it was over.

Varlin emerged from the cot, empty-handed, and plunged his hands into a
barrel that stood outside, watching the dark clouds of crimson spreading
in the water. He splashed his face, shaking the droplets out of his
hair. The sword he'd left inside, buried in the chest of the man who'd
betrayed them. It would do, for a message.

"Well. I got what I needed." He looked over at Derilt. "We'll have
someone tip off the guards that he's here. I want them on edge. Knowing
I'm coming for them."

Derilt was sickly pale, but looked resolved as he approached. "Easy,
lad." His voice was soft. "Think cautiously. You let the guards know,
and they'll report to Lord Rorrigraf. He'll kill the girl. Send word
after you've go her. Let them think you're coming for more of them
after. The both of you. But get her out first."

The holdless man looked up, his body tense like a wild animal, waiting
to spring. "You don't know what they did to her." His voice was low,
dangerous, his eyes nearly black in the darkness. "What they're still
doing. Right now."

Derilt shook his head and held up a hand placatingly. "No, but I've a
fair idea of what they'd do to her. Rorrigraf is much like his father
was, so I can well imagine. But take a moment and really think about
what would be safest for the both of you. You go in with blades flying
and them ready for you, you might end up in a cell and she'll be worse
off or dead. Have a plan ready first and don't let them expect you.
You get past those guards and get her out. Then plan your revenge."

Varlin stared at him for a long moment. Cimplan's blood hadn't satisfied
him. It wasn't enough. He wanted more. Every man who'd been in Lusena's
cothold, to die like that, as if killing the guard had snapped the tight
control he'd kept on his rage since he'd found out what happened here.
Then he let out a breath, the tension in his body easing a fraction. The
Lord Holder wanted him caught too, had done for a long time. He wouldn't
give Rorrigraf that.

"You're right." He glanced back at the door of the cot, the darkness
inside. "Let's get out of here."

Derilt nodded slowly. "Aye. Then I'll help you plan."

Last updated on the May 31st 2020

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A Matter of Reputation (PG-17) (PG-17)