52

  Sam’Sun stepped from the carriage, a heavy fur-lined shawl thrown around his shoulders to ward off the misting rain and a scowl on his heavy set features. Eight more Goblins stepped out of two other carriages around him and fell into a loose square formation around the Ustr’aa. Sam’sun looked up at the ornate, red tiled building before him. He had only been here once before in his life, and that was an occasion he’d rather not think about. He strode slowly and deliberately through the ornate gardens leading to the building, with only moonlight and a few decorative lamps to light his way. As they approached, he saw the small, dark figures of Gnomes fanning out and silently surrounding them. Sam’Sun’s guards noticed this too. He felt a ripple of tension run through them. Sam’Sun grunted and gave them a minute wave of two fingers, telling them to remain calm. The Goblins drew tighter around their leader, but they did not falter as they marched further into the ominous circle of black clad Gnomes. Sam’Sun stopped outside the wide double doors of the building. One of the Goblins raised a fist to beat on the door when it opened. An elderly Gnome with a wispy white beard, dressed in a black tunic and flowing black trousers, bowed to Sam’Sun.

  “The Yano requests your presence alone, Sam’Sun Gana,” the old Gnome said, still bowing.

  “Two of my Goblins will accompany me,” Sam’Sun said. “The rest will remain here.”

  The Gnome looked up as if to question Sam’Sun but then thought better of it. He nodded and bowed again before turning and ambling into the building. Sam’Sun nodded at two of his guards to follow him. He stepped into the building and breathed deeply. It smelt pleasantly of rich woods and sweat. Sam’Sun took off his sandals without being asked and motioned for his guard to do the same while the Gnome bowed in gratitude. The floor was lined with bamboo and heavy rush matting. There was a station to the left of the thin, cotton doors for one to cleanse themselves before entering. Sam’Sun delicately dabbed his fingertips in the bowl and ran them across his scalp as was Gnommish tradition.

  “The Yano awaits your presence in the main dojo, Sam’Sun Gana.” The elderly Gnome said, holding up his arm to show Sam’Sun the way.

  “Wait,” Sam’Sun commanded his guards before following the Gnome into the dojo hall.

  Gnomes were famed swordsmen, perhaps even more skilled than the Goblins, who chose effective and bloody tactics over beauty and skill. The Gnomes however, had turned fencing into a national pastime and art form. Two Gnomes in heavily padded sparring uniforms and mesh masks circled and jabbed at one another with blunt tipped rapiers. The blades swished and whipped almost faster than the eye could see. The fencers danced and pirouetted as gracefully as lake birds before striking like coiled snakes. Sam’Sun took a moment to admire the beauty of the craft before looking past them to a figure kneeling on a black cushion, watching the sport intently.

  The Yano was dressed in a traditional and simple black kimono. His hair was tied into a high bun and a red fan rested on his lap. When he saw Sam’Sun he raised his fan and snapped it shut. Almost instantly, the fencers stopped. They lowered their rapiers and bowed to one another before turning to the Yano and bowing deeply. They quickly filed out of the room with a few other servants and onlookers, leaving the Yano and Sam’Sun alone. Sam’Sun crossed the bamboo floor and stood imperiously before the Yano. Neither of them spoke for a moment. The Yano shifted in his kneeling position and then looked up at Sam’Sun.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Sam’Sun said nothing.

  “I need an explanation, Sam’Sun,” the Yano said, his voice testy.

  “I was about to say the same thing,” Sam’Sun replied. “You summon me here as if I am one of your minions to be called across the city in the middle of the night. It is only the respect I bear for you that I have come.”

  “Respect?” the Yano spat the word and glared hotly up at Sam’Sun. “I have never known you to play the fool, Sam’Sun.”

  “And I have never suffered being called one,” Sam’Sun growled at him.

  Silence thickened between them for a few moments.

  “Please don’t pretend you don’t know what has happened,” the Yano said.

  Sam’Sun looked at him and said nothing.

  “Fine,” the Yano snapped and then clicked his fingers.

  A door to Sam’Sun’s left slid open. Reluctantly, Sam’Sun took his eyes from the Yano and looked over. He saw his nephew, bloody and badly beaten, his hands bound before him, being walked into the room by half a dozen armed Gnomes, their steels bared and pointed directly at Ruf’Gar. A sudden torrent of rage exploded in Sam’Sun’s gut. In an instant, he could be across the room. He would snap the Yano’s neck in one hand and fling him into the Gnomes surrounding Ruf’Gar, before bringing his hammer fists and tusks to bear. He could crush the diminutive warriors with a single blow, cracking their skulls and snapping their spines under the weight of his fury. The anger was so palpable Sam’Sun tasted it in the back of his throat, and he heard a bone in his neck click as the muscles in his shoulders bunched and readied. On the surface, however, Sam’Sun’s only reaction was a slow blink. He turned to the Yano, his eyes smouldering with cold fury.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Sam’Sun’s voice was little more than a rumble.

  “You tell me,” the Yano said. “We found your nephew and his friends in one of our restaurants, surrounded by a dozen dead Gnomes. Three of them were members.”

  The fury dissipated slightly and cold logic took its place.

  “Nephew?” Sam’Sun said. “What has happened here?”

  Ruf'Gar looked away from his uncle, shame clear in his eyes.

  “Speak!” the Yano spat at him.

  “I will not speak to my uncle bound like some fucking hog to the slaughter!” Rufi snarled.

  Sam’Sun had to suppress a smirk. His nephew’s insolence was always admirable.

  “Untie my nephew,” Sam’Sun said to the Yano.

  “Did you not hear me?” Yano said. “He…”

  “I do not care,” Sam’Sun said. “You will untie him and surrender him into my custody. If he has done wrong, then it will be by my hand that his punishment is dealt out. That is how this works, Yano. I should not have to remind you of this.”

  Yano clenched his jaw and breathed deeply.

  “Untie him,” he said, his voice deathly calm.

  A Gnome to Ruf’Gar’s right produced a curved dagger and sliced open the ropes binding his wrists. Ruf’Gar pushed past the ring of Gnomes and limped towards Sam’Sun. As he drew closer, Sam’Sun saw the damage inflicted on his nephew. One side of his face was completely swollen, his lips bloody and raw. His nose looked bent, and his body curled to one side as if it had been smashed and deformed. He limped badly, wincing with every step.

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  “What have they done to you, nephew of my blood?” Sam’Sun said in Kittei.

  “Not them, my father's brother,” Ruf’Gar replied.

  “You will speak Forreste!” the Yano commanded them.

  Sam’Sun looked down at the Yano and then sighed. He slowly lowered himself to sit cross legged before the Yano and motioned for Ruf’Gar to do the same. It took his nephew a few unsteady moments to lower his broken body to a kneeling position.

  “What has happened here, Yano?” Sam’Sun asked, his tone reasonable.

  “My men reported the restaurant going dark, much earlier than closing time. They were sent to investigate and found the front door barred shut.” the Yano said. “Upon entering the Golden Bowl, they discovered your nephew and three other Goblins, weapons drawn, in our backroom. All the waiters, the chefs, the workers, and three members of the Triad were all dead. Butchered. The place looked like an abattoir.”

  “And you believe my nephew killed these creatures?” Sam’Sun asked.

  “Wouldn’t you?"

  “And then you bound him and brought him here?”

  “My men did, yes.”

  “And they beat him?”

  “No. He already looked like that when we found him.”

  Sam’Sun nodded and sighed again.

  “Ruf’Gar, what happened?”

  His nephew shifted and then grunted in pain before speaking.

  “I went to the Golden Bowl to speak to Tiko. When we arrived, everyone was already dead. We were just leaving when the Triads busted in, and then the police raided, and we were bundled into a coach and brought here.”

  “And you have been treated with dignity?” Sam’Sun asked, and Ruf’Gar nodded.

  “It was all I could do to stop my Triad from butchering him and his friends where they stood,” the Yano said.

  “And you would be a poor leader if you could not do even that,” Sam’Sun growled.

  The Yano glared coldly at Sam’Sun.

  “And am I supposed to simply take your nephew’s word for this? That he just happened to arrive after the killings and did not see who did it?” the Yano said. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  “No,” Sam’Sun said.

  “Then place yourself in my shoes, imagine one of my men was found with a dozen butchered Goblins, would you simply take them at their word?”

  Sam’Sun thought about this for a moment.

  “I would certainly be suspicious,” Sam’Sun said. “But then I would also think that such an act would only happen if it had been sanctioned. And then I would wonder if I was at war with the Triad. Are we at war, Yano?”

  “Not yet,” the Yano replied.

  “Good. Then I doubt my nephew would have butchered your creatures.”

  “Then what was he doing there?”

  Sam’Sun turned his head to look at Ruf’Gar.

  “What were you doing there? And what has happened to you?”

  “I… I was there to confront Tiko,” Ruf’Gar said, his head bowed.

  “Why?” Sam’Sun growled.

  “Because… I thought he had set me up. Me and Tiko have done a bit of business in the past,” Ruf’Gar said. “I’ve supplied vegetables for the restaurant, things like that. Anyway, I received a message from him earlier tonight, asking me to meet up with him. When I got there, it was an ambush.”

  “An ambush?” Sam’Sun growled.

  “There was a Troll waiting for me,” Ruf’Gar said, swallowing and wincing at the memory. “And it was a real Troll, one of those mountainside ones. Biggest fucking thing I’ve ever seen up close. The doors were locked, and I had to fight my way out.”

  “A mountain Troll?” Sam’Sun said, his eyes widening slightly.

  “And you fought it alone?” the Yano said. “And you’re still alive? Am I expected to believe this tall tale?”

  "Well, you can go and find the fucker's corpse if you want!” Ruf’Gar snapped at him.

  “He’s dead?” Yano said.

  “Yeah, and before he died, he told me who sent him.” Ruf’Gar’s one good eye bored into Yano. “He said the little people sent him to kill me.”

  Sam’Sun looked from Ruf’Gar to the Yano.

  “That’s nonsense!” the Yano spat. “Why would I send a Troll to kill you? If I wanted you dead, boy, I could do it a hundred ways without you ever knowing!”

  Ruf’Gar opened his mouth to respond but Sam’Sun held up his hand.

  “Yano is right, nephew. If he wanted you dead, you would be dead, and you would never know it was coming. Where is this Troll’s body?”

  “Down the abandoned terraces in Auburn Court,” Ruf’Gar replied.

  “You can send creatures to find this?” Sam’Sun asked the Yano, who gave a terse nod and spat something in Gnommish to one of his Triad.

  He nodded, bowed, and quickly left the room with two other Gnomes on his heels.

  “So you went to the restaurant to confront Tiko?” Sam’Sun asked, and Ruf’Gar nodded. “But why did you believe this Tiko wanted you dead?”

  Ruf’Gar hesitated and then shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I was just… I wasn’t thinking, the red mist was on me, and I just wanted to…” Ruf’Gar stopped mid-sentence.

  “To butcher something,” the Yano finished for his, his syllables clipped and his voice cold.

  “Yeah alright,” Ruf’Gar nodded. “I probably would have beaten Yano to a pulp, but I wouldn’t kill civilians. Why the fuck would I kill cooks and women? We don’t do that.”

  Sam’Sun sighed and took a deep breath.

  “So, someone impersonated this Tiko to lure my nephew into a trap. The trap failed, and on the word of a dying Troll, he comes storming into your restaurant to find this same Gnome, Tiko, murdered along with a dozen other creatures. Then, your men just happen to descend upon the restaurant at that exact moment, closely followed by the police?”

  For the first time, Sam’Sun saw doubt flicker into the Yano’s eyes. He might be angry, but Yano was no fool. He was cold and meticulous and could smell a setup from a mile away.

  “You believe someone is manoeuvring us into conflict?” the Yano asked.

  “I believe you have no reason to employ a Troll to kill my nephew. I believe my nephew, no matter how upset he may be, would ever kill a dozen civilians, let alone butcher them like animals.” Sam’Sun said.

  “So it was all just a coincidence?” the Yano said, sounding unconvinced.

  “I don’t believe in coincidence. Someone wanted my nephew dead. That same someone was clever enough to have a contingency. They wanted your Gnome Tiko dead as well. They wanted my nephew to be blamed for his death. And they wanted us to spill each other’s blood.” Sam’Sun looked at the Yano with curious eyes. “This all stinks of internal Gnommish politics. Whatever game is being played on your side of the board, Yano, it has now spilled onto my side, and I do not appreciate that.”

  The Yano looked like he wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes were distant and his brows creased in thought. The Gnomes who had left came hurrying back into the room. They bowed to Yano and began frantically conversing in Gnommihsh.

  “So we can understand,” Sam’Sun interjected, and the Yano nodded for the Gnomes to proceed.

  “We went to abandoned houses. One of the doors had been kicked off. We went inside and… there was blood everywhere. The place was half destroyed.”

  “And the Troll?” Yano questioned.

  “Gone,” the Gnome said. “There was so much blood and… bits of flesh everywhere. We think… we think they cut up the Troll so they could move him. There were axe marks all over the floors and scraps of meat and innards everywhere. And we found this.” The Gnome pulled a thick, leathery flap of skin with tufts of coarse hair sticking out of it from a sack and held it up to Yano.

  Yano pulled a disgusted face at the skin. Sam’Sun took it and gave it a sniff, feeling the tough skin in his hands.

  “This is the skin of a mountain Troll,” Sam’Sun said.

  “His scalp,” Ruf’Gar said.

  “What?” the Yano said.

  “It’s his scalp. I took it off with my tomahawk. It was barely hanging on. It must have come off when we fell through the stairs.”

  Sam’Sun looked from his nephew to the Yano.

  “It seems, old friend, we have an enemy in the shadows,” Sam’Sun said.

  The Yano stared at the flap of skin, an inscrutable look on his pale face.

  “It would seem so,” he muttered quietly.