“I see,” the armorer said. “Classic problem. Protect yourself from a deathblow at the cost of losing a limb, or keep your limbs but risk a spear to the heart. Well, tell me about your fighting style. Hiranyan or Kin’jali Balarian?”
“Neither, actually,” Vir said. “My style relies on mobility and dodging. And a bit of acrobatics.”
“Bah! You’re one of the flashy ones, are you? Well, in that case, I don’t recommend the brig. Sure, it won’t impede you much, but you’ll still feel it. Better to go for the plate greaves and bracers. You can even use them to block attacks. Like a makeshift shield.”
Vir hadn’t considered that, but it could certainly work, if the steel was thick enough, and of high enough quality. And in fact, he could use them for offense too. A bracer strike might not do much damage on its own, but an Empowered bracer? That could hurt. Doubly true for an Empowered kick with shin greaves on.
“Alright. I’ll go for the plate bracer and greaves. I’ve got five silvers, so I’ll have to buy this most basic set.”
The armorer narrowed his eyes. “Sorry, friend, but that set won’t work for you,” he said, taking the bracer off the straw dummy. The steel bent in his hand. “They’re cheap for a reason. More for show than anything else. If you’re wanting protection, you’ll be needing at least this.”
The armorer handed Vir a bracer off another dummy that was noticeably heavier. Not so much that it’d affect his mobility, but it felt far sturdier than the other one.
“How much?” Vir asked.
“Ten for bracers and greaves. Five if you just want the bracers.”
Vir had come in here expecting to walk out with a full protection solution. Maybe not decked out in armor, but enough to offset the risks he’d face in the sewers, at least. Bracers without shin greaves wouldn’t do much for him.
“Is there anything else?” Vir asked.
“Well… I might have something. But you’re not going to like it,” the bald, hooded man said, walking over to his counter. He crouched and rummaged around behind the counter for a moment, then produced a set of bracers and greaves.
Beautiful! Was Vir’s first reaction. Gaudy! Was his second.
Both the greaves and the bracers had intricate red and gold inlays that made the armor pieces look more like ceremonial armor than anything functional. Even the steel was polished far beyond what it ought to be. And the most striking thing was how the greaves had both shin and thigh parts, with a separate steel knee plate.
“Alright, so this armor may be a tad more restrictive than what you were looking for, seeing as how it covers everything from your waist down. But the segmentation is rather well done. I’ve tried it on myself; it’s quite mobile.”
“Sure,” Vir replied. “But what of the cost? I can’t afford anything this fancy.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” the armorer said with a grimace. “I know the blacksmith who made this. The guy’s obsessed with decorations, but he can’t afford the real deal. This isn’t gold, friend. It’s fool’s gold. Doesn’t even look like the real thing! There isn’t a single Sawai who would touch this stuff. And few warriors want to wear this gaudy thing to battle. This has sat on my shelf for half a year. Can’t get rid of it.”
“And?” Vir asked cautiously. “How much do you want for it?”
“Friend, the steel in this set makes it worth ten silvers, easy. But, given its other qualities, I’ll let it go for seven.”
Vir’s face fell. “Seven is literally all the money I have. Five was stretching it, but the most I can do is six. No point having armor if I’m gonna starve. I’ve got a bandy and an Ash’va with a bum leg to look after, too.”
The armorer leaned on the counter and looked Vir up and down. “Well, y’know. You’re an Initiate, right? Five percent discount… Well, I was never all that good at my numbers. Five percent sounds like a silver off of seven to me. Sound right to you?”
Vir barely suppressed his grin. “Sounds about right to me.”
He spent the next half hour getting fitted for the armor. The alteration process would take another day, so the set would only be ready for him tomorrow. Even then, Vir doubted he’d use it for this upcoming mission. Stealth was a priority, and these pieces were not. Vir doubted that he’d be doing very many assassination missions in the future—hoped he wouldn’t, rather—so this didn’t strike him as too much of a downside. Especially when they could be painted black or hidden under clothing. Besides, if he needed armor for an assassination mission, that meant he’d done something horribly wrong. Rather than slugging it out, he’d simply Dance to safety, after all.
As it was, the armor wasn’t ideal for stealthy operations. But then, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and this was only his first set. For now, it’d protect not only his forearms and shins, but his whole leg, too.
Having tried it on and worked through some moves, its weight was noticeable. He’d have to get used to fighting with it, but the armorer had been right. It wasn’t restrictive enough to compromise his acrobatics.
Vir also ended up selling his old training katar. The rusted iron weapon was hardly useful in combat. In fact, Vir hadn’t even used it once. It’d fetched a pittance of thirty coppers, but he used the funds to pay for having his chakrams and chakris sharpened up. He’d pick those up from the armorer tomorrow when he returned for the armor.
With his affairs in order, Vir retrieved Neel and set out.
He was on the clock for this contract, and if Ravin was to die by Vir’s hands, he needed to know everything about the man.
Vir left the Brotherhood Sanctum, not as a villager of Brij, but as a judge and executioner.
83RAVIN – OF THE WARRENS
It was a long walk out to the eastern gate, and an even longer one to the Warrens outside of town. Bumpy would’ve made the journey in less than an hour, but Vir didn’t dare take the gentle beast to the slums. Ash’va weren’t exactly cheap, and Bumpy had no means to defend himself. He’d be a prime target for theft.
Neel, on the other hand, could take out an entire group of ruffians on his own. Thanks to Vir’s training, the bandy could give his professionally groomed hunting brethren a run for their money.
Despite taking less crowded alleys and leveraging rooftops where he could, it still took Vir an hour to make it to Daha’s western gate. From there, he crossed the enormous drawbridge spanning the Grand Moat and made his way into the Warrens.
He’d almost forgotten about the reeking stench that polluted the air. It was the smell of unwashed humans and excrement, and it nearly made him gag.
The Brotherhood mentioned that Ravin was somewhere northeast of the Warrens. They’d given him details about Ravin’s habits—how he slept early after dinner—and information on his guards, but Vir wanted to do his own reconnaissance. As much as he trusted the Brotherhood’s agents, there was no substitute for his own eyes.
It took him another hour to make his way there, and his feet were already protesting by the time he arrived. Neel enjoyed every moment, often bounding ahead and waiting expectantly for Vir to race him.
There was no racing. The slums were crowded, yet people thronged the Warrens. To rush through there was folly, and Vir wasn’t going to burn Ash prana using Dance or Leap.
The Warrens were a fascinating place, if one got past the smell and the poverty. On one end, buildings lined the Grand Moat. There weren’t even walls or barriers preventing people from falling in—some homes butted up only inches away from the sheer drop-off. One false step would mean falling into the moat. At thirty paces in depth, a fall would likely be fatal, but even if it wasn’t, Vir doubted anyone could easily climb out after.