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The Skill Thief's Canvas - Chapter 74 (Book 3 Chapter 13)
🕑 Added 2025-04-09 06:23:06 +0000 UTCFollowing the elven woman was accidental – though Nayt struggled to convince himself of that later. The word 'follow' implied both intent and cunning, and he considered himself capable of neither. His careful strategy consisting of "wait until her friends leave so we have a moment to speak alone" had unintentionally evolved into "wait for far too long, and start to feel rather creepy."
But eventually, probably out of the universe's sheer boredom with his attempt, the moment did finally arrive.
It came shortly after she bade farewell to her companions – possibly mentioning plans for Nayt's swift and violent demise, although his lip-reading was barely good enough to distinguish "kill Nayt" from "fill plate" – and after aimless hours wandering through the Hidden Village.
I really didn't mean to follow her, he thought again, as if to convince himself. Still, it's interesting to watch her first impression of everything here.
She wandered cheerfully through stalls brimming with overpriced elven items, smiling in quiet surrender as merchants fleeced her just as cheerfully. Nayt recognized that smile: the embarrassed grimace of someone realizing that those magic tools shouldn't have cost a week's wages, and that any other elf wouldn't have paid a tenth of the price she did.
Most other elves, at least. He'd paid similar unofficial taxes himself – the universal charge for having an imperial accent, wearing imperial clothes, and carrying imperial titles. Hangman for him, Heiress of Gama for her.
Admittedly, having served the man who'd reduced Greenisle to smoldering ash...Nayt felt that he probably deserved the surcharge. That said, her only crime had been to survive that very same massacre. It hardly seemed fair.
Yet despite how unfair it may be, he could understand the elves' feelings. Most would be hesitant to treat the woman raised as a human princess as one of their own.
And...what's her name again?
In Nayt's mind, she had been firmly designated as 'the immortal elf who stomped my face in for the Pretender's cause, whatever that cause was, I slept through the Hangman meeting on the matter.' Not the catchiest of titles – and certainly not one she'd appreciate hearing repeated aloud.
Mayhaps I should shorten it. Call her the Stomper.
She'd loathe it all the same, but she was going to hate him for other more practical reasons anyhow, so why bother memorizing her actual name? Remembering things was such a pain. Summoning the energy required for it never seemed worth it nowadays.
That was when he caught sight of her staring at the village beneath with a longing smile. Her eyes flickered between the gleaming, overpriced pocketwatch she'd recently acquired, and the carefree laughter of elves below – laughter that mysteriously evaporated whenever she ventured too close.
Bittersweet nostalgia crept across her expression, building slowly before culminating in a sigh so profound it might have deflated lesser lungs entirely.
Solara. Her name was Solara.
"Would you mind terribly if I sat beside you?" Nayt asked bluntly.
If the woman was surprised at his intrusion, she did not show it. "How curious," said Solara the Stomper, her tone sharp. "You bend the knee to the man who slaughtered our home city, lead an assault to condemn Penumbria to the same fate, and now declare yourself champion of elves by stealing the Tesouro Prateado. All of this you do without so much as a second thought – so much as an apology to the Mother of the Forest. But sitting beside me has you asking for permission?"
Nayt regarded her for a long time. He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck in a vain attempt to fill in the silence. "Fuck me for trying to be polite, I guess," he muttered, shaking his head and sinking beside her as he sat beneath the tree.
Very well. I must now find something to make this less uncomfortable. Nearly a full minute passed before he said anything. "Ah, would you look at that! Those leaves are looking mighty beautiful now that their color is changing, don't you think?"
Nayt fell quiet, his tone yielding the right-of-way to her – like a swordsman who was waiting for their practice partner to move first, lest they grow impatient and lash out.
Solara noticed this, and refused the invitation.
"It's not often that we get a chance to speak to other elves." Nayt spoke with a tired voice and a lazy accusation, implying that the two of them were different from the Greenisle survivors in the village. And am I wrong? "Must you insist on silence?"
"That depends on you, Hangman," Solara said. Nayt could've sworn that her words rang of joy – the fact that he knew otherwise felt unnerving. How can a smile threaten violence? "Are you intending on giving me the Tesouro Prateado?"
"No," he said, shaking his head in apology. "I'm afraid I cannot do that." Granted, he wasn't entirely convinced he was worthy of using it, either.
She nodded slowly. "And will you kill yourself?"
"My evening plans did not include that, no."
"Then you have nothing that would warrant my attention, Hangman."
The Lady of Gama was already not facing him, but now she turned her neck away even further to make her point.
Can't exactly blame her, Nayt mused. It matched the "welcome" he'd received; warm as an ice cube, and gentle as Solara's boot to his face. A part of him – a childish part – had clung on to the idea that he would be forgiven, mayhaps even thanked for his sacrifice, if only they knew the truth.
A foolish notion. The best he'd gotten was people like Elder Lorival, who saw him as a fine blade to be wielded, and even they still thought his edge was double-sided. Few understood his reasons, fewer believed them, and none granted him forgiveness.
This was a fate he'd sought himself, and had long come to accept...yet he couldn't help but try it again, one more time.
"I left Greenisle in search of adventure," Nayt said. "I'd hoped that spreading an elven legend across the human lands would mend the fractures caused by the Dragons when they left. That's why I became a Hangman. It was before Greenisle – I never thought Ciro would order the slaughter of our people. I...tried to stop him, you know."
Solara turned to face him for the first time. "Must not have tried very hard." She sounded as cold as the winds of winter outside of the village. "You wouldn't be standing before me right now if you had."
I'm sitting, he wanted to say, but that jest felt too exhausting at the moment. Even the sigh he exhaled in response drained him. "Trust me, I considered dying right there. But what would that have accomplished? Self-satisfaction?"
He laughed at the thought. "Much better to live and take the Emperor's orbs until I had the chance to avenge us – to protect the ones who remained."
"Sounds like an excuse to help soothe your conscience while murdering thousands of innocents on behalf of our people's nemesis. There were other ways."
Nayt laughed sadly, casting his eyes downward. "Aye, you tell no lies – and you cleverly spot the ones that I told to myself. Until..."
"Until?" Solara inquired.
"Until I crossed blades with a Puppet," he said fondly. His duel with Ferrero Acerro had been one of his very few memories he enjoyed looking back on.
Had I more of those, I wouldn't need to dull my feelings so much. "Would you believe me if I said that his sword struck so true as to stab away the lies in my heart?"
"No." Her face twisted in a combination of confusion and revulsion typically reserved for finding horseshit stuck to your boot. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Nayt allowed himself a small, bittersweet chuckle. Well, it does sound like I'm just saying nonsense to annoy her, doesn't it? But he meant it.
Every word.
"I don't plan on escaping my due punishment," Nayt told her through a yawn. He stretched, leaning back further against the tree trunk. "Even were I to assist in killing the Emperor–"
"Which I doubt," Solara interjected.
"–His successor would still have me punished for the crimes I committed as a Hangman." Nayt shrugged. "Should the Emperor perish, I will accept my execution with pride. You wish for me to kill myself? Fine, I shall do so. But let's not waste this life of mine. There's two things I still need to do. One, I need to slay Emperor Ciro."
At this, the Lady of Gama's curiosity was piqued. "And the second?"
Despite himself, despite feeling like the expression should have been banished from his sinful face, despite feeling he didn't deserve it – Nayt smiled. "I have a promise to keep."
Images of the duel in Penumbria flashed through his mind, as they often did nowadays. He could not best him, even in his memories. Parries, footwork, a miracle, a challenger!
Damned be the Pretender's paintings – that Puppet's swordsmanship was true art.
"It seems we must finish this duel some other day," Ferrero had said.
"I swear it," Nayt had replied.
Their promise had resurrected him, in a way. Though he accepted that killing the Emperor would end with his execution, Nayt felt alive for the first time in nearly a decade.
"And you ask me to just sit by and watch this happen?" Solara demanded of him. "To become the only elf in a hundred years able to command a Genius Realm, yet do nothing as one of our people's most sacred treasures is entrusted to a Hangman?"
Here, Nayt realized that her dislike of him was multifaceted. There was the anguish over his serving the Emperor, yes – but there was also the resentment that came with seeing receive more glory than her, when her only crime was to have been robbed of her hometown.
People don't like me more than you. I just came first. You see the treasure as an honor, but it's closer to a ritual of suicide. They mistrust you, but they haven't denied you because of that.
Nayt thought long and hard about whether to say any of that, only to decide against it. He believed every word, but something about Solara's demeanor made him think that she wouldn't believe him if it came from his lips.
At least silence would give her the chance to reach that conclusion herself one day.
"Is there anything I can do to convince you to trust me?" Nayt asked. "I intend on betraying the Emperor, we fight the same enemy – please. Cooperation will make things so much easier. Is there anything?"
"Yes."
Nayt's brief satisfaction faded when he realized it hadn't been Solara who spoke to him. Both of them turned their heads to face the owner of this new voice, who stood silhouetted against the setting sun, her arms crossed.
Who is this again? He thought. I feel like I've seen her recently...
Ah.
"My apologies, Detective," he said to the newcomer. "I didn't recognize you without the feathers and beak."
Her name still eluded him entirely, but names were complicated – surely 'Detective Crow' would suffice for now. There was probably a reason why she'd been a bird when they first met, but Nayt couldn't bring himself to care.
This one is an elf too, he thought absently. Her ears were trimmed. Cut to look more like a human. But she's an elf regardless.
Which meant he would hide nothing from her. Nayt's debt to elvenkind was too large; no amount of riches could ever repay it. "Anyhow, do name the task," he told her, "and I shall see it done."
"Answer my questions," said the Detective. "Nothing else."
"It will be my honor."
"No honor in it, I'm afraid – the questions will be quite rude." The Detective smirked and took a seat beside them. Solara acknowledged her presence with a hesitant nod, but said nothing. "Allow me to start with this: Elder Lorival! Do you have any memories of him from Greenisle?"
Nayt squinted and brought a hand to his chin. "I suppose the answer is yes, but it hardly seems relevant considering how much he's changed since."
Solara turned around with a sudden interest. "What changed? I was too young at the time, so I don't really remember him, or anyone else from the Council."
"Better to ask what didn't change." Nayt chuckled at the memory. He wasn't particularly close with the Elder, but they'd been of the same age around the time he departed Greenisle. "Lorival was a loudmouth whose presence in the council was a mystery. None of our Elders wanted to admit that they were the ones to recommend him the title of apprentice."
The Detective Crow nodded thoughtfully. It was still odd to see her with an elven body, rather than the bird form she'd observed his duel with. "That does match with what I've learned from interrogating a few people. He was unpopular because of his mad ideas, yes?"
Nayt raised an eyebrow. "Unpopular would mean that someone took him seriously enough to dislike him. He was little more than a joke."
"What sort of jokes?" Solara asked.
"That we should have abandoned Greenisle."
Nayt invited the others to laugh at the irony alongside him – and was left surprised when neither took him up on it. Solara winced, the irony seeming more bitter than sweet to her. The Crow's reaction confused him entirely: her grin widened, she licked her lips, then let out a soft self-satisfied hum.
I wonder if I don't understand women...or if those two are just odd. Nayt considered the point again. Could be both. He considered the point further. In fairness, I don't think I understand men either.
He tilted his head low in deep focus. What was I thinking about, again? After what Nayt hoped was only a minute, he looked at the two elves and went on as if he hadn't delayed at all.
"Change. Lorival advocated for change – to return to some of the old ways, and to abandon others entirely. Neither traditionalists nor revolutionaries liked him much. Notably, he was of the opinion that anywhere the Empire had knowledge of was a dangerous place to live in."
Solara shook her head and bit her lip. "I know hindsight is the clearest of visions, yet I must ask – why did no one take him seriously back then? Even if you didn't share his opinion, it doesn't sound that outlandish."
"Because at the time, the idea of actually attacking Greenisle, of bypassing the Elven tools left to us by the Ancient Dragons, seemed downright absurd."
Nayt sighed. "Still does, if you ask me. But it happened, though I know not how."
"I confess the specifics of the matter elude me as well," said the Detective. "We know that the Duke of Dread took it upon himself to serve the Empire's wishes, yet as to how their forces breached Greenisle's defenses so easily...why, it's quite the mystery, isn't it? Pity there's not a living soul that knows the answer."
The Detective paused meaningfully, turning her gaze towards the Heiress of Gama.
Solara quickly leaned forward, her face alighting with fury. "My father knows nothing about it!" she snapped. "He arrived after the Duke of Dread and Belmordo's initial assault, and by that time Greenisle's defenses had already fallen!"
"You misinterpret me, my lady." She gave something between a bow and a shrug. "That was a look of annoyance, not accusation. Belmordo would have known of the secret, but Lord Adam slew him too quickly."
"And how is that my fault?" Solara demanded.
"He isn't here to be stared at," said the Detective simply.
I'm getting tired just listening to this. Nayt coughed. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"
"Just one thing."
The Crow leapt to her feet. In a flash, she drew her sword, brandishing it in a dramatic gesture at the distant tree where an elf had been crucified – and then fed to the branches.
"What is that?" she inquired, with a light tone. "None of the elves I interrogated appeared keen to speak of it."
Nayt grimaced. "That...is penance . When one's sins are too great, they offer themselves to the Mother of the Forest – return to her embrace while still living. We do so by using a tool developed long ago in the Age of Dragons."
"And this, ah, penance, can it be forced upon someone?"
Nayt sighed once again. Burn that Crow, she asked some highly uncomfortable questions. "I understand you have no memory of your elven past," he muttered. "Know this, however – it is bad manners to speak of our spirituality so openly."
The Detective turned her blade from the Corpse-Tree to Nayt. "Then I fear I'm badly mannered." She raised her chin. "Answer the question."
I could best her in a fight, he thought. But then what? He had no reason to fight her – if anything, it would go against his goals of slaying the Emperor.
Still, she was making it rather difficult to just let her talk. "Surely you catch the meaning in my silence, Crow."
"I wish not to deal with uncertainties. Make it plain."
Nayt sighed. "Our Elders used to say that the truth should submit to subterfuge. Would you not entertain such a notion yourself?"
"Nay, Hangman – I lack the cowardice to do so." Her blade inched closer to his neck. "I am a believer of the truth being dominant over its own domain. Come now, speak plainly."
Solara, standing from his opposite side, nodded rapidly. "Valeria has a point. If you want us to believe in you, don't skimp out on the details."
Valeria! That's her name! Nayt celebrated internally, though he knew he wouldn't remember it. "Very well," he reluctantly said. "Sometimes your sin is so great that the Elders may order you to repent, and we accept, to preserve our honor – to preserve our souls."
Solara frowned. "Would you obey that order?" Her voice was haunted, her face contorting – the mental image of what he was describing would visit her nightmares tonight. "That sounds...worse than death."
"Can't say I would," Nayt admitted. "Most of us wouldn't, if given the choice. I may say this is a tradition, but it's one that Greenisle had abandoned for centuries. Even the most traditionalist of elves would balk at the idea if presented to them."
He tilted his head. "Yet, if your alternative is to have your family banished from the village..."
Valeria grinned. "I see now." Her grin widened. "Oh, I see so many things." She sheathed her blade. "Thank you for your time, Hangman. Perhaps there might be honesty in you after all."
A huff from the Heiress of Gama indicated that this opinion was yet to be universal. Still...it's a beginning. He would take any beginnings he could nowadays.
"Ah," Nayt said, perking up. "There is one more thing I should tell you."
Solara and Valerina – Valeria? – exchanged a look before turning to face him. "What is it?"
Nayt sighed and laid his head against the grass, eying the beautiful blue sky that only elven magic could provide in the heart of winter. "The Emperor really is coming to attack here soon," he told them. "Ciro believes that the Elder knows something about...Elder Painters? Or something of the sort. So he's coming here soon."
He paused. Did I forget anything else? "Oh, and he's bringing Valente with him. And a small army. If you don't want a second Greenisle, then we should probably act soon."
--
Author's Note:
The first book of Skill Thief is now out on Kindle and Audiobook!
We've re-edited the entire book and added some new content as well. If you're interested, please go check it out here - every bit of support helps more than you'd think!
