The Disjointed Tales Of Renryre Island

21-1: A Flame In Darkness

Kyrnrie accepted a short break in conversation as an invitation to reflect on just how, exactly, he'd worked himself into this unpleasant mess. He was just a thief, after all, nothing more. The best there was, of course. What had begun as a routine impossible job had finished up with him travelling halfway across Renryre Island to rescue a man he'd never met from three people he had met – and had no intention of crossing paths with them again.

"Godsdammit," he moaned. "What are we doing here?"

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, not particularly reassuringly.

"Cheer up, Kyrnrie. It's a beautiful morning. Just take a long look at the world around you – the sun rising over the mountains, the gentle waves lapping on the sandy beach. Even the trees are enjoying the breeze, swaying happily in their ritual dance."

Kyrnrie fixed the ageing crime lord with a cold stare.

"What happened to you, Tailfin? Where's the hard bastard that could scare off rival gangs with nothing but a few choice words?"

"I think you and I are past that, aren't we, Kyrnrie? Besides, you were never on my payroll – or my list of enemies. The two of us have only ever conducted honest business with each other."

"And what about him?" asked Kyrnrie, gesturing to the odd man accompanying them.

"The Scribe? He knows everything about me. No point in pretending to be mean around him."

"Pretending? How many broke, and broken men in Helen's Bay were you only pretending to maim? What about Madrik? You sent him on the desert run. Twice! Were you just pretending then? And I suppose that hammer in your belt is for pretending to smash your victims' toes?"

Tailfin withdrew the crude blacksmith's hammer and eyed it thoughtfully – as though the idea had never occurred to him. He pushed it back into his belt and flashed an innocent grin.

"He's really not in a good mood today, Tailfin," remarked The Scribe.

"I can see that," agreed Tailfin. "I wonder if it has anything to do with that girl."

"It's got nothing—"

"The girl?" queried The Scribe with exaggerated curiosity. "Aah, you are referring to the girl that was supposed to come with us on this journey, and then decided against it at the last moment."

"Alright, that's—"

"Yes!" agreed Tailfin with childlike excitement. "The one that decided not to follow Kyrnrie, instead electing to... accompany the other gentleman."

Kyrnrie sighed as Tailfin and The Scribe returned to their childish mocking.

"The man with the perfectly formed chestful of muscles?" queried The Scribe.

"That's right."

Kyrnrie was a little jealous, perhaps. He had known he was up against rather steep odds, but he'd felt perhaps there was a little something between him and Ryleine.

"And that perfect chin that could deflect a well-aimed sword strike?"

"Indeed."

Maybe it was better this way. Kyrnrie had always been a loner. No one to worry about. No one to nag him. No one to get in his way when he felt like robbing some unlucky merchant.

"And those perfect teeth that glint in the sunlight as he smiles..."

"Rrright."

But he couldn't help but feel a little sad. He did miss her, after all. It had only been a couple of days, but already he felt it. They had been through so much together over the past weeks.