All That Glitters by Auston Habershaw

Very nasty, indeed. A full dose of that and I should be dead in an hour.”
    The Quiet Man let the antidote drop back into the invisible obscurity of his clothing. He laid a note on the table and pushed it towards Tyvian. It read: Decide.
    This time Tyvian did smile. “You know, I almost feel sorry for you.” He caught up his knife in a flash and slammed it through the closer of the Quiet Man’s two hands—­the one holding the poison. The knife pierced him between the tendons of his index and middle fingers and bit deeply into the thick wooden table beneath, pinning the hand in place.
    The Quiet Man’s mouth opened into a perfect O, but no sound came out. No sound could. His free hand dropped the antidote and struggled to remove the knife, but Tyvian grabbed him by the wrist and forced his hand to the table. Around them, nobody seemed to notice. Tyvian chuckled. “You see, the problem with becoming a silent sorcerous abomination is that you can’t call for help. Now, I know what you’re thinking: I just have to hold out a few minutes and Tyvian Reldamar will be on death’s door from the arbol de sombra, right?”
    The Quiet Man tried to wrestle himself free, but Tyvian used his body to push the table back against him, pinning his torso between it and the high-­backed booth. The button-­tattooed mouth continued to scream silently. Nobody noticed.
    Tyvian tsked through his teeth. “What a very rotten poisoner you are. I’m drinking rum, you dunce. It is no doubt pretty terrible rum, but it is rum for all that. While arbol de sombra works fine in ale and water and even certain weaker wines, the alcohol present in rum would neutralize the poison before I ever drank it. That’s the trick with arbol —­very deadly, very subtle, very quiet, retains its potency for weeks, but you can’t poison a drinker worth a damn. That antidote you’ve got there? It’s just pure grain alcohol with a bit of blue tincture to make it look special. It’s the oldest alchemist’s trick in the book.”
    The Quiet Man struggled again, but Tyvian had him. Unless the man decided to rip the knife out with his teeth, he was stuck holding hands with Tyvian until he opted to let go.
    Blood ran across the table in little crimson rivers. Tyvian took care not to dip his shirt in it. “Enough lecturing, though—­let’s to business. I choose to decline your invitation to remain here in this dreary old town on the edge of nowhere. I’m certain your masters will get the message—­they hear and see what you hear and see, don’t they? Goodness, your fellow Quiet Men are experiencing this pain at this very moment, aren’t they? How unfortunate for them.”
    The Quiet Man did not respond. He thrashed and tugged at Tyvian’s grip but couldn’t get loose.
    Tyvian shrugged. “Well, I’m sure they’ll get over it. Now, what to do with you? I can’t very well have you trying to poison me every day from here to Saldor, now can I?”
    Holding onto the sorcerous assassin’s free hand with his left hand, Tyvian used his right to scoop up the pouch of arbol de sombra. The ring pulsed a warning. Tyvian knew he had to kill this man, right here and now, but he couldn’t so long as the ring thought he was in no danger. Damned thing. The two of them sat there for a moment, holding hands like lovers.
    â€œI’ll make you a deal,” he said at last. “I let go of your free hand, and we’ll see who grabs my knife first, right? On three: one, two, three—­ ”
    Tyvian released the Quiet Man’s free hand, which darted over to the hilt of the knife and began worrying it out of the table, his mouth frozen open in agony while the blade ate at the flesh of his injured hand. Tyvian merely opened the poison pouch wide and got ready. The ring kept pulsing in warning; he wouldn’t be free to act until the