Owan returned to the market that night. He loosened his axe on his belt as he strode into the darkness, navigating the twists and turns slowly. At every noise his ears perked up and he strained to see the source. Most went unidentified. He continued onward confidently, hand staying on the top of his axe to dissuade any would-be attackers. While he reveled in a good bloodletting, he had business to attend to.
It wasn't long before he found the alleyway that the merchant had pointed to. He looked around for a moment before stepping in to the narrow corridor. He walked carefully, taking time to examine the crevices in the walls and occasionally look back over his shoulder to check for unwanted followers. So far so good. He was a little surprised. The market was a haven for thieves, especially once the moon was up.
He came upon the tent suddenly, blocking the alleyway with its width. The boy from earlier was standing outside, still wearing his rusty helm and clutching his short sword. He straightened when he noticed Owan, drawing a half-an-inch of steel before he realized who the giant was. He jammed the blade back into the sheath roughly and pulled the flap of the tent aside. Owan ducked under it and was greeted by the merchant and the rest of his family. They were sitting around a bed of coals, above which hung suspended a pot full of bubbling...something. The merchant stood and greeted Owan, baring his filthy teeth in an oily grin.
"My friend! It's so good to see you! Come sit and make yourself comfortable. This is my family. My wife Anaya and my daughter Syla, and you've met my son Arin," the merchant said, pointing to each family member in turn and leading Owan to a seat by the coals. He nodded to each of them. The man's daughter was surprisingly pretty, to come from the ugly petcher's loins. She smiled shyly. Owan returned the smile with one of his own; a barely imperceptible twitch of his facial muscles. Anaya spooned him a bowl of the slop and brought him a cup full of steaming tea. Owan accept graciously and set the items in front of him. The boy dropped down next to him and spooned his own bowl, digging into it with grimy fingers.
"So how long are ye going to be in Sunberth?" Owan asked, lifting his tea to his lips and pretending to drink.
"Until the beginning of Summer. Then we're off to Syliras," the merchant said, yellow teeth mashing the unknown meat as he spoke.
"That's a while away. Ye hope to do a lot of business here?"
"I do. Sunberth's been profitable in the past."
"I noticed ye didn't have any guards. A bold move that," Owan mused, lifting the steaming cup of tea to his lips. He pantomimed another drink and kept the cup in his hand.
"My son does a good job," the merchant replied, clapping the lad on the shoulder.
"A bit young wouldn't ye say?" Owan asked. The boy snorted.
"I do well enough," the boy said through a mouthful of mush. Owan nodded, a wry grin making its way across his face. What happened next happened quick. Owan jerked his hand and sent the scalding tea into the boy's face. He howled in pain, cut short as one of Owan's thick arms wrapped around his neck. His free hand jerked his dagger from its spot on his belt and set it against the boy's throat, right under his arm. The boy's mother burst into tears and the merchant let out a strangled groan. The girl made to lift the pot from the coals and Owan let the blade slip and nick the boy's throat. A fat drop of blood cut a path through the dirt on his skin and stained his shirt.
"Let's keep this civil lass," Owan said. "I don't want anyone to get hurt anymore than ye do."
"What do you want with us?!" The merchant screamed, panic making his voice rise in octave. Owan looked at him and smiled.
"A wise man once told me that there're two sides to every coin. On one side, ye've got the men who guard people like ye. They work hard to make sure yer wares stay safe, and they need the money to live on. On the other side of the coin, ye've got men like me. We make ye realize just how bad ye need the fellas on the first side of the coin. Ye see, when ye don't hire them, ye hurt the purses of the whole city. Everybody's got their fingers in the pie," Owan said. The boy jerked in his grip and Owan squeezed tighter.
"So here's what's going to happen," Owan said. "Yer going to give me a third of your profits from the day, and from here on out, and I'll make sure that nothin' happens to yer stand or yer family. If ye say no, I cut the boy's throat and then the rest of ye die. If ye accept my offer and skip town tomorrow, I'll hunt ye down. I'll search the four corners of the world until yer petchin' seed's been erased." Owan's smile was dangerous, and his eyes were empty orbs staring across the coals at the merchant. The man was shaking, upper lip quivering and the beginning of tears forming in his eyes.
"Y-y-you can't do this!" The merchant shouted, voice breaking.
"That's where yer wrong. I've got the blade," Owan said, trying to stifle a cackle. He wondered which god they were praying to, who they were begging to save their son. It didn't matter. The only god that mattered right now was the blade.
"F-f-fine. Whatever you want. Just don't hurt the boy," the merchant's wife said. He shot her a surprised glance. She held his gaze, and he nodded. He stood up and went to the back of the tent, digging under a bedroll and coming up with a coin purse. He dug a handful of mizas of all colors out of the bag and handed them to Owan. The big man took them carefully, not letting go of the boy's neck. When he had the coins secured in his cloak he tossed the boy forward, yanking his short sword from his belt and tossing it across the tent. No sense letting the boy ruin his hard work.
"Now remember. Ye owe me for keeping yer stall safe. If ye decide to leave town early I'll hunt ye down," Owan said, standing up. The merchant nodded, grabbing his son and holding him close to his chest. Owan smiled at the girl again and made his way out of the tent. He'd keep his word. He'd tell The Fence to spread the word that the man's stall shouldn't be touched, and see if he'd send a man over to stand guard. The Fence's word held weight in Sunberth, and Owan was doing what he could to become the man's right-hand.
