She didn't speak, didn't spew out platitudes or some self-righteous speech or overly-flowery affirmation. She let her emotions speak through her flesh and, Goddess, Razkar couldn't have been more grateful. Their lips collided and his skin broke out in fire, tasting so much more than those familiar things he'd grown to love about her.
Fear. Desperation. Doubt. Despair. And something she poured into him as her mouth moved against his, body flush against his, heart beating against his own ribs.
Hope, along with its close sibling, Trust. For the first time since that bout with The Fists of Nykas, the Myrian felt his strength fail him, leaning into her, over her, kissing her deep and sucking the breath from her lungs only this time... this time it was beyond bruised muscles and bones.
When he broke from her, finger stroking her face, there were words falling like rain from his lips. Edreina's knowledge of Myrian was in its infancy, but she knew it was... two words, not one... and she knew what they meant, whispered to her like a prayer.
"Thank you... Thank you... Thank you..."
Stable boys and riders and other bystanders gawped without fear (well, mostly without it: this was Razkar, after all), but for the two lovers, there was no-one else in the pasture. Then Razkar took her hand and they started to walk, passing from the light of Syna into the endless warren of corridors and halls that was the Stormhold.
Edreina frowned. He wasn't letting go. Their charade and routine had never been to display affection, connection, and now she could hear the whispers, see the confused frowns... but he didn't let go.
He held to her like a drowning man to driftwood.
When she looked up, his jaw was set and while there was not the murderous, injured anger of before, there was a steely determination that hardened his eyes like chunks of obsidian. Razkar felt his gaze and turned to her, squeezing her hand.
"No mask anymore, Edri. No lie and no false show to world. Let them see. Let them know."
They quickened their pace, headed for Winthrop Alley.
"Not be afraid anymore."
Foot in front of foot around corners and stalls until it was-
-and they were outside the Spinning Coin. It never ceased to amaze Razkar how constantly full and raucous it sounded from inside the plain storefront of the notorious tavern. He'd been there at all hours over the season, and the noise level never lessened, the trickle of strutting braggarts entering and penniless, bruised or drunken derelicts never stemming.
He hated bringing her here. Whenever one of them leered at her as he staggered by he felt the lion teeth around his neck tremble with naked rage and flashes of their ripped open throats and agonized faces-
No. Stow that, as they said in the Cuttlefish. Put it away, for it will profit you naught and cost you much in this place.
"Stay here, Edri." He told her, squeezing her hand one more time as he unwittingly left her in pretty much the exact same spot as he had when he'd first come here with her over a season before. "I will not be long, I swear. I need to get answer for this from man who would know. I not think you be in danger, but..."
His words trailed off and his black gaze flickered down to his gift to her from many days ago. The one thing Ruprekt hadn't gotten his hand on and the thing the grimy little merchant had wanted most of all.
The wakizashi he'd given her, now worn at her waist.
"... just in case. I not be long."
The Myrian turned his back on her and she watched him vanish into the original den of vice and villainy in Syliras. At once a plethora of shouts and calls, boozy laughter and insult, threat, music, a cacophony of glasses and sliding wood, cheers from the cage where two beefy humans were going toe-to-toe like the Good Ol' Days, feet barely moving, trading blows and-
-and there was Razkar's table. With just the men he wanted to see.
Gene Duval noticed everyone that entered his place of business. Most times he knew them. Faces, names, the same tired and cheap stories of woe and bravado. Some of them got a nod; a few got a wave. But he logged them all and watched them come, drain their mugs, lose their coins, then leave. He didn't have to look hard to see Razkar sweep in through the door, but when he did... he saw trouble.
Not blood-rage; that would have immediately sent the human bounding over the bar to obstruct him, along with a dozen of his bouncers, spread around the floor of the Spinning Coin. But Gene saw a fierce, wounded need in Razkar's step, the way he powered through some people but most just stumbled out of his way like a shark through a shoal of fish.
His guards saw it, too; Duval didn't hire idiots. They turned to him from around the bar and the seating area, the gambling pit and the cage... and he shook his head minutely.
He knew where the Myrian was going: his own people wouldn't need to sully their hands.
"Ah, Razkar?! I was about to send someone looking for you..."
The Smoker's jovial smile faded when he saw the look on Razkar's face. Net to him, "Stranger", who whoever the fuck Valini called himself, looked up and noted it with far more calm. There were two tables behind their own, packed with men very, very good at being obviously discreet, wearing their clean and worn weapons openly, watching around their masters... and suddenly they all swiveled to Razkar.
The Myrian sat on the other side of the table and paid them not a glance. But he did see the two new faces flanking Smoker and Stranger. They were the polar opposites of the not-even-slightly-lamented Ekvan. They were both beardless, though one had a bushy mustache. Both weren't worthy of such words as hulking or lumbering, they were more... solid. Muscular. Both had short swords carefully sheathed at their waists, easily capable of being drawn in a blink.
But their eys drew Razkar, and they stock went up a few points. They were... professional. Calm. Watchful. Trained, for want of another word. They'd seen and shed blood and carnage, and wouldn't shirk at it. They would be polite and neat, until the time came for them to be otherwise.
In their own way, they were far more dangerous than Ekvan. They wouldn't gloat over your fate: they'd just carry it out and walk away.
Razkar fixed the Smoker, his ostensible master, with a long, baleful glare. The pipe wavered in the man's mouth until he finally removed it, wetting his lips, glancing nervously at an implacable Stranger, then finally opened his mouth-
-and Razkar's chair scraped noisily on the stone under him, swinging his gaze and seat to squarely face Stranger, ignoring his "master" completely.
"You are here to see me, Myrian, not my-"
"Why you not tell me I will go to Zeltiva?"
The question was directed at Stranger, who had his finest poker face fastened firmly to his face... but whose grey eyes glittered for a moment. He was amused, perhaps impressed. Smoker's courage returned a little, determined to keep the act going.
"Razkar! You will address me, and the-"
"I am not in mood for fucking games," Razkar said lowly, hands folded in front of him on the table, eyes never leaving Stranger, "Too long in season and too much said. Want to play someone else, go to fucking theater." He nodded slightly to Stranger. "You tire as much as me of lie. I know who you are. You certain do. So... why you not tell me?"
The Stranger dragged out the silence as much as he needed to. Razkar could feel him weighing and measuring his most valued and lethal sellsword, perhaps deciding if he was too much of a liability. Until finally he breathed in... and sighed...
And with that exhalation, The Stranger vanished. Leo Valini took the next breath.
"Lukas? I'll take it from here."
The Smoker's mouth opened and closed a few times like a dying fish, until he just nodded mutely. Razkar would have enjoyed the sight of his "face", the veneer of authority and power he wore for him, fall away, revealed as just another employee by the rich and powerful Leo Valini, merchant-prince of Syliras. But he had eyes only for The Man himself that day.
Valini sipped his ale and wipped a wisp of foam from his lips, chuckling lightly.
"I must admit, I was wondering when you'd want this whole... ridiculous charade over with."
"You are not giving answer to my question."
"I'm getting to it, Razkar. Please, indulge your true employer some melodrama. This business is so dry and staid-" he shook his head and sighed sadly "-one must inject some life into it now and again. Then again, given what I've had you doing at odd times... I'm sure you understand the need for a-"
"Buffer?"
Valini's eyebrow quirked upward and he nodded his props. "Indeed. Now, I take it you are referring to the caravan heading to Zeltiva, leaving on the last day of this month?"
"I did not know when caravan would leave. Only heard of it today. Why was I not told?"
"You are being told now, which was precisely when I decided you would be told. Why the concern, Razkar? Why the offence?" Another sip, and Valini's eyes twinkled as he asked a question he already knew the answer to. "Something keeping you in our fair bastion of virtue? Or someone?"
Every muscle in Razkar's upper body tightened and his hands went from folded to grasping each other. Better to keep them like that, otherwise he'd feel the need to caress his blades. Valini's smile widened and his two guard dogs blinked, slowly. Their hands did slide a little closer to their weapons; they didn't give a shit what Razkar thought of them, after all.
"... you know of her."
"Ah. I can tell by the inflection that is a statement, not a question. And you're right, of course. I know about your... 'friend', Edreina. A fine woman, I have been told. Solid worker at the Arms, beautiful and fiery, got a brain in her head too, which is nice-"
"Not speak of her, human."
Valini didn't like that. No-one, at least no-one lower in wealth and privilege and power than him, ever used that tone, and even then, they did so carefully. But this Myrian, this savage beast who was merely chattel to him save for his skill with the blade? He would?
"Oh, no, no, no, Myrian." Valini said, voice as smooth and sickly as liquid poison. "Remember who you are, who I am and, most importantly, where we are. This isn't your precious jungle, nor the Bronze Woods or the Sea of Grass, and I am not some dull slaver skulking in a cave outside Riverfall." He smiled again, a pointless stretching of his lips since there was not a dram of good-natured humor there. "I won't threaten you. I don't need to. All I need to do is send a letter to the Knights, and your head will be gazing at the morning sun from atop the Stormhold."
Razkar's teeth shone in the dirty torchlight, knuckles white, words spat out with spittle and latent anger. "Why tell me now? Why not before? Have to leave city for season! Maybe more!" The whole time Valini showed not a scrap of fear, instead just gestured lazily behind him and one of the dozen or so sellswords seated behind him stood, a small chest in his hands. "If you had told before, I could-"
THUNK!
Well, that was the first sound one heard, and Razkar felt the vibration of it through the oak table. Then he heard the tinkle and jungle of dozens, scores, hundreds of pieces of metal inside it. His words stalled and he looked at the chest in confusion, then back to-
"Six hundred and thirty-seven gold-rimmed mizas." The merchant said simply, scratching under his chin. "Ninety-one days in the season, seven mizas a day, as per our agreement made on... what day was it, Lukas?"
"Er... the... 81st of Spring, my lord, but Razkar's pay period did not begin-"
"Yes-yes-yes," Valini said, waving his hand impatiently like Smoker's - oops, sorry, Lukas' - voice was more help than hindrance. "I already covered that part. Anyway, there it is, as promised and, actually, earlier than I quoted, too."
He leaned forward, voice gaining in momentum as his face crossed to the middle of the table, an old negotiation technique he'd learned decades before. Projecting himself to Razkar.
"In addition, my representative in Zeltiva will pay you for every day in Fall that you are guarding the caravan, which will be every day until it arrives in Zeltiva."
Despite the riot of emotions clashing in him, Razkar couldn't help but ask: "What about trip back to Syliras?"
"Aaaaand," Valini dragged out the word like he'd been expecting it, which he had, "You will be paid a new rate of twenty gold mizas a day to escort the return caravan back to this city." Even in his anger, Razkar blinked in surprise. Another sip from Valini. "Oh, I've heard your skills have surpassed almost all others in this city, Razkar, and that includes most of the Knights which, hehe, truly amuses me. Your countless spars and bouts in the Fighter's Pit, beating that big bastard Akalak right here, marching with the Knights to fight bandits and that fucking Balicani - and my thanks for that, the thing was killing my Taldera-bound caravans, quite literally, in fact - seeing off the Drykas before that, and so on, and so on..."
He leaned back again, the very picture of control. He shrugged and gestured to the chest.
"Rates reflect quality of service. You are a master of the blades. You get a masterful rate of pay."
"And if I do not come back with caravan?"
That time, Razkar was expecting some darkening of Valini's features, but only a flicker of irritation crossed the human's face before he shrugged again.
"Our current contract will end once my man in Zeltiva pays you for your escorting the caravan to Zeltiva. You escorting it back will constitute a new contract. During the interim, you are a free agent, and if you decide to remain so... well, so be it. Two things that one can always find, Razkar: sin and men who will kill other men for gold. I can always find more muscle to protect my investment. My business ran just fine before you touched down from Captain Tonio's vessel, and it will continue long after you vanish back into the ether. By the way, is my Common too fast? You can follow all this, yes?"
"Yes. I follow."
Leo Valini gave a satisfied little "ahhh" and nodded amiably, but his eyes didn't change. Didn't move, emote, nothing. The man was more than Haev Provedan, though; in those eyes, Razkar had seen nothing no hint of any emotion. But in Valini's... what was the term... megalomania? Perhaps that. Desire for power, over others, their will, any situation he was in, and coupled with that, a crippling boredom he found in his world that he eased by sparring, in his way, with those like Razkar.
Leo Valini was enjoying this thoroughly.
"I understand." Razkar stood and dragged the chest towards him, face pulled tight and his wounded pride barely hidden, barely kept on a leash. How many could he take? Five? Ten? Perhaps... but could he take Valini? And would he walk out alive? No. And then, what of Edreina...?
The whisper of her name in his mind was like ice on flames. He inhaled, drawing peace from her face, the sound of her laugh... and managed a smile at the grinning merchant-prince.
"Caravan leaves in three days?"
"Yes, it does. You will be expected to arrive the night before, keep the sellswords in line-"
"Why?"
"Because you will be leading them, Razkar."
The Myrian felt a new flash of surprise rush through him, and Valini fed on his reaction, grin widening to show twin rows of perfect, dazzling teeth. "Weren't expecting that, were you?"
"I... I am not leader-"
"You will be, in this case. There will be about two-score of sellswords guarding my merchandise, the usual complement for a caravan of its size. You'll get all the details from the head caravaneer, of course, a fellow named Albrecht, he will-"
"I do not want to lead."
Now he saw storm clouds cross the human's eyes. Now his smile fell and that secret core of contempt for all other humans was exposed. Valini was charm and wit personified, but under it... well... you didn't get to where he did by being soft. He finished his ale and set the mug down. Hard. Then he leaned forward again, and that sickening pseudo-smile crossed his face again.
"Let me tell you what's going to happen... boy." Rakar flushed; Valini ignored it as another man would a mosquito. "You're going to gripe and grumble and display some childish, savage bravado, but ultimately, you're going to leave with the gold and with my orders, which you will obey. You'll do that because-" he held up a finger for each point "-you are in my employ, and I gave you an order... because you gave me your word, and I know what that means to you... and, finally, because if you do not, I will personally destroy your fucking reputation."
He rose like a black tide, seeming to grow with power, palms flat on the table, gaze tilted. His dogs rose with him, taller, broader than their master but in that moment, hardly as intimidating.
"Every noble and merchant I know, every sellsword, every bandit and caravan leader, everyone in this city will know you as a liar and a fraud, and what is known in Syliras soon becomes the truth of the world, save for your little green netherworld. You will be forced to debase yourself for whatever crooked coppers can be thrown your way and all... because... you didn't... follow... my... orders."
A pause. Long enough for Razkar to read the man's eyes and see no lies there.
"Do you understand that, Razkar?"
His necklace hummed and he could feel his gnosis roar and scream for action, for vengeance, for the blood of this barbaaric, petty creature on his blades! But Edreina... she was there... balm to his anger... and his pragmatism spoke with her, and it was so odd he felt no shame at it. Only... wisdom, in those words.
This is not the place nor cause for a hopeless fight, boy. Nothing will be gained. You told yourself that before you walked in, and it is no less true. Take his gold, follow his orders, get to Zeltiva, then wash your hands of his filth forever.
"... I will be leader."
"Good man!" The change in Valini's manner was almost frightening; glowering and growling monster replaced in an instant by a grinning civic leader who cheerily tossed Razkar a salute. "Be careful with that chest, my friend, and safe travels. I know I can count on you..."
Razkar turned on his heel and walked away fast, for he knew if he heard that man laugh, he might not be able to control himself. He felt Gene Duval's hawk eyes on him the whole journey to the door, and when he stepped out into the street, he nearly choked on the fresh air, doubled over, clutching his chest...
He saw her across the street. She had waited for him.
Receipt637GM, Razkar's wages for the season, working as a sellsword for Leo Valini at a rate of 7GM daily)
Fear. Desperation. Doubt. Despair. And something she poured into him as her mouth moved against his, body flush against his, heart beating against his own ribs.
Hope, along with its close sibling, Trust. For the first time since that bout with The Fists of Nykas, the Myrian felt his strength fail him, leaning into her, over her, kissing her deep and sucking the breath from her lungs only this time... this time it was beyond bruised muscles and bones.
When he broke from her, finger stroking her face, there were words falling like rain from his lips. Edreina's knowledge of Myrian was in its infancy, but she knew it was... two words, not one... and she knew what they meant, whispered to her like a prayer.
"Thank you... Thank you... Thank you..."
Stable boys and riders and other bystanders gawped without fear (well, mostly without it: this was Razkar, after all), but for the two lovers, there was no-one else in the pasture. Then Razkar took her hand and they started to walk, passing from the light of Syna into the endless warren of corridors and halls that was the Stormhold.
Edreina frowned. He wasn't letting go. Their charade and routine had never been to display affection, connection, and now she could hear the whispers, see the confused frowns... but he didn't let go.
He held to her like a drowning man to driftwood.
When she looked up, his jaw was set and while there was not the murderous, injured anger of before, there was a steely determination that hardened his eyes like chunks of obsidian. Razkar felt his gaze and turned to her, squeezing her hand.
"No mask anymore, Edri. No lie and no false show to world. Let them see. Let them know."
They quickened their pace, headed for Winthrop Alley.
"Not be afraid anymore."
Foot in front of foot around corners and stalls until it was-
13th Bell
-and they were outside the Spinning Coin. It never ceased to amaze Razkar how constantly full and raucous it sounded from inside the plain storefront of the notorious tavern. He'd been there at all hours over the season, and the noise level never lessened, the trickle of strutting braggarts entering and penniless, bruised or drunken derelicts never stemming.
He hated bringing her here. Whenever one of them leered at her as he staggered by he felt the lion teeth around his neck tremble with naked rage and flashes of their ripped open throats and agonized faces-
No. Stow that, as they said in the Cuttlefish. Put it away, for it will profit you naught and cost you much in this place.
"Stay here, Edri." He told her, squeezing her hand one more time as he unwittingly left her in pretty much the exact same spot as he had when he'd first come here with her over a season before. "I will not be long, I swear. I need to get answer for this from man who would know. I not think you be in danger, but..."
His words trailed off and his black gaze flickered down to his gift to her from many days ago. The one thing Ruprekt hadn't gotten his hand on and the thing the grimy little merchant had wanted most of all.
The wakizashi he'd given her, now worn at her waist.
"... just in case. I not be long."
The Myrian turned his back on her and she watched him vanish into the original den of vice and villainy in Syliras. At once a plethora of shouts and calls, boozy laughter and insult, threat, music, a cacophony of glasses and sliding wood, cheers from the cage where two beefy humans were going toe-to-toe like the Good Ol' Days, feet barely moving, trading blows and-
-and there was Razkar's table. With just the men he wanted to see.
Gene Duval noticed everyone that entered his place of business. Most times he knew them. Faces, names, the same tired and cheap stories of woe and bravado. Some of them got a nod; a few got a wave. But he logged them all and watched them come, drain their mugs, lose their coins, then leave. He didn't have to look hard to see Razkar sweep in through the door, but when he did... he saw trouble.
Not blood-rage; that would have immediately sent the human bounding over the bar to obstruct him, along with a dozen of his bouncers, spread around the floor of the Spinning Coin. But Gene saw a fierce, wounded need in Razkar's step, the way he powered through some people but most just stumbled out of his way like a shark through a shoal of fish.
His guards saw it, too; Duval didn't hire idiots. They turned to him from around the bar and the seating area, the gambling pit and the cage... and he shook his head minutely.
He knew where the Myrian was going: his own people wouldn't need to sully their hands.
"Ah, Razkar?! I was about to send someone looking for you..."
The Smoker's jovial smile faded when he saw the look on Razkar's face. Net to him, "Stranger", who whoever the fuck Valini called himself, looked up and noted it with far more calm. There were two tables behind their own, packed with men very, very good at being obviously discreet, wearing their clean and worn weapons openly, watching around their masters... and suddenly they all swiveled to Razkar.
The Myrian sat on the other side of the table and paid them not a glance. But he did see the two new faces flanking Smoker and Stranger. They were the polar opposites of the not-even-slightly-lamented Ekvan. They were both beardless, though one had a bushy mustache. Both weren't worthy of such words as hulking or lumbering, they were more... solid. Muscular. Both had short swords carefully sheathed at their waists, easily capable of being drawn in a blink.
But their eys drew Razkar, and they stock went up a few points. They were... professional. Calm. Watchful. Trained, for want of another word. They'd seen and shed blood and carnage, and wouldn't shirk at it. They would be polite and neat, until the time came for them to be otherwise.
In their own way, they were far more dangerous than Ekvan. They wouldn't gloat over your fate: they'd just carry it out and walk away.
Razkar fixed the Smoker, his ostensible master, with a long, baleful glare. The pipe wavered in the man's mouth until he finally removed it, wetting his lips, glancing nervously at an implacable Stranger, then finally opened his mouth-
-and Razkar's chair scraped noisily on the stone under him, swinging his gaze and seat to squarely face Stranger, ignoring his "master" completely.
"You are here to see me, Myrian, not my-"
"Why you not tell me I will go to Zeltiva?"
The question was directed at Stranger, who had his finest poker face fastened firmly to his face... but whose grey eyes glittered for a moment. He was amused, perhaps impressed. Smoker's courage returned a little, determined to keep the act going.
"Razkar! You will address me, and the-"
"I am not in mood for fucking games," Razkar said lowly, hands folded in front of him on the table, eyes never leaving Stranger, "Too long in season and too much said. Want to play someone else, go to fucking theater." He nodded slightly to Stranger. "You tire as much as me of lie. I know who you are. You certain do. So... why you not tell me?"
The Stranger dragged out the silence as much as he needed to. Razkar could feel him weighing and measuring his most valued and lethal sellsword, perhaps deciding if he was too much of a liability. Until finally he breathed in... and sighed...
And with that exhalation, The Stranger vanished. Leo Valini took the next breath.
"Lukas? I'll take it from here."
The Smoker's mouth opened and closed a few times like a dying fish, until he just nodded mutely. Razkar would have enjoyed the sight of his "face", the veneer of authority and power he wore for him, fall away, revealed as just another employee by the rich and powerful Leo Valini, merchant-prince of Syliras. But he had eyes only for The Man himself that day.
Valini sipped his ale and wipped a wisp of foam from his lips, chuckling lightly.
"I must admit, I was wondering when you'd want this whole... ridiculous charade over with."
"You are not giving answer to my question."
"I'm getting to it, Razkar. Please, indulge your true employer some melodrama. This business is so dry and staid-" he shook his head and sighed sadly "-one must inject some life into it now and again. Then again, given what I've had you doing at odd times... I'm sure you understand the need for a-"
"Buffer?"
Valini's eyebrow quirked upward and he nodded his props. "Indeed. Now, I take it you are referring to the caravan heading to Zeltiva, leaving on the last day of this month?"
"I did not know when caravan would leave. Only heard of it today. Why was I not told?"
"You are being told now, which was precisely when I decided you would be told. Why the concern, Razkar? Why the offence?" Another sip, and Valini's eyes twinkled as he asked a question he already knew the answer to. "Something keeping you in our fair bastion of virtue? Or someone?"
Every muscle in Razkar's upper body tightened and his hands went from folded to grasping each other. Better to keep them like that, otherwise he'd feel the need to caress his blades. Valini's smile widened and his two guard dogs blinked, slowly. Their hands did slide a little closer to their weapons; they didn't give a shit what Razkar thought of them, after all.
"... you know of her."
"Ah. I can tell by the inflection that is a statement, not a question. And you're right, of course. I know about your... 'friend', Edreina. A fine woman, I have been told. Solid worker at the Arms, beautiful and fiery, got a brain in her head too, which is nice-"
"Not speak of her, human."
Valini didn't like that. No-one, at least no-one lower in wealth and privilege and power than him, ever used that tone, and even then, they did so carefully. But this Myrian, this savage beast who was merely chattel to him save for his skill with the blade? He would?
"Oh, no, no, no, Myrian." Valini said, voice as smooth and sickly as liquid poison. "Remember who you are, who I am and, most importantly, where we are. This isn't your precious jungle, nor the Bronze Woods or the Sea of Grass, and I am not some dull slaver skulking in a cave outside Riverfall." He smiled again, a pointless stretching of his lips since there was not a dram of good-natured humor there. "I won't threaten you. I don't need to. All I need to do is send a letter to the Knights, and your head will be gazing at the morning sun from atop the Stormhold."
Razkar's teeth shone in the dirty torchlight, knuckles white, words spat out with spittle and latent anger. "Why tell me now? Why not before? Have to leave city for season! Maybe more!" The whole time Valini showed not a scrap of fear, instead just gestured lazily behind him and one of the dozen or so sellswords seated behind him stood, a small chest in his hands. "If you had told before, I could-"
THUNK!
Well, that was the first sound one heard, and Razkar felt the vibration of it through the oak table. Then he heard the tinkle and jungle of dozens, scores, hundreds of pieces of metal inside it. His words stalled and he looked at the chest in confusion, then back to-
"Six hundred and thirty-seven gold-rimmed mizas." The merchant said simply, scratching under his chin. "Ninety-one days in the season, seven mizas a day, as per our agreement made on... what day was it, Lukas?"
"Er... the... 81st of Spring, my lord, but Razkar's pay period did not begin-"
"Yes-yes-yes," Valini said, waving his hand impatiently like Smoker's - oops, sorry, Lukas' - voice was more help than hindrance. "I already covered that part. Anyway, there it is, as promised and, actually, earlier than I quoted, too."
He leaned forward, voice gaining in momentum as his face crossed to the middle of the table, an old negotiation technique he'd learned decades before. Projecting himself to Razkar.
"In addition, my representative in Zeltiva will pay you for every day in Fall that you are guarding the caravan, which will be every day until it arrives in Zeltiva."
Despite the riot of emotions clashing in him, Razkar couldn't help but ask: "What about trip back to Syliras?"
"Aaaaand," Valini dragged out the word like he'd been expecting it, which he had, "You will be paid a new rate of twenty gold mizas a day to escort the return caravan back to this city." Even in his anger, Razkar blinked in surprise. Another sip from Valini. "Oh, I've heard your skills have surpassed almost all others in this city, Razkar, and that includes most of the Knights which, hehe, truly amuses me. Your countless spars and bouts in the Fighter's Pit, beating that big bastard Akalak right here, marching with the Knights to fight bandits and that fucking Balicani - and my thanks for that, the thing was killing my Taldera-bound caravans, quite literally, in fact - seeing off the Drykas before that, and so on, and so on..."
He leaned back again, the very picture of control. He shrugged and gestured to the chest.
"Rates reflect quality of service. You are a master of the blades. You get a masterful rate of pay."
"And if I do not come back with caravan?"
That time, Razkar was expecting some darkening of Valini's features, but only a flicker of irritation crossed the human's face before he shrugged again.
"Our current contract will end once my man in Zeltiva pays you for your escorting the caravan to Zeltiva. You escorting it back will constitute a new contract. During the interim, you are a free agent, and if you decide to remain so... well, so be it. Two things that one can always find, Razkar: sin and men who will kill other men for gold. I can always find more muscle to protect my investment. My business ran just fine before you touched down from Captain Tonio's vessel, and it will continue long after you vanish back into the ether. By the way, is my Common too fast? You can follow all this, yes?"
"Yes. I follow."
Leo Valini gave a satisfied little "ahhh" and nodded amiably, but his eyes didn't change. Didn't move, emote, nothing. The man was more than Haev Provedan, though; in those eyes, Razkar had seen nothing no hint of any emotion. But in Valini's... what was the term... megalomania? Perhaps that. Desire for power, over others, their will, any situation he was in, and coupled with that, a crippling boredom he found in his world that he eased by sparring, in his way, with those like Razkar.
Leo Valini was enjoying this thoroughly.
"I understand." Razkar stood and dragged the chest towards him, face pulled tight and his wounded pride barely hidden, barely kept on a leash. How many could he take? Five? Ten? Perhaps... but could he take Valini? And would he walk out alive? No. And then, what of Edreina...?
The whisper of her name in his mind was like ice on flames. He inhaled, drawing peace from her face, the sound of her laugh... and managed a smile at the grinning merchant-prince.
"Caravan leaves in three days?"
"Yes, it does. You will be expected to arrive the night before, keep the sellswords in line-"
"Why?"
"Because you will be leading them, Razkar."
The Myrian felt a new flash of surprise rush through him, and Valini fed on his reaction, grin widening to show twin rows of perfect, dazzling teeth. "Weren't expecting that, were you?"
"I... I am not leader-"
"You will be, in this case. There will be about two-score of sellswords guarding my merchandise, the usual complement for a caravan of its size. You'll get all the details from the head caravaneer, of course, a fellow named Albrecht, he will-"
"I do not want to lead."
Now he saw storm clouds cross the human's eyes. Now his smile fell and that secret core of contempt for all other humans was exposed. Valini was charm and wit personified, but under it... well... you didn't get to where he did by being soft. He finished his ale and set the mug down. Hard. Then he leaned forward again, and that sickening pseudo-smile crossed his face again.
"Let me tell you what's going to happen... boy." Rakar flushed; Valini ignored it as another man would a mosquito. "You're going to gripe and grumble and display some childish, savage bravado, but ultimately, you're going to leave with the gold and with my orders, which you will obey. You'll do that because-" he held up a finger for each point "-you are in my employ, and I gave you an order... because you gave me your word, and I know what that means to you... and, finally, because if you do not, I will personally destroy your fucking reputation."
He rose like a black tide, seeming to grow with power, palms flat on the table, gaze tilted. His dogs rose with him, taller, broader than their master but in that moment, hardly as intimidating.
"Every noble and merchant I know, every sellsword, every bandit and caravan leader, everyone in this city will know you as a liar and a fraud, and what is known in Syliras soon becomes the truth of the world, save for your little green netherworld. You will be forced to debase yourself for whatever crooked coppers can be thrown your way and all... because... you didn't... follow... my... orders."
A pause. Long enough for Razkar to read the man's eyes and see no lies there.
"Do you understand that, Razkar?"
His necklace hummed and he could feel his gnosis roar and scream for action, for vengeance, for the blood of this barbaaric, petty creature on his blades! But Edreina... she was there... balm to his anger... and his pragmatism spoke with her, and it was so odd he felt no shame at it. Only... wisdom, in those words.
This is not the place nor cause for a hopeless fight, boy. Nothing will be gained. You told yourself that before you walked in, and it is no less true. Take his gold, follow his orders, get to Zeltiva, then wash your hands of his filth forever.
"... I will be leader."
"Good man!" The change in Valini's manner was almost frightening; glowering and growling monster replaced in an instant by a grinning civic leader who cheerily tossed Razkar a salute. "Be careful with that chest, my friend, and safe travels. I know I can count on you..."
Razkar turned on his heel and walked away fast, for he knew if he heard that man laugh, he might not be able to control himself. He felt Gene Duval's hawk eyes on him the whole journey to the door, and when he stepped out into the street, he nearly choked on the fresh air, doubled over, clutching his chest...
He saw her across the street. She had waited for him.
Receipt637GM, Razkar's wages for the season, working as a sellsword for Leo Valini at a rate of 7GM daily)
