22nd Bell
The Castle Commons
72rd Day of Winter, 511AV
One thing that most people got wrong about the mercenary life was thinking it was constant, heart-rushing danger and excitement. It wasn't. In fact, that stuff wasn't even the majority of Konrad's time. Hell, it wasn't even a hefty minority!
Ain't never like the stories.
The gutter-merk pulled his coat tighter around him and clamped his hat harder upon his head. Winter was on its way out but that's when she got vicious, digging her claws deep and gouging every gust with ice and the kind of cold that knifed your lungs with every breath. We was wearing three layers under his duster and it still felt like he was naked out there.
Then again, looking around, he could have been worse off.
Even near the Mage's Hour, the Commons were a roiling mess of hustling humanity. Some of the more legitimate stores, selling food and necessities, were closed down and the fronts chained up, but a plethora of others were doing a roaring trade. Drugs, weapons, women, gambling, loans, all kinds of theater and entertainment, cage fights and grog shops by the dozen were packed into a dozen square blocks smack in the city center.
Smoke and scents billowed endlessly from every corner, stenches foul and beguiling in every alley. People and carts and riders crisscrossed each other in a constantly changing swarm and Konrad had to weave and sidestep his way across the square. All around them tenement blocks and ancient stamps of history hemmed them in, from the Storage Houses to the Knight's Armory to-
"Dira's Cunt, you too, eh?"
"Any other petchin' reason I'd be here?"
Rayndull didn't get sore or even raise from his seat. Instead he just laughed around the evil-smelling roll-up between his brown teeth. Behind him was a frozen but still ornate fountain that rose up like a spike from the middle of the square. Whatever water was inside was frozen solid, covered in a dusting of snow. Konrad ran his eyes over the pipes and mechanisms that had long-since ceased working. As long as he'd been alive, he'd been coming to "The Establishment".
I ever find out who named this hunk a' stone that, I'll petching gut him.
"Aww, nod'even fer my charmin' presence, boyo?"
Konrad snorted, sound like he was clearing his throat of a tumor. Rayn was an ugly little bastard, but he could tolerate him. Made him laugh, after all. The older merk was sharpening his dagger on the edge of the fountain, striking some sparks as he went back and forth, tiny little Synas falling and dying on the thick ice. Around him a dozen other examples of sellsword-kind were lounging, smoking, talking, standing... waiting in general.
"Ah' could do without it, Rayn. Nothing so far?"
Rayn's remaining eye gleamed for a moment and, out of sheer spite for the idea of beauty, he grinned. "Any petching reason I'd still be-"
"Aw'right, aw'right, shut yer hole, funny man..."
Konrad craned his neck around, one hand tapping on the hilt of his kopis like it always did when he had thinking to do. Nope... no-one coming that looked overcome with some burning need to hire some swords. Damnit, he didn't need this lull. He had rent to pay and food to buy and his purse was getting light. That was the problem with the Way of The Blade: sometimes, even in a place like Sunberth, things got too damn peaceable.
Could ask by the Storage Houses or the Community. See if they need an extra guard. Ugly bastard like you always scares away trouble, so-
Quick, urgent movement caught his eye, and he wasn't the only one. Someone was trotting through the crowded Commons, making a beeline for the fountain. His gaze narrowed as the man approached. Well-groomed. Well-dressed. A tubby minder trotting behind him and huffing with the exertion, and as they got closer Konrad could make out the splotches on his neck.
Slaver, he thought, seeing the twin manacles with weeping faces inside painted onto his flesh. This could be promising...
"I come bearing word," the fur-swaddled slaver said without preamble, sweeping blue eyes across the rank of dirty killers dragging themselves up in a rough line, Konrad and Rayn at the end of it. "Two slaves have escaped from the Row! They are a man and a woman, returned to health and fled from the Auction! Master Tryannus calls for their return, and promises a fifth of their price to whoever returns them!"
"An' how much would that be?" Konrad said, equally without preamble, not liking this errand boy on sight, nor this mention of his "Master". Did he mean Chubs? That drooling little double-tongue? "Give us a number and we'll feel better running after 'em."
He could tell this petty emissary was offended, but telling did not equal caring. The errand boy's lips pressed in insult and Konrad tilted his head to one side, letting the torchlight catch every inch of his ravaged face, not to mention the careless, opaque glint in his eyes.
Don't expect an apology or soiled breeches, boy. Ah' shit scarier things than you.
"They were due for sale," the emissary continued, voice loud enough that more than just the mercenaries gathered at The Establishment could hear. The Crier had already been paid off, too, and soon the city would be alive with talk of escaped property and rewards. "Three hundred for the male, three-fifty for the female." He swung his gaze clearly back to Konrad and his voice dripped acid onto the frost. "That would be one-hundred-and-thirty gold pieces. Just in case you needed it explained for you..."
Konrad's first instinct was unpleasant but pleasurable. He squashed it, with effort, hiding behind a smile that was not really a smile. He'd get a hundred-nothing if he butchered his employer's man, even if he did find the slaves. So instead he just tapped the end of his hat in mocking thanks.
"When'd they get loose?"
"Earlier today, at the Auction. A few tried to make a break, and the crowd bludgeoned them back into line," the emissary said with a grin of sick satisfaction, "Our customers knew better than to aid the flight of property. But two were unaccounted for, must have snuck away while all was chaos with their brethren-"
"So they could be outta the city by now. Shame for you, huh?"
Pretty boy pursed his precious lips again. Gut him Konrad might not, but he wouldn't miss a chance to needle the little twat.
"Maybe. But unlikely. Tis death beyond the walls-"
"Tis death inside 'em, boy," Rayn said with a chortle, unable to resist the opening. "We're all proofa' that."
The laughter spread and rose and the emissary blushed, flustered and stymied and oh, Konrad did so love the sight of a man losing control of his audience. He tapped Rayn on the shoulder and hatched a quick plan. A simple one, but simple was often the best for him.
Since it didn't involve killing anyone, just finding them, he thought it the wiser option.
"Let's go," he murmured, low enough that only the older sellsword could hear. "Got a plan. Split's fifty-fifty."
"An' why'd I work wit' youse?"
"Two heads, four hands, lighter work."
"Fair enough." They were already marching away and heading east when Rayn piped up again, stubbing out his nauseating smoke and tucking it behind his ear. "Where we startin'? Outskirts? Sunset?"
"We're trackin', Rayn," Konrad said, feeling his purse through his duster and hoping he had enough coin to rent what they'd need. "We need a nose."
"We got noses. Well... you have."
"A better nose than this'n, Rayn. An' I know where to geddit."
The Castle Commons
72rd Day of Winter, 511AV
One thing that most people got wrong about the mercenary life was thinking it was constant, heart-rushing danger and excitement. It wasn't. In fact, that stuff wasn't even the majority of Konrad's time. Hell, it wasn't even a hefty minority!
Ain't never like the stories.
The gutter-merk pulled his coat tighter around him and clamped his hat harder upon his head. Winter was on its way out but that's when she got vicious, digging her claws deep and gouging every gust with ice and the kind of cold that knifed your lungs with every breath. We was wearing three layers under his duster and it still felt like he was naked out there.
Then again, looking around, he could have been worse off.
Even near the Mage's Hour, the Commons were a roiling mess of hustling humanity. Some of the more legitimate stores, selling food and necessities, were closed down and the fronts chained up, but a plethora of others were doing a roaring trade. Drugs, weapons, women, gambling, loans, all kinds of theater and entertainment, cage fights and grog shops by the dozen were packed into a dozen square blocks smack in the city center.
Smoke and scents billowed endlessly from every corner, stenches foul and beguiling in every alley. People and carts and riders crisscrossed each other in a constantly changing swarm and Konrad had to weave and sidestep his way across the square. All around them tenement blocks and ancient stamps of history hemmed them in, from the Storage Houses to the Knight's Armory to-
"Dira's Cunt, you too, eh?"
"Any other petchin' reason I'd be here?"
Rayndull didn't get sore or even raise from his seat. Instead he just laughed around the evil-smelling roll-up between his brown teeth. Behind him was a frozen but still ornate fountain that rose up like a spike from the middle of the square. Whatever water was inside was frozen solid, covered in a dusting of snow. Konrad ran his eyes over the pipes and mechanisms that had long-since ceased working. As long as he'd been alive, he'd been coming to "The Establishment".
I ever find out who named this hunk a' stone that, I'll petching gut him.
"Aww, nod'even fer my charmin' presence, boyo?"
Konrad snorted, sound like he was clearing his throat of a tumor. Rayn was an ugly little bastard, but he could tolerate him. Made him laugh, after all. The older merk was sharpening his dagger on the edge of the fountain, striking some sparks as he went back and forth, tiny little Synas falling and dying on the thick ice. Around him a dozen other examples of sellsword-kind were lounging, smoking, talking, standing... waiting in general.
"Ah' could do without it, Rayn. Nothing so far?"
Rayn's remaining eye gleamed for a moment and, out of sheer spite for the idea of beauty, he grinned. "Any petching reason I'd still be-"
"Aw'right, aw'right, shut yer hole, funny man..."
Konrad craned his neck around, one hand tapping on the hilt of his kopis like it always did when he had thinking to do. Nope... no-one coming that looked overcome with some burning need to hire some swords. Damnit, he didn't need this lull. He had rent to pay and food to buy and his purse was getting light. That was the problem with the Way of The Blade: sometimes, even in a place like Sunberth, things got too damn peaceable.
Could ask by the Storage Houses or the Community. See if they need an extra guard. Ugly bastard like you always scares away trouble, so-
Quick, urgent movement caught his eye, and he wasn't the only one. Someone was trotting through the crowded Commons, making a beeline for the fountain. His gaze narrowed as the man approached. Well-groomed. Well-dressed. A tubby minder trotting behind him and huffing with the exertion, and as they got closer Konrad could make out the splotches on his neck.
Slaver, he thought, seeing the twin manacles with weeping faces inside painted onto his flesh. This could be promising...
"I come bearing word," the fur-swaddled slaver said without preamble, sweeping blue eyes across the rank of dirty killers dragging themselves up in a rough line, Konrad and Rayn at the end of it. "Two slaves have escaped from the Row! They are a man and a woman, returned to health and fled from the Auction! Master Tryannus calls for their return, and promises a fifth of their price to whoever returns them!"
"An' how much would that be?" Konrad said, equally without preamble, not liking this errand boy on sight, nor this mention of his "Master". Did he mean Chubs? That drooling little double-tongue? "Give us a number and we'll feel better running after 'em."
He could tell this petty emissary was offended, but telling did not equal caring. The errand boy's lips pressed in insult and Konrad tilted his head to one side, letting the torchlight catch every inch of his ravaged face, not to mention the careless, opaque glint in his eyes.
Don't expect an apology or soiled breeches, boy. Ah' shit scarier things than you.
"They were due for sale," the emissary continued, voice loud enough that more than just the mercenaries gathered at The Establishment could hear. The Crier had already been paid off, too, and soon the city would be alive with talk of escaped property and rewards. "Three hundred for the male, three-fifty for the female." He swung his gaze clearly back to Konrad and his voice dripped acid onto the frost. "That would be one-hundred-and-thirty gold pieces. Just in case you needed it explained for you..."
Konrad's first instinct was unpleasant but pleasurable. He squashed it, with effort, hiding behind a smile that was not really a smile. He'd get a hundred-nothing if he butchered his employer's man, even if he did find the slaves. So instead he just tapped the end of his hat in mocking thanks.
"When'd they get loose?"
"Earlier today, at the Auction. A few tried to make a break, and the crowd bludgeoned them back into line," the emissary said with a grin of sick satisfaction, "Our customers knew better than to aid the flight of property. But two were unaccounted for, must have snuck away while all was chaos with their brethren-"
"So they could be outta the city by now. Shame for you, huh?"
Pretty boy pursed his precious lips again. Gut him Konrad might not, but he wouldn't miss a chance to needle the little twat.
"Maybe. But unlikely. Tis death beyond the walls-"
"Tis death inside 'em, boy," Rayn said with a chortle, unable to resist the opening. "We're all proofa' that."
The laughter spread and rose and the emissary blushed, flustered and stymied and oh, Konrad did so love the sight of a man losing control of his audience. He tapped Rayn on the shoulder and hatched a quick plan. A simple one, but simple was often the best for him.
Since it didn't involve killing anyone, just finding them, he thought it the wiser option.
"Let's go," he murmured, low enough that only the older sellsword could hear. "Got a plan. Split's fifty-fifty."
"An' why'd I work wit' youse?"
"Two heads, four hands, lighter work."
"Fair enough." They were already marching away and heading east when Rayn piped up again, stubbing out his nauseating smoke and tucking it behind his ear. "Where we startin'? Outskirts? Sunset?"
"We're trackin', Rayn," Konrad said, feeling his purse through his duster and hoping he had enough coin to rent what they'd need. "We need a nose."
"We got noses. Well... you have."
"A better nose than this'n, Rayn. An' I know where to geddit."
