Drowning at Dusk Ch. 05

"You don't plan on wandering off anytime soon though, do you?"

"No," I said, smiling. "Not anytime soon."

I leaned down, and we shared a soft kiss as the storm clouds flared upon the distant horizon.

***

At Dazyar's insistence, we ended up moving our morning rendezvous to one of the city's sprawling public parks, in the hopes that the fresh air would improve the bard's hangover. It decidedly didn't, and the bard's bloodshot eyes fluttered as he slumped onto the stone bench, then placed his head in his hands.

"A dreadful performance, but a wonderful afterparty," he said with a long moan. "They drowned their shame in liquor and song all bloody night." After a few deep breaths he looked up at us. "But how did your evening fare?"

Xelari summarized our encounter with Patrigan and what we'd learned of Synrik, and his current investigation on Pyrewatch.

"Falkost, you say?" Dazyar asked.

"Aye," I said. "Why? You know him?"

"I know his family," said the bard. "Or rather, I know the family name from a few songs and epic sagas. They're old blood. Ancient supporters from the ages of kings, before the Commonwealth and the Lord-Protectors. A long line of court mages and royal sorcerers."

Xelari raised an eyebrow.

"From court mages to watch captains. The Falkosts have fallen far indeed. Perhaps necromancy and this scheme were a way to elevate their prospects once again? Cause a great crisis, bring Heroth tumbling down, so the Falkosts could rise in his stead?"

"Whatever his motives, we need to get to Pyrewatch," I said to Dazyar. "The sooner, the better."

"Buy a rowboat, then. Can't be that expensive. Voids, can probably just hitch a ride with a fishing ship, and not even have to pay."

"We can't go alone. Synrik may have other corrupt members of the watch with him, not to mention a small horde of undead. His choice of Pyrewatch for his apparent 'investigation' may not be a coincidence: it places him atop a veritable army."

"Seems like a problem for the Lord-Protector, right? Why can't Patrigan snap his fingers, summon the garrison, and storm the island?" Dazyar asked.

"Not enough evidence for that. Not to mention, other officers could be compromised. Half of the captains he tasks with leading an assault on the island could very well be in Synrik's pocket."

"So we're on our own."

"For the moment, yes. But this city is rife with sellswords and armed fools willing to kill and die for a bit of silver. They don't even need the full story, just that there's a potential necromancer out on Pyrewatch."

"I don't want rabble," said Xelari. "I already made that mistake in the Wildwood. I'd much prefer a small, seasoned group of professionals over a horde of drunken louts and craven wretches."

"A shame that brawny orc friend of yours and his Tombflayer hirelings aren't on hand," said Dazyar.

"Indeed," I said, imagining the quick, brutal work Terakh would have made of any undead that got in our way. "But there are other Tombflayers here in the city, yes? Good, solid, dependable killers like that would be a great asset."

"Expensive, though," said Dazyar.

"We'll make it work, even if the silver has to come out of my own share. We'll promise them a large cut of whatever ill-gotten gains we get from Pyrewatch, too."

"They have a barracks in the Deadcrown District," Dazyar said. "Used to busk on the street in front of them. Uppity bastards never tipped, but nobody ever messed with them, that's for sure."

"Any other prospects?" Xelari asked. "We'd be wise not to place all of our hopes in a single mercenary band." She raised an eyebrow at Dazyar. "What about that mercenary band you performed for outside of the city?"

"They're spoken for, I'm afraid. Taking on a contract for one of the mining guilds, to protect incoming ore ships."

"Also heard a bit of gossip about the Crow's Grave Company," I said. "Freshly arrived. Mostly elven refugees and exiles, hiring their blades and bows out to the highest bidder. Never tangled with them or worked for them, though."

"Aye," Dazyar said with a nod. "Over near the docks, I think."

"I might have better luck swaying them, especially if there are dusk elves in their number," said Xelari. "Us exiles tend to stick together."

I realized it was the first time that Xelari had referred to herself as an exile, and I made a mental note to pry about that later.

"And after a nap and some more tea, I can resume my snooping in the taverns," Dazyar said. "Now that we have a name behind this conspiracy, I can try to gather a bit more info about him. A few drunken watch officers might let slip a key detail. Failing that, I can try to hire us a large enough ship, too.

"All right," I said with a nod. "I'll see to the Tombflayers, Dazyar you see to that hangover, look into hiring us a ship and some rumor-gathering, and Xelari will see to the Crow's Grave. We'll meet back at Sergayl's this evening, hire us a ship, and set out for Pyrewatch as soon as we can."

Xelari and I strode off together, walking along the finely-manicured paths of the park while we left Dazyar to relax and recover in the fresh air.

"Exile," I said. "That's new. I didn't know you left your home under such circumstances."

"A slip of the tongue." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm getting careless around you two."

"No harm in spilling another secret, Xelari. I've shared plenty with you."

She paused in front of a great expanse of wildflowers, over which scurried bees and songbirds. Children bounded through the field, chasing after the birds and collecting flower petals to put in their hair. It was a rather idyllic little spot, one that contrasted sharply with the bloody plans we were formulating.

"The reason for my exile is tied inextricably to my reasons for joining the Deathless."

"And since you won't tell me why you joined, I'm not going to learn about your exile, too." I sighed, a bit disappointed that she still couldn't trust me with that information, even after she'd trusted me enough to remove the chain-rune.

"I think you deserve the truth. But not now. Not when we're surrounded by so much light and life. And not when we have so much arrayed against us. One night, once this mess settles down, I'll have a few cups of wine, and stare gloomily out at the moons while I share the tale. Is that acceptable?"

"Aye," I said, smiling softly.

After a quick kiss, we parted ways, with Xelari wandering off to find the Crow's Grave, while I made my way towards the Deadcrown District and the Tombflayers.

The district was aptly named; each street leading into the district was adorned with defaced, battered statues of the old princes and kings of the city. Even as I walked past one statue, a band of children approached with red paint, defacing it with crude drawings of genitalia and misspelled curse words. Nearby, a group of city employees washed another battered statue of graffiti; the city's rulers didn't actually care about the memory of the old kings, they just wanted to clean up the old paint so that other people could have their fun.

Other travelers spat upon the bases of the statues as they walked, made rude gestures, or uttered foul curses to the loathed and half-forgotten kings of old. To fit in, I spat upon the base of a headless statue of a man on a rearing horse, and flashed a crude gesture to a statue of an armored woman whose arms had been bashed off ages ago.

The streets were lined with architectural chimeras: buildings cobbled together of various sources of stone, wood, and brick. Even the grandest of homes looked like puzzles that had put together incorrectly. The name 'Deadcrown' didn't just refer to the defaced statues; most of the homes and shops had been erected from the rubble of the destroyed royal palaces, the estates of royalist barons, and the fortresses of the royal knights. The very structures that had once exemplified the old regime had become homes to the very people the regime had once oppressed.

It was an ugly, bizarre sight to behold, but one that made my chest swell with a bit of pride. Mrenhold, having also once been under the thrall of tyrannical kings, had a few streets lined with similar architecture, where ruined royal palaces had been turned into public parks and theaters.

For all the chaos and faults of the Commonwealth, we didn't have to bend beneath the yokes of kings. Of course, the Lord-Protectors and the councils could be tyrannical in their own right, but at least they didn't rule for life.

My musings on governance vanished as I wandered about, trying to track down the Tombflayers' office. I passed by a large market square, at the center of which rested a statue of a prince slaying a dragon. Several grubby teenagers had clambered onto the statue, using brown paint to deface the prince to make it look like he'd been shit on.

I chuckled at the display and called out to them, asking for directions to the Tombflayers. They ended up making a trade for the information, and pointed the way after utilizing my help in smearing some brown paint over part of the statue that they couldn't quite reach. Armed with that information and amused by their antics, I pressed deeper into Deadcrown.

The Tombflayer barracks was wide two-story structure: a recent construction, given that it was all made of the same red brick instead of the usual hodgepodge of materials common to the Deadcrown district. Two brawny, impressive young men stood guard. They wore dark chainmail, golden cloaks, and little badges of the company sigil: a skull being torn apart by a flail. An apt symbol, considering the work I was hoping to hire them for.

"Hello there, lads," I said with a bright smile. "Where's a lady need to go to hire some muscle?"

"Five silver for a consultation," one grunted. "No guarantee that the captains will take the contract, though."

Mercenaries, through and through. Five bloody silver just for a chat. I bit back my complaint and tossed over the coins, and the Tombflayer rapped heavily on the door.

"Got a prospective client!"

Iron scraped against iron, and the door opened from within.

Inside was a small dining area. A teenaged boy cleaned up the tables, and a glowering Tombflayer stood in front of the door. He was nearly as tall and broad as Terakh, and wore a necklace made of wolf's teeth. Due to his pale skin and long, braided blonde hair, I suspected he hailed from one of the southern barbarian tribes, who ruled the distant mountains and continually clashed with the orcs of the highlands. The angry look in his blue eyes and his impressive build reminded me of Terakh; I barely restrained the urge to lick my lips as memories of the brutish orc came rushing forth.

Unlike the guards on duty, he didn't have on armor, and instead wore a simple black vest, riding trousers, and no shoes at all. His blonde braids were coated with sweat, and I guessed he'd been in the middle of a sparring match or exercise session when I'd interrupted him with my visit.

"The captain and the other officers are out back sparring," he grunted. "Follow me if you want to make your offer."

"Impressive little fortress you've got here," I said, following along.

The mercenary gave no reply, and shoved his way through a set of heavy iron doors, which opened into a small courtyard. A dozen mercenaries were sparring and training: some dueled with real weapons, others with wooden sticks, and others grappled and boxed. A few slammed blades against training dummies, or shot arrow after arrow into bales of straw.

Most were human men, though I noted a few orcs, and a single meadow elf. Five of the mercenaries were women, including a tall brute who had a hint of orcish ancestry, on account of her green-tinted skin and slightly reddish eyes. Barely any of the Tombflayers paid me any mind.

"Client here," my escort called out.

"Thank you, Leskoric," said one of the humans: a tall, willowy man who was using a training spear to bash and strike at two other mercenaries. Stubble lined his thin face, and his long, gray-flecked black hair fluttered as he moved. Bright blue runic tattoos covered almost the entirety of his left arm. I raised an eyebrow; most mages preferred to keep their runes embedded in stones or special items, rather than upon their flesh. One could draw greater power from the runes if they were part of one's body, but doing so posed immense risks.

Not only was that man apparently a powerful enough caster to take on that risk, he could also clearly hold his own in a fight. His spear swatted away an outstretched sword, swept aside the man's leg, then thumped into the side of his next opponent's hand.

"I'm First Captain Varanthir," he said, not missing a beat as he twirled to avoid another flurry of blows from his sparring partners. "Tell us why you need our steel and our blood."

"Don't you want to take a water break while we negotiate?" I asked, grinning as his foes penned him into a corner. With a growl of effort, Varanthir counterattacked with wild swings and sweeps that forced his foes back.

"I'm a battlemage: we're made to multitask. Casting and fighting, casting and bleeding, talking and fighting. Whatever it takes."

In the midst of that boast, one of his foes got in close enough to slam his shield against the battlemage's chest. The breath exploded from his lungs, but he twirled back from the blow and steadied himself.

"We're on the hunt for a suspected necromancer, on Pyrewatch island. We need a decent, dependable crew to back us up."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?" another mercenary asked.

"Partially. But my associate and I are treasure hunters of a sort, and we've reason to believe this necromancer may have some valuable relics in his possession."

"Sounds like a job for the watch," said Lescorik.

"Can't trust them."

"Rumors are true, then," said the meadow elf mercenary. He was short and brawny, with a mane of wild, curly blonde hair, tanned skin with a faint green tint, and beautiful tattoos of vines crawling up his neck.

"Which rumors are those?" I asked.

"Whispers," the meadow elf said. "Talk of some new crime lord pulling the strings, bribing the watch to adjust their patrols. Heard they pulled back on the coastal patrols in particular. Aligns with your concerns about Pyrewatch."

I guessed that Synrik didn't want prying eyes there, so he'd likely made arrangements for his fellow officers to give his schemes on Pyrewatch a wide berth.

"A necromancer means an ugly fight," Varanthir said. "Ugly fights cost extra."

"I've plenty of silver. We've no care for the loot we find on the island, other than any magical relics in the necromancer's possession, so we'll be generous with that share."

"Fifty silver per Tombflayer per day, minimum. One hundred silver total as a hiring fee, another five hundred due once Pyrewatch is secure. And an even split of the proceeds of whatever loot or relics you acquire."

Bloody Voids, that was pricey. But given Xelari's deep pockets and my own promised amount of silver, it was certainly manageable.

"Before we settle on the price, there's another thing you should know, though I'll have to ask for your discretion."

"We Tombflayers pride ourselves on it. What's the concern?"

"The necromancer we're after may...be a corrupt member of the city watch."

Several of the mercenaries laughed.

"Voids below," said the orc-blooded woman. "If you'd have led with that, we might have offered you a discount. Cracking in the skull of some crooked lawman? That's my idea of a day off."

"I have friends in high places who can ensure we get through this clean," I said, sure that Patrigan would extricate us from any further blowback once Synrik was dealt with.

"For the extra trouble, let's say another fifty silver to the hiring fee, and another hundred as the final payment. We'll secure Pyrewatch for you. Any hunts after that will require further negotiation."

"We'll take ten fighters, then. Preferably those with experience fighting undead."

"Plenty," the meadow elf said. "I even made arrows designed specifically for killing ghouls."

I grinned.

"Will it cost me extra for a chance to gawk at those?"

"We'll consider it part of the contract," the meadow elf laughed and motioned me over. I joined him over by a rack of weapons. "I'm Kivessin, by the way. Second Captain."

"Esharyn."

Kivessen plucked up a long, sturdy arrow with a particularly oversized tip, which bore long, sharp spikes along the shaft.

"It's designed to break just after impact," he explained. "When it does, these nasty spikes spread out and slice forward, ripping up both the dead and living parts of a ghoul's flesh. So as long as you get a hit one way or another, you'll damage the weaker bits."

"Well as far as I'm aware, there are few elven dead on Pyrewatch, so little risk of ghouls." I ran my fingers over the weapons. "Could have used a few of these myself in the past, though."

"You've clashed with ghouls?"

"A few times."

"If you're such an expert death-slayer, why do you need us?" Varanthir asked, even as his spear swept out the legs from one of his opponents.

"I need more than expertise. I need numbers. Numberswith expertise."

"Save yourself the silver," said Kivessen. "Just hire me." He flashed me a wide, proud grin. "I've been killing ghouls since I was a child. Grew up in the old elven ruins of Qal-Embarsha, where there were as many ghouls as there were deer."

"And then I'd look like a fool when we end up going against barrow-walkers and cryptwolves, and your fancy arrows would be of less use." I grinned. "But aye, I'd like to have you among my ten."

And given those pretty curls hair, that charming smile, and that athletic build, I'd have also liked to have him in another way, too.

Varanthir tapped one of the runes on his arm. Blue light swelled from the arcane sigils, and a gust of wind burst from his outstretched hand, sending his foes sprawling onto their backs. The gust also knocked over a few training dummies, and even forced me back a step.

"I will join the ten as well," Varanthir said. "With Kivessen, that means we need eight more. Who-"

Before he could even finish speaking, the remaining ten in the courtyard raised their hands.

"I need eight more, not the whole lot of you," the captain said.

"Fuck it," I said, grinning. "I can spare the extra silver. If you're all mad enough to hunt a necromancer on a cemetery isle, then you're good enough for me."

I probably should have checked in with Xelari and Dazyar before committing to the contract, but I had a decent sense of their capabilities after watching them train, knew well their fierce reputation, and the allure of Varanthir and Kivessen certainly helped sway me.

"Lescorik, be a good man and go fetch the gilded hand, some ink, and parchment."

The blonde barbarian wandered off, and Varanthir helped his defeated foes to their feet, and gave them a few pointers on how they could have actually taken him down.

"How about I give them some pointers, too?" I said, crossing my arms and grinning. "Or at least a spectacle they can learn from. How about you and I have a go, Varanthir?"

"It's bad manners to bash in the pretty face of a prospective client."

My smile widened at the compliment.

"It'd be bad manners for me to bash in the pretty face of a prospective hireling, too, but I'm still willing to give a friendly duel a shot. Unless an old man like you isn't up for it after thrashing those two."

Of course, he wasn'tthat old, especially not when compared to Xelari. I wagered he wasn't even fifty, judging by the faint streaks of gray and the scant wrinkles under his eyes.

"That's the lazy sort of barb, Esharyn," Kivessen said, tutting. "You need to cut him more deeply if you want him to rise to the challenge."