Astor order?”
The cloaked man nodded, though his face could not be seen. “A Fist of Astor to be sure and, as I said, in the service of the king of Tynira by her dress.”
“That was not part of the deal,” the raider said, assessing the news again. “Where exactly are they?”
“In the common room with a few locals. What were your orders?”
The raider wondered if telling the spy his mission was against his master’s orders. “Let’s just say that the mercenary was to live while the old men died.”
The man in the dark cloak and hood nodded again, understanding instinctively and having some other knowledge of current events. “Cast more suspicion on the man. Very clever.”
“How would you know?” the raider asked, narrowing his eyes. It was one thing to use local resources and another to trust a stranger. Still, his master told him whom to see and where and how the man would be dressed, and this stranger fit the bill.
“Let’s just say that I have access to information too, even in a backwater town like this.”
The raider didn’t like the man knowing more than he did. “The holy warrior will have to go.”
“You’re sanctioning her death, then?”
“Yes. Poison should do nicely since I don’t think someone the likes of you could handle one of those Astor warriors.” The raider sounded smug, spoken to make himself feel better.
“That will cost extra,” the shadowy figure said.
“Take it up with the bosses,” the raider said, looking to his side and feeling secure at the sight of his half-dozen hired killers.
The man seemed to tilt his head to the side, looking at the men too. Slowly he extended a hand out, palm up. “Extra.”
“You think I carry that kind of coin?”
“Out here the price is cheaper, especially if you have the agent of use.”
The raider fumed but thought better of crossing the man. No telling how many townsfolk would come running if he screamed for help. The thought that the man could kill him and his thugs never crossed his mind. Luckily for him, the man had other designs.
“Fine.” The raider reached into his inner tunic pocket and pulled out a vial of dark liquid. “You’ll have to use all of it, and I won’t be responsible if you screw this up.” One more reach to his belt under his own cloak, and a very small pouch with some coins in it came out and into the man’s hand on top of the vial.
The shadowy figure knew it was probably simple common coppers, but he didn’t care. He would have accepted the job for free, as it played into his own plans, but the raider had to be convinced he was sincere, and the request for payment would be totally appropriate under the circumstances.
“Go, meet them at the blood rock. I’ll see to it that they camp there tomorrow night.” The shadowy figure turned and started to walk away, back toward town.
“Hey, wait a minute,” the raider said, grasping his dagger and preparing himself to draw it, if necessary.
The cloaked man stopped and turned his head to the side but did not turn to face the raider. “What?”
The raider thought the man was rather rude, but he wanted to make sure the deed was done—he was paying money for it. Not a lot, but coin didn’t come easy out in the wilds, and he didn’t want to answer for sloppy execution of his orders. “How do we know you’ll take care of this and not just run with our payment?”
The man’s response brought a chill to the raider’s spine. “You don’t know.”
The man kept his back to the raider in an obvious sign of contempt, but the man didn’t rise to lead this rabble by being hasty. There was something different about this local spy. He didn’t show fear walking into the midst of a group of proven killers, and he didn’t seem in the least concerned about his safety around them.
When the man left, his second-in-command sighed, letting out a deep breath that he was probably holding, and then spoke. “Damn you, Argos. Don’t go getting us
The cloaked man nodded, though his face could not be seen. “A Fist of Astor to be sure and, as I said, in the service of the king of Tynira by her dress.”
“That was not part of the deal,” the raider said, assessing the news again. “Where exactly are they?”
“In the common room with a few locals. What were your orders?”
The raider wondered if telling the spy his mission was against his master’s orders. “Let’s just say that the mercenary was to live while the old men died.”
The man in the dark cloak and hood nodded again, understanding instinctively and having some other knowledge of current events. “Cast more suspicion on the man. Very clever.”
“How would you know?” the raider asked, narrowing his eyes. It was one thing to use local resources and another to trust a stranger. Still, his master told him whom to see and where and how the man would be dressed, and this stranger fit the bill.
“Let’s just say that I have access to information too, even in a backwater town like this.”
The raider didn’t like the man knowing more than he did. “The holy warrior will have to go.”
“You’re sanctioning her death, then?”
“Yes. Poison should do nicely since I don’t think someone the likes of you could handle one of those Astor warriors.” The raider sounded smug, spoken to make himself feel better.
“That will cost extra,” the shadowy figure said.
“Take it up with the bosses,” the raider said, looking to his side and feeling secure at the sight of his half-dozen hired killers.
The man seemed to tilt his head to the side, looking at the men too. Slowly he extended a hand out, palm up. “Extra.”
“You think I carry that kind of coin?”
“Out here the price is cheaper, especially if you have the agent of use.”
The raider fumed but thought better of crossing the man. No telling how many townsfolk would come running if he screamed for help. The thought that the man could kill him and his thugs never crossed his mind. Luckily for him, the man had other designs.
“Fine.” The raider reached into his inner tunic pocket and pulled out a vial of dark liquid. “You’ll have to use all of it, and I won’t be responsible if you screw this up.” One more reach to his belt under his own cloak, and a very small pouch with some coins in it came out and into the man’s hand on top of the vial.
The shadowy figure knew it was probably simple common coppers, but he didn’t care. He would have accepted the job for free, as it played into his own plans, but the raider had to be convinced he was sincere, and the request for payment would be totally appropriate under the circumstances.
“Go, meet them at the blood rock. I’ll see to it that they camp there tomorrow night.” The shadowy figure turned and started to walk away, back toward town.
“Hey, wait a minute,” the raider said, grasping his dagger and preparing himself to draw it, if necessary.
The cloaked man stopped and turned his head to the side but did not turn to face the raider. “What?”
The raider thought the man was rather rude, but he wanted to make sure the deed was done—he was paying money for it. Not a lot, but coin didn’t come easy out in the wilds, and he didn’t want to answer for sloppy execution of his orders. “How do we know you’ll take care of this and not just run with our payment?”
The man’s response brought a chill to the raider’s spine. “You don’t know.”
The man kept his back to the raider in an obvious sign of contempt, but the man didn’t rise to lead this rabble by being hasty. There was something different about this local spy. He didn’t show fear walking into the midst of a group of proven killers, and he didn’t seem in the least concerned about his safety around them.
When the man left, his second-in-command sighed, letting out a deep breath that he was probably holding, and then spoke. “Damn you, Argos. Don’t go getting us
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