Chapter 3
The Blackfire Company
Outside the forge, Radmilo’s presence was bolstered by five other men clad in Blackfire colors. They stood like silent sentinels, their gazes cutting through any townsfolk who dared to look their way. The air around them seemed to hum with unspoken threats. “A little much bringing a whole escort, don’t you think?” Mags said.
“Ah, well,” Radmilo sheepishly replied, scratching his belly and squinting in the harsh light of the sun. “These boys were joining me for a drink when I got word that you were back in town. Thought they might as well join us.”
Mags rolled her eyes but bit her tongue. She re-fastened the strap of her bag across her body, touching the pocket holding the Maldrath’s aether cores. Radmilo strode from the forge and into the street. Mags fell into step, her mind churning with a mix of irritation and curiosity. Kruno’s summons rarely boded well, but refusing him was simply not an option. But he’s never been quite this impatient.
As they walked through Solstice, the familiar streets felt suddenly foreign, cast in the shadow of their escort. The path to Blackfire Manor took them past the bustling market, where traders and villagers averted their eyes, the lively chatter stifled to whispers. The northern edge of town loomed ahead, where the large house stood like a grim sentinel. Once the residence of the elected head of the town’s elders, Blackfire Manor had been forcibly requisitioned by Kruno and his men shortly after their arrival a few years ago, transforming it into a stronghold of fear and control.
Two guards, their expressions as stony as the statues flanking the entrance, stood vigil outside the front door. Recognition flickered in their eyes as they spotted Radmilo strolling down the dirt path that led from the cobblestone street to the front door of the manor. They quickly straightened their posture and moved to open the doors without a word.
Radmilo paused before entering the manor. He turned back to the escort of goons. “Alright, gents, I think the boss will just be expectin’ me and the lady, so go and find yerselves something cold to drink after that long stroll in the sun, aye?” He reached into the red silk sash tied around his rotund belly and tossed a gold coin, which one of the men happily caught. The man made a show of biting the coin before the five happily turned back the direction they came, chattering and laughing amongst each other.
Radmilo turned to Mags, gesturing to the open front door. “After you, m’lady.”
Mags’ lip curled as she shouldered past Radmilo. Inside, the air was a cool reprieve from the oppressive heat outside, yet it felt heavy with opulence and intimidation. The vast entrance hall, all marble floors and towering columns, was cloaked in shadows. Mags had never seen the manor prior to its current occupation, and could only imagine what had once adorned the walls before the tapestries of red and black. A maid, her hair streaked with gray and lines of worry etched into her face, greeted them with a bow to Radmilo. “Master Kruno is in the garden,” she said, her voice as subdued as her demeanor.
Radmilo led the way through the manor’s lavish halls. Mags couldn’t help but marvel at the excessive display of wealth. Intricate sculptures stood on pedestals, each piece a blatant reminder of the riches Kruno had amassed during his time as the overlord of Solstice in all but official title. Decorative pieces that could feed the orphanage for an entire year were scattered about like trinkets, a glaring testament to the disparity between the Blackfires and the common folk. Mags tried her best to keep her attention focused on the maid’s tight bun of braided hair, bobbing gently up and down with each step.
The maid led them to the back of the house and into the garden. There, Kruno lounged under the shade of a canopy, a goblet of chilled white wine in hand. Kruno was a sinewy man, all spidery arms and legs. Mags always thought Kruno was what Sabo could become if his life took a turn for the worse and twisted him into a cruel, hating creature. Kruno leaned back on a chair adorned with several velvet cushions, the front of his shirt casually unbuttoned and his legs crossed at his ankles. His feet were bare, expensive looking loafers tossed aside. At his side was a table topped with a bucket of ice in which sat the remainder of his bottle of wine, a couple of additional glasses, and a plate with what looked to be the remnants of roasted boar and lamb, some bread and partially-devoured block of hard white cheese. Kruno had perhaps the most punchable face Mags had ever seen. As she stepped into the garden, she let a small snarl escape her lips at the sight of Kruno’s face, twisted into a devilish smile.
Kruno didn’t seem to notice them enter the garden. His attention was focused on what was in front of him instead. Mags heard the grunting and panting of struggle before she reached Kruno’s tableside and was able to see everything that was unfolding in the garden. Kruno was focused on two men stripped to their breeches, locked in a brutal wrestling match in the dusty courtyard before him. They weren’t Blackfire Company mercenaries, but Mags didn’t immediately recognize them from town either. Perhaps they were from one of the nearby farmsteads. Why they were there and fighting for Kruno’s entertainment she couldn’t guess? Perhaps they were in debt to the Company, or were offered some kind of prize. Kruno had a way of getting people to do what he wanted.
The combat was fierce, raw, and primal, each man fighting as if his life depended on it. Sweat and blood mingled on their rippling muscles as they grappled, neither willing to yield. Though she herself was an experienced fighter, each man was massive and she imagined either would crush her if he was able to get his hands on her. With all of the dirt and blood, the two would have been hard to tell apart if it wasn’t for one wearing gray pants and the other wearing black. Her mind wandered for a moment, thinking of how she could use her smaller frame and speed advantage to get the upper hand if she were the one fighting.
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The fight reached a climax when black breeches was able to swing his body around gray breeches and get him into a headlock. Black’s entire arm pulsed as he squeezed with all his might. Gray clawed at the other man’s forearm, his face beginning to turn a dark shade of bluish purple as he fought for air. Desperately, Gray abandoned his futile attempt at breaking the headlock and instead swung his fist upwards. Gray managed to punch his opponent in the face repeatedly, until Black’s grip finally loosened. With a swift motion, Gray spun and pinned the other man, sitting on top of Black’s chest. Gray unleashed a flurry of punches. Black attempted to raise an arm to shield his face, but he was too late.
Gray pummeled the other man’s face until Black’s arms fell limp at his side. At that moment, he paused, hand cocked near the side of his face, and he looked over at Kruno. Kruno didn’t say a word. He simply took another sip of his wine. He isn’t going to let them stop, even though the fight is over. Mags frowned at the cruelty.
Gray didn’t let a reaction escape him. He let his fist fly, one punch after another. The only sound in the garden was the wet crunch of fist meeting face. Three, four, five punches. Blood sprayed from the unconscious man, splattering the earth before Kruno’s feet. Eventually, Gray stopped, heavily panting as he took in the mess he made.
Kruno’s laughter rang out, a sound both jovial and chilling. He applauded as the victor stood, chest heaving, while two servants rushed to assist the fallen man. The man in black breeches looked like a shredded rag doll as they pulled him to his feet and dragged him out of the garden. “Well fought,” Kruno called, his eyes finally flicking to Radmilo and Mags. He signaled for the servants to clear the courtyard, their movements swift and practiced. Gray gave a quick bow, hand gripping his side, before he limped out of the garden. Definitely a broken rib or two, Mags thought.
“Take a seat,” Kruno invited, his tone deceptively casual. Radmilo happily complied, pouring himself a heavy glass of wine while grumbling about the heat and the inconvenience of fetching Mags across town. Radmilo settled into one of the other velvet-lined cushioned chairs with a groan.
Mags remained standing, her jaw set in defiance. “I’ll make this quick,” she said, pulling the two aether cores from her bag and tossing them onto the table. The dull clink as they landed echoed in the tense silence that followed the gruesome bought.
Kruno picked up the cores, his eyes narrowing as he examined them. “So small,” he muttered, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “These shouldn’t have given you so much trouble.” He leaned back, his gaze piercing. “While you were out playing with Maldrath, we had an interesting development.”
Mags’ stomach tightened. She had no idea where this was heading. She only knew it likely meant trouble. “Interesting? How so?”
“One of the garuda ranchers near town stumbled upon a Deep not far from the Velav.”
The words hung heavy in the air. A Deep, colloquially known as a “dungeon,” was a labyrinthine structure created by the same miasma that spawned the Maldrath. When the concentration of miasma and aether were both strong enough, it formed Deeps. Only fully-awakened Soulsingers could destroy them, and they posed a dire threat to nearby human populations. Most ordinary folks were wise enough to stay as far away from an active Deep as possible.
Mags’ cleared her throat before continuing. “And, I’m assuming one of the elders scryed a message to the Coalition front to summon a cadre of sorcerers to come and deal with it?”
But Mags’ already knew the answer. Kruno chuckled and took another long sip of his wine. “And why would they do that?”
“Perhaps they value their own lives.”
Kruno took the glass away from his lips, pausing to savor the mouth full of wine. “We got word of this Deep the same day you left on your little hunting getaway. Since I’ve arrived in this backwater, we haven’t heard a peep of any activity outside of a few stray Shades every couple of months.” He set his wine glass down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and fingers crossed in front of him. His eyes were locked onto Mags, a primal hunger burned in his glare. “We both know what riches can be extracted from a dungeon. A score like this can buy someone a lot of good will . . . And it’s only a matter of time before the empire’s dogs sweep in to claim it for themselves.”
The Ravaelian Empire typically dispatched imperial forces or a sanctioned Company of Soulsingers to clear Deeps. Each Deep housed an aether core, along with other riches and artifacts. Cultivating Deeps was widely known to form a significant part of the empire’s wealth. The Empire, both directly and through its control of the Thirteen Crowns, had a virtual monopoly on the “mining” of these dungeons.
“It would be a shame if someone, some unknown nobody, swept in and cleared the dungeon before Ravaelia’s hounds came sniffing,” Kruno said.
“Quite the shame,” Radmilo echoed through a mouth of boar meat and cheese.
Mags sighed. “Hunting stray Maldrath is one thing, but what you’re proposing is pure suicide. Dungeon diving wasn’t part of our deal.”
It was as if Mags’ words stoked the fire behind Kruno’s eyes. He settled back into a comfortable pose, but she noticed the slight pulsing of the veins at his temples. He was not someone who was used to being told no. “Our deal was I say ‘fetch’ and you ‘fetch’ any time there were aether cores to claim. And, if you did a good enough job, I would let that little orphanage continue to scrape by instead of putting all those other kids to work to earn their keep in this little shit stain of a village.”
“Yes, a dungeon core would be nice to have, but I’m not getting out of a Deep alone.”
Kruno’s smile was wicked, confidence oozing from every pore. “Leave that to me. I wouldn’t let you simply die; you’re too valuable an asset. I don’t throw away assets. I invest them.”
Mags’ mind raced. “You have a Guide?”
“You’ll depart as soon as possible. Meet here first thing tomorrow morning, just before sunrise,” Kruno said, his voice brokering no argument.
“And I’m expected to handle preparations and acquiring supplies in a single evening?”
“Like I said before,” Kruno said, “we’ve had word of the Deep for days now, and aren’t in a position to lollygag. Supplies have been arranged and will be ready for you in the morning.”
Mags still couldn’t wrap her head around the asinine idea Kruno was proposing. He was greedy, sure, but not an absolute idiot. Had he really acquired the services of a Guide? The ultra-specialized class of Soulsingers were highly sought after and essential for clearing a dungeon. If he had, perhaps it would be possible to get in-and-out before the Empire arrived. A Deep presented a number of risks and dangers. But an endless possibility of rewards. An idea sparked in Mags’ mind, a calculated risk. The plan came together in a moment. “I suppose I’ve got little choice in the matter, but I do have a condition before I accept this insane job. I’ll need an extra pair of hands and ones I can trust. Let me bring someone else with me. Of my choosing.”
Kruno laughed, the sound both amused and menacing. “Done.”
Mags nodded curtly. “Is that all?” Without waiting for a reply, she gave a sarcastic bow and left Kruno and Radmilo behind, her mind already working on her next move.