Krug moved from the stuffy dockmaster’s office out into the street and the better light and fresher air. Winds he hated this town. Sickening air and weak sunlight, the breeze always cold blowing in off the Black Sea, it was nothing like the warm tropical air of the Diamond Sea, it was nothing at all like the lush and humid warmth that wrapped you in comfort in the long, lazy evenings on the Rogun beaches. When he got tired of the sweaty, sweltering bars of the inner city, he could just escape to the paradise that was always a few blocks away.

“Boss,” his first lieutenant, Kal called to him and he turned, squinting at him unhappily. He watched as the big man moved from around his horse and lifted a pocket to take a letter packet. He handed it to him. Krug looked at it and exhaled loudly.

“I need a quiet place and a drink,” he told him. Kal nodded and without a word handed him the reins to his horse and mounted his own. He waited for his boss to be ready and then moved them through the street, his lead breaking the crowd to let them pass.

Ten minutes later, Kal stopped them at a quiet looking pub, snuggled deep from the street and against a warehouse with sheds. He tied both their horses and Krug followed him wordlessly inside.

The pub was cozy, dark, but clean enough considering it was close to the docks. The bartender nodded and Krug ordered two ales before sitting at a booth in the back. The lantern guttered and sizzled a bit at the turbulence of the air they disturbed, but settled when they did. Krug took out the packet and broke the seal.

When the bartender came and dropped the two mugs, Kal pushed the coins across and he took them with a thanks but left them immediately. He was sipping the head from the cup, the foam catching in his whiskers and only when Krug spoke did he seem to notice him again.

“Timeline is moved up,” he told him. Kal made no indication he was surprised, and moved his arm to wipe the foam on his sleeve.

“How bad?” he asked simply. Krug inhaled deeply and lifted his own mug. He’d dropped the letter on the table in front of him. He shrugged after taking a long drink. When the mug came back down, he too had foam on his upper lip but he licked it instead.

“A month?” he replied and looked to Kal this time. Kal seemed to consider it, but slowly. He lifted his mug again and drank slow like his boss.

“We have the dock dog taken care of,” Kal said very low and using the code to ensure no names might be picked up from their conversation. Krug nodded.

“Just leaves ship rat to convince,” he replied and Kal agreed but shrugged. Tatiana and Bale did not scare either of them. Rogun had some mighty tough pirates of its own and Krug was friends with all of them.

“That gives me an idea,” he said then, thinking more acutely on the last thought. Kal could only watch and wait and the curiosity was clear on his face. “We know pirates,” he began and Kal agreed. “We know all pirates know other pirates,” he added. Kal frowned but agreed again. “We need Bane to stand down when Malta arrives with our compatriots, Kal. That’s all. We don’t want to be boarded or taxed and we certainly don’t want anyone counting how many men come off of the ships at one time, do we?”

“No Boss,” Kal replied.

“We have secured with the dog the necessary ignorance that we want to add some fellow helpers to secure the Rogun “free trade” shipments,” Krug went on and Malta smirked and laughed once. He liked that Krug referred to the black market trade as “free” when it concerned swindling the Orak’Thune queen.

“He assures me the caravan donkey will not be a problem and that he’ll keep his eyes turned the other way,” Krug went on, thinking his plan through out loud while Kal drank and nodded along. “It matters not that we don’t care what the donkey knows, we’re not leaving Divik once we get here.”

“Malta wants his pretty bird to come to him,” Kal added and Krug chuckled once, his eyes boring into his friend.

“So the ruse is set as to why a bunch of ruffians will suddenly appear, supporting Rogun contraband, no never mind the crates are not full of rum and fruit and fine silks but weapons and armour for the Tower,” Krug added and smiled smugly between them.

“Just leaves the shiny ones,” Kal said and tipped his mug all the way up, clearly having reached the bottom. He lowered it, looked at the empty mug with one eye and then looked to his boss. Krug sighed loudly but nodded. He picked the letter back up to read it one more time, while Kal lifted his and indicated for two more ales. The bartender returned two minutes later and Kal repeated the favour by sliding two more coins. When he was gone again, Krug lowered his letter.

“The Shiny Ones, yes,” he mused. He finished his own first mug in two big swigs, the last pushing his cheeks out before he swallowed. He pushed the empty to the side of the table and pulled the new one closer. “You promised me the men coming in the first wave are good fighters,” he said then and Kal straightened but nodded.

“I trained with them, they will fight and fight good,” he assured his boss.

“They have to take down the shiny ones by surprise,” Krug reminded him, wagging a finger at him across the table. “at night,” he added and Kal nodded again, looking slightly wounded.

“I know the plan, Krug, you made me remember,” he replied innocently. Krug only sighed.

“I reminded you, buffoon,” he answered him with a roll of his eyes and Kal grinned broadly. “I’m not kidding, Kal. If they are awake when we enter the shiny one’s barracks, we are all dead men. Even guided by our unwavering belief in this cause, no man is a match for a shiny one.”

Kal frowned at him then. “They are only four or five, Krug,” he said then. “Why Malta say we have no chance? We will be twenty maybe fifty by the time we move.”

Krug sighed and took a slow look around the room. There seemed an old sailor at the end of the bar, chatting with the bartender, and two other men at a booth near the front. They were alone in the back.

“Knights are special soldiers, Kal,” he whispered across the table at him and it was comical to watch his overgrown, beastly-looking, street thug of a friend copy him in the gesture. Kal was loyal, brutal and good at two things; fighting and getting people to fight. At one point, however, Krug was sure he’d been axed in the head or something. He had trouble stringing thoughts together and he had an almost boyish level appreciation for the small things, like ale and subterfuge at the moment.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Krug sighed and sat straight again, he shook his head and moved to take another drink.

“Is that why Malta don’t take on the queen by herself? She’s special, right?” Kal asked then. Krug stopped drinking, his eyes fixing hard on his friend. They never spoke about Malta’s plans out in unsecure company. Never.

“Where’s Izik, Kal?” Krug asked him then, whispering the name at him. Kal looked dumbfounded by the question and seemed to actually be considering it. On Rogun and Orak’Thune however, that was commonplace knowledge. Street-level legend and admirable depending on which you spoke to.

“Cut up and burned up in a tree, Krug,” Kal replied, clearly confused by the question.

“Quite right,” he replied and squinted at him. “So no, she is not safe to take on by yourself.”

Kal considered this a long time and then he nodded slowly. “That’s why Malta wants us to smash the shiny ones. She will come to be alone here.”

Krug shrugged and took another long drink of his ale. When he was finished, he set it down and started refolding the letter.

“How long to get all the friends here, Krug?” he asked then. Krug sighed and lifted his arms to stretch them wide. He yawned and thought about going back to their apartment for a nap. It was mid-afternoon and his business was done for the day. Maybe on the way there, he’d stop at The Lounge club and leave a call for Sophia to join him later. It was important he keep her close, he didn’t want her to get comfortable and think he was releasing her from their agreement.

Krug had bigger plans for the barons than even Kal knew. Malta had been very clear with his orders to his lieutenant when he’d assigned him this mission: unsettle Divik and set it for him to fall when he arrived to take it by force when he got there. All Krug needed to do was chip away at the relationships and the security that bound Divik together, Malta already supplying him with the intel he’d needed that pointed out that Divik was already on the edge of collapse with the failing control of the barons relationships.

He’d started there, seeding more doubt about each of the others to one of them at a time in turn. True to his information, it was easy to sow what he needed. Droga had been quick to take the money Krug had brought him, and even told him outright that he would fool the “stupid and piggish” Pontas when his extra muscle arrived. He’d feed him a cover story that most of the men arriving were Kitskan miners, there to move the heavy metals that were legal tender and trade and that made the majority of Divik’s imports. The rest would be Kitskan blacksmiths, coming on exchange to work the smithy’s and armour forges just beyond the western walls. No one would even know they were Rogun, particularly that Malta had secured Kitskan transports to cover their origin and Droga had run with that, and he’d never even asked what was coming in the boxes.

As for the other barons, Krug had seen an opportunity. When Malta arrived and swept aside the security forces of the knights and soldiers, he was betting the barons would have some protection detail but nothing worthy enough to protect their interests too. Malta didn’t want to occupy Divik for any longer than it took to get Queen Nyssa to show up and face him. Krug knew that Malta clearly expected to die in this endeavour, his plan was to take the infernal whore-queen and her son with him to hell, hopefully to meet Coltair there.

If he succeeded, and Krug conceded that was a big ‘if’, Divik would be left stripped bare of people but still stuffed to overflowing with millions in written-off commodities. Malta maybe was the zealot willing to die to avenge their leader’s death and restore their heritage and rightful claim to the Rogun empire, but Krug expected to see this victory and live past it one day. He also expected to never have to work a day in his life afterward either. He wanted to retire and run a brothel somewhere in the east quarter on Rogun, just like he’d done back in the day when he was still an Imperial Guard under General Izik and these things were sort of expected. He wanted the rotten, stinking Orak brat off his country’s throne, returned to the Emperor, Malta said he’d leave instructions on who that would be, and everything would return to normal. Krug would no longer be a disenfranchised bandit and thug, but once again a respected authority and business owner. Malta even promised he’d never pay taxes.

It all hinged on how well Krug planned the downfall of Divik itself. He had seeded doubt in the minds of the three barons, but the fourth, Baron Stragen was not the usual criminal and in fact played so little in the game with the others, Krug had had trouble finding a way in. Then he’d found her. Of all the barons, only one had a living child and she was of legally consenting, sexual age.

Krug knew well spoiled, little rich daughters of powerful fathers. He’d left one back home. Sure, she was high-born and pixie cute, massive breasts that bounced when she breathed, whip like temper and waspish and foulmouthed in her desperate attempt to be like him and fit in with them but her immature privilege had irritated his nerves. Malta had ordered him to woo her and turn her to their cause, all too easy an endeavour to a teenage girl who thought her life was meaningless and empty simply because she was born to riches and too stupid to apply herself. Krug had groomed her to get close to members of the Assembly but that part Cora hadn’t been very good at it. She hadn’t been smart enough to handle the duplicitous nature of a spy. She had maybe been a Black Tower sympathizer but she was too young to help Malta any other way. Malta had released her to him then, ordering him to make an example with her as he saw fit.

For Krug, there was only one way Cora would ever be useful to them. The girl followed him like a puppy, intent on defaming her father – the governor of Rogun Capital by decree of the Orak’Thune Queen, no less – this at least Cora grasped with clarity. He’d encouraged her to rebel against him, which she excelled, even by screwing him in his own bed when she knew they would be caught. When the Queen of Orak’Thune arrived for the coronation of her putrid son, an event none of the Black Tower ever envisioned because the queen was rumoured to be terrified of the sea, Krug knew then he held his message by the plump rump he held nightly in his hands. Huge as a house, impregnated with his child, Krug had never wanted to be a father. It was sad but the timing could never have been better.

The manner and execution of her slaying, had been a flawless masterpiece of Malta’s final order. Killed in such a way to mimic the captivity and torture of the once mothering Orak queen by their fallen esteemed leader, the message sent to the whore-queen was the warning shot across the bow. Even as she lay naked, choking and wheezing in iron shackles and chains on the white-marble suite floor of the visiting queen, Cora had at least delivered her message right; that the Black Tower was risen and that war had been declared on the Fire Queen and all her kin.

Krug didn’t plan on needing to kill Sophia, but he did plan on keeping her close until he was well and safely away, ensuring Stragen found out he could harm her if ever he got too opinionated about it. Once back home, he’d decide what to do with her. If she rose to his plans and joined him, he’d put her to dance in his own club. If she irritated him, he’d sell her the first chance he got. But he’d get her to Rogun, he’d promised her that.

While Malta would lead the invading army with Krug and Kal directing things, Krug would know as soon as his leaders focus shifted to the queen, who was certain to accept his invitation when she found out what Malta had as bait. Krug would then lead the forces that were now dwindling with nothing to do, Sophia tucked safely at his side to ensure no baron interference, to load the ships with anything not nailed down and return home with it. He’d leave Divik behind forever.

He smiled to remember the plan, simple in his mind and so close to being ready to release.

“If we can convince the ship rat to be conspicuously blind to our Kitskan transport showing up and taking over the harbour for a day or two, a month before our fearless brother arrives,” he told Kal. “But, I am not going to wait for the rat. Let’s go, I have to send my reply to Malta now so he gets the message in time.”

Krug stood and moved to leave but Kal slurped the rest of his beer and stopped to finish Krug’s too. He appeared back out on the street a moment later, his boss looking at him with impatience and his hands on his hips like an unhappy parent. Kal burped and covered his mouth but cleared his throat.

“Mail guy is that way, at the docks,” he told him. Krug sighed heavily but turned to untie his horse to mount. When Kal was ready he led him back the way they had come.