Varga arrived at the inn, his stiff hand aching with every flex. Kokal had done wonderful work repairing the mangled mess, but it still throbbed with pain; at least it wasn’t his sword arm. As he entered the common room, Fulope signaled him to join him at the bar.
“There you are. I was starting to worry you might have run off,” Fulope said, idly toying with a gaudy ring on his pinky while his eyes measured Varga with quiet scrutiny.
“No, this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for, and I’m grateful to have it," Varga replied, his voice steady, despite the churning anxiety in his gut.
“Excellent. How is the hand? Balrik regretted that it had to happen the way it did, but he couldn’t risk it, considering your background,” Fulope explained.
Varga involuntarily flexed his hand before answering.
“It’s tip-top, and yes, I understand Balrik’s position.”
“Good. Harboring ill feelings could be dangerous. Balrik has plans to make you wealthy beyond your dreams—focus on that, not the past.”
Varga nodded in agreement, and Fulope slid him a folded parchment before continuing.
“Tremendous. Follow the directions on that parchment. Balrik rarely does business here. He is on good terms with Chief Dabo, but the chief desires a certain amount of plausible deniability in case the authorities from the Five Kingdoms come knocking. Balrik dislikes keeping all of his eggs in one basket.”
Varga unfolded the parchment. The directions looked easy enough.
All set?" Fulope asked. Varga nodded, tucking the parchment into his coat. “Then don’t waste time. Balrik despises tardiness.”
With a final nod, Fulope turned on his heel and strode out, the rhythmic thud of the Ramon’s walking cane gradually fading, leaving Varga alone with his thoughts.
----------------------------------------
Varga found the location from the parchment with ease. The abandoned dyer’s workshop was situated just outside the city, far enough from the roads to deter accidental discovery.
As Varga walked up the path to the wooden workshop, he glanced at the various-sized tubs—some wooden, some copper—and mused about what life might have been if he had chosen an honest trade.
Movement coming from the direction of the workshop pulled him away from his wistful daydream of doing backbreaking labor. Varga looked up to see a large, thick-necked Tazen emerge from inside.
“Lost, are you?” the Tazen asked, his eyes appraising Varga.
“No, I was told to come here,” Varga replied.
“By whom?”
“I don’t believe I know you well enough to answer that question.”
The Tazen’s face broke into a broad grin, and he chuckled at the exchange.
“You must be Varga. Balrik said you would be coming. I am Levi. Come up. The others are waiting inside.”
The Tazen’s laugh was infectious, and Varga found himself smiling with the Tazen as he made his way up the path. Once Varga was close enough, Levi extended his hand. Varga took it, clasping forearms with the large man.
“Welcome! Let’s get rich or die trying!” Levi declared, laughing heartily as he threw an arm around Varga’s shoulder.
They entered the workshop like primary school chums. For a moment, Varga felt a pang of embarrassment. It dawned on him how profoundly lonely he was—without a lover, friends, or even a confidant. He was utterly alone.
Varga would worry about his feelings later and return his attention to staying alive. Once inside the workshop, Varga found four more individuals, three Tazens and a young Arzan.
“Look, fellows, Balrik’s new recruit, Varga, is here,” Levi announced, gesturing in Varga’s direction.
Levi turned his attention back to Varga before pointing toward a tall, slender Tazen with black curly hair like sheep’s wool.
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“This is Obi.”
Levi then gestured to a stout, bald Tazen about the same height as Varga.
“This is Renzo.”
Renzo nodded in greeting before Levi gestured to the other Tazen, the shortest Tazen Varga had ever seen. He was about Balrik’s height but was much thinner. The short Tazen had his hair twisted into small poofs on his head.
“And this is Abdo.”
Abdo also nodded in greeting after being introduced.
“Finally, this is young Randi,” Levi said, gesturing to the Arzan.
“Pleasure to meet you all,” Varga said in everyone’s general direction before turning his attention to Levi.
“I see that there are four Tazens. Would it be rude of me to assume you are a quartus?”
“Just so, Master Varga. Not a very good one, but one,” Levi answered, laughing with all of the Tazens except Abdo, who scowled openly.
“I understand how Balrik would come to enlist you four, but what’s your story?” Varga asked, directing his question toward Randi.
“I ran into trouble at the Academy,” Randi answered.
“A first-year student was caught cheating and tried to murder the lecturer who caught him,” Levi added. This time, all the Tazens laughed along with him.
“It was a little more complicated than that, but Master Levi speaks the truth, even if it is oversimplified. So how about you? What brought you to Tazen?”
Varga’s mind raced. Balrik might accept that he was an excommunicated Vestigare agent, but would hardened criminals?
Before Varga could answer, the air shimmered in the middle of the room like heat from hot sand, causing him to leap back. Varga had his hand on the hilt of his dueling sword when Balrik appeared where the air was shimmering. Varga noted that the other members didn’t flinch, meaning this spectacle must be the norm with the mysterious Nawahl.
“Excellent. Everyone made it,” Balrik said with a sharp clap.
Varga was still confused about what just happened a moment ago. Did Balrik teleport into the room? Varga was not well-versed in magikal theory, but what he did learn while in basic training was the teleportation of living objects had eluded scholars thus far.
“Levi, take the quartus and Randi to pay Tolly for this location and fetch a cart for you all and the cargo,” Balrik said, snapping Varga out of his thoughts. Balrik threw a bag of coins to Levi.
“Should we take the new guy too?” Levi asked after making the bag disappear somewhere.
“No. I need to speak with Master Varga. Now get going. Time is of the essence.”
Balrik folded his arms and leaned against the wall as the five men shuffled out of the workshop. Even while casually waiting, Balrik exuded an aura of impending violence.
After an awkward moment, Balrik finally turned to Varga and spoke.
“I think it would be best if you didn’t share your history with the fellows. They know about my past, but I had years to work off the Vestigare stank to prove my intentions.”
Varga nodded at the advice. At least now he knew he could tell the guys whatever story he wanted to tell, and it wouldn’t come back to bite in the rear with Balrik.
have grand plans for you, Varga. First, you need to travel to the Independent City-State of Cacoo. There, procure these ingredients from a Nawahl trader named Salli. If she asks about their purpose, tell her they’re for curing an outbreak of spotted fever. Don’t elaborate further, or she’ll see through you,” Balrik said, handing Varga a parchment with the list.
Varga nodded to show that he understood the instructions, and Balrik continued.
“But what I will make will be the key to retrieving something the world has not seen for centuries. A dragon.”
“What?” Varga blurted out before he could stop himself.
“Actually, a dragon egg. A fully preserved one. And with this egg…”
Balrik closed his mouth mid-sentence before tilting his head as if Balrik was listening to something. A moment later, the door opened, and Levi entered.
“Boss, I am sorry, but I forgot to tell you Tolly raised the rent. He said if you didn’t like it, you could find another place to do your illegal operations,” Levi said.
“Gott und seine unehelichen Sohne!” Balrik spat, pulling a smaller coin purse from his belt.
“You tell that old bastard, the next time he wants to raise the rent, to come and negotiate with the person footing the bill. It is the least he can do.”
Balrik tossed the purse across the room to Levi.
“Levi, get yourself something with the leftover,” Balrik added before the large Tazen left.
Balrik shook his head and turned his attention back to Varga.
“Gott und seine unehelichen Sohne?” Varga asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yes, it is an ancient Nawahl expression,” Balrik said with a chuckle.
“Something about a god?”
“I see you picked something during the Vestigare Academy classes. Yes, God and his bastard sons. I have no idea why we say it. It just feels good to say it.”
“Well, it is not everyday you get to learn ancient Nawahl curse words,” Varga added.
Balrik let out a laugh, and for a fleeting moment, Varga thought it might be genuine. The Nawahl clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. “We’ll talk later,” Balrik said, his tone almost warm, leaving Varga questioning if the man was truly the monster the world believed him to be—or something far more dangerous.
The short Nawahl moved toward the door, his form gradually fading into the surrounding darkness. The door creaked open and shut, the sound reverberating through the now-empty workshop. Varga stood motionless in the dim, silent space, the unsettling image of Balrik’s vanishing act lingering in his mind. The oppressive quiet gnawed at him, amplifying his isolation. One thing was certain: with Balrik, the unexpected was the only guarantee.