Finances

Income

Mission #11

£2

Mission #12

£10

Profits from The Rose

3s

Expenses

Wages

15s 4p

The Golden Blades Protection

4s

Profit

£11 3s 8d

Total

£23 1s 3p

Lothar had money in the bank. Usa and Izil had done a reasonable job of replacing Manslayer. He could afford more mercs, if he could get his hands on them. His crew’s rescue of Clara had put him in the good books of Urkal Foberoy, the city councillor. Altogether, things were looking up.

Foberoy had invited him for a discussion about a spying mission, and Lothar took The Baron along.

‘What if it’s weeks long?’ he asked the thief. They were nearing the street where Foberoy, along with the other richest figures in Avolo, had his house.

‘I can do it.’

‘Alone?’

‘If it’s a spying mission, I’d be better off alone.’

The Amulet of Disguise allowed the Durnishman to convince most people he was someone he wasn’t. If that didn’t make The Baron a perfect spy, he didn’t know what else would.

‘Those files you stole from Sal’s office will prove very useful. Well done.’

The Baron had handed him a roster of the mercs who worked for The Golden Blades. Even if it was incomplete, it was a treasure trove. Sal had scribbled down some attributes next to each name. Just as useful, he’d recorded their daily wages. It would allow Lothar to negotiate with them from a position of strength.

‘Good. You think you have a chance of detaching more of them from The Blades?’

Lothar shrugged. ‘Most of the rumours I get are from Rosalind. No doubt you’ve heard them already.’

‘I don’t know Mrs De Cheney as well as you seem to think I do.’

‘Huh.’ Lothar doubted that. The Baron was acquainted with Rosalind in some way, and neither were willing to discuss it. ‘Well, she tells me The Blades have finished mopping off the last of the resistance on the islands. They’ll likely be passing through Avolo on their return to Dorwich any day now. That’s my opportunity to put out feelers.’

The Baron nodded. ‘It’s a dangerous game, Stiff. Challenging the Blades. The right thing to do, I have no doubt about that. But don’t be surprised if you get some push back from them.’

‘I’ll do my best to be careful.’

Foberoy invited them into his study, just the three of them. They drank whisky, and Lothar thought the lifestyle he was getting a glimpse of was one he’d be able to get used to.

‘Clara has settled back into her old life?’ Lothar asked.

‘She’s fine,’ Foberoy said, pulling at his moustache. He didn’t seem keen on discussing his daughter any more. ‘We’ve driven the pirates out of the isles, but the diversion has allowed the Kuthenians to execute their colonisation plan. Fuyang, they call their new city. New docks, a large fleet. Everything they need to challenge Avolo. We reckon they’ve pushed into the hinterland as well. But we have little reliable information. We want to place someone in the city to gather intelligence for us. How much trade are they doing? What’s the city layout? Population size? Military strength? How deep into the countryside have they extended their control?’

The Baron sipped at his drink. ‘I can do all that. Given enough time.’

‘We’ll pay you for as long as you need,’ said Foberoy. ‘It won’t be on the council’s books, of course. But we’ll get you the money. There’s nothing more important than this to securing our future.’

‘You think it could come to war?’ Lothar asked him.

‘I hope not, but I’m willing to prepare for the worst. So far, the colonisation of Gal’azu has been carried out by small groups. Individuals from four nations, all willing to tolerate each other, but essentially doing their own thing. The Kuthenians are different. It’s all centralised. Everyone follows orders. They have paid soldiers and sailors. If it does come to war, they’re better placed than us to win it. There’s no guarantee that Avolo can work with the other towns and settlements. We’re reliant on the Blades for our military.’ He paused, speaking more softly when he resumed. ‘Can we trust the Blairs to fight for us if things get hard? Or will they switch over to the Kuthenians if they get a better offer?’

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

‘I see,’ Lothar murmured. He hadn’t fully realised that things might get quite so bad.

‘On that note,’ Foberoy said, ‘I have another mission for your crew. We’d have asked the Blades to deal with it before now.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Outlaws. Relatively small scale stuff, raiding farms and smaller settlements. Probably only about ten of them. They retreat into The Swamp, where they must have a hideout. No one knows where.’

‘The money?’

‘Five shillings per head. Each head needs to be delivered to the council. We need to be seen to be providing law and order.’

Lothar thought about it. It would keep his mercs occupied. He worried about Usa and Izil—the thought that the Blairs might want to punish them for switching to The Apples had crossed his mind. On the other hand, sending his team slogging through swampland they didn’t know was dangerous. If only that damned fool Jaelin hadn’t gone off looking for the third barrow against his wishes. He’d have been the ideal leader for such a task.

‘I’ll shake on it,’ he said to Foberoy, offering his hand. ‘Both missions.’

Urkal took his hand and shook. ‘I’m going out on a limb entrusting you with all this,’ he said. ‘Don’t let me down.’

***

Now that he had discovered the aboveground portions of the barrow, Jaelin felt stupid for not identifying it earlier. He had crisscrossed the area around it several times.

The mound itself was quite small, which hadn’t helped. On top of it was a circle of standing stones. He discovered the remains of three creatures inside the circle. They had been there long enough to desiccate into skeletons; but some of their outer garments remained. Smaller than most humans, he wondered if they were goblins. He could see no trauma on their bodies, and no other evidence to suggest how they died.

None of the stones were large, and to be fair to his scouting skills, they were hidden by dense foliage which had obviously encroached over the years. Two paths had once led up to the stones—both had barely survived. When he followed them, each path led to a second and third set of stones—the same size, number, and arrangement as those atop the barrow. They, too, were linked by an old path.

What purpose these stones had once held was almost certainly lost to the mists of time. The only thing Jaelin could say for sure—and using the word ‘sure’ didn’t seem quite right—was that the whole area gave him a unique sense of peace. Certainly, he hadn’t felt anything like it at the other two barrows. The first, close to a warg den and filled with skeletons, had carried a sense of foreboding. The hill fort, which he had passed on the way here, seemed to him a man made blot on the landscape. Perhaps it was because he was alone in the glorious wilds. But this third barrow seemed to offer him protection.

He was almost loath to leave it behind, and seriously considered breaking through the stone entranceway and entering alone. But there had been a lingering magic at the first barrow. What if this sense of peace he felt was a trick, to lure him in? The sensible thing was to return with help.

Jaelin left the barrow, retracing his steps southeast. He stopped once more at the hillfort, now commanded by a second Redblade. He knew Stiff would be grateful for an update.

The new wielder of the magic sword, formerly named Pavel, welcomed him for the night. He was keen to give him the latest news. The goblins had returned, but the hill fort’s occupants had seen them off. Jaelin doubted it had happened quite so heroically as Redblade recounted it. But it had happened, and he promised he would tell Stiff about it all when he saw him.

Next morning, after paying his respects at Manslayer’s grave, he journeyed to Eisenberg. He found the settlements between the two locations were thriving. The town was also doing well. Its mayor, Steben, had regained the day to day control of things. The smith, Henrik, had crafted an impressive collection of armour and weaponry, waiting for Stiff’s inspection. But Stiff had not yet returned to the town.

Jaelin was disappointed to find his companions had gone too. Absence from them had made him think all the more fondly of Ashlyn, Wilson, Christoph, and the others. Steben and Henrik could offer little about their likely whereabouts.

Avolo was the obvious destination, and so Jaelin decided against staying in the town, preferring to make good time. He walked until sunset, and slept under the stars. By late afternoon the next day, he had arrived in the city.

Not a lot seemed to have changed in Avolo. Every previous time he had returned, the population had grown during his absence. This time, he saw no evidence of that.

On his way to The Rose, he came across several posters, hand written on parchment. He had never seen such a thing in Gal’azu before. Most people could not read, for a start. For someone to have gone to such trouble and expense, suggested it was important.

They all read the same, in the same handwriting.

WANTED

Escaped dark sorcerer

Goes by the name Bletcher

Dangerous, do not approach

Report his whereabouts to The Golden Blades

Significant reward for useful information

‘A sorcerer?’ he repeated out loud, unable to repress a shudder. This was a development, and an unwelcome one. He’d hoped Gal’azu, for all its imperfections, would be free of such perils. He decided to unpin the poster and take it with him.

The Rose was busy, without being hectic. Suzie had him sat down with food and drink. Before long, she had fetched Stiff, who joined him at table.

‘Jaelin,’ the mercenary captain said, eyeing him carefully. ‘What does your return portend, I wonder?’

‘I found the third barrow.’

Stiff tried to play it cool, but he couldn’t hide the eager look in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry for going off alone. Against your wishes.’

‘I didn’t like it. For your own safety as much as anything. But maybe I need to start trusting my crew a bit more. It looked like you were the first to find it?’

‘Most definitely. It’s ready for exploration whenever The Rotten Apples are ready.’

‘Good. That’s very good. Anything else?’

‘The hillfort is secure. Saw off a goblin attack recently. Easily enough, it seems. Eisenberg and its dependencies are doing well.’

‘Excellent. I appreciate you looking out for them. Jaelin, you returned at an opportune moment. I’ve sent the crew out to The Swamp on a mission. Some outlaws that need bringing to justice. They’re only a day’s journey ahead of you.’

‘I don’t do killink.’

Stiff held his hands up. ‘I know, I know. But they’re liable to get lost and drown in a bog. Wilson and the others barely found the warg den without you.’

‘Alright,’ Jaelin relented. ‘I’ve kind of missed them. I’d feel guilty if they all died.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Oh. One more thing. I found this. Just gone up, by the looks. In case you hadn’t seen them.’

Stiff took the poster and read it. It took him a long time, and so Jaelin witnessed his reaction to the words, as his eyes widened in surprise, and his mouth twitched in worry.

‘I take it you know this dark sorcerer named Bletcher?’ Jaelin asked him, a little taken aback that Stiff had come across him.

‘Aye. Well, sorta. Might just be that it was your colleagues in The Rotten Apples who sprung him from his cell.’