CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
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Alaric Sampson
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25th of Decepter, 935 PC
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The stagecoach Alaric bought from an old couple at the Stonehill Inn was worth double what he’d paid for it but the rich tended to value their lives more than their possessions when threatened. It hadn’t been easy to leave Hans at the Stonehill Inn, but the fear in the stable boy’s eyes had helped assure Alaric that the young stallion would be there when he hopefully went back for him. For as well-designed and beautiful as the coach was, the interior benches left much to be desired. His back was only slightly less stiff than when he’d been riding Hans and he couldn’t help but think the nails under the thin cushion had not been hammered down entirely.
Therrin and Lily sat on either side of the driver. Edwin was his name and he was as restless around the group of Purists as a zebra drinking from the same watering hole as a pride of lions. The young Purists didn’t seem to notice. Why would they? Neither had any intention of killing anything, let alone a commoner forced to lug them around the empire. They talked quietly across his lap, laughing here and there, usually at something the healer had said. His charm had only grown more noticeable with each passing day and though he was a hair on the naïve end of things it only added to his likeability. Facts that were not lost on Lily.
Tripelthin lifted his nose from his book on ancient wars as Lily’s cute, albeit slightly obnoxious, laugh poured into the passenger’s box. He silently begged Alaric to do something about the noise but Alaric had no interest in interrupting anything that aggravated the moody advisor. The entertainment was far too enjoyable.
However, he would eventually have to do something about the larger problem at hand. He’d noticed Lily and Jameson playing their games at the inn, sneaking around like forbidden lovers. Alaric was not one to come between love, but in this case, letting Therrin develop feelings for Lily could end with a jealous Jameson doing something everyone would regret.
Realizing he’d get no reading done, Tripelthin closed his book and said, “Should Urman be with Kathar, what do you plan to do?”
Alaric exhaled. He considered telling him exactly what he wanted to do, that he intended to hold them down with his magic and crush their throats beneath his boot. But, the physical embodiment of his moral compass sat right beside him and something told him it would be pointing straight at the three hells if he spoke his mind. “What would you do, Diedro?”
The bald mercenary laid his whetstone and dagger on his lap. It was hard to forget he’d been part of the Hounds of Haldar when he still wore the black chainmail they were so well-known for. The white cloak had been tossed in a fire on their way to Maddy’s village weeks before. “Who are these people?” A logical question from a logical man. Can’t make a good decision without the proper information.
Alaric shifted to get a better look at him. “Urman was one of my best informants until two weeks ago. Probably longer but his motives only became clear recently. Kathar is his best, and likely only, friend. He lives deep in the heart of the Emerald and is likely harboring the traitor.”
“And what did Urman do to betray you?”
Tripelthin chimed in. “Ruined half a year of meticulous planning and got an entire village slaughtered. And now we believe he is in possession of something we’d rather like to get our hands on.”
“Kill him,” Diedro said dryly. Almost immediately. Alaric hadn’t expected such a vicious answer. “If a man’s word can’t be trusted then you can’t let him go around spreading lies all about. World’s hard enough to understand as it is. I say kill him and get this thing you want. Make it quick though. No honor in making a man suffer.” He eyed Tripelthin. “Especially not one that’s turned to crime. Any man who’s done that has already suffered enough in his lifetime.” He went back to sharpening his blade, keeping the grind of steel on rock low enough not to be bothersome.
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“What about Kathar?” Tripelthin asked. The advisor enjoyed hearing people’s perspectives. Whether he respected them or not was a different story but a man with a knack for using words against people was always happy to have more arrows in the quiver.
Diedro looked up again. “No need to kill him unless he steps out of line. Sometimes you end up standing beside a bad man. Doesn’t mean you’re a bad man too.” He shrugged. “Course some might say helping a fool makes you a fool, but nobody can choose what another man does with his life. What kind of bastard would you be if you didn’t help a friend in need?” The soft grind was back even before he finished his thoughts. Anytime Diedro spoke, Alaric felt a desire for him to continue on and on with his wisdom but the mercenary just sat there, sliding steel against stone like the sound was a ballad telling of all the battles he’d fought. There would be no more interrupting him. He’d said his piece, and from the looks of it, he didn’t care whether they took his advice or not. That’s how he’d do it and no one would change his mind.
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King’s letter floated away with the current of the stream. The man was literally full of good luck, yet every time Alaric heard from him, he had loads of bad news. He tossed his wax paper wrapper into the water and placed the hard candy directly on his tongue to combat the ear-splitting thumping in his chest. “We have to make a stop in Shirk.”
Tripelthin turned wildly, looking as though he’d bit into a sour lemon. “What business could there be in Shirk to derail us?”
Alaric had a feeling the advisor’s hesitancy had less to do with the time sensitive nature of their trip and more to do with the fact that Shirk’s rundown appearance could be mistaken for Thronerock. Two long-lost sisters separated by a quarter of an empire. The only difference between them was their personality – Thronerock’s people were criminals but they weren’t murderers, walk on the wrong side of the road in Shirk and you may get an arrow in your back.
“Apparently King has fallen into the hands of someone we may want to inform ourselves on,” Alaric said. “Someone who considers the Black Merchant an itch they’d like to scratch.”
“Are we scratching it for this mysterious figure or holding his hands behind his back?”
“My magic doesn’t scratch itches, now does it?”
Tripelthin’s brow raised. “No, it doesn’t. But it does create enemies and we already have a list of those to deal with. Do we truly have time to burden ourselves with a task like this? ”
“King is a close friend and he needs my help.” Alaric turned to walk back to the others. He’d been away from Lily’s intuition long enough to start worrying that danger may lurk in the shadows.
Tripelthin followed behind anxiously. “If all you intend to do is kill this man, let Manaya go. She works best in the places Wolfgang likes to hide anyway and Diedro is more than capable of protecting all of us.” It wasn’t a terrible proposal. Especially, when they had to make a stop deep in the heart of The Emerald also. Too much galavanting around and they might not make it to Locke before Narah and her team invaded the floating castle.
Alaric pondered in silence long enough to make it seem like he was making the decision, then nodded. Give Tripelthin too much influence and he would be forcing decisions upon him that would push Diedro away from them. “Have her leave now and ride through the night. She must get there before he departs. If she doesn’t, she is to come right back. I don’t want her chasing this wild goose all around the empire.”
“Nor do I,” Tripelthin said, reminding Alaric that the two had been nearly inseparable since the day he’d met them. At first, he didn’t realize that if Tripelthin was alone it was only because Manaya was hiding in the shadows, but he soon understood the sellsword practically lived in the man’s pocket.
“She’s not to kill Rhyne if their paths cross.” He paused. “He’s mine. She eliminates this new threat and returns to us.”
“Should we take the opportunity to put down Wolfgang as well?” His tone insinuated the question was more of a respectful formality.
As much as Alaric wanted to be as honorable as Diedro, as badly as he wanted to think the Black Merchant was simply a hand that fed all stray dogs, he knew the weapons dealer would eventually end up standing beside Iris. Wolfgang Ritter was not eager to meet The Creator, he’d do whatever it took to survive as long as possible as the world fell apart around him. “Yes, but tell her to keep it quick and clean.”