The room was small, modestly appointed, but the sheets were clean and the comforter almost warm if folded double. A small fire popped and crackled in the fireplace, but still the chill found her shivering. Outside the sun was high, the weather temperate, weather one could comfortably enjoy without a cloak. Her black cloak was wrapped tightly around her slender body; jade eyes stared blankly at a small slip of parchment, travelling over the words as they had innumerable times before already. It was such a simple thing, just a small slip of paper, sealed with black wax, handed to her a few days before as she had returned to the Inn. Something about the seal had piqued a memory; she had seen this seal on letters before.
The discussion that followed in her room did not help to distract her from this thought. And then, something said had brought it all back, a simple phrase, so like something she had said many years before “no, because if I regret it, I would not allow it to happen to me again.”. Her mind had gone in a strange direction then. She couldn’t seem to control what she was saying, speaking as if from a dream. Aware of the words but having no way to stop them spilling out, save to leave entirely.
She had wandered. Afraid as she almost never was of opening this letter. It was a letter. A simple slip of paper with ink scratched upon it, nothing to fear. She had found her resolve then, and a place to settle for the night, handing coin over to the surely dwarf and hardly noticing the familiarity of the room he assigned her. Now she sat, chair turned towards the fire, note sitting in her lap, re-reading the words she had hoped would never find her here. The note was written in a rough barely legible hand, some of the letters difficult to discern to anyone unfamiliar with this penmen’s style. Mara had become very familiar with this penmanship over the years.
Kitten,
You have three weeks before my ship arrives.
Let the chase begin.
Leto
The fire blazing, comforter and cloak wrapped, a pleasant day on Adras, despite this the shivering would not stop.
Riggs would never admit it but he had always enjoyed watching her. She had a way of standing, of turning, that held his eye. It wasn’t just her figure, though he did recall fondly the occasion when he had caught her bathing and nearly fallen from his perch, no, what really drew his attention was her hair, pale and always clean. She had it loose now which was always his favourite.
It sometimes surprised Riggs how rarely people looked up at roof tops or tall trees when in gathered company. He was able to watch the group, listen to their banter, and weight their value to her at his leisure without so much as a hint that anyone had noticed him. Over the course of the evening, as his list grew longer person by person he had only worried once that he might have been seen. The young woman, Eve, crying out all across this Galmair city had startled him with her mad terror. But it seemed she was seeing visions or demons and not the thin man hidden on the workshop roof.
Her screaming did warrant her addition to the list however, as Mara and what seemed to be her closest companions ventured out to investigate her ravings. And so it stood by the end of the evening, a short list but not bad for a single days work.
Idrandal, a charming elf, moderate;
Bronn, a mercenary, major;
Tyan, a Baron, major;
Eve, a crazed woman, minor;
Ufedhin, a medico, minor.
He would continue to follow her as best he could, always a challenge given her observant nature now heightened by the bosses note. He was sure by weeks end he would have the list complete for the boss, he’d done this many times before after all. Then the boys would go to work, a threat here, a cajoling here, a few drinks and a carefully placed word there. In the end, the boss always got either coin or blood from these little ventures, both equally useful to him when it came to Mara. It was amazing to Riggs what people would do to keep one woman safe.
Compared to the hot desert days and mild nights, when the sun seemed to melt into the ground and become one with the glimmering horizon in Cadomyr, Galmair had a much more rough climate. Tyan remembered that from his travels, of course, although they had never brought him too far north. He should have probably brought different clothes for his prolonged stay, but he wanted to be recognized as who he was. The noble from Cadomyr who had insulted Galmair's law and pride, or at least that was what the propaganda said. Propaganda, a part of his new book or rather booklet, and something he meant to use for his own purposes now.
Now that he had lived there a while, Galmair didn't seen too bad. The architecture in Cadomyr was more noble and clean, but life was different in the town of money. It reminded him of Gynka, remotely, but of course lacked the swampy climate and the smell of rotten wood and algae. Smaller alleys reminded him of his hometown though, and the constant distant sound of taverns, the background noise of folks worshiping Adron was an ever present commodity in Galmair. It had once been in Cadomyr too, before a whole lot of shit had come down, and Tyan knew he wasn't entirely innocent in that, but still wasn't able to truly question his own motives. You think I have sabotaged you in some way, but I have not. He heard the words of a tittering noble from know the gods where in his head. Yes you have, Tyan thought, if you know it or not, you have been the worst that could have happened back then.
He quickly discarded that thought, since he was out in the streets for a different thing tonight. He was about to leave Galmair again, and he had to leave a certain impression to set something in motion. Something that did not really live yet, but that might serve useful one day.
Tyan was used to getting insulted in Galmair. They were good with insults, really, like the Commander of their Iron Watch had simply ran into Cadomyr and started to insult people, trying to collect some fine the Don had placed on yet another person who had moved. Salathe had only paid the fine and not slain the insolent creature, because the wedding was about to happen. Tyan knew he regretted that now, and he couldn't really argue with that. Double standards where everywhere, and he wondered why he should keep listening to people only living by such.
But right now, as he bumped into a group of drunk people, they served him well.
"Oy! Look who we got 'ere!" Tyan grumbled and tried to move along. "Going ta piss yerself again, my Lord?" The men laughed, and Tyan stopped. He inhaled deeply before he turned. "That's none of your bloody business, you lowlife", he responded, feeding the jealousy of the common folk he had felt often enough himself to know it. He had to treat lightly here though to not trigger some political feud again. "Uhh yeah, ah hear she stuck something that deep up your arse you couldn't contain yerself anymore." Tyan had told a bunch of people to not tell the story, but of course, it had crossed all the towns quickly enough, as expected. My pride would be hurt, if I had any, he heard his own words echo in his head, the words he had told the mercenary. "An lost yer title too. Does it hurt? Does it still hurt?" And with that, Tyan grabbed his chance and flung his fist forward at the man, who was able to dodge it. The man tried to return the favor, but was held back by his friends. Tyan didn't bring his best weaponry, of course, but was still armed. And since he had brought his axe down on Hew Keenaxe in the middle of their own tavern, a lot of people were very careful when dealing with him and his tempers. "The void take you, all of you. I'm through with this shithole!", he barked at them, a hand on his sword, but with no intention to actually draw it. He spit on the floor and turned around to leave Galmair behind for now, and hopefully an impression that might surprise one or two people as well.
Meanwhile, based on the gathered descriptions, the mercenary captain of the Iron Boars squad, was giving orders to the dockers and gate guards. Search, detain, and register all men of imposing figure, just at 7 foot height mark, anyone thick and wide.
"Literally, Bri, and take dis seriously, unless they are Krunk or Gerron Blackwood, do search all tall muscular giants, especially if dey be bald. Also, search their companions. Check everyone's name, note where they stop for the night."
Then, he interviewed the tavern and inn keepers of Galmair if they have seen anyone with Leto's physical description.
Once that was done, the captain sent a murder of ravens, his personal one, Roach, among them, to various destinations in Tir Darganfod, to contact a number of smugglers and rogues he had done merc jobs for, to call in a few favours.
In parallel, he was making a plan of his own, trying to step into Leto's shoes and recall his own jobs of the past. Leto needed a base hideout, a network of information sources, and a clean way in and out of the city. The sewers seemed the most natural.
Finally, the last step he had reserved for himself. The bait.
The guards and the dockers of Galmair are briefed on the situation.
"We have a potential intrusion from a gang of suspects from the Ringa's Thieves' Guild. They are coming after Mara Belmore.
The leader is Leto - a bald man of extremely large build, 7 foot tall, muscular and wide.
The rest of them divide into specialty groups:
Scouts:
Jacks - Pickpocket, short, thin, dirty haired little man.
Yaris - Red hair, green eyes. Poses as a bard as his cover. Repertoire changes on request - will try to go around and learn our locak bar songs. Sings in a baritone. Plays a pipe and a lute.
Lincon - A thief and a scout. Bisexual man, may be seen in company of men or women alike. One blue eye one green eye. 6.3-6.4 feet in height. Dyes his hair, natural colour unknown. Adequate build. Carries slave marks, a brand on his ass cheek with letters "L.P."
Riggs - a short, nondescript man. Brown hair, hazel eyes. Don't worry about him, unless you see someone fitting the description doing something odd or being where they don't belong.
Dirk - analyst and gambler. Could be found trying to organise gambling groups in town. Has dark brown hair, gray eyes, about my height, scar down both cheeks, born in Ringa, ran card tables and numbers for Leto. So, gray eyes, scarred cheeks, gambler. Best outstanding traits so far.
Tom - blonde hair, brown eyes. Card player. May be counter-betting Dirk. Works in team with him. If you see someone who matches Dirk's description, look for a blonde with brown eyes who was playing against him.
Lance - scout, looks like an old beggar, white hair, milky blue eyes, sneaky and a bit dangerous, according to Mara. Watch the streets for those milky blue eyes, and a beggar who talks too much or asks questions too often, or listens whenever important people meet. Be careful of him, Mara says he always has a poison blade on him somewhere. If you see an armed beggar, snatch him.
Squeal - very Gynkese looking, pale brown eyes, curly tan colored hair. Runs counter intelligence.
Elrin - seducer, a half elf youth, blonde, left ear heavily pierced from lobe throughout the cartilage.
Lockpicks:
Martin - lockpick, Jacks's preferred partner. Blue eyes, black hair, to his shoulders. Very pronounced Albarian features. Possibly, might have been a noble once. Look for memorabilia of nobility.
Para - preferred partner of Lincon, also his gay lover. Lockpick by trade, a pale fellow, with curly brown hair, brown eyes. Holds a cut mark scar on the right ear.
Muscle and Hitmen:
Tel - the strongest of their lot after Leto. Assassin. Skilled with all weaponry, avoid this man and trail him cautiously. Inform me if you see him. He looks handsome, blue eyed, gold haired, dangerous.
Vic - looks like a smaller wanna-be Leto. Shaves himself bald, acts and walks imposing, like he is bigger and stronger than he actually is. Possibly may accompany Leto himself. Has tatooes: chest: tattoo of a ship, arms - lists of names, back - a tattoo of a mermaid. Prone to take his own initiative, watch out for him in bar fights.
Jeric - red faced bar crawling ruffian, dark hair, a large neck scar. He conceals it with collars and scarves. Prone to take initiative, possibly can be provoked into a bar fight, if information is dropped loudly about Mara.
Hunter - a typical looking serinjah, all brawn and muscle. Holds an affection for Mara, but not prone to take initiative.
Serin - northerner, very fond of axes and ales. Red hair, red beard, pale eyes. Speaks broken common.
Please inform myself or any member of The Watch upon seeing any of these people, find out where they stay, and, if situation arises, detain them until we arrive."
Bronn also sends notes to the smugglers at Necktie, Galmair, Runewick, and near Cadomyr, to report to him any inquiries on Mara Belmore.
The plan was simple enough, only a few details worked out, the rest left to instinct and improvisation. This suited Mara fine, she had found that often times, if you over thought a plan it would unravel before you even started. And so the morning found her preparing for what promised to be a very unusual patrol shift. Slipping into leather armor she couldn’t help but feel nervous, anything could happen. She let Bronn leave first. Spent a few moments speaking with Ufedhin and Lafadiel at the depot, then left for patrol. Fully expecting the next few hours to be some of the hardest in her life.
…
Bronn left the house before dawn, giving Mara a kiss and a good luck farewell. Who knows what would happen next, perhaps it is the last time they saw each other. His sword and axe on his belt, a hunting knife at the hip, bow, quiver of arrows, and a shield strapped to his back, the mercenary headed out the gates under the cover of night. He looked at the faint stars, and the sky's dark blue hue let him know he had one hour before the sun rays hit the valley.
According to an agreed plan, he reached the spot within the rocky canyon half way to Hemp Necktie Inn, where he was to meet Mara.
Here, she would be pretending to patrol the road alone, and was supposed to put down her shield and make a pause for a few moments, to provoke an attack if there was to be one, by doing the most vulnerable thing a lonely woman could do in the wild: take a leak.
Of course, Bronn had to be ready. He dug a trench in the ground, smeared dirty all over his face, put leaf covered branches, twigs, and grass bundles into his cloak and under his belts, strapped a few strings around himself and stuffed it with foliage, camouflaging properly. Then, he laid down in the trench and covered himself up with leaves and sheets of grass he removed. He lay prone, the bow placed in front of himself, an arrow loosely aligned into the guiding notch, its tail fixed into the relaxed string. He waited.
A large raven, the mercenary's tame bird, with a few missing feathers in his side sat nearby in a tree, its black eye blinking in surveillance.
...
The walk to the canyon was uneventful. Mara swept jade eyes over every aspect of the woods between Galmair and the agreed upon meeting spot but did not see any signs of someone following or a possible ambush. She wondered with some trepidation who Leto might have sent to watch her. If indeed there was anyone at all. She worried for a moment that perhaps she was being paranoid. Worried that all of this was some cruel joke of his. That thousands of leagues away Leto was sitting comfortably in Ringa laughing at a note he had no intention of following through with. She put this thought aside with difficulty and focused on the plan. When she reached the canyon it took more effort than she had expected to not look for where Bronn was hidden. Following his instructions she stepped close to the canyon wall, unlaced her pants, crouched and waited for some sign of being watched as she emptied her bladder. It was quite, she took as much time as she could but after some moments there was nothing left to do but straighten up, pull up her pants and count the plan as failed. She was lacing up her pants as the words caught her attention. They came from above, somewhere high up on the canyon walls, and the familiar masculine voice causing her to tense even as she tried to locate its owner “This would be the second time I’ve caught you with your pants down. You really should be careful sweetness, or you're bound to get yourself in trouble."
…
Bronn spotted the head peaking up above among the rocks, but remained still, only slowly drawing the arrow a little further in the bow, giving the string just a bit of tension. He became all his senses and tried to slow his perception of time, his breath calm and even, as he was laying there motionless, but had every muscle tight like a compressed spring, ready to jump and explode.
He tried to remember which of Leto's men had blonde hair, and narrowed it down to the elf Elrin and the human assassin Tel. Mara confirmed the latter, and Bronn knew this was going to be serious. Tel was taunting Mara with some sweet talk and showmanship, but Bronn did not hear the words. He heard the call of prey, the animal noise, a squawk of a quail, a meek call of a deer, a bleating of a sheep. He was a creeping tiger, a stalking predator. All he could think of is what action Tel would commit to next. Will he take flight, and force Bronn to pursue, or will he fight, and take the struggle right here.
He was hopeful that Tel will show himself for a moment longer, enough to let an arrow loose at him, but Tel did not disappoint. He was a professional and stayed unseen. However, Tel was unaware of Roach, Bronn's raven, and did not count on it. How often does one suspect a raven sitting in a tree, if one even notices it.
…
Her mind replayed Tel’s words even as he disappeared from view. She thought them over as the raven took flight, giving her a target to follow, shadowing the man who’s easy comments had confirmed her worst fears. As she moved carefully through the canyon, keeping the bird in sight, she considered what his words would mean, tried to imagine what Leto would do to each target. The words seemed to echo inside her head as she moved out of the canyon in pursuit of their speaker, a direction she feared taking, given the quarries dangerous nature, but she followed none the less. She had not doubt that these same words would haunt her dreams tonight, if she slept at all, “Leto's found all your toys sweetness. And if he can't steal them he will break them.”
…
The bird took off the tree branch and began to climb, circling around a cluster of rocks where it spotted Tel, letting out a loud "caw!"
Mara followed the call. Bronn sprung up to his feet, bow at ready, and with powerful leaps began climbing up the rocky canyon. When the incline became too steep, he slung the bow over his shoulder and started climbing with his hands, in fast explosive pull up motions, grabbing hold of rocks and growing branches in the side of the mountain. He climbed fast like a mountain lion, but by the time he reached the top of the canyon, the raven was on the other side of the mountain ridge. Seeing Mara below, he followed along her route across the mountain top, looking out into the forest crossing, until he spotted a blonde male figure. He ran to the edge of the cliff on the south side, and slid down on his arse, causing a rockslide along with himself. Switching between running, skipping, sliding, and falling, he landed at the foot of the canyon, and burst into a full sprint, chasing the shadow through the woods. He saw a shape among the trees, and fired an arrow from a fast draw without aiming, reloading the bow immediately, on the run.
He saw with his peripheral vision that Mara was leaning over something shaped like a collapsed human body. She was distracted, she stopped the pursuit. Bronn accepted the possibility that he may have shot an innocent bystander, but it did not make any impact on stopping him. He committed to the chase.
....
Her eyes almost missed it at first, intent on tracking the dark bird above. It was a crumpled bundle, wrapped in ship sail canvas, in a shape uncomfortably similar to a body. Her mind screamed for caution, certain of some trap, but still she stepped closer. She could hear Bronn continuing the chase, and knelt to get a better look at this find, reaching a hand out to touch the bundle, immediately startling back as the shape beneath the canvas groaned. She was now more certain than ever of an ambush and quickly gave the area another glance over. Finding nothing out of place and no one around she took a calming breath and began to unwrap the still form. The face she discovered surprised her, the condition of his body did nothing to queel that feeling, covered in bruises and several deep stab wounds Mara had to touch a hand to his throat to be sure he was alive at all. A note pinned to the only clothing he wore, a loin cloth confirmed her fears. He had angered Leto, and paid for it in flesh and blood, left for dead no doubt saved if the note was to be believed, by Tel as a gift to her. Lincon, her one true friend from those nightmare days in Ringa.
…
For a while he saw nothing, but the bay was clear, and there was no way out other than over water. The lake connected to a river flowing into it, and that is where he turned his attention. Bronn ran along the coast line, looking into the river upstream, seeking a shadow of a swimmer. He saw none, which meant Tel either was an expert swimmer and kept to a deep dive, or he was not here at all. Bronn sprinted from tree to tree, bow drawn, and ended up hiding behind a dead oak. He peaked out, looking around, and then spotted Roach once again, on the other side of the lake. A shape of a man emerged from the water on the other side. Without further thinking, Bronn ran into the water, and submerged to his waist, fired an arrow at the man. The shot was a miss, so without much delay, Bronn flattened his wooden shield across the surface of the water, using it for flotation, and pushed himself off with the bow, giving himself an initial acceleration.
He floated on, his belly on the shield, paddling quickly with his feet and rowing with his axe. Tel fired a crossbow bolt, but also missed, the bolt splashed next to Bronn's foot. The time it took Tel to reload allowed Bronn to reach half way to the other shore. Tel aimed again, and Bronn covered his face with the wide blade of the axe. It was too good a cover, and simultaneously, Roach cried out, alerting of Tel's presence. Tel re-evaluated the situation and let a bolt loose at the Raven instead once again, this time actually scratching off a feather. The raven started to flee, and, secure in his ability to escape now unsurveiled, Tel turned and ran.
Wet head to toe, Bronn emerged from the water. His lungs burned. His leather all wet and heavy almost gave no hope to continue pursuit, but then he realized that Tel was also dressed in leather, which was now also wet, and reinvigorated by this realization of increasing chances, he ran after him.
Perhaps at this time the blonde assassin thought he had gotten away clean, he was in top physical shape, and very few people would have the persistence to not give up the chase at this point. But Tel did not know Bronn.
This man, Tel, whoever he was and where ever he trained, was every bit as good and as trained as Bronn was himself. Perhaps he was a little younger, which would only be a benefit for him. Bronn knew that this was it, if he lets this one slip, then Mara will not be safe. Though such a thought was perhaps too advanced for the mad chase state of consciousness he was currently in. The mercenary did not think of why and how and what the consequences were, he was simply a wild beast, chasing his prey. He had to catch it, no matter what, even if it meant admitting that you just are not that good without alchemy, not good enough without a little drug in your system. At this moment he thought of Tyan Masines. Yes, that time, when he was too proud to swallow that red liquid, he wanted to do it on his own. Well, the lesson proper, is that the other guy is not shy to take any advantage they can. So when the going gets tough, the man with fewer self-inhibitions wins. Even if it meant lowering oneself down to an alchemical affliction.
Bronn popped the cork, still on the run, and poured the liquid down his throat.
He felt the burn. The leg muscles, they ached, at first, and then a spike of heat, as hot as a flame, and a tingle, and suddenly... nothing but dull focus and a boost of additional energy. The armour seemed tight, the weapon seemed light, and the rocky ground beneath his feet seemed like a smooth carpet with just the perfect traction. All leg pain gone, lungs full of air, muscles fresh and cleansed of lactic acid, the sharp pain in the spleen gone, nausea gone. He was speed.
A walk in the park.
When Tel looked back and realized that Bronn is still after him, he sprinted with all he's got left. He fired a crossbow once, without looking back, but Bronn put up a shield to catch it, a loud thud, and a burst of chipping splinters. When Tel saw that Bronn was catching up, his eyes went wide, as he came to comprehension that his pursuer is moving with inhuman speed. Like a wild cheetah, the bearded brute was jumping over fallen branches and big rocks, covering up to fifteen feet with his leaps. Having ran out of options, Tel took out a teleportation book and flipped its pages, though it cost him to slow down his pace a little bit so he could concentrate. As the portal structure began to form, Bronn threw his knife, and the book fell out of Tel's hands. The spell went havoc, and the portal actually opened behind Tel, towards Bronn. Tell dared not run towards it, for Bronn was too close, and kept on southward, but in a matter of another minute, Bronn had caught up, and the low whistling hum of magic gems in the drawn steel of his axe was head behind Tel's back.
With a professional pirouette, Tel turned to face Bronn, and threw the crossbow in his face, which saved him from certain death, blocking the first strike.
Bronn's axe, shimmering with the glowing gems, split the crossbow in two and shattered its parts. However, this gave Tel just enough time to draw his sword. The quick draw was impressive, and Bronn was but a moment too slow to parry the assassin's lunge.
The stab went right into Bronn's left side between the ribs, a spray of red on the ground. There was no pain, only a dull push, and Bronn simply took it. Blood was gushing from his side, pumped at intense pressures, as Tel pulled the blade out to perform a coup de grace over the shaggy head, but Bronn, blood spilling out of his mouth, teeth covered in red paste, with eyes bloodshot and full of madness, parried the blow and pushed him back.
The two exchanged a series of blows, and for a moment it looked like Tel had the upper edge, having opened both Bronn's shoulders and his chest. Both men heavily wounded, the blows slowed down, and Tel delivered a near lethal strike to Bronn's chest, puncturing him one inch right beneath his heart. Thanks to thick bone and muscle, the cut was just not deep enough. Critically wounded, Bronn, through blood blurred vision, feigned an overhead strike, which Tel parried, and then changed the angle of the cut. Tel, badly wounded himself, saw the victory close, and put everything into his attack, but was too tired to remember caution. A small thing made a difference. A side step out of time, a lucky roll of dice on Nargun's gambling table, a smirk of Cherga, and Bronn sliced Tel's auxiliary artery, severing his right armpit. Tell's eyes rolled, blood freely flowed from his lips, his knees shook, and he fell limp like a leaf. Alive, but out.
....
She cleaned up the wounds as best she could with a bottle of moonshine, river water, and a sliver of soap. Some of the cuts were too deep, continued to bleed after she tended to them, the strips of cloth form her sacrificed tunic doing little to stop the flow. Lincon only stirred once during the process, a bad sign, she feared for the amount of blood he may have lost already. He needed to taken back to town, to be properly treated, to have the wounds stitched closed. But she couldn’t leave knowing Bronn was still out hunting Tel. She looked across the water with worry. If Bronn did not come back what would she do? Tel was a killer, it was all he did, what he dedicated his life to, what he enjoyed. She had no way to know which would win this battle, which killer would prove to be the better man.
…
The bloodied dirty abomination with dry salt on his lips, sweat mixed with cherry red smears, soap in his hair, his body and clothes entirely drenched in red, as if he had taken a blood bath, emerges from the canyon, carrying unconscious body of Tel. With eyes full of simmering leftover rage, and mouth spitting blood with every word, this is the quintessential Bronn.
