The Colour of Vengeance (11 page)

“What 'bout sewers?” Thorn said.

“You always suggest sewers,” Henry replied with a shake of her head.

“Sewers is good. Stink ta hell so no folk is watchin' 'em. “

“Ya noticed the streets o' Solantis at all, Thorn?”

“Uhh...”

Henry barked out a laugh. “Solantis ain't got no sewers.”

“Shit.”

They continued arguing about the best way to get into the pits. Anders went back to not listening. Instead he unscrewed the top of his hip-flask and took another swig. Empty... Empty! A horrifying thought occurred to him; if they didn't think of a way to get in soon they might be here all day. If they were here all day without anything to drink he might begin to sober up and that was not something any of them wanted, least of all him.

Anders coughed, trying to catch the other two's attention. Neither of them paid him any mind so he tried again, coughing with more volume this time. Again there was no response from either Thorn or Henry.

“Hey!” Anders found his voice was almost at shouting level. Both Henry and Thorn turned to look at him with angry looks. Anders sighed. “Can we go back to the tavern... I'm dry.”

Thorn snorted. “We ain't going nowhere 'til we figure out how ta sneak in an' do the job.”

Anders sighed again and steeled himself for what he was about to say. If it got him back to the tavern with a drink in his hand it was worth it. “I can get us in.”

Chade was unlike any place Pern Suzku had ever been to. Every time he ventured out into the city he found himself almost lost among the throng of people; from slaves to merchants to thieves to rich lords to the good folk of Chade. It didn't help that his client didn't seem to mind. As part of his Haarin training Pern had been taught to ignore all distractions and focus on protecting the client. His eyes would observe and calculate the danger but never more than that; they would never linger. Chade had a habit of testing that particular training to its very limit.

Three slaves walked by; their backs bare and bloody, their naked feet dragging in the dusty street, their hands and feet manacled and chained and a fierce taskmaster driving them forwards with generous lashings from a whip. A merchant rushed forward and tried to sell a tarnished metal kettle to Swift. Pern's hand never left his sword when out on the streets of Chade but now it was half-way out of its scabbard before the man had even begun to speak. The merchant, a short fellow with hair growing out of his ears took one look at the Haarin, or rather at the Haarin's blade and backed away.

A group of pickpockets watched from the shadows of an alleyway. It was dangerous work thieving in Chade; the guards would sell anyone to the slavers guild if they were caught, but many turned to a life of crime all the same. They observed Swift but never for long; moving their darting eyes to easier marks. A wise course of action. Pern had not been with the client long but he knew Swift well enough by now to know the man wouldn't be stolen from and would happily hand any man, woman or child over to the slavers for a few gold bits.

God had decided to test not only Pern's skills but also his patience and his commitment by giving him Swift as a client. The man was a self-confessed thief and murderer and worse and felt no remorse for any of it. He was also as dangerous a person as Pern had ever met. As deadly with a sword as he was with a knife and even more deadly with a bow.

On the road to Chade they had been set upon by a group of outlaws looking for easy coin; a foolish mistake but numbers had emboldened the bandits. They had been twenty-two when they had attacked and Swift had killed five of them himself. Pern had only killed three while staying by his client's side. After the short battle was done Swift also took part in the looting of bodies. They found one of the bandits still alive; a young woman, not pretty and covered in mud and dust and blood, and with her left arm almost severed. Swift had decided to teach her a lesson and had raped her face down in the midst of her fallen comrades before letting his surviving guards have their turns. After all was done Swift had claimed he intended to do worse but Pern had taken pity on the poor, wretched girl and had killed her before any more pain and humiliation could be visited upon her. He had expected Swift to become angry at his intervention but instead the man had laughed.

“Most o' these fools don't even know who I am,” Swift said with a backwards glance towards Pern. His client was smiling, he was always smiling. “Oh they know the name. Reckon I've more than made my mark over the past couple o' months but don't reckon there's a one o' them that knows what I look like.”

Pern kept silent. He was Haarin. It was not his place to offer advice or even opinion on such matters. He was there to protect and nothing else.

“Reckon I like it this way,” Swift continued. “Lets me move about all discrete. Being in the light is fun an' all but I'm more used to hidin' in the shadows. Like our friend over there. The one skulkin' 'bout in that alley. Reckon we ought say hello.”

Swift turned and angled for the alley he had indicated. Pern followed as best he could; distressed by how the people in the street seemed to surge around him to keep him from his charge. His eyes flicked from one face to another, searching for danger. If he was to find a possible attacker the truth would not be revealed in their carrying of a blade but in their eyes. The eyes always betrayed a person's actions. Pern had long ago realised that if you could learn to read a person's eyes you would always have the advantage.

Then the press of people was gone and Pern stood in the alley just behind Swift who was smiling at the man cloaked in darkness. His face was obscured but Pern sensed both danger and tension in equal measures. A dark blue aura, the colour of control, floated around the figure like wisps of fog.

“Long time no see, Kessick,” Swift said and then spat into the dust of the alleyway. “What's with all the hidin' in the dark? Reckon ya could jus' come ta me, 'stead o' makin' me look fer ya out here.”

“Send your guard away, Swift,” said the man in the darkness.

“Nah, I don't think so. See this here is Haarin Pern Suzku. He's a Haarin. Ain't nothin' gonna be said here that he'll repeat. Now I spent a lot o' money buyin' his contract so he could watch my back. Don't reckon I'll be sendin' him away jus' when my back needs watchin' most. That’d make me some sort o’ fool, I reckon.”

Pern did not miss the hint in Swift's voice. He moved to the side, placing his back to the wall of the alley so he could see both ways. His hand hovered above his sword hilt and he watched. He couldn't see the man's face, sunk into shadow as it was, but he could feel eyes upon him.

“It's good to know how you're spending my money,” Kessick said, his voice level with a dangerous tone.

“Your money?” Swift laughed. “Seems I remember you givin' it ta me. Reckon that makes it my money.”

“I gave it to you for a purpose. A service.”

“Aye, an' ain't I fulfillin' your request?”

“Not swiftly enough.”

Swift laughed again. “I see what ya did there.” Then the smile dropped from his face and was replaced by a look Pern had not seen before. It was dark and dangerous and made him look every bit the murderer he claimed to be. “Ya ain't been long in the wilds, Kessick, I can tell that. So I'm gonna explain somethin' to ya. Some things take time an' this is one o' them things. Ain't exactly an easy order but you'll get ya people, don't you worry 'bout that. Now hows 'bout you piss off an' only contact me again when ya got a real good reason.”

The figure in the dark stood still for a time then turned around and began to walk away. “Don't make me regret choosing you, Swift. I'm not sure you could survive my disappointment.”

Swift waited until Kessick was well and truly gone and then turned, heading back out into the street. He grinned at Pern. “Reckon I could use a drink. Hows 'bout you?”

Pern shook his head. “I am Haarin.”

“Right, right. Never liked that cunt, Kessick. Needs must though.”

“Who is he?” Pern asked.

“Oh aye. Takin' an interest are we?”

“He threatened your life. The more I know the easier it will be to protect you,” Pern replied, it was logic pure and simple.

Swift watched Pern out of the corner of his left eye. “Aye. Seems our Kessick used ta be an Arbiter. Now I don't reckon many are jus’ released by the Inquisition so seems ta me the bastard is on the run from 'em. Might be worth turnin' him in sometime but not right now, not while he's still payin' me.”

“You work for him?” Pern asked.

“Nah. More like partners. He gives me money, a lot o' money, an' I find the people he wants. 'Fore ya ask I don't know why he wants 'em an' I don't much care long as I get paid. But here's the thing. The money he's payin' me... It's already fuckin' mine.” Again the grin disappeared from Swift's face, replaced by something a lot darker.

“See ya might ask yaself; how does an ex-Arbiter come up with so many bits? He stole 'em.” Swift let out a bitter laugh. “After that business in Hostown last year the H'osts were done. Any of the full-blooded members that weren't killed in the slaughter were hunted down an' dispatched. Ain't like the blooded folk ta leave a man when he's down. They sensed the end of the H'osts an' they went fer the throat. Wouldn't surprise me if that fuck, D'roan has a head or two mounted on his wall.

“So with all the full blooded H'osts dead seems ta me any inheritance should go ta Gregor H'ost’s bastard son, right? Well that'd be me. Problem is, all his fortune seems ta be missin'. Mercs didn't take it; had a few o' them tortured jus' ta make sure. Townsfolk didn't take it; not a one o' them would go near the fort after them demon things came from there. So where'd it all go? Mountains o' gold bits. Millions. Gone.”

“So then this fuck Kessick shows up an' tells me he used ta work with my da'. Tells me he's willin' ta pay more an' more 'an generously if I provide him with what he needs. Seems he has the bits ta spare too so I had a little dig into his past. Found out he was a Arbiter 'til a short span back. Now where could he have come up with so much money?” Swift sniffed and spat into the street Takes a real set o' stones fer a thief ta steal from a man an' then pay that man with his own money, I reckon.”

Pern thought he was beginning to understand. “So you bought my contract to protect you because you don't intend to fulfil Kessick's order.”

Swift grinned. “Oh I'll keep doin' what he wants fer now. 'Til I figure out where he's stashed the bits. After that I reckon I'm gonna see jus' how easy it is ta kill a Arbiter.”

They stopped outside a large stone building on the east side of the Gold quarter of Chade. It was a building Pern had come to know very well in the past few weeks. Swift was required to attend every few days and his Haarin was his constant shadow.

“Time ta go deal with the fools that reckon they run this place,” Swift said with a grimace. “One day I reckon I might jus' kill 'em all an' take control of this city myself.” With that Swift strode into the chambers of the ruling council of Chade.

Nervousness didn't enter into it but then Anders had to admit that was only because he was too drunk to feel the sensation of his nerves slowly fraying. He was a connoisseur when it came to being drunk and he had more than enough experience in all twelve stages of alcohol intoxication.

Right now he put himself in stage eight; too drunk to feel anything much past a warm sense of self-gratification. He'd had to manage his drinking earlier in the night in order to make sure he hit stage eight. Stage seven brought feelings of paranoia and extreme isolation and stage nine could easily turn a man into an over-emotional narcissist; neither of which would help with the current plan that he fervently wished he had never suggested in the first place.

“You know how ta use that thing?” Henry asked.

Anders smiled. “I think you of all people, my dear, should already...”

“The sword,” she interrupted, not even the ghost of a smile on her lips, just the usual sneer. She was still wearing her riding boots, still wearing her men's trousers, still wearing her wide brimmed cavalier hat, but now she wore a light leather jerkin over her torso. Her hair she had tied into a short ponytail and her bright blue eyes burned with a fierce intensity. All in all Anders had to admit that she made a striking and not unattractive figure.

“Oh. Well I took a few lessons in my youth. I think you just sort of take hold of this end,” he put his hand on the hilt, “and wave it at the other man's face until he begins to bleed.”

The look Henry gave him was stony and full of disbelief. It would appear his humour had passed over her head somewhat. Anders decided to try to diffuse the situation. “I have had some experience in sword-play. I’ve even been known to kill a man on occasion though I do try to avoid it wherever possible. There was this one time…”

“An' ya reckon gettin' drunk first was a good idea?”

“Well I certainly wouldn't want to fight a man while sober,” Anders grinned again and again Henry looked at him with a stony sneer.

“What happens if it's a woman?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Ya keep sayin' fight a man. What happens if it's a woman ya gotta put down?” There was a challenge in the way the little murderess raised her chin when she spoke to him.

“Oh... well I suppose I could fight a woman if need be.” He'd killed a woman before, he was fairly sure he could do it again. Anders had only killed the one girl so far though and it was a messy affair. She hadn't been any more than a child really; just entering woman-hood. Wasn't even her fault, Anders had been trying to kill the man on top of her. “Doubt it really makes much of difference in the end. Man or woman we're all red on the inside aren't we.”

That made Henry smile, though Anders couldn't quite figure out why. She gave him a hungry look then nodded for them to catch up with the Black Thorn who, it had to be said, looked as though he had found a particularly uncomfortable leaning spot.

“Ya sure this'll work?” Thorn said shifting his weight from foot to foot, then rolling his shoulders, then stretching his neck from side to side before finally settling on scratching the burned side of his face with his maimed hand.