*****
The crimson and sapphire tent sits in the middle of the central market lane, its front side raised to form a large canopy. Tired shoppers enjoy the food and ale, which changes from week to week due to available supplies. An assortment of tables and chairs have been laid out, but people have been moving them around since the first rush of customers. A crowd is gathered on the other side of the simple fence, the people on the outside getting others to bring them a quick snack or drink. In the back of the tent, a grumbling fireskin woman hustles to keep the food coming and repeatedly chants various spells to help. The orange-scaled chef stirs a large pot with a smoothed staff that ends in a crystalline spoon, the weapon and utensil occasionally being used to bonk a lazy member of the halfling wait staff on the head. Cutting the diners off from the kitchen is a long counter that is manned by a nimble elf, his blonde hair gelled to look like deer antlers.
“Are you sure we got everything we need?” Pelo asks, the noise of the tavern tent forcing him to lean across the table. “You didn’t really look around, Tavris. Maybe we should see if we can find more herbs and food.”
“This place is getting very crowded,” the bigger mercenary points out, his mouth full of the turkey sandwich he ordered. He tries to move his fork toward his friend’s potatoes, but pulls away after a quick smack to his knuckles. “The others can cause trouble at any moment, so we need to be ready to run. I’d rather be out of the tents and in the open.”
“We’re behind a fence that is surrounded by a crowd.”
“I’m hungry and we need information.”
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Tavris groans and runs his hand over his face, a spot of mustard causing him to secretly lick his palm. “I did say it when we saw the tent and smelled the food. Your stomach was talking too, so don’t act like this is all my fault.”
“Sorry about making you mad,” Pelo mutters before going back to his meal. He subtly observes the other customers, most of them from the various tribes. “Have you noticed the tension around here? It’s not unbearable, but it’s becoming a distraction.”
“Probably because the two of us are starting to feel outclassed,” Tavris replies, snapping his fingers to order another drink. He flips a gold coin to the friendly halfling and downs the ale in one long pull. “Delvin, Gerdo, and Scorpion have all shown to be more than they seemed. What do the two of us have? You’re a great tracker and I’m very strong, but we’re regular humans with no magical gear. I’m worried that the others will be held back by us when they need to cut loose. They won’t act like we’re burdens, but I want to be able to carry my own weight on this team. Even after Delvin leaves, I can’t be expected to be in charge when I’m not the strongest or smartest.”
“I meant in the bazaar.”
Embarrassed by his outburst, Tavris licks his lips and turns away from his friend to watch the locals. He notices that many of the customers have a nervous tic to their eyes or their hand are constantly moving to where one would keep a small weapon. The reaction happens whenever they stop to look around at the other attendees, as if everyone expects to be attacked. The mercenary remembers seeing similar signs of tension during the various campaigns he has been a part of. It reveals a constant expectation of one’s demise and a desire to either accept your fate or fight back.
“It’s the war,” Tavris states, his voice just loud enough for a few people to hear him. They glare in his direction, warning the foreigner to be careful with his words. “The entire area is in turmoil and we walked right into the middle of it. There are two ways we can find out what’s going on. One is listen in on conversations and the other is to bluntly ask the locals. I’m voting for eavesdropping. Your ears are keener, so let me know if you hear anything.”
“This place is too loud, so I’ve only heard a few scraps of conversations,” Pelo says while waving to an attractive gnome. As his arm comes down, a slender calico woman bumps into him and he immediately catches her by the wrist. “I think you took my money pouch. There’s barely anything in there, so I’m not worth the trouble.”
“You dare to accuse me of theft?” she asks in a high-pitched voice that draws everyone’s attention. The thief hisses and swats the mercenary with her white tail, but he nimbly slips his property out of her sleeve. “You’re the one stealing from me! That’s my money and I demand that you give it back.”
“Tell me how much is in it,” the grinning mercenary requests. A few guards enter the eating area and head for the table, pausing when Tavris stands. “If she can prove this is her money pouch then she can have it. She can’t because it’s mine, but we’ll see how lucky she is. How about we make a deal? If you fail, I get to ask you a few questions and you will answer me honestly.”
“Very well. There’s four gold coins and a diamond sphere,” the calico replies, working off what she felt through the fabric. A growl slips from her throat when she sees the man reveal three gold coins, a diamond sphere, and blank disc of metal. “That’s an interesting trick. You carry a decoy weighted to imitate a coin in case you’re robbed and have to play this game. So ask your questions.”
“We’re looking for the Osprey Tribe and-” Pelo starts to say before all of the guards draw their weapons. The thief turns pale and draws a dagger from her skirts, aiming it at the mercenary. “Did I say Osprey? I meant Pelican. I’m always getting those two birds confused and I’m sure nobody is buying this excuse. Uh . . . I’m not from around here! Could somebody explain what I did wrong?”
One of the guards steps forward to press the tip of his sword against Pelo’s throat. “Any friend of the Osprey Tribe is an enemy to all of us. They’re sadistic monsters that ravage our lands and eat our loved ones. Choose your words carefully or we’ll kill you where you stand, new world vampire.”
“I’m not a Dawn Fang.”
Having a small idea about what is going on, Tavris unclips his peace-tied claymore from his belt and draws the attention of the guards. The moment one of them aims a weapon at him, the mercenary flicks his blade to disarm the man. All of the nearby customers stop to watch the encounter as Tavris trips one of his opponents and gets his arm around the neck of another hapless warrior. He kicks the last of the guards with enough force to knock him over the fence before flipping the one he is holding onto the table. With a smile, the blonde swordsman looks at the thief and nods his head to the exit. The calico backs away a few steps before sprinting into the crowd, which parts to let more guards through.
“We didn’t have to fight,” Pelo whispers, wielding his own sheathed weapon. He slips his backpack on and slings a heavy satchel over his shoulder, making it impossible for him to fight with his regular speed. “Do you think we got enough information?”
“All that we’re going to get and the guide can fill in the blanks,” Tavris replies, taking the satchel from his friend. The stronger mercenary smacks a nearby guard with the supplies when the man gets too close. “Like my friend said, we’re not Dawn Fangs. We’re from Serab and are gathering herbs for a merchant friend. She told us that the Osprey Tribe has knowledge about some of the goods she wants. Our companions and I did notice some tension when we entered the area, but this is the first time we’ve come across other people. Unfortunately, hooded lions and dammahs aren’t known for telling strangers about local events.”
“How do we know you’re not vampires?” someone asks from the crowd. A murmur runs through the people, warning the mercenaries that they are in more trouble than they previously believed.
“How do we know you’re not vampires?” Tavris repeats, pointing at one of the guards. He switches his attention to another person and grins. “What about you? The guy next to you could be one too. Dawn Fangs look like everyone else, so you could be standing near one and never know it. Not until they attack and then it’s too late.”
“We know each other! We don’t know you!” shouts a woman in front of the mercenary. She points a greasy fork at the foreigner, her arm
quivering with fear. “There’s someone here to vouch for every one of us. So we know we aren’t vampires.”
The towering warrior grins before resting his sword across his broad shoulders. “That doesn’t convince me. Dawn Fangs can change you with a bite and you’d look the same as you did when alive. Then again, I know for a fact that these vampires have heartbeats, so you wouldn’t really be dead. Makes it even harder to notice one. Anyway, how do you know the person you’re with is still them? You don’t and all you can do is trust that they have no intention of eating you. So how about we relax and act like civilized people?”
Unnerved by the sudden quiet and piercing stares, Pelo inches closer to his friend. “I’m not sure I like this plan. There is a plan, right?”
“They seem confused, so things might work in our favor. Besides, I ended on a polite question to avoid a fight.”
The tension that the two men have been feeling since entering the bazaar snaps when somebody in the middle of the crowd shoves a male calico. Mistaking the cat-like incisors for vampire fangs, the paranoid tribesman pounces on the startled merchant. Nobody is sure what is going on, but they join in the melee out of fear that they are fighting for their lives. The guards hesitate as they watch the brawl roll out of control, none of them knowing if they should leave the mercenaries alone. When the fence collapses and the riot spills into the next street, the soldiers know that they have to focus on the more obvious problem.
“Did you plan that?” Pelo asks as he hurries toward the exposed kitchen. He leaps over the counter and grabs a butcher’s knife while Tavris runs around the wooden obstacle. “Do you think the others will come looking for us?”
“Nope,” the tall man replies while his friend slices an opening in the back of the tent. The pair toss a diamond sphere to the cursing fireskin chef before escaping the riot. “Delvin said to meet him at the hill and that’s what we’ll do. We don’t want to disobey the boss and cause him any grief.”
“The riot won’t cause him any grief?”
“I’m sure he’ll barely notice.”
*****
Samara hurries across the plains, risking a glance back at the shrinking campfire every few seconds. The black pants that her new masters gave her are long and loose, which causes her to trip and stumble on the legs. Her white shirt is even worse, the slim girl nearly vanishing in the vast material. Even with the awkward garments slowing her down, she plunges ahead to get away from the men who wish to take her back to the nightmare she barely escaped. Unsure if the one on watch has seen her, Samara runs into the eerie remains of a tribe encampment that they found before nightfall. Bodies have been torn to pieces and scattered among the wreckage, which has become a scene that the girl is too familiar with. Her pace lessens to avoid tripping and because she senses that something is lurking within the shadows. Used to being in the tall grass, she crouches and crawls from one piece of cover to the next.
The shifting of wood causes Samara to leap to her feet and sprint, but a sleeve snags on the remains of a wagon and yanks her to the ground. A pair of orange-skinned wights drift out of an overturned tent and they spit poison that turns whatever it hits into shreds. The undead release a gasping howl as they destroy the wreckage that is in their path and descend upon the unarmed girl. For her credit, Samara refuses to close her eyes and prepares to meet her death head on. She does not miss a second of Delvin leaping in from the side to land behind both monsters and swat their bodies away with his bastard sword. The mercenary spins his blade and looks around the ruins, his senses searching for signs of danger. When Samara tries to run again, he swiftly grabs her by the arm and eases her to the ground.
“Let me go!” she yells, the smack to his chainmail leaving a cut on her palm. “I told you that I refuse to help. If you’re a good man then you’ll let me go, outsider.”
“I’m a good man, but I’m also one in need,” Delvin insists, taking a seat in front of her. A tuft of blue hair beneath a scrap of fabric catches his attention. He moves the piece of tent to reveal the twisted body of a sprite, its corpse in the middle of a deep footprint. “I didn’t know these lived on the plains. Where would a colony of sprites even find enough trees to survive out here?”
“It must have wandered in from the woodlands like you,” Samara replies, pushing some clean soil over the body with her dirt-encrusted foot. “You don’t know a lot about the plains, outsider. If you did then you would know why the Osprey Tribe must be avoided.”
“No I wouldn’t. I’ve been away so long that I’d have no way of knowing that something happened to my old tribe.”
“Your old tribe?”
“I was born in Yagervan, but raised in Serab after an accident.”
“That never happens.”
Delvin sighs as he pulls his chainmail over his head, pausing to hook Samara’s knee with his foot when she tries to stand. The girl falls with a yelp and pouts while the warrior undoes his shirt to reveal the Osprey Tribe brand. She crawls toward him for a closer look, the crimson moonlight making it difficult to see from afar. The idea that it is a fake crosses her mind, so she reaches out to scratch the edge with a jagged nail. Samara is mildly surprised that the mark is real and sucks on her finger to find the telltale taste of berries that their tribe uses to identify true brands.
“You’re not a ghost,” she says, the old superstitions coming to her mind. When the man opens his mouth to talk, she slaps him across the face. “This is all your fault! The gods are punishing us because you came back to Yagervan. What did you do to get exiled and why did you return? You should have known that your actions would inflict a curse upon our land. It’s engulfed the entire region.”
“First of all, it sounds like these attacks started long before I came back. I’ve been here for maybe two weeks,” Delvin explains, taking some of the anger out of the girl. He notices that she moves out of reach and rubs at her hand as if it is covered in filth. “When I was eight, I became trapped on an ice floe in the north and ended up floating to Serab. There I was found by a strong warrior woman who raised and trained me. I came back to face my past, but I was never sure if I should reveal my identity. My plan was to approach the Path Lord as a mercenary hunting a bounty. If I felt that I could safely tell the truth to the elder then I would and leave the rest in their hands. Honestly, I think the plan was doomed to fail from the start, so this change is for the best. Now I need to find the Osprey Tribe to see what happened to my parents and stop whatever is going on.”
“You can’t beat the new world vampires. Nobody can,” Samara insists, her voice losing its edge. She stands and offers a hand to help the warrior, but he uses the nearby wagon instead. “I think it’s best that you return to Serab. That would be the safest path. I can show you the quickest way to the border.”
“Just tell me what’s going on,” the champion requests while putting his armor back on. He is thankful that the girl remains where she is while his chainmail blocks his vision. “We know that Dawn Fangs are involved, but I can’t tell why the Osprey Tribe is at the center. Our people were herders and never went to war.”
Samara shivers as she lifts the side of her shirt to reveal an old bite mark, the two holes clearly made by vampire fangs. “Four strangers came to our tribe when we were in the south and killed the Path Lord. They were vampires and took over by forcing the change on the strongest of our people. Many of the elderly and anyone who tried to fight back were killed. Children were left alone, so several of them fled into the wilderness or tried to warn other tribes. I assume none of them were successful. Things stayed quiet for a few months as we were brought north, but it was about three months ago when the Osprey Tribe declared war. The Dawn Fangs created new servants with every attack and now they have a small army based in Pynofita Forest. Nobody knows what they’re planning after they take the plains, but it’ll happen in less than a season at this rate.”
Delvin is surprised that the girl is not crying even though her eyes tell him that she desperately want
s to. He wonders if she simply has no more tears to shed after witnessing the massacres from the beginning. A fond memory slips into his mind and he starts to chuckle, which earns him a glare from Samara.
“I’m sorry, but I was remembering the last time I ran into a group of Dawn Fangs,” he states, extending his hand for her to take. She cautiously accepts and they walk toward the distant rocks where Gerdo watches over the camp. “I was with a friend from another group that I run with. She’s a powerful caster and she destroyed them after they made her mad. I mean, she just annihilated them. So I was thinking how this would be easier if I could contact Nyx and ask her to clean this mess up with a few fireballs.”
Samara slips her hand free and ties her hair back, binding it with a dirty cord. “Why didn’t she come with you? Did you have a falling out?”
“She was badly hurt in our last adventure, so I left her with my other friends to settle this while she rests,” Delvin answers, unsure if his vague response will satisfy the girl. The scowl on her face tells him that she knows he is holding back. “It’s complicated, but I called on my old mercenary crew to lend a hand. It started as a fun adventure and I realized how much I missed these guys. We didn’t separate on the best of terms, so this feels like a way to develop some closure before we part ways again. Although, we didn’t expect Dawn Fangs, wights, and a large scale war. Maybe this is because of me somehow. The gods could be doing this in response to me coming back to my homeland.”
“It is strange whenever you mention that this is your homeland,” Samara admits, walking on her toes to get a closer look at her companion’s face. She notices the blue of his eyes, a color that she has only seen once in their tribe. “I think I know your parents. Aaron and Naomi, who were both hide tanners. You took a surname like those in Serab, which is what confused me. Is it the one you share with the woman who saved you?”
“Not exactly. I took the first three letters of her surname and put it at the end of a word that people kept using to describe me,” Delvin answers with an embarrassed grin. He sighs when he realizes it is the first time he has ever told someone that secret. “I think Selenia, Kevin, and Duggan are the only ones who know that back . . . home. Guess Serab is my home. After all, it’s where Nyx is.”
The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9) Page 22