A God Among Thieves: Chimera, #1

Chapter

1

He was dead, lying face up on the rocky desert surface. The rest of the brigands wouldn’t be too far away. Lazden dismounted, drew his saber and edged towards the body before him. Jadiro remained perched on his horse, his flintlock musket fixed upon the western horizon, ready to snap the trigger at whoever might have the gall to

ambush

them

.

Even from several yards away they could see the dead man’s lips had turned burgundy, punctured by his own teeth. His bloodshot eyes bulged into the dry night air, staring with enraged betrayal at the moonlit sky. A black tattoo crept out from the edge of his collar. More covered his hands and fingers. A snake dominated the crude designs, wrapped around his fingers, curving upwards and coiling itself around the wrist. The dead man’s clothes were cheap enough to be cast aside by monks and pulped into paper. His breath reeked, a noxious mix of vinegared wine,

bile

,

and

…

The crunch of pebbles against rock from under Lazden’s tan boots stopped as he dropped to one knee to get a closer smell. He brushed away the night-blue scarf protecting his face against the grit and sand and leaned in closer to the corpse. Something beyond the dead man’s body odor called out

to

him

.

… flowers.

It was subtle but definitely there, buried in the gut of the dead man who had surely been alive the moment the sun kissed the horizon. His skin was still warm, blemished by the desert life but otherwise healthy enough. Lazden patted the body down, rummaged through the man’s purse and pockets until he found the dagger’s sheath, yet no blade. His purse held a total of eight dockets and four crowns. The crowns were certainly from an imperial traveler, rare in these parts but gaining in frequency with every passing month. The dockets belonged to Eresdel, the city twenty miles east

of

here

.

Jadiro held the reins of his and Lazden’s horses in one hand as he moved westwards to survey the surrounding fifty yards. The scuffed tracks of the dead man were easy enough to find. Ten yards from the body were clear imprints of his hands and knees in the desert ground, complete with one hand raking the sand and bunching it together in a clawed grip. Twenty yards from that was a side-stagger and a lengthy course correction. At the fifty yard mark lay his dagger, the white scarf protecting his face from the heat, and a pool of bloodied vomit. Jadiro dismounted, scooped up the dagger and scarf, dusted them off, and returned to his horse.

Lazden, sporting a shaved head and two-day beard, approached his protégé with his gloved hand resting on the pommel of his now-sheathed saber. Have you ever reported in a dead body before?

No, said Jadiro, accompanied by a controlled, though nervous, shake of

his

head

.

Then we better alert the others as fast as possible before the rest of Turstahl’s men can attack the city. Lazden reached across his saddle, kicked a foot into his stirrup, and lifted himself back into command.

It’s not an attack, said Jadiro.

"A

raid

,

then

."

It’s not that either. The young initiate made the unfortunate mistake of locking eyes with Lazden. The scorch of the desert sun was nothing compared to disagreeing with his lieutenant twice in as many seconds.

"You don’t find a brigand this close to Moqara unless they mean to strike at us. Call for the captain and let’s get the hell out

of

here

."

"Wait, wait. Jadiro pointed to where he found the dead man’s dagger. His heart all but exploded in his chest as he racked up a third moment of contradicting his superior. The tracks. He was chasing someone before he died. This isn’t

a

raid

."

The lieutenant lazily looked away from the scuffs along the ground. "The rest of them will strike in misguided revenge when they realize one of their own is dead this close to our home. They’ll think we did it. Only they won’t target someone who can fight back. It’ll be one of our blacksmiths, camel herders, or hell, some family’s young daughter coming back from the oasis with water, and she will never be seen again because of your delays

right

now

."

From the wide-eyed panic that stretched across his clean-shaven features, Jadiro had no answer

to

that

.

Lazden leveled a moonlit stare at the young man in front of him, baiting him to buckle under the ferocity of rank and experience. "They will do to us exactly what they think we’ve done

to

them

."

Jadiro drew in a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and went for it. "The dead man was chasing someone who joined their group in the north. As soon as he died whoever he was chasing ran back in that direction. Why? Why go back? We are close enough to see Moqara on the horizon. Why not come to us

for

help

?"

Lazden readied his retort.

It’s because the brigands still had something valuable of theirs, be it priceless goods or someone they were with. Moqara is not under threat but whoever is in the north is. There might be a dozen people up there being beaten senseless or facing execution because this one never came back alive and the person he chased did. Jadiro nodded quickly, though he couldn’t help but look away as his entire career flashed before his eyes. There would be latrines. Endless latrines. And when he wasn’t digging those he would be posted by their doors so he could listen to them

being

used

.

Then, much to his surprise, the corners of Lazden’s mouth formed into something of a smile.

It so startled Jadiro that he glanced back to the body lying a short walk away to ensure that this wasn’t part of an elaborate prank masked as a training exercise.

Most people would have missed those tracks, said Lazden. "Well done. Any idea

who

died

?"

It took a moment for the tension to ease. "This isn’t

a

test

?"

"Oh, he’s definitely dead and I have no idea who killed him, so we’re going to find out. First things first: whose body

is

that

?"

"… One of

Turstahl’s

men

?"

"Are you saying that because I already

told

you

?"

"His dagger is from Pragis and his boots have the same kind of buckles as a

military

man

."

They certainly do, said Lazden. "A few years ago this lot killed one of the merchants traveling with them. Among his cargo were several tan robes, white scarves and the like, which is exactly what he’s wearing right now. Going beyond a simple, ‘he’s one of Turstahl’s men’, he’s covered in distinctive tattoos. So, when you speak with Reina tonight, who are you going to tell

her

died

?"

Jadiro’s eyes widened as another burst of panic settled

in

. "

I

…"

Come on, one of us knows, but you’re the one delivering the report.

Jadiro blinked quickly as he tried to settle himself. "Who

is

he

?"

Snake. Lazden pushed his cuffs up towards his elbow and tapped his forearm. He turned his attention to where the brigand in question clawed at the ground. Heading northwards were the faint tracks of a child, a teen perhaps, running on nothing but the balls of their feet. The moon overhead guided the child’s way as they ran, though why they were returning to the brigand’s mountain trail instead of retreating south to Moqara was curious indeed.

Snake has been dead for no more than three hours, said Lazden. "Given the almost-full moon, he and Turstahl’s men were no doubt escorting merchants along the northern pass when something went wrong. If we ride quickly we might be able to cut them off and keep a few merchants from losing their lives. But where did they start from, the east coast or the west? And where can we

catch

them

?"

Jadiro glanced in both directions. Behind him, the lantern lights of Moqara glimmered, a pin-prick along the horizon. He dropped his eyes to his musket and re-focused himself on the mountain range to the north. His ears prickled against the silence. Worse still, the total lack of movement from Lazden reminded him that he had to make the decision while on his first night of command. On any given evening, the brigands would be halfway across the desert by now and the illegal travelers with them would be struggling to keep up with the pace. But, if one of the mercenaries – especially one with such a reputation as Snake – lay dead this close to Moqara then tonight went beyond the usual shaking down of terrified travelers.

Lazden’s horse huffed, breaking the silence that gnawed at Jadiro. "The longer this takes, the more merchants will die. Any decision is better than none.

Make

it

."

Jadiro’s first moment of authority landed and flew away before he could even register its arrival. He backtracked over Lazden’s final words to make sure that he hadn’t misheard him and that he was actually about to change the evening’s plan, one that would expose everyone in the north to a hail of lead and bloodshed.

The only thing keeping his hands steady was knowing that he could be easily overruled. Then again, the only thing keeping him from getting a full chest of air was that he would soon have to justify himself to those who controlled the rest of his career.

Jadiro raised one hand to his mouth and whistled to the east a long blast, followed by two quick bursts, calling to the other guardsmen on patrol that evening. In return came three short whistles. Jadiro looked back to Lazden, hoping to find some kind of approval.

You’re sure? asked Lazden, as he eyed the young guardsman carefully.

Jadiro offered a quick nod, followed by an even

quicker

, "

Yes

."

Lazden noted of the boyish nerves of a young man trying to convince himself that he had made the best decision from a sea of poor options. Lazden drove his horse northwards, towards the Desera Mountains and away

from

home

.

Jadiro rode beside him. Was it really the Snake?

The tattoos match his description, so that’s a win for us. Not so much a win for whoever sold him the wine, though. I imagine his friends will have a grievance or two to work through. Lazden kept his attention locked forward, baiting Jadiro into a response.

"It was poison that killed him,

not

wine

."

Oh? Did you have your nose an inch away from Snake’s mouth?

"If it was wine he wouldn’t have run off through the desert. He would have died next to a camp fire, on his side, probably with one of his friends throwing up next

to

him

."

We catch thousands of people running through the desert every year, said Lazden.

"We catch five, running through Moqara, and only during the Feast of the Bard. The Snake was still fully dressed and is rumored to be covered in Hunter tattoos. It was poison that did this to him,

not

wine

."

Lazden turned to study Jadiro, burning him with a glare that no initiate of the Prince’s Guard survived without begging to be trained by someone else. The kid was holding his breath.

Good, said Lazden, as he relaxed into his saddle. "

What

else

?"

Jadiro allowed himself a moment of relief from the scant praise by Lazden. His pistol is gone but they left behind his dagger. It looks like he dropped it when he threw up and was too delirious to pick it up again.

So someone chased him with his own pistol?

No. If they had they would have taken his purse.

"Perhaps the escapee saw us on the horizon and

ran

off

."

No.

"No? They aren’t watching us right now? Waiting for us to leave so they can return to his corpse and

loot

him

?"

I’ve already taken his dagger and you’ve taken his purse so there isn’t anything to loot. Something from his days in training called back to him. "What coins did

you

find

?"

Lazden allowed himself another smile as he watched the young man grow with confidence. Four crowns and eight dockets.

"Were any of

them

fake

?"

Two of the dockets are certainly trimmed a little, but they all look genuine. What could you ascertain from them if they were counterfeit?

Jadiro forced in a nervous breath.

"Keep your

eyes

up

."

Jadiro didn’t even realize he had let his attention slip. I, uh, ascertain … He cursed himself for looking down again and doubly so for when Lazden turned his attention away, as though Jadiro was the least of his concerns right now. The soft clop clop of horseshoes against the desert ground seemed to hound him the longer he remained silent. The slimy sweat from under his arms returned. Behind him, the faint glimmer of Moqara faded and dropped out of sight. "I ascertain that if they were counterfeit coins then they were to be used to dupe

the

rich

."

Lazden did what he could to help Jadiro along. "Since there was a smell of poison from Snake’s gut and not just from his lips, and given the position of his body lying face up in the desert with no obvious signs of injury, it’s reasonable that he died from poison. Since he did not die in the safety of his own camp or home then I can ascertain that

he

…

was

...?"

Jadiro quickly nodded. Poisoned by one of the travelers, not by one of his friends.

It’s not easy, though. Dropping poison into a stranger’s cup while they’re traveling.

Jadiro agonized over that one as well. "I guess it’s easier to poison your own drink and let someone take it

from

you

."

"Yep. Curious that someone’s gone to all this trouble, isn’t it? Someone who knew the kind of people they were dealing with. Someone who had something of such value that they would rather kill a mercenary than risk losing it. And someone who was probably outnumbered twenty

to

one

."

Jadiro offered a weak, though genuine, smile in return.

"What if we had found counterfeit coins?

What

then

?"

"Criminals recognize them, the border guards of Lysbor and Eresdel will chop off their hands if they’re caught trying to use them, most merchants will see them for what they are, brothels will throw them out immediately. But, anyone who pays in large quantities could have them slipped in unnoticed. Add a couple of fakes into a bag of real coins and they might go unnoticed. That, or the idiot who doesn’t recognize a fake coin in his hand is

a

lord

."

A tightness formed around Lazden’s mouth, forcing him to jut and retract his jaw to loosen it back to normal. "You grew up with maids and the like,

didn’t

you

?"

I am no lord and neither is my father.

Believe me, I’ve never taken your father for an idiot.

The shift in tone unnerved Jadiro yet again. His lieutenant no longer sounded like a commander or playing devil’s advocate. Instead, his voice bordered on genuine concern. Jadiro saw it, became quickly flustered, and did his best to pass it off as a slight exaggeration gone awry. "I mean, the lords and ladies don’t really see much money, do they? Wealth yes, but not actual money. They’ll have a servant who goes to the bank on their behalf, another who buys all the food and someone else who settles the bills for the family without the nobles having to even touch a penny. There are probably entire generations of lords who have seen less coins than a beggar. Fewer coins,

I

mean

."

Huh. Lazden ran through Jadiro’s reasoning. An unfortunate point but not one without logic. Then again, perhaps Jadiro simply spouted off criticisms used by those he knew in a bid to sound more worldly. That would be easier to accept were it not for an increase of slander against the nobles in Moqara, something that had become all the rage thanks to the empire building in the north.

Lazden glanced back at the moon and grimaced at her face. In three days she would reach her fullest. The brigands in the north would be at their most lucrative, able to escort travelers and merchants across the narrow land passage that linked the three city-states of Lysbor, Moqara, and Eresdel. Lysbor and Eresdel had the only ports for a hundred miles north and south. On any map, the land looked like an hourglass with the three states at the narrowest point. To the north of Moqara was an uninhabitable wasteland of sheer mountains, canyons that at times were no wider than a child’s shoulders, and a forest of trees and pinnacles that had turned to stone in an age long past. The south was as endless as the afterlife, devoid of even the most daring of Bedouins.

Moqara, the oasis city in the middle of the desert, was the only means of escaping the voyage around the continents to the north and south. It would take months for ships to endure, through some of the worst winds and seas to the south, past the privateers and pirates in the east, and hundreds of states along the coast, all wanting taxes and tributes from whoever passed

them

by

.

Turstahl and his brigands were a necessary evil that benefited Moqara. As long as they were a menace, the more timid merchants would be forced through Moqara, instead of sneaking along the northern ridge and bypassing three cities’ worth of tolls. Sometimes the brigands respected their role in Moqara’s economy, sometimes they didn’t. Every so often they pushed a little too hard and the Prince Regent’s reputation would be hit for failing to control the rebels who lived to the north of his land. But if there weren’t enough ruffians in the north then the penny-pinching merchants would have no qualms about landing long before they reached Lysbor or Eresdel and bypass all fares completely.

Lazden grimaced again at the moon and shied away from her. Someone had killed Snake, a man with a five hundred deshell reward for his head. His friends would have stabbed him and cashed in. The guardsmen would have shot him and split the cash amongst themselves. Whoever poisoned him had left his body to rot and returned to cause more mayhem. More bloodshed would be spilled while the moon lit up the night, that much was certain.

Something pulled Lazden’s attention eastwards. Two riders were converging on the same spot a hundred yards north. The iron horseshoes rang identical to Lazden’s and Jadiro’s. He glanced back and caught Jadiro practicing his report while he still had the confidence to do so. The two riders waved a quick salute to Lazden, he did the same. Jadiro missed it completely. They all pulled their horses inwards until the foursome were in speaking distance.

While Lazden had the strength to bludgeon his foes with a great sword and Jadiro was at home behind a musket instead of a bow, Reina had the mind and body of a fencer. Fast, lean, agile, and instinctive. She came from a large family of lawyers and story tellers, accountants and poets, architects and lovers. There was always too much of one and never enough of the other. At least in theory as a protector of the people, she had a chance of balancing both souls of life. She sat astride a mare, a saber by her side and a musket strapped to the other. She glanced over Lazden and gave Jadiro a neutral smile, while the gangly Izad held himself at such an upright angle that he risked losing all air to his lungs.

Report, said Reina, with her attention on Jadiro.

The young man gave her a quick nod before the words tumbled out of his mouth. Captain, Lieutenant Lazden and I found the body of the man believed to be the Snake, who died this evening at around dusk. It looked as though he had been poisoned but not robbed. As one of Turstahl’s men, I believe the rest of them are still close by, in the central area of northern Moqara. They are likely escorting travelers from one coast to the other. These travelers are now in grave danger from the gang who will care more about retribution for their murdered friend than the wellbeing of strangers they met only today. We are a two hour ride from town. By the time we have called for reinforcements the travelers will certainly be dead. Jadiro gave Reina a quick nod to show that he

was

done

.

Lazden couldn’t help but smile at how easily she allowed her subordinates to fight for her approval. Jadiro and Izad were barely old enough to know how to talk women their own age, let alone someone who knew more about them and their classmates than they would ever know

of

her

.

She rolled her eyes to her husband. Lazden gave her the slightest of nods to show that he agreed with Jadiro’s report. She looked back to the young lad and continued. How many travelers are we talking about?

He started with ten, said Jadiro. Assuming that each traveler paid one docket to each brigand when they set off then there are eight frequent travelers either to or from Eresdel. At the going rate there are at least two people from the empire. Maybe one if they’re in a hurry and carrying a lot of items.

Reina slumped back in her saddle as all pretense of rank escaped her. "Shit, someone from the empire is in the middle

of

this

?"

Yeah, said Lazden. I imagine there’ll be a letter for the Prince in a day or two depending on how well we do tonight.

Reina turned her attention northwards. "Fucking hell. Alright. Jadiro? What’s

your

plan

?"

All of his well-practiced arguments escaped him in an instant. We ride north and save the merchants from Turstahl’s revenge.

"The four

of

us

?"

Yes, Captain.

"Against the dozen or so remaining mercenaries who know the north better than

we

do

?"

Yes … Captain.

Why?

… To help the merchants?

The merchants traveling illegally through our lands are funding these thieves and murderers every time they do? The merchants supplying them with weapons used on your brothers and sisters of the guard, knowing that if any of them – merchants or mercenaries alike – are caught they will face an execution by our firing squad within a day of their capture?

… Yes … Captain?

She clasped her hands over the pommel on her saddle and leaned in to close the gap. "Why do you want to

help

them

?"

Gone was the safety of hoping that this was an elaborate training exercise. Gone was the chance of ever serving under Lazden or Reina again. All his future held now was the endless row of latrines, coupled with everyone he worked with holding a full conversation as they deposited that morning’s breakfast.

There’s a kid among them, said Jadiro.

Reina leaned back in surprise.

"We found tracks leading away from the Snake’s body. Tracks so small that they must belong to a teen. They were running as fast as they could to get back to whatever they were chased

away

from

."

Reina’s eyes darted back to Lazden’s.

If he didn’t push for it, I would have, said Lazden. The boot prints belong to a girl, maybe older than a child but not by much. She outran Snake, she’s out run us, and there’s a chance that right now she’s getting the better of twenty people at least twice her age and experience.

Reina groaned and shook her head. "What the hell kind of evening have you

two

had

?"

Lazden nodded towards Jadiro. "Trial

by

fire

."

"In the morning a lot of the people we’re about to rescue will face a trial by firing squad, you

know

that

?"

"Then for their sakes they better be really endearing when we capture them," said Lazden.

Reina turned to the corporal by her

side

. "

Izad

?"

Yes, Captain?

Get Losten, Jorn, Darred, and Kennun kitted up. Get them here before midnight.

Izad opened his eyes as a pleading look took him over completely. Before midnight?

Jadiro raised a cautious hand. Captain … it’s Kennun’s birthday today.

Reina slumped in her saddle again. So it is. She brought a hand up quickly to massage her eyelids before relaxing it back to her side. "I don’t suppose Wrenell has had a miraculous improvement in

her

aim

?"

Even Lazden swayed at the sound of that. "Bloody hell woman, even the horses avoid going near her when she has a musket in

her

hand

."

"Well, it’s either that or we have four inebriated marksmen shooting at shadows in

the

dark

."

We already have four marksmen. Us, said Lazden. He turned to Jadiro. Hand on your heart, can you recognize a brigand in imperial clothing from a merchant forced to wear a brigand’s cloak?

One will be in charge of the others, said Jadiro. He turned back to Reina. I got an eighty-six under a half moon from fifty yards. Ninety in daylight.

Those were targets standing still, said Reina. They weren’t firing back, they weren’t in a position to hold another target prisoner.

Jadiro bit down on his molars, clenching his jaw until it pained him. Just as Reina turned her attention to Lazden, Jadiro fought for it. They have an imperial traveler with them. All eyes flashed his way, squinting at the least experienced man in the group until: An imperial traveler this far south is bad news. One caught in a gang of brigands is even worse. Carcosa could use it as an excuse to send an inquisitor our way or he could blockade Lysbor and Eresdel until we can assure him that all the brigands in these parts have been executed. The empire already has allies in Moqara. They will find out what happened to one of their travelers.

Lazden offered his wife a reluctant nod. It may even be a test of our border security. They’ll know we don’t have four hundred thieves operating in the north or a hundred marksmen on patrol at all times.

And all we have to do is scare them, said Jadiro. Fire off all our muskets and watch the gang run away. I can get six shots off in a minute. With all of us, pistols as well, we can ride in like Herith taking the Citadel of Askara and force them to run. He nodded to Lazden, Reina, and Izad, trying to convince them all that his instincts about the brigands were more reliable than their first-hand experience

with

them

.

And who knows, maybe there’s a few more of them dead from poison already, added Lazden.

Reina turned to Lazden. It’s your call, soldier.

Lazden glanced over to the foot of the Desera mountain range just a few miles away. On any given night the brigands simply needed to see a patrol on the horizon to convince them to scatter. On the rarest of occasions they might even fire off a musket or two to keep the patrol at bay while they fled into the canyons. But Turstahl’s gang was made up of former mercenaries and privateers. Snake himself was rumored to have served in the Great War and had a emblem tattooed across his chest to show off the number of Dyugaa he killed himself. This group wasn’t as susceptible to running away

as

most

.

Lazden locked his concentration onto the horizon. If Turstahl is still alive in the morning, he’ll send a raid our way in revenge for losing Snake. So when we go in, it’s not to scare them, it’s to kill them. Turstahl in particular, if he’s there. The lieutenant rolled his shoulders back. All around him the desert lay silent, at rest under the watchful eye of the goddess moon. Jadiro and I will ride northeast towards the Wolf’s Mouth. You two head north to Erend’s Rock. We’ll meet in the middle.

Reina gave a quick nod of approval. Okay. Good luck. And for the love of the gods, don’t shoot someone from the empire.

Chapter

2

Jadiro crept along the mountain ridge, threading his way across the angled cliff face without the heels of his boots touching the surface below. His path was lit by the moon overhead. Ahead of him shone the oil lanterns of thieves and murderers, merchants and travelers. Mules bucked against the frantic voices and a donkey called out against the men pulling at the pouches strapped to its body. Jadiro came to a break along the mountain’s edge. He was still a hundred yards from the camp of brigands, too far for a musket to be of any real use. He leaned against the rock’s edge as he considered his options. If he went higher he could probably get a lot closer, but the drop to the desert floor became a lot more precarious. If he went lower he would be in sight of anyone who looked his way, thus eliminating the chances of a surprise attack. As he pivoted, his foot met a slip of sand, forcing him to hug the mountainside for

dear

life

.

Or you could fall to your death. That would be quite surprising for everyone. Have a guardsman just drop from the sky holding a pair of muskets.

Lazden had entrusted him with his own weapon, giving Jadiro twice the fire power in as many seconds. As the more experienced rider, Lazden would have to ride into the fray with only a single shot pistol and saber to his name. His parting words to Jadiro still rang through the young guardsman’s mind. Don’t wait for the perfect time to shoot. Don’t even wait for an acceptable time to shoot. The moment you see one of their chests, shoot.

Ahead of him, half a dozen merchants and travelers were pressed against the mules, digging through their sacks and bags while the mercenaries they had hired to safely escort them through the desert held them prisoner.

Every last fucking bag! shouted the largest of the brutes, his head wrapped in a black bandana. He staggered backward, gripping his stomach as a bout of intestinal problems took hold, and shook off the sweat from his forehead.

A merchant, brown robes with a teal undershirt, saw his chance. From the confines of his sleeve he drew a long, slim dagger and advanced on the man with Black Bandana. The brigand in question pulled one shoulder back, stretched his fingers into a claw, and threw a cask of wine at the merchant, hitting him across his upper arm. The merchant reclaimed his footing, but not his confidence. Now surrounded by a death-like silence and with several men targeting him, he shouted at Black Bandana. "If you harm

my

wife

…"

You’ll what? Point a cooking knife at me? Black Bandana hurled another cask of wine. The merchant tried to leap over it as it crashed against his knees. Upon his landing he buckled, overshot his balance and fell forward, landing heavily on his elbows and chest. By the time he was done coughing Black Bandana was in front of him, crouched to the ground, with a pistol cocked and forced against the merchant’s forehead. In a parched and scratchy voice, he growled, You’re going to get up and you are going to find everything those bitches brought with them. You have until the count of five before I end you and leave what’s left to the buzzards. Black Bandana pushed his pistol deeper into the merchant’s forehead, forcing the robed man to wince against the pain as his spine compressed against his skull. I won’t shoot here, though. Black Bandana shifted the barrel and shoved it against the merchant’s right collar bone. Here. Away from your heart, but able to hit your lungs and guts. The bone up here will shatter. The ball will travel down like you’ve been skewered. Your wife will scream and you’ll again have until the count of five to bring me every bag, sack, and chest those whores are traveling with. Then I’ll shoot your wife. Black Bandana drove the pistol into the merchant’s shoulder and twisted, the friction burning the skin under several layers of clothing. Bring me all of their shit. Black Bandana rose, stepped back to clear himself from any surprise attack by the merchant, and kicked sand into the man’s

face

. "

One

."

The merchant scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the saddle bag of goods on the side of a mottled gray donkey.

Two.

His wife whimpered against the mercenary to her side, a man brandishing a saber and a flintlock pistol. Please, they weren’t with us. The brigand raised the back of his wrist to his forehead and wiped away the sweat. The merchant’s wife retreated two

steps

back

.

Ah, ah, ah, snapped Black Bandana as he shifted his pistol to her direction. "If you run, I will shoot him. His attention returned to the frenzied merchant. Three."

Two of the shaky brigands on the eastern side of the camp turned at the same time. Sweat dripped into their eyes, stinging them despite the cool desert air. ’Stahl?

The man in black jolted his chin towards the Wolf’s Mouth. High above him the near-full moon shone down, illuminating the pathway towards the Canyons of the

Dry

Sea

.

Not now. Not

fucking

now

!

To his right came a faint echo of an iron horseshoe hitting the pebbled surface of the ground.

Kill them! He swung, his pistol slicing through the air at the sound of thunderous galloping. Behind him, the two shaky brigands turned to see a pair horses charging towards them, one with a rider, one without.

KILL–

Crack! came the

first

shot

.

Black Bandana fell forward, landing on his knees as a burning lead ball ripped through his chest. He caught himself with one hand on the ground, surprised at how easily he fell, never expecting to find himself on his knees that evening.

Crack! came the second shot, puncturing the sternum of the wife’s captor, shattering the cartilage as the iron ball ricocheted into the back of his ribs. The wife stumbled back in fright, her legs unable to keep her upright.

Two more shots fired from the west, breaking the uneasy calm to the

brigands

’

rear

.

All at once the remaining mercenaries spun, firing off pistols and muskets alike, smothering the air around them with the remnants of gunpowder.

Lazden’s galloping horses charged in, aimed dead center at the two shaky brigands on the perimeter.

With a ferocious war cry, Lazden raced forward, his eyes alive like a jaguar’s springing from the impossible darkness.

A brigand in the middle of the encampment spun, his musket turning to face the charge.

Lazden squeezed the trigger. The brigand staggered, fired his musket high above Lazden, and fell to the ground.

Lazden shoved his pistol under his left armpit, drew his saber as easy as flaring a set of claws, and swung down, just as the pair of perimeter mercenaries darted towards the mountain.

With a quick turn, his horse stampeded into one of the men, taking his legs. Lazden released Jadiro’s unmanned horse and galloped after another escaping murderer. His saber had tasted blood. There would be no escape from the lock Lazden had on his enemy. Not tonight.

Reina and Izad galloped in, their sabers unsheathed and held close to their bodies.

Crack! A third brigand fell to Jadiro’s musket, this one landing on his side and hitting his forehead on the ground.

Lazden slashed at the escaping mercenary, slicing the back of his neck and shoulders and sending blood to the ground.

Reina and Izad charged in, each galloping through another brigand. Those closest to the canyons abandoned their wounded brothers and ran for their lives.

The musket shots fell silent, the mules heaved, and one by one the mercenaries took their chances and escaped into the narrow passageway at the foot of the Deseran Ridge.

Lazden pulled his horse around along the outer edge of the brigands’ makeshift camp. The pack mules bucked and recoiled, harmonizing in panic. With the remaining brigands at full flight, Lazden bellowed for the entire mountain range to hear. "By the order of Prince Akson, you will throw down your weapons and surrender to us

at

once

!"

The eight merchants among them did as Lazden ordered.

At least one of the escaping brigands still had a musket.

Every single one of you will come here! Lazden commanded.

Reina pointed to Izad. Get those lanterns to light that area there.

Izad trotted forward, scooped up a pair of lanterns from rocky ground, and laid them out to expose any mercenary intent on revenge.

Reina then rode in next to Lazden. Where’s your musket?

"Jadiro

has

it

."

"For

fuck’s

sake

."

It was the only way of getting three good shots in ten seconds, said Lazden.

One of the merchants made a desperate gasp as he pointed towards a mule walking off with his goods. Please …

Lazden shook his head. You have all entered Moqara illegally, using thieves, rapists, and murderers to escort you through an area protected by the guards of three states. He cast his eyes over each of their faces as carefully as he could. You will be brought back to the city where you will stand trial for breaching our borders. Your wares will be seized and sold off at auction. Where’s the rest of your group?

The eight merchants glanced at each other, straining under the weight of having their futures stripped away from them by the soldiers on horseback. None were able to look each other in the eye. The husband and wife held each other by the hand, relief sweeping through them from escaping a miserable death by the mercenaries, now needing each other’s support to survive the Prince’s Guard.

Lazden turned towards the groaning coming from his right. The brigand he had trampled was crawling on his belly, shivering from the attack and burning with sweat. Beyond him, hurrying with two muskets held together as one, came Jadiro. The side of his right leg was dusty from his perched position against the side of the steep mountain incline. The brigand grunted and coughed against the dry desert floor.

Reina rode forward to the merchants huddled together. You will be able to retrieve your things to help pay for your release, should what you are carrying be found legal. Five of your traveling companions are dead in front of you. A sixth is lying face up not far from here, poisoned. She searched through the troubled faces and found the oldest, a man in his sixties, who seemed more resigned to the realities before him than the others dared to consider. In a gentle voice she asked, What happened?

With Izad reloaded and keeping watch along the west and Reina earning the trust of at least one of the merchants, Lazden rode towards Jadiro, dismounted, and took his musket back. He squatted near the brigand and studied his broken legs. Where are the others?

The brigand grunted with a desperate, hollow laugh. Go fuck yourself.

Lazden grabbed the man’s wrists, pulled at his sleeves, and had his answer. You’re the Sparrow.

The brigand’s face contorted in sheer offense. The fuck you talking about?

The ladies laugh about you. Lazden jutted his jaw towards the canyons. "Your friends all ran off like chicken-shit cowards. I thought you were all supposed to be soldiers, not common thieves. All this time I had been thinking better

of

you

."

Jadiro counted over the dead bodies. Mine, mine,

Lazden’s

,

mine

…

There are more of us, said Sparrow.

"Only just. You have, what, ten more? Maybe fifteen if the rest make it back alive? All reporting back to Turstahl to tell him … what? That someone in your group got the better of you? If I ask around the brothels of Lysbor and Eresdel and give them your description, tell them that a thief they knew as Sparrow has been trampled by a horse, do you think these women would be sad? Sure, they’ll have a moment of shock, then another of compassion because it’s what’s expected of them. Maybe they’ll have a drink in your name before your favorite moves on to the rest of Turstahl’s men, as they drown their sorrows between the legs of the woman you lusted after

the

most

."

The brigand growled with his face just an inch above the sand. "Like

I

said

–"

Yeah, and like she said, you’re her favorite. Lazden dusted off his hands and stood up. The good news is that I am a soldier. If you were a soldier as well, even in a past life, then I am bound by duty to bring you to a doctor, have your legs mended, and see to it that you are treated like the decent man you once were. If you’re a thief I have orders to shoot you on sight.

Sparrow snorted, shaking his head with frustration at the trap that Lazden had dug

him

into

.

Last chance. Are you a man who once knew honor? Or are you a thief who’s going to die with his face in the sand, left for the next group of illegals to find with buzzards picking at your bones?

Sparrow grunted, fighting against the pain burning through his broken legs. At long last he gripped the pebbles beneath him, trying to crush them into dust. Soldier.

Where did you serve?

The brigand rolled to his side before the pain in his legs overwhelmed him. Pragis.

Lazden lowered himself down again, resting the butt of his musket on the ground. You were in Pragis, or was it your friend and you’re repeating their story?

"Our company captain was Ren Deqore. I hear he’s made a name for himself with Carcosa, fighting

the

gods

."

I’ve heard that too. How many privates are in a company?

A hundred and twenty.

Corporals?

Eight.

Sergeants?

Four.

Lazden nodded out of respect for the former soldier lying crippled before him. What happened to Snake?

Sparrow shot out a breath of spite. "One of the empire sluts got to him. They didn’t have enough money. Snake said any money was better than none, even those fucking crowns you can’t spend anywhere. We got halfway across the desert, stopped to rest, and that’s when everyone was to pay

the

rest

."

Did they know there was going to be a second payment?

The brigand nodded towards the group of merchants talking to Reina. They did. The two sluts joined us late and were in more of a hurry than a leper needing to take a shit. They said ‘fine’. Then things were not ‘fine’ anymore. Snake wanted one of the rings they were hiding, then the little one fought back. She said there was this statue of the Sister we could have. Long and thin with great big hips and tits. We thought she meant her sister, not ‘the Sister’. Snake took it. We passed it ‘round, rubbed her tits for luck. Snake went and licked it. Said it tasted funny. Next thing we know, he has a fever and is seeing colors in the night. Not long after that, everyone else who rubbed her tits for luck started seeing them too. The brigand coughed, sending a cascade of sweat across

his

body

.

Where are these women? asked Lazden.

"Fucked if I know. They ran off, leaving everything else behind. We wanted to find their medicine, but not all of us could see very well because that little bitch

poisoned

us

."

Lazden lifted his chin towards Jadiro. The merchants will know what’s theirs and what isn’t. Find all the bags the two women brought with them and look for any kind of antidote. Wear gloves.

Jadiro nodded and scampered towards the huddle of merchants. With a general call to the group he sounded off, The two women who ran away, which bags are theirs?

Several of the merchants narrowed their eyes with careful consideration as the opportunity to negotiate … or even escape … seemed to return. The older man was less inclined to see the young guardsman meet the same fate as most of the brigands. "The girl’s things were strapped to the donkey, next

to

mine

."

Thank you, said Jadiro.

Reina, still on top of her horse, peered at the older man. "Will you

help

him

?"

I suppose. The older man lifted one of the lanterns from the ground and led Jadiro out of the camp’s perimeter. The dopey donkey didn’t have the wherewithal to run for safety.

Reina, meanwhile, endured more of the merchants trying to save their own hides. So the opium definitely belongs to Turstahl?

Yes, said half of the merchants with

vigorous

nods

.

And in case any patrol came along, they made you hide their boxes of opium within your bags and satchels.

Yes, said the same half of merchants.

I hear that is quite common, muttered Reina. "Is there any other contraband we should be aware of? Remember, someone in the militia’s guild will be going through everything you have. She gave them a single breath to try and talk their way out of another crisis but no one volunteered. And everything you are wearing."

Um … I was asked by … The middle-aged and uniquely thin man pointed to the nearest dead brigand. "… him to carry some silk clothing that you might actually find quite appealing in this dry,

desert

heat

."

Though the breeze flicked her hair across her face, Reina kept her stare fixed upon the thin man. Silk clothing?

"Yes, ma’am. A dress in luxurious blue with halter straps, ideal for a true lady of grace and command. Very comfortable against

the

skin

."

Jadiro and the older merchant stopped at the donkey. With a steady hand the merchant took the reins into his grip and stopped the animal from incessantly trying to turn away from them. Then with a quick tap against a brown leather satchel he said: This is theirs. Be careful, though.

Is there more than just the statue? asked Jadiro.

"I don’t know. Maybe. But the little one only started fighting back when the idiot brute tried to rob her, so there might be more things in there for stupid people

to

grab

."

Jadiro unfastened the buckle and flipped it open. He raised his companion’s hand to lift the lantern into a better position to look down. With the utmost of care, Jadiro picked through the potentially poisoned contents from the empire.

The merchant beside him studied the young man. With a casual glance, he peered over the dead mercenaries just a few yards away. "That was you with the muskets,

wasn’t

it

?"

Yes.

The merchant peered at the edge of the mountain. You climbed up there?

"I