Chapter 30
Silver and Shadows
The somber procession disbanded at the city gate. Anya gave a curt nod to Bary and Renly, her expression still unreadable beneath the professional mask. "I must report to the Guard Captain. The compensation will be processed through the guild." Without another word, she turned her Highland mare and vanished into the flow of city traffic, a woman on an official errand laden with political implications.
Bary, his face grim, led his remaining crew and Renly towards the Mercenary Guild. The mood was heavy. Two of their number were being carried on makeshift litters. "Mark," Bary ordered, his voice rough with fatigue and grief, "get Joren and Pell to the bone-setter on Oak Street. Use the advance I gave you. Don't let them cheap out on the healing salves."
Mark nodded, his sharp features etched with concern, and directed a small group to take the wounded men down a side alley.
When they entered the guild hall, the usual boisterous atmosphere dipped. Fellow mercenaries took one look at Bary's stormy expression, the bloodstained armor of his men, and the absence of familiar faces, and quieted their conversations.
"Hail, Bary! How went the Viper's Nest?" a cheerful, bearded man called out from a nearby table.
That was the spark. Bary's composure, already stretched thin, snapped. He ignored the man and strode straight to the main counter, slamming his gauntleted fist down on the oak surface, making Mistress Cora jump.
"False intelligence!" he roared, his voice echoing in the suddenly silent hall. "You sent us in blind! You said one Knight and a handful of rabble! There was a second Knight! A petrification bloodline! Two of my boys are dead because of your scribblers' incompetence!"
Mistress Cora's face went pale. "Bary, I... the posting came directly from the City Guard. We just relayed—"
"I don't care who it came from! It was wrong!" Bary bellowed.
The door to the guild master's office opened and a man emerged. He was older, his hair shot through with grey, but he moved with the economical grace of a seasoned predator. He wore no armor, but the five-star insignia on his tunic marked him as a veteran Senior Warrior. This was Andrew, the deputy guild master in charge of intelligence and acquisitions.
"Bary," Andrew said, his voice a calm, low rumble that cut through the tension. "My office. Now." He glanced at the blood on Bary's crew. "And someone get these men a round of ale on the guild's tab."
In Andrew's office, the door shut, the sounds were muffled. Renly waited in the main hall, accepting a tankard of ale. He used the time to update his guild status. Mistress Cora, still shaken, silently stamped his charter, upgrading him from one to two stars for the completion of two mid-risk missions. The other mercenaries gave him a wider berth now, their earlier curiosity replaced by a new, grudging respect. They had heard Bary's outburst. They knew this young Knight from Bluestone had survived a mission that had gone horribly wrong.
After a half-hour, Bary emerged from the office, his anger banked to a sullen ember. "The guild is doubling the base pay for the mission. And the Count is adding a compensation package for the misinformation and the losses," he told Renly gruffly. "Come back at dusk. We'll settle accounts." He then left in a hurry, likely to check on his wounded men.
After chatting some mercenary, Renly returned to the house on Oak Lane in the afternoon. The familiar scent of beeswax and stew was a comfort. Lyra rushed to meet him, her eyes full of relief. "You're back! We heard rumors at the market of a tough fight in the Serpent's Pass."
Will was practically vibrating with excitement. "They said there was a hidden Knight! That you fought him and won! Is it true, my lord?"
Renly gave a tired nod, unbuckling his sword belt. "It's true. The intelligence was bad. We lost good men." He gave them a brief, sanitized account, focusing on the outcome, not the gore. Lyra listened with a worried frown, while Will hung on every word. They reported that the city was buzzing with the official announcement of the "Vipers'" eradication, but also with whispers about the Count's strained forces and his deepening alliance with the Second Princess.
He ate a late lunch, the warmth of the stew seeping into his bones, then retreated to his room. The weight of the armor, the adrenaline crash, and the memory of the dying deputy's glare demanded rest. He slept deeply until dusk.
The evening at the guild, Bary and Anya were already waiting. Bary had a ledger open. "Right. Accounts," he began, all business. "The original guild payment was 150 silver. Doubled to 300 for the faulty intelligence. The Count's compensation for our... troubles... is another 300. So, 600 silver from that pot. The loot from the camp—weapons, a bit of coin, trade goods—fetched another 210 silver after I found a quick buyer." He didn't meet Renly's eyes on that last part. Renly knew a man with Bary's connections could have gotten more, and was surely taking a finder's fee, but he held his tongue. Some battles weren't worth fighting.
"Here's the split," Bary continued. "You get 300 silver. A full share for your part in taking down the Knights. My crew and I take 300 for the men, the losses, and the heavy lifting. Anya, as agreed, forgoes the loot share and takes 200 for her role and for handling the official report." He pushed a heavy pouch across the table to Renly. It clinked satisfyingly.
Anya, who had been silent, stood. "The compensation is adequate." She then turned her dark eyes to Renly. "Ser Renly. For missions of a... sensitive nature, sometimes guild brokerage is too public. If I have need of a capable Knight with your particular skills again, where might a message find you?"
Renly gave her the address on Oak Lane. She nodded once, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze, and then departed, her business complete.
Bary clapped Renly on the back. "Come on, lad. Let's get a proper meal. You've earned it."
They went to a small, quiet restaurant frequented by veterans, not far from the guild. Over roasted lamb and thick gravy, Bary grew more candid. "The Count's forces are stretched thin," he confided, lowering his voice. "He lost a lot of good men and a few Knights in that Demon Tiger hunt nearly a year ago. That's why he's outsourcing more of this dirty work to us. It's a seller's market for good swords right now."
Renly saw his opening. "Bary, that poison Mark used. It was highly effective. More so than the standard hunting toxins I purchased. Where does one acquire something like that?"
Bary chewed thoughtfully, then leaned in closer. "That's not guild-approved stuff. That's from the 'Gray Market'. Outside the city walls, northwest, near the old ruined mill. It moves around, but that's the usual spot." He took a sip of his ale. "To get in, you need a token. Go to 'The Dusty Tome,' a pawnshop in the outer city. Tell the old man behind the counter that 'Old Charlie sent me to collect his goods.' He'll give you a token. It's only good for three entrys, and it don't come cheap. Be careful in there, Renly. The people there... don't ask questions, and they don't like them either."
Renly committed the instructions to memory. "Thank you, Bary. For the silver, and the information."
"Just watch your back, lad," Bary said, his tone turning serious. "You're making a name for yourself with this mission, and in a city like this, that draws all kinds of eyes."
Renly returned home, the heavy pouch of silver a tangible result of his dangerous work. He assigned Lyra to find a secure lockbox for their newfound wealth and tasked Will with discreetly inquiring about the pawnshop, 'The Dusty Tome.' Then, he retired to his room. The dual pressures of his lives were constant. In one, he was a starship passenger; in the other, a landless Knight navigating a world of political intrigue, silver, and shadows. Tomorrow, he would step deeper into those shadows, visiting a pawnshop to find a key to a market that dealt in the tools he needed to survive.