"Blasted rotten luck!" The portly merchant Bartley sank heavily into the plush sofa, took a fierce gulp of wine, letting the liquid trickle down his bruised lip. "I was just heading to the washroom and bumped into a garishly dressed little thing in the hallway, decked out like one of those girls from the 'Rose Gallery,' swaying her hips as she walked."
He wiped his mouth and continued, fuming. "She looked young, so I thought she was new. So I… gave her a pat there, meant to ask her price." He made a crude gesture, then raised his voice angrily. "Who knew the shrew slapped me right back! Then her man came charging over and kicked me in the gut a few times! The pup said his name was Morris, talking big, saying he'd be waiting for me in the 'Lord's Hall'! By the gods, back when I ran the silver mines in the Western Province, a whelp like that…"
"Morris? One of the young lads from the 'Lord's Hall'?" Lady Mavis—the Crimson Lady—curled beside Hawk, let out a faint puff of bluish smoke from her slender, pearl-inlaid pipe. She wore a form-fitting, wine-red silk gown that left little to the imagination.
"Yes, yes! That's the one! The Lord's Hall!" Bartley nodded eagerly, his jowls quivering.
"Bloody-Hand" Hawk tilted his head slightly toward the Crimson Lady beside him. His hawk-like eyes held little emotion. "You know him?"
"I do." The Crimson Lady elegantly crossed her silk-sheathed legs, a faint smile touching her red lips. "A regular young master. His father runs a woolen mill in the Old District. Family fortune… estimated at a few ten-thousands in gold. Thinks rather highly of himself, running with a few young nobles his age."
"A few ten-thousands in gold?" Bartley snorted as if hearing a great joke, slapping his meaty thigh in outrage. "You call that money? Out West, any one of my silver mines pulls in more than that in half a year! I've got scores of men in my mine guard, every one hardened! And today I get thrashed by some brat who's still wet behind the ears?"
He turned to Hawk, his face flushed and looking rather savage in the hall's flickering candlelight. "Lord Hawk, you tell me, how do we settle this? I am your invited guest!"
Hawk did not answer immediately. He slowly withdrew his hand from the lap of the stunning woman in the moon-white silk dress beside him, picked up a crystal glass, and gently swirled the amber liquor within. At some point, the earlier sounds of light chatter and laughter in the "King's Hall" had completely vanished. The attending women all held their breath, eyes downcast, not daring to make a sound. Having spent enough time in the "Golden Crown Banquet Hall," they knew all too well the temper and ways of the man seated there, "Bloody-Hand" Hawk.
Hawk, the "Direwolf" who held sway in both the legitimate and shadowy circles of Greystone City, controlled not only several proper merchant houses, inns, and warehouses but also nearly half the city's grey-market ventures. Under him were over a hundred men, including retired sellswords, deserters with pasts, and desperadoes willing to do anything for coin. Rumor had it he'd served in a border legion in his youth, earning the epithet "Bloody-Hand" for his ruthless methods and ferocity in battle. After mustering out, using his military ties and that same iron will, he'd carved out his dominion in Greystone City.
A few years back, a newly appointed tax official in the city tried to make an example of him, vowing to investigate his holdings. In under a fortnight, that official was hauled off by an inspector from the capital and exiled to a remote, harsh tax post in the frozen North. Since then, few in Greystone City dared cross Hawk openly.
In recent years, Hawk seemed intent on whitening his ventures, focusing more on legitimate trade. Bartley, a mine owner from the Western Province who had leased a reportedly valuable copper claim near Greystone, had sought out Hawk, the local power, for partnership. Unexpectedly, before talks could begin, this had happened.
"Hah." Hawk let out a soft laugh, shattering the suffocating quiet. He set his glass down, the sound soft yet making both Bartley and the Crimson Lady tense.
"Interesting. So now in Greystone City, even the son of some petty mill-owner dares to strike my guest, under my own roof?"
His tone was flat, even held a hint of amusement, but those sharp eyes held no mirth.
Bartley promptly thumped his chest. "Lord Hawk, you must see me righted!"
Hawk nodded, his gaze leaving Bartley. He merely raised a hand and gave a casual wave.
Almost as one, a figure stepped swiftly from the hall's shadows, approached the sofa, and gave a slight bow. A man around thirty, not overly tall but lean and tough, clad in practical black leathers, with a long and a short blade at his hip. A vicious scar ran from his left brow to his mouth, lending a ferocious cast to his otherwise plain features. Most striking were his eyes, holding a beast-like chill and impatience.
"Scarface" Alexei, one of Hawk's most capable enforcers. Said to have been a mercenary captain on the borders, nicknamed "Mad Dog" for his cruelty and violent temper. Somehow, he'd ended up in Hawk's service, becoming his sharpest blade.
"Alexei," Hawk didn't even glance at him, his eyes still on his glass, his tone casual as if asking for a refill. "Take two men to the 'Lord's Hall.' 'Invite' that lad called Morris and his little circle over. I'd like to see what manner of person has sprung up in Greystone, daring to trouble me, Hawk."
"Yes, master." Alexei's voice was gravelly, his reply terse. He turned and gestured to two similarly leather-clad, burly guards by the door. Without a word, the three pushed open the heavy oak door and strode out.
...
In the "Lord's Hall," the atmosphere had just recovered some liveliness from the earlier mockery of Leon, but the worry hadn't left Aelia's brow, and Flora seemed distracted, glancing now and then towards Leon, sitting silent and apart in the corner.
Just then, the hall door was shoved violently open, banging against the wall.
Three men in dark leathers, armed, barged in. The leader's vicious scar stood out in the lamplight. His cold gaze swept the room, settling on Morris, who had just re-seated himself. A hoarse voice cut the air:
"Who here is Morris?"
The hall fell silent. All eyes turned to the three intruders, sensing the hostility they radiated, so alien to the hall's opulence.
Morris's heart lurched. He forced himself to stand. "I-I am. What do you want?"
"Good enough." Alexei's mouth twisted in a non-smile. He jerked his head at the two behind him. "Take him. The master wants words."
The two guards stepped forward, seizing Morris by the arms.
"Unhand me! Who are you? By what right?" Morris paled, struggling. His friends stood, cursing, but seeing the guards' builds and weapons, none dared intervene.
"Friends, let's talk this through." Kevin Fergus stepped forward, placing himself between them, a strained calm on his face as he looked at Alexei. "This is a mistake. What business have you with Morris? My father heads the 'Greystone & Sheaf' Merchant House, holds some standing here. Perhaps—"
"He struck someone he shouldn't have. Our master's guest," Alexei cut in, impatient. "I care not what your family does. Say your piece to the master yourself."
Kevin's face darkened. He'd rarely been so bluntly checked. But they were outmatched. He breathed deep, stifling his anger. "Fine. We'll come. But have your men release him. With so many of us, he won't flee."
Alexei narrowed his beast-like eyes, studying Kevin and the frightened but defiant young nobles behind him. The master said bring him, didn't say others couldn't follow. He nodded to the guards.
They let go. Morris scrambled back behind his friends, still pale.
"Move." Alexei turned, done talking.
"Kevin, what do we do? Should we… send for help?" Morris clutched Kevin's sleeve, trembling.
"What's to fear?" Kevin glanced at his watching companions, especially Aelia and Sybil, forcing a cold laugh. "Some provincial bumpkin, who can he know here? Hired muscle at best. There are many of us. Let's see who's so bold!"
His words braced the shaken group. Right, they were many, all from good families. What could a mere outlander do? Drink and youthful arrogance resurged.
"Yes! Let's go!"
"They owe us an answer for this!"
A pack of oblivious young nobles, led by Kevin, surrounded the terrified Morris and weeping Elina, following Alexei and the others out.
Sybil, dragging a hesitant Aelia, followed. Flora watched them worriedly, then looked back at Leon in the corner. She bit her lip and followed.
Soon, only Leon remained.
He slowly finished the last of his ale, setting the coarse clay mug down softly. He stood, straightened his plain linen coat, his face impassive. Only deep in his dark brown eyes flickered a faint, almost pitying mockery.
'Futile to warn those bent on ruin. The stage is set. Let's see how far this play runs.'
He walked out with steady steps, following the group at a distance, a silent specter.
...
When Kevin and the others followed Alexei into the "King's Hall," their bravado froze solid.
The hall was opulent, bright, air thick with scent of perfume, wine, and roast meat. But all was overshadowed by the pressure emanating from the purple-robed man on the sofa, surrounded by guards.
When Kevin's eyes met Hawk's sharp, hawk-like gaze, his heart clenched. He'd heard tales of "Bloody-Hand" Hawk but never seen him. Now, just that calm look chilled his spine, his earlier courage melting away.
"Sir…" Kevin forced calm, stepping forward with a slight bow. His voice was dry. "How has my friend Morris offended your guest? If a mistake, we apologize. My father runs the 'Greystone & Sheaf' Merchant House. Perhaps you have dealings… Please, in light of—"
"'Greystone & Sheaf'?" Hawk finally spoke. His voice was quiet but had a metallic rasp. The corner of his mouth twitched, not a smile. "Were your father here himself, seeing me, he'd first offer a toast and call me 'Lord Hawk.'"
Kevin went pale.
"You… you are…?" His voice shook.
"Me?" Hawk leaned forward slightly, studying the ashen-faced youngsters. Slowly, he uttered the name that could hush children in Greystone:
"Hawk. They call me 'Bloody-Hand' Hawk."
The words struck like thunder.
"Bloody-Hand Hawk!"
Morris's legs buckled; he nearly fell, caught by friends. Aelia and Sybil paled, clutching hands. The others fell deathly silent. Just moments ago, they'd spoken freely of this man, and now stood before him, having wronged his guest!
The legendary, ruthless shadow-king of Greystone was this man!
Seeing the once-proud brats turn to quivering mice, Bartley swelled with satisfaction. He rose with a nasty grin, stomping over to the ashen Morris.
"Brat, where's your cheek now?" He kicked Morris hard in the gut.
"Urgh!" Morris cried, doubling over, sweat beading.
"Not so bold now? Eh?" Bartley added a kick to the shoulder, his jowls shaking with glee at the moans. "Tonight, I'll have fun with you! And that little doxy of yours…" His lecherous gaze found Elina, shaking behind the group.
The Crimson Lady covered a light laugh. "So Master Bartley likes that sort? You should have said. I have all kinds here, guaranteed to please."
Kevin's throat was dry. He swallowed hard. He looked at the groaning Morris, his terrified friends. He had to speak. Suppressing fear, he rasped:
"L-Lord Hawk… My friend is young, foolish, he offended your guest. We… we accept blame. We'll make amends. But… please, show mercy. Don't trouble the girl…"
"Very well." Hawk leaned back, hand returning to the silk-sheathed leg beside him. His tone was even, final.
"For your father's sake, the rest may leave."
A flicker of hope in Kevin's eyes—
"But," Hawk's tone shifted, his gaze on Morris and Elina. "These two stay. My guest is owed satisfaction. Agreed?"
Kevin and the others felt plunged into ice.
Leaving Morris and Elina would brand them cowards forever. But staying… what power had they against "Bloody-Hand" Hawk?
In the suffocating silence, a clear, indignant voice rang out:
"By what right? This is unlawful! I'll tell my father! He'll have you arrested!"
Sybil Fergus, Kevin's fiancée, the spoiled, ignorant noble girl, finally shrieked, unable to contain her fear and fury.
Her words plunged the "King's Hall" into utter silence.
Kevin whirled to her, face draining of all color, eyes filled with horror and despair.