Chapter 9

At a dead sprint, I could cover five hundred meters in a couple of minutes. Kaze could do it faster; beastfolk outclass humans in short term speed and agility across the board. What neither of us could do was cover that distance at full tilt without looking suspicious.

Even as we left the alley, hunting parties were converging on the inn. Already, greedy adventurers were standing at the door, demanding to be let in. Rugar stood blocking the way, calmly insisting that Guild businesses are neutral, and that no business may occur on the premises. He never told them I was there, but he didn’t tell them I wasn’t, either.

For now, no one was willing to tangle with him, or by extension, the Guild. Even if they survived, they were through as adventurers. Ten thousand large gold coins was a fortune to rival mid-tier nobles. It was an unattainable sum for most adventurers, but one doesn’t take up the profession just for the money. They’d go mad from boredom if they were forced to retire somewhere quiet, and they knew it.

Someone would be desperate enough to try, though. Luck was a fickle mistress, and nowhere more so than the dungeons. The difference between a good haul and financial ruin could be measured in seconds and millimeters.

So far, caution held out.

How long that would last was anyone’s guess. The stalemate wouldn’t last forever. Rugar would teach the first few a lesson, but he wouldn’t risk his life for me. Numbers would win out, and he’d retreat to collect his own bounties.

The only question was, how long would that take?

I had my hair tucked under my hood and stooped over as I walked to obscure my height. My musket, I kept covered by the cloak as best I could, hoping passersby would assume it was a staff. Kaze actively hissed at anyone who got too close. With her staff in hand and a trio of blades orbiting her head, no one was likely to give her too much trouble. Only a fool fights a knife witch up close.

We made it about halfway to the river before the makeshift musket went off.

“HE’S OVER THERE!”

“GET HIM!”

The cautious adventurers turned into a frenzied mob and rushed past us, giving Kaze and her blades a wide berth. I slipped along in her wake, keeping my head down and eyes on her heels. We made it through the press without trouble.

Two hundred meters to go.

One hundred meters.

And then…

“I know that’s you under there, Nock.”

I did my best not to react, but a half-orge stepped from an alley, massive war club in hand. One doesn’t ignore a half ogre if one wants to keep his head on his shoulders.

“Ho there, Durm. Don’t suppose you’ll let us pass?”

“The girl can. I got no business with her.”

“How thoughtful,” Kaze said dryly.

“Where’s the rest of the band?” I asked.

“Busy. They thought I was an idiot for heading for the docks.”

“That old yarn,” I said, sighing.

Half-ogres have a reputation for being imbeciles. They’re not, by and large. Even full blooded ogres are fairly clever when they want to be. But, they’re big and green, and the tusks give them a distinctive lisp that makes it hard for them to speak any of the common tongues, so they tend not to say much to outsiders.

Durm was no exception. He and I went way back, all the way to the high mountain dungeons of the Breta range. We weren’t friends, exactly, but he’d helped me out of a couple of tight spots and I had returned the favor.

He was no imbecile. Quite the opposite, in fact. More importantly, he knew better than to take me on by himself. So, it stood to reason that he was lying.

“I don’t intend to come quietly,” I said, unlimbering my musket.

“Didn’t expect you to.”

There. There was a brief burst of mana. I took two steps to the side, and an arrow zipped through the space I just occupied.

“That you, Brin?”

No response, but Durm grinned. Brin was a halfbreed like him, this time a half-elf. She got her mother’s looks and archery skills, and her father’s penchant for loose women and bad ideas.

If she was there, then-

I ducked, just in time for a figure to melt out of the shadows. A blade that would have parted my head from my shoulders whistled overhead, followed by a curse of frustration. The shadow came to a stop at Durm’s side, teeth bared.

That would be Fabiq, the half-drow. Durm’s party had a theme going, if you haven’t noticed by now.

They were solid people, bonded by their mixed race and the discrimination they faced as a result. For them, hunting me down was just business. No matter how friendly we were in the past, business was business.

“I don’t want to fight you,” I said.

“I don’t want to fight you, either,” Durm said.

“So, let me by.”

“Can’t.”

“Contract?”

“Contract,” he confirmed.

That complicated matters. A bounty, he could walk away from. He took his best shots, and when that didn’t work out, he was under no obligation to risk fighting me directly. I was willing to let bygones be bygones. He knew that. We could go our separate ways and share a drink when next we met.

A contract was a different story. Either he tried his best to take my head and collected the bounty, or he was in breach and owed a penalty.

His party was always strapped for cash. They were good, but they were halfbreeds. They never got the best share of the loot in a dungeon delve. They never got a fair shake at the market. They soldiered on through sheer force of will, never knowing where the next meal would come from.

It was likely they contracted with a minor noble, trading freedom for steady pay and a measure of stability. They wouldn’t get to choose their jobs.

Plajin was a hero. He had friends at court. There was no telling how many minor nobles would trip over themselves to earn his favor.

“Don’t kill them if you can help it,” I murmured, as quietly as I could. “They’re good people.”

Kaze would hear, even if no one else would. She gave me a fractional nod and threw back the lapels of her cloak.

Durm roared, Fabiq vanished, and an arrow whistled through the air. The fight was on.