Dago was getting quite tired of Par and his goons. He wasn’t tired of the looting, the fighting, even the catching of women. In a way, it made Dago forget about the Jobless and the Hired versions of himself. This was him, a warring, surviving savage. But he was more experienced than these fools. And he knew it would not last. Chaos never lasted, which meant Dago couldn’t stay with Par forever. Continue reading Dago 9
It was only after Parsetrin and his men showed Dago a bedroom for him to use in a looted house, and only after the noise of their slaves subsided, and only after he was surrounded by snores, that he let himself get out Miss Puzzle’s letter and read it once more. He had skimmed it quickly the night after he had found her, and her men, dead, but it had meant little to him. It meant little more now. “Dago Ai Ji Malzo will show you the way into Yarik, with persuasion. He is a sell sword, completing a job in Vagren. Speak to Lord Shea, a contact of mine in Ellakar, to arrange to bring Dago there.” Continue reading Dago 8
Dago spent two days in a boarded-up alleyway, scrounging for food. He got stronger each day, wandering around in search of food. He hadn’t yet needed the brass sword he kept at his waist, but it provided comfort when he slept with it clutched in his hands. Over the course of those days, he only slept six hours, in two stints of three. He’d always been able to wake himself on command; it wasn’t incredibly accurate, but in a warzone like Elpan, it was likely the difference between life and death.
Three times, he hid from people, hobbling down an alleyway on his crutches or laying in the bushes where they grew near sewer entrances or citizen’s gardens. Though he frequently saw people in the windows, no one offered him shelter. Continue reading Dago 7
Day four. Dago thought this when he awoke, that morning. He lay awake thinking about what it meant. Four days, in a smoky port, only a few days sail from the coast near Yarik, or less than fifteen to almost any useful port. He had been in this room, on board the Steadfast Star, for much longer than he had been able to keep track of, but he had made sure to count these days. These four days were critical.
Miss Puzzle had not yet returned. Continue reading Dago 6
The quarters were as quiet this day as any other. Dago and Sirth didn’t speak. Since they had first met, they had spoken no more than fifty words, and it had been more than fifteen days. Dago would not give in to Miss Puzzle’s demands. He would steer them wrong in Yarik, and they would all end up bloody refuse in the red sewers or as revenant slaves for the masters of the city. Continue reading Dago 5
How long had Dago been in the dark? He had lost track. He had his own little room, past all of the bunk beds in this cabin. It was likely just a closet, and he was chained to the bars of the porthole. They let him walk around the full cabin once in a while, when all of the gang’s fighters had cleared out of there. His leg was healing, slowly but surely. He was weak still, and he limped, even when he put weight on the splint in his leg.
Miss Puzzle had visited him twice, and both times he had repeated, with varying words, that he’d rather they all die in Yarik than survive, just to spite her. Once, she had put her little knife to his throat, and he had spat on her, a big glob of saliva.
But she hadn’t killed him then. Continue reading Dago 4
Dago was surprised that Miss Puzzle was accompanying them. Escorted from his cell, at last, he entered a large chamber in the cellar of a city’s building. His arm was bound stiffly at his side until the bones healed; similarly, his leg was in a splint and a single crutch supported his weight at his armpit. He could hear merchants calling their prices and smiths hammering their anvils, and through the windows, he could see feet at street level. He thought, for a moment, about calling for help, but decided he’d likely be dead long before any help got here. Continue reading Dago 3
Dago’s home had become a small, damp cell. The bricks around him were mismatched colours, a dozen tones of brown and beige, and many were stained with blood. He tried to do stretches each day, but he knew he would receive no aid from his captors if he reopened the wound in his back. His muscles were stiff, and without the proper food, he might be stiff for the rest of his days.
Sitting in the dark, Dago wondered how many more days he might expect. Continue reading Dago 2
The city of Ellakar was vaguely familiar to Dago Ai Ji Malzo. He had been here before, and had just delivered a bounty—living, this time—to Lord Shea. He didn’t know street names or establishments, but he knew how to find the clean part of town, and, more importantly, how to avoid it. He had coin to spend. The only time he went to those neat streets and groomed gardens was when he was in need. Continue reading Dago 1