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.”
That much of the plan made sense to Dago. He had lived that part of the plan himself, in her captivity, and he had thwarted them. He looked at the letter, the efficient and stiff lettering blending together on the page. He leaned his head back against the bed frame. Parsetrin was doing his darnedest to earn Dago’s support, but the group was little more than a handful of rapists, and the number of slaves in the house was sickening, even to Dago. As soon as he had the strength to leave, he would.
He still had her knife, the small one that He began to read the second paragraph of Miss Puzzle’s letter. “In Yarik, eliminate Overlord Larza. This will have two effects: freeing the mind of his slave, Jurandar, the importance of which you well know. The second effect of course, will be allowing our friend, Braka, to gain standing in the power vacuum created by Larza’s death. This mission was your idea, so I need not stress its necessity. I hope these details will suffice, and look forward to speaking with you in four month’s time. –I.”
There was no mention of where Miss Puzzle was to meet her contact, nor any indication of what the “I” at the end stood for. The slave, Jurandar, was certainly one of Larza’s thrall. Killing a master sent its thrall into the afterlife, but the letter used the term “freeing the mind.” How Jurandar could still be important was another question entirely.
The door creaked open, without warning. “Dago?” It was Par, in leather armour with bulging shoulders and a sword at his waist.
Dago tucked away Miss Puzzle’s letter, quickly, and swung his feet off the bed. “Yes?”
“Your turn for a supply run with us,” Par said, and Dago didn’t bother asking if it was supplies or people they were after. The two really went hand-in-hand with Par’s group. Instead, he swung off the bed, scooped up his crutch—he only used one now—and hooked the sheath into his belt. Par led the way into the hall and past the guard, a short dark man who didn’t stray from his post. Dago had reason to suspect that the guard had not been posted there to ensure that the townswomen they had captured remained in the rooms. He had been positioned at the end of the corridor to keep an eye on Dago.
They descended to the first floor of the spacious house. Dago knew this place had never belonged to Parsetrin. The tapestries, silver utensils, and quartz floors were enough to set that bar far too high. The mobster had killed whomever had once lived here in the power chasm created by the riots, and now he just sat on it.
“Do you think the city guard will recover?” Dago asked, as they passed through the kitchen. Two other criminals stood near the back door of the house, looking out into the smoky twilight of the city. They nodded to the newcomers.
“I doubt it. We’ll run this town now,” Par said.
They stepped out into the night, to kill anyone who stood between them and what they wanted.