Lerran, to the dismay of his comrades, decided to conduct the bulk of their marching during the hours before and just after sunrise. By the time mid-afternoon arrived, his party camped in whatever shade they could find or construct, only to begin journeying again in the early morning hours the next day. They avoided the blistering sun, as best they could, as they continued the long journey along the Barren Road toward Sheld. They were more than halfway, and had past a dozen other travellers on the road, when Lerran was presented with an interesting opportunity.
It was just after sunrise and the lukewarm air had not yet led to Lerran’s sweating. He took a drink of his water as he followed Paksis’s burdened horse along the trampled stone trail. “Camp ahead,” she said, quietly.
Lerran shrugged and they kept walking. They passed many camps. This one was no different, a handful of men standing under a hastily constructed canvas lean-to. He waved, they waved.
And then someone called “Wait!”
Kolt and his guards tensed, hands rising to their hilts, while Lerran reined in Ash and paused. A woman strode out of the camp, with one of her guards on either side. The sword at one’s waist gleamed in the sunlight with gold and silver and first caught Lerran’s eye. That man had a nasty shoulder scar visible beside the collar of his tunic and resembled a cutthroat not a knight, to be carrying such a blade. The other guard carried a bow.
Then Lerran looked at the woman who had called out to him. One of her arms was tattooed with a vibrant winding snake, while the other was inked with a dozen black bands. Her neck was covered in a mosaic of patterned marks, and curving artwork adorned her abdomen. A white cloth was wrapped around her chest. On her waist hung a sword and a dagger. She looked more colourful and ferocious than any of Lerran’s hired mercenaries, but bobbed her head to him politely and asked, “Are you Lerran of Sheld? We noticed your eye badges.”
“Who is asking?” Lerran asked, sitting in his leather saddle. He was armed, but he didn’t make any threatening moves yet.
“My name is Vaenuth,” the woman said, tossing her curtain of brown hair to the other side of her almost entirely shaved scalp. “I have journeyed all the way from Numa’nakres seeking information that your Family may be able to provide.”
Lerran cautiously dismounted, stifling a groan as his feet hit the hard earth. “Quite a chance meeting, isn’t it?” he asked. “Who sent you this way?”
“Your guards, at your estate in Sheld.” Vaenuth carefully reached to the other side of her belt, and withdrew a folded page from a small satchel. Her pierced nose caught the rising sun. “Your sister Antha told me no one there could help me. Only you could. So I came to find you.”
“Damn reputation,” Lerran cursed. This whole trip had been almost without secrecy. No wonder Gharo had hidden a face-altering bracelet in his valuables safe. He stepped a little closer, with Kolt and Tannedo at his back to mimic the stranger’s guards. “Very well, what information?”
Vaenuth handed him a page. “I’m looking for a slaver. I don’t even know if the man is still in business or not, but he used to be. That’s the brand he uses, and those are quotes of his influence, at one point or another.”
Lerran shrugged. He didn’t recognize anything on the page, so he handed it back to her. Eseveer’s records would almost certainly include the details she sought, however. “Information on another criminal would cost a fair amount. On the grounds of two hundred. Grey Sea currency, of course. Can you pay these numbers?”
The woman looked at her scarred mercenary, but the man frowned and shook his head ever so slightly. “I can’t,” she said. “But I’m desperate. How can I earn those numbers?”
An answer to a question entered Lerran’s mind, A potential to resolve a major issue even more quickly than he anticipated. “There’s always business that requires attention… if you are up for the challenge. And don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”
Vaenuth sighed. “Only way to do anything in this world seems to be with dirty hands,” she muttered, almost beneath her breath. “What do I have to steal?”
“Nothing,” Lerran said, with a small smile. “I need two people killed, back in Lo Mallago.”
“Well this is new,” Vaenuth said.
Her mercenary chuckled. “Not really.”
Lerran shrugged. “I won’t say who unless you agree to keep your tongue quiet,” he said, setting his jaw and forcing a smile. He glanced at Paksis, who was doing some stretched after descending from her saddle.
“Spilling your secrets isn’t going to do me any good whatsoever, so I agree to it.” The woman’s skin was tanned, but white, and still caught the sun much more than Lerran’s Radregar bronze tone. “Who am I killing, then?”
“Alrin Jorath and his father,” Lerran said. “Alrin is a little older than me, so his father is presumably an elder. But they both die.”
Vaenuth tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because I asked you to.” He almost laughed at her glare. “But no one else in the world gets to hear that. Mess this up, and you won’t just lose any chance of learning about the slaver you seek. You’ll lose a whole lot more.”
The woman nodded, with a dry smile and looked at her friends. For a moment they wordlessly discussed it—though Lerran got the impression that her men would back any decision she made. “Consider it done,” she said. “I’ll report back to you in Sheld?”
“I’ll have the records you seek ready for you,” Lerran said. “But bring me proof of some sort, that they’re slain.”
Back on the road, Paksis gave him a strange look. She was riding beside him, and, though they had covered ten sunny miles since the strange meeting, she hadn’t said a word. “What?” Lerran asked.
Paksis shrugged. “You’re a lucky man,” she decided. “First me, then Traz and the Lo Mallago sale, now a woman to help you… I’d call that good fortune.”
“I just want to be home,” Lerran said.