The hammers and saws of workmen echoed up through the hallways of the Lerran estate from the cellar. Six guards stood on duty down there, to ensure the security of his fortune and his wares from the citizens at labour. They were building, for the Prince of Sheld, a proper vault. At its completion, it would be protected by a master-crafted lock and would only open to two keys.
Lerran leaned against his desk, and groaned. The noise made his office even more irritating. As he sipped his rum from a tall mug, he drummed his fingers against the desk. After a moment of annoyance, he glanced back up at Gadra and Isar, and the three candidates that stood before him.
“First, Morlon of Eastpoint. A mercenary,” Gadra said.
The man she spoke of bristled with weapons. He had two swords at his waist, a row of throwing knives across his thick torso, and another hilt stuck out of his boot. He bowed to Lerran, showing a balding spot in the top of his rough auburn hair. A scar ran from his lip to his chin, but disappeared amongst the normal muscles in his lips as he spoke. “My Prince of Sheld, it would be my honour to command the City Watch for you. I have commanded a group of a hundred mercenaries in my past, a company known as the East Storm, so I have experience handling large groups of warriors, both professional and amateur.”
“Morlon,” Lerran repeated. It was familiar. “You’ve done work for the Family before?”
“I have, sire.” The stocky man bobbed his head. “Freelance support for your warriors abroad, on a few different ships. It will be my honour to finally serve in Sheld.”
Lerran took a sip of rum. The man had not worked locally yet, he noted. “And how long did you command the East Storm?”
“For two years, sire,” Morlon said. “Until myself and the other founders decided to go our own way. Now the East Storm is commanded by a leader they chose. They bear me no ill will.”
“Very good,” Lerran said. If the man had been kicked out of the group, it might have indicated a different reputation. Lerran nodded to Morlon and looked at the second of Gadra’s shortlist.
An Elder man—only people from the Elder Coast had skin as black as pitch like this man—stepped forward next. At his waist was a wide bladed bronze scimitar. His bare arms were toned with bulbous muscles and his shirted torso half the size of the bulk man who had spoken before him. “I am Barazu. Though I hail from the Eye of Maga, I have travelled countless lands. I have killed esteemed warriors in Numa’nakres, in Radregar East and West, on each of the fifty isles in the Stormy Sea…” Lerran knew that was not an accurate number. “…and even an salt-born of Tal’lashar. In all these domains, I have not found a city as fine as Sheld—please, lord Prince, allow me to keep order here for years to come.”
“And how would you keep order?” Lerran asked, looking the athletic warrior over.
Barazu bowed his head. “I would arrest those who break your laws and kill them. I would train your guards to fight with more skill than any other city watch. They would be trained by a true sword master.” He had scars on his arms and neck—he was as experienced as he claimed.
Lerran snorted. This man would likely kill someone for stealing a loaf of bread; he seemed far too taken with murder. The Prince of Sheld turned to the third. “And you?”
“These men are not suited for the job you are offering,” said the third man. He had dark skin, but not as dark as Barazu’s. A skull was tattooed on his bare shoulder, and small gold rings punctured both of his ear lobes. At his waist hung a single iron sword, of beautiful craftsmanship. Its blade was bare, for the scabbard was a stylish leather half-sleeve, and adorned with stylized script. The silver hilted sword was known as Shadow, according to the etching. The other two looked at the third man with glares. “They will make fine guards, it’s true. But you are not trying to hire a guard. Not even a Captain Guard.”
“Oh really?” Lerran asked, blinking his eyes. Gadra looked apologetic for the man’s attitude and almost interrupted before Lerran said, “Then what am I looking for?”
“You’re looking for a leader, not someone to take care of your reputation. You don’t want to rule Sheld, any man can see it. You want a magistrate, not just a mercenary. Someone to hold public audience, not just to command the brutes who keep the peace. You need someone to rule Sheld for you,” the man said. He smiled, through his well trimmed black beard. “You need Kaz Ai Ji Alatt for this job. You need me.”
Lerran chuckled and set his rum aside onto the desk. He crossed his arms. “And how would you run the City Watch?” he asked, though he was quite impressed by the man’s presentation so far.
Kaz quietly considered the question for just a second before replying. “I would ask my lord Prince for an increase in his spending on this matter, and use this excess to hire this man, Morlon, to be the captain of the guard. He would make an excellent commander of soldiers, from what I’ve heard of his reputation and of his words today.”
The Prince of Sheld laughed and smiled while the other two warriors bristled at the nerve of this man. Gadra stepped aside, folding her arms uncomfortably, as Lerran poured himself more rum from a valuable glass flask and turned again to the three candidates. A white moth danced in the beams of dusty light from the windows. “Tell me of yourself first, Kaz Alatt.”
“What is to tell?” the man said, with a smile. He spread his arms and glanced around the carpeted office space. “I have loved too deeply, fought too hard, slept too long, and grow too old.” He patted his knees and laughed—though he could not have been much older than Lerran.
Lerran smiled. “Where are you from?”
“I was born in Aloor, on the Great Isle,” Kaz explained.
“What is most valuable to you? Coin? Influence? Women?”
Kaz shrugged. “My brother was a seer, though he only saw the life of a blacksmith in Ith. When my mother passed away, my father swore himself to the Silent Monks. With no home and no family, my brother and I journeyed to Ith. We found the blacksmith. His name was Lom. All of my brother’s visions of him were true, in some sense or another. I don’t value wealth or power or beauty. These are things to be enjoyed not worshipped. I value destiny. I have done many things in search of mine.”
Lerran sipped his rum. Kaz was an interesting man to be certain, but he had spoken truly so far—Sheld did need a magistrate, not just a Captain of the Watch. Morlon would make a fine commander and Barazu an excellent trainer, but neither were an improvement over Antha. If there was one thing Lerran kept in mind as the leader of his Family, it was improvement. He stepped closer to Kaz and put a hand on his shoulder. “I declare you Magistrate of Sheld. You will serve me, and you will answer to my blood on all matters, but over Sheld you will have my authority.”
The other two bowed in defeat, until Lerran stepped toward them too. “Barazu, you will be responsible for the training of my men, not the City Watch. You’ll reside here, on the estate. And Morlon, the City Watch itself will be under your command. You will answer to myself if a matter concerns the Family or to Kaz if a matter concerns the city only.”
The two men bowed more earnestly now.
As if Lerran hadn’t spent enough this day, with this decision, he smiled to them and said, “Now, let’s go to the Emerald Eye and share a pint. We now rule together. We ought to dine together. Gadra?”
She grinned. “Of course. I’ll bring the others.”
The Family gathered that evening where they had gathered long before Gharo’s exodus. Brothers and sisters and friends, they emptied many a pint that evening. They did not rule beyond their walls, but their wealth was now a fortune and their strength immense. Tass sat on Lerran’s knee after Isar broke a chair, and when their drinks had reduced most of them to slurred laughter and wordless slumber, the two kissed one another late into the night. They fell asleep in their own bed.