Sean waited for his payment at the top of the obsidian scree slope. As much as he wanted to be home and preparing his fire by now, he felt a certain satisfaction standing here above the army. He wondered whether his father would have been proud of his performance today, his first real encounter with royalty.
His heart twinged with pain as he realized he would never know what his father thought. He would never see his father again.
The physical sensations of his surroundings helped distract him from inner confusion. A gushing breeze flapped his tunic against his legs and lashed his dark hair against his cheek. The sun cast a red glow upon the mountainous horizon as it sank, pushing long skinny shadows over the gray earth. Sean thought to himself that if the shadows were tangible, they would slice the Royal Horde apart.
Flames sprouted from darkness as the Horde lit their torches. Hammers thrust pins into the rocky earth as they hastened to pitch a few tents. Whether they had intended to stay the night here or not, it appeared that they would.
Eventually a pale shape distinguished itself from the writhing mass of hordesfolk and picked its way up the rocks. The man was awkward against the jagged earth, slipping and sliding and waving his arms for balance. Sean took a deep breath in preparation. Here again was the curly-haired blond named Picard. Sean did not like most people. But he didn’t like this man especially. And his fingers still itched for the lost opportunity to kill him.
When Picard finally reached him, he bent over and took a moment to catch his breath. Sean could surmise by the way he cradled his skinny right arm against his body that it was causing him an unusual amount of pain. His good hand reached into his white tunic, fumbled around, and pulled out a little gold pouch. He opened it under his nose and snorted heavily. When he pulled back up, the flatness had returned to his eyes, and a few pieces of the glittering dust remained stuck to his nose. His pink lips spread with a smile.
“Safra,” growled Sean. Then he made the sign of Belazar, holding one hand flat and forking it with two fingers of the opposite hand.
“What was that?” Picard chuckled. “Some sort of curse?”
“Where’s my money?”
“I’m afraid there’s been a delay.”
Sean bristled and stepped towards him. His hands prepared to grab the archon for the second time that day and throw him down against the rocks. But something in the man’s flat eyes stopped him.
“I wouldn’t throw another temper tantrum if I were you,” drawled the archon. “I suppose you wanted to prove something back there in the carriage. I understand, and I say well done. But I also wonder if you enjoyed it too much. And I did not take you for one who abuses the weak.”
This comment took Sean aback, but he recovered as quickly as possible. “You don’t know me at all.”
A terrible smile pushed up Picard’s cheeks. The flatness of his eyes caved in again, opening into two deep pits. “Don’t I? I saw the bodies you left in your path. I know that you did not fulfill your last assignment. Some poor blind man, was it? Why didn’t you kill him?”
Blood roared in Sean’s ears. How did Picard know about that? How did he seem to know everything? “I … I … I didn’t want to.”
“Really? That’s the best explanation you’ve got?”
Out of the corner of his eyes, Sean glimpsed a few hordesfolk watching them from afar. They probably couldn’t see Sean as well as he could see them, however; their vision was not as sharp as a Wolven’s. In any case, Sean knew where to pull Picard out of their sight. Sean could kill this safra-stuffed scum right now and get away with it, if he wanted. And yet despite all that, he could not resist the stifling urge—the need—to explain himself. “Anyone could have killed that man. It was beneath a Wolven to do so.”
“Good try. But I’m still not convinced.”
“Belazar didn’t want him.”
Picard laughed. “Oh please! That’s your worst try yet. I think we both know that if you had promised that blood to Belazar, like a Wolven is supposed to do before each assignment … well. Let’s just say that your punishment would have been more severe than a lack of full payment.”
Sean clenched his teeth so hard his head ached. He could think of no more excuses. How could he explain what he himself did not understand?
“So let’s just say you didn’t kill him because you didn’t want to,” sighed Picard. “The worst part is that when your employers complained, you turned on them.”
Sean took another step towards Picard, his eyes flicking towards a nearby rock-face. If Sean killed him there, no one would see.
Picard just smiled wider, as if he knew even the silent thoughts in Sean’s head. “I’m right, aren’t I? And what do you suppose my father would do if I told him about that? Would you kill the whole Horde just so you could do as you please? Really, Sean. I thought you Wolvens had more discipline.”
Something about that remark made the haze of anger clear from Sean’s head. Picard’s blatant accusation boiled all the rest down to a single problem. Lately—now, especially—Sean had been letting his feelings get the better of him. It was one of the few things a Wolven should never do. What would his father have said about how he handled his last assignment? He would have been furious. But now he never would be, for he would never even know. Now it didn’t matter.
He drew back from Picard suddenly as a strange wave of sensation crashed over him. His muscles turned to mush. He did not want Picard to notice, but perhaps it was already too late.
Picard cocked his head curiously. “You’re really more interesting than I expected,” he said. “How delightful.”
“Fucking lunatic,” snarled Sean. “What is your interest in me?”
“I’m sure you’d like to know.” Picard’s gloved arm twitched abruptly. He winced and grabbed it with his left hand. For a moment his breath became shallow and he struggled to recollect himself. Then he pushed another smile past his gritted teeth and went on as if nothing had happened. “But you’d probably be disappointed. The truth is primarily that I am thorough and I like to do my research, especially on a man to whom we’re entrusting the fate of this nation. However, I will confess: you Wolvens fascinate me, as does anyone who claims to communicate with the gods. Tell me. Do you really believe in Belazar, or is it all just an act?”
“My father believed.” Sean turned away, looking habitually up the mountain, blinking a strange sensation out of his eyes, and hoped this would be answer enough. “When will I get paid?”
“Give me a week to gather the money. But don’t expect me to come trumpeting up your mountain like today. You’ll have to come fetch it.”
The Wolven flashed his teeth with anger.
“Sit, boy! It’s a lot of money to gather on short notice. Do you even notice how much it is?” Picard chuckled. “Of course you do. And even if you don’t, I shan’t dare give a Wolven less than he was promised.” With a happy sigh, he pulled the pouch of safra from his tunic again. Another violent sniff sent a small cloud of glittering dust into the air. “Never fear, Sean my friend. You’ll get paid for your father’s crimes. And then you’ll do whatever we ask. Won’t you?”
Sean glared back at the man’s foppish smile.
Then, with almost disturbing quickness, the smile vanished. “Meet me in Fragan Town, at Gorla’s Inn, seven days from now. Make it sunset.” He extended his gloved hand.
With great reluctance, Sean took it. He felt metal rods shifting under the leather as their hands clasped. The strength of Picard’s grip surprised him.
Picard released Sean with a firm shake. “It has been a pleasure, Wolven. I look forward to deepening our business relationship.”
As Sean watched the fellow wobble away, he thought to himself that there was nothing he dreaded more.