Chapter 5
The son of a bastard was paranoid, thought Hadlaug. He hardly went anywhere without guards. At least in the brothel he left them down in the main room.
The girl sat on the bed facing the wall as Snaenjar entered the room. By the time he realised something was wrong, Hadlaug had a blade at his throat, angled to discourage turning.
'I'm just here to talk,' said Hadlaug.
'There are more polite ways to approach,' said Snaenjar. His voice was even despite the obvious fear.
'No other way to talk to you alone. Move to the bed and sit next to her. Slowly.'
He moved as bid, Hadlaug directing him with the odd nudge of the blade and making sure he didn't see his face. He couldn't be sure how much Snaenjar knew, and while this could make matters worse, potentially drawing the attention he hoped to avoid, it was the smartest play.
Snaenjar sat, the blade still at his throat. Hadlaug took a moment to listen for movement outside. Nothing.
'How long you normally take?' he asked.
'What?' asked Snaenjar.
'I need to know how soon your men'll come looking, given my first move'll be skewering you.'
'I take my time.'
'Good. Do you know who I am?'
'A dead man?'
'That ain't a smart thing to say. I expected better of you.' He could kill this idiot and leave without being identified. That might be smarter. But he'd still be left with a problem. 'I could put it down to stress if you convince me you didn't mean it.'
Breathing heavily, Snaenjar obviously saw the angles. 'Yes, it was the stress. As long as you don't give me a reason to do otherwise, I'll let you live.'
Hadlaug could almost believe him. If he were an idiot. At least he could get information before he had to do anything.
'Okay. You know who I am?'
'I don't believe we've been introduced.'
'Let's keep it that way,' said Hadlaug. 'For both our sakes.'
'Sure.'
'Good. We can start being honest. I was part of Thjorn's crew.'
Snaenjar tensed, obviously worried at how much Hadlaug was revealing and what that meant for his chances of leaving alive.
'I didn't know the job wasn't properly paid back,' said Hadlaug. Actually he had a pretty good idea it wouldn’t be, but avoiding such awkward questions gave him deniability. 'I've parted with the preening idiot. I have obvious concerns over what you might do in retaliation.'
'It's only Thjorn and his henchman we're interested in.'
'Would information on his future plans be enough to cover your continued disinterest?'
'We know he's left Akar, so there's a limit on what we'd do.'
'You, maybe. I'm sure the Society might be interested in where he’s going. May even be a reward.'
Snaenjar relaxed. He was considering the angle that would give him. And that the offer implied he might survive this meeting.
'What exactly was it you took from the convoy?' asked Snaenjar.
'Two bars of arvinim.'
Snaenjar was silent a moment. 'Only two?'
'He plans to trade them. Considers selling them too likely to draw attention.'
Snaenjar grunted. 'Any idea who he was trading with?'
'Don't even know what he was trading for.'
'Where's he headed next?'
'Hradrek. The Society has a place a day west of the city. Something there he wants.'
'A day west would put it near the Unassailable Ocean,' said Snaenjar.
'Just inside it,' said Hadlaug. The Unassailable Ocean was a vast forest occupying much of the kingdom of Culvik, and he was glad to avoid it. Where he’d grown up trees had the grace not to congregate in those numbers.
'Okay,' said Snaenjar. 'This never happened. We'll do nothing to anyone who happened to be working with Thjorn.'
Hadlaug regarded him a while. Snaenjar grew tense as the seconds wore on.
'You know what,' said Hadlaug. 'I think I believe you this time. If there's a next time you don't get the benefit of the doubt.'
Snaenjar, while vindictive, was an opportunist. Having had a chance to study his target over the couple of days it had taken to get him alone, Hadlaug knew his ambition would take priority over revenge.
He backed towards the window. Slipping out, he was down the rope and around a few turns a minute later, with no sign of pursuit.
While there was always the danger of drawing attention, the important thing was repaying Thjorn for his insults. Besides, he should be out of the city within a day. He'd enter the Tournament tomorrow, fight, and move on to the next city.
He'd considered entering the Tournament the last few winters. The glyphed stuff Thjorn paid him in meant he now actually stood a chance.
While he may be an idiot – whose jobs often seemed designed to fulfil an agenda no one else understood – Thjorn was the best glyphpunk around. His work was every bit as good as that the rich would be armed with. Hadlaug had enough that he could start off with the simpler tools, pulling out the fancy stuff later. And the regular pay Thjorn gave would fund his travel. In luxury if supplemented by a few bets.
His current route would take him near Thjolmar's place, where he could check on the current betting activity and put something on himself before he'd registered. The later he left registration, the longer the odds on him.
Even among the dockside bars The Guilded Lily had a dangerous reputation, not that that meant anything to Hadlaug. The sign out front showed a semi-naked woman in an alluring pose, spoilt by the glyphs covering her body. A number of patrons in various states of inebriation had added their own contributions to the glyphs. If they didn't run fast enough this resulted in them receiving marks over their bodies from the bouncers.
Striding in, Hadlaug glared around the sullen patrons until he spotted Thjolmar, seated in the back.
As well as bookmaking and owning the bar, Thjolmar worked as a broker for a number of unofficial mercenaries. The jobs tended to be small territorial conflicts or bodyguards work, where Society soldiers would either be too expensive or too likely to report the activities to unwelcome ears. Hadlaug had worked those kinds of jobs a few times through the winters and knew most brokers in the major cities.
Thjolmar nodded as he saw him, and Hadlaug went to the bar to wait for the man currently granted audience to leave. A few minutes later, and a few sips of a truly foul brew, there was a vacancy. Thjolmar nodded him over.
He took the drink along, but doubted he was drunk enough to take another sip.
'How's the betting on the Tournament?' he asked, wasting no time on small talk.
'Profitable,' said Thjolmar. 'Unless you get some wild card it's usually profitable around the start, when no one knows how good most'll be.'
'I’m looking to register tomorrow. Wanted to lay something down in advance.'
'Sure. So you're not off to Vorek?'
'Why would I be?'
Thjolmar frowned, oddly uncomfortable. 'Sorry, I thought... I'd heard your brother had been killed there.'
'Gudrolf? He's dead?'
'What I heard. I didn't know you didn't know.'
He'd heard the idiot was in Vorek, working out east, but that'd been a while back. He felt oddly numb at the news. 'What d’you know?'
'Heard from a captain who runs some stuff for me that there'd been trouble at an illegal mine over that way, and your brother'd been killed.'
'When?'
'I think about half a moon or so ago. You still want the bet?'
With an abrupt shake of his head, Hadlaug rose. He stalked out, glad to be clear of the cloying atmosphere and out in the sea air.
Rumours were flimsy things to act on, but he couldn't ignore this one. He'd have to go see whether it was true.
He half considered reciting the oaths of passing, not that there'd be much point after this long. If Gudrolf's soul hadn't been strong enough to fight off the Nilfilar, they have frozen his soul and dragged it down with them by now.
Re
membering Thjorn had been over that way not long ago he wondered whether this could have been his doing. But as incomprehensible as his motives were he frowned on unnecessary bloodshed. No, blaming everything on him would be too easy. Hadlaug needed to learn the truth.
Which meant the Tournament would have to wait. At least until he reached Vorek. They had arenas there, so he didn't have to abandon the plan.
But someone had apparently killed his brother, and he couldn't let that lie.