Company Accounts:

  Finances: ￡111 3s 6p

  Mercenaries: 22

  Assets: the mine in Eisenberg, The Smashed Marbles in Avolo, the mansion in Dorwich, the town of Mer Khazer

  Current missions:

  ERADICATE BLOOD FIENDS

  RAID DARKSPIKE DUNGEON

  Lothar lifted the lid of his chest. It wasn’t unusual for the mercenary captain to check its contents. He kept his most precious items there. Along with the Sack of Carrying, which contained the treasure of the defeated Golden Blades, he possessed a small fortune in coins, precious gems and metals, and weapons.

  So much, in fact, he admitted to himself, that it could make someone rather nervous. Keeping it in my bedroom probably isn’t the best idea. I need to find somewhere safer.

  On this occasion, Lothar was doing more than simply looking. He retrieved three items, placing them on his bed. They had been looted from the final barrow his squad had explored. It left only half a dozen items in the chest.

  Such is life, Lothar mused philosophically. Magic weapons and the like attracted the best mercs. Those mercs had to be deployed to gain more treasure, as a merc captain’s power and fame snowballed. Until it all comes crashing down on said merc captain’s head, he considered, with the realism common to his Hargon race. A realism others mistook for pessimism. If I were a pessimist, I would have given up long before I achieved any success.

  His eyes caught the pile of parchment lying at the bottom of the chest. On a whim, he reached for them, sifting through. Three were the identical maps, each taken from one of the four barrows The Rotten Apples had discovered. They showed the locations of the barrows, spread out at equal intervals, along a line. The fourth was a legal document in which Rosalind De Cheney signed over the ownership of The Smashed Marbles to him. He shuddered as memories of The Reckoner explaining each step of the convoluted process returned.

  “Which begs the question,” he murmured, “what have I done with the fourth map?”

  A rummage revealed that it was inside the folded elven cloak. He added it to his pile of parchments.

  Which was when they started to glow. Not the deeds to his inn, but the maps. He anxiously grabbed the last map and stuffed it back inside the cloak. Fortunately, the golden glow faded as soon as he did so. Glowing items—indeed, magic of any kind—made Lothar ‘Stiff’ Sauer distinctly nervous. He returned the parchments to his chest, and closed the lid.

  That’s something to get Rosalind to look at, he told himself. I’ll stick to the real world.

  He grabbed the three items, left his room, and headed downstairs to the lounge of The Smashed Marbles. His three newest recruits waited at a table. Each, in their different ways, gave him an excited look as he approached.

  “Here, take this," he said, handing the weighty battle-axe over to Randall the Heavy-Handed.

  The dwarf drank in the weapon. “The finest workmanship,” Heavy-Hands said, admiringly. “You won’t regret this, Stiff. I will strive to live up to the privilege of wielding Splitter.”

  “Well. Glad to hear it.”

  Last year, Lothar had asked the Council of Avolo to send word to the nonhuman races of the world that he had come into possession of magic weapons belonging to their kind. At the time, a goblin army had been rampaging through Gal’azu, and they were desperate for aid. That army had long since been dispersed, while the trio who had answered his call only arrived in the country a few days ago. But they had answered his call nonetheless, and Lothar didn’t see the point in hanging on to the items any longer.

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  “Then there is the stone,” Lothar said, holding out a linked metal chain on which hung a worn, grey stone.

  “Lurin,” Randall said, nudging his cousin.

  Lurin turned from admiring Splitter and proceeded to gape at the offered item. The dwarf took the chain in both hands, and as if hardly believing it was true, placed it over his head. Once settled around his neck, he took the stone between thumb and forefinger, and gazed at it.

  Lothar didn’t share the dwarf’s wonder at the piece of rock, but was pleased it had made such an impression.

  “And finally, young Rilie,” he said, turning to the halfling.

  She clapped her hands together a few times in anticipation.

  “A Sling of Accuracy.”

  Rilie Rumblewind cried out with childish glee at her gift. She proceeded to inspect it, one eye scrunched shut. Unable to remain seated, she scraped the chair back from the table and got to her feet. “Plus 4 to hit,” she said breathlessly. “I need to try it out.” She reached for the stone around Lurin’s neck, who slapped her hand away. She then whirled the sling around, building speed, the two braided cords of twine making a whirring noise. “I need to try it out,” she said, frantically looking around for a missile to use.

  “Not in here, you don’t,” Lothar told her. “Sit yourself down.”

  With what looked like a great effort of willpower, Rumblewind returned to her chair.

  “Now then,” Lothar said.

  Lurin received another nudge from Randall and turned to look at Lothar.

  “You three are perfect for a dungeon mission. We’ve been waiting for a few more recruits. You will leave Avolo and travel out west, to the town of Mer Khazer. It’s a four day journey. You’ll find some of The Rotten Apples there. In particular, report to Larik the Bludgeoner. He’ll fill you in on the details. Is that understood?”

  With the gift giving done, and his instructions delivered, Lothar moved on to his next task. Not for a moment will I ever complain about the consequences of success, he told himself. But the reality was, he was always busy now, with multiple demands on his time. He’d sent one group of mercs out to Mer Khazer, and another to Dorwich. Now, he had a meeting about yet another mission.

  He made his way to the small street in Avolo where the wealthiest citizens had their homes. Servants welcomed him to the house of Urkal Foberoy, the new mayor of Avolo. The richest merchants of the city took turns holding the office, while maintaining the pretence that its holder was elected. Lothar wondered whether anyone was fooled.

  “Ah, Miss Foberoy,” he said, greeting Urkal’s daughter as they passed along a corridor.

  “Please, Mr Sauer. Call me Clara.”

  “Of course. Clara. And how are things with Raimy?”

  “Things are fine, except for the fact that you have sent him away to Dorwich,” she pouted.

  “A necessary task, but I am sure he will soon return. I know he misses you terribly.”

  The girl beamed at that. “He does write to me all the time.”

  So he should, since I pay him extra to do just that.

  Lothar excused himself, and made his way to her father’s study. Urkal, Rosalind, and The Baron were waiting for him.

  “Clara seems happy,” Lothar noted, nodding a greeting to everyone.

  Urkal scowled at him. “Take a seat, Sauer. I didn’t ask you here to discuss my daughter.” He poured Lothar a whisky and passed it over. “There are important matters to attend to.”

  “Go on.”

  “The Kuthenians remain the most dangerous long-term threat to our position in Gal’azu. Since The Baron’s mission last year, I have been in contact with Fei, one of their leading generals. He has requested our aid. Establishing a deeper relationship with him would be a very substantial step towards improving our security.”

  “Our aid in what, exactly?” Lothar asked.

  “I don’t know the precise details. But he needs operatives with the skills and the calibre of The Baron, here; and those of your mercs who dealt with my personal business in Dorwich. Efficient, and discreet.”

  “So you mean he wants thieves?”

  Urkal sighed. “Fei is risking much by even communicating with us. He’s not about to reveal his plans until the team gets to Kuthenia. Can you do it, or not?”

  “Baron?” Lothar asked. “You’re the one who’s been there. You’d be heading up a team. What do you say?”

  “I can do it.”

  “Then you have your answer, Mayor Foberoy.”

  “Excellent. I appreciate it. If there’s ever anything I can do in return—”

  “—There is. Money.”

  “You’ll be paid, of course. Otherwise, you’ve taken rather a lot of money from the Council recently.”

  “Not that. I need to know what to do with mine. How to store it.”

  Foberoy leaned back and gave him a contemplative look. Lothar didn’t like it. It was as if, suddenly, the merchant had the upper hand.

  “Stiff, you must do more with your money than just store it somewhere. There are many businesses in Gal’azu in which you can invest.”

  “Oh no. No thank you. I’m not handing it over to the likes of you. No offence. I’ll never see it again.”

  “Nonsense. You can lend money to a variety of enterprises. It doesn’t have to be to a trader such as myself. There are all sorts of small businesses in Gal’azu—farmers, and craft workers—who need access to capital. Especially after the damage dealt by the goblins last year. You would be helping the ordinary people. And after all, you and your mercs live in Gal’azu. You make your living here. It’s in your interest for the region to prosper. That’s the way, in the end, that we’ll retain our independence.”

  Rosalind and The Baron nodded in silent agreement.

  Lothar narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t spot the trick in Foberoy’s words. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

  “Huh. I’ll think about it.”

  “Excellent. Now, will the three of you be staying for dinner?”

  Lothar looked at Rosalind, who gave him a small smile. He could tell she wanted to stay. He had intended to ask her about those maps.

  That can wait. Why not stay, and enjoy our success? This life of dinners in the homes of the rich and powerful is one I could get used to. Why else did I struggle, for so many years, if not to enjoy the life I have left?

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