The inside of the Blasted Tavern was grey and oppressive, with a décor that looked like someone had burned the place down twice already. Metal beams shot out of walls, stools and tables leant and wobbled at even the lightest of touches, and the pathetic candlelight coming from the walls wasn’t nearly enough to illuminate the space.
The tavern was more bustling than usual, and even the regulars seemed taken aback by the sheer influx of strangers in this back alley venue. SEB could barely see the barman at the central bar, frantically sloshing pints of ale into outstretched mugs. He spotted Seb when he’d entered and sat in the usual corner, giving a respectful nod before continuing his busy evening.
An unbelievable stench hung in the air – the usual sweat and dust was now mixed with many aromas Seb had only ever smelled on brief jobs away from the desert: dirt and mud from the forests, smoke from the cities and manure from the farmsteads. There were clearly some new, wayward travellers at the Blasted Tavern. At least thirty sets of moody eyes shot daggers in his direction upon his entrance.
After settling at the usual table, reserving three stools and two ales, Seb waited half an hour until his brother burst through the tavern door. He emptied his boots of sand and peeled his sweaty top away from his back. He cracked his neck, left then right, and made a show of his weaponry and the loose Sandskin head on his hip to any who looked in his direction. Nobody ever messed with Bez. The whole town of Amia knew to keep their distance from him, and from Seb by extension.
Bez walked over to Seb’s table without hesitation, picking up his ale mug and draining half the contents in two thirsty gulps.
He said nothing at first, so Seb asked, “Wow … Why do you think there are so many nobodies at this time of night?”
“These are tough times, Seb. You know that.” Bez scanned the room, an antagonistic glare in his eyes. “Wouldn’t surprise me if these people are out looking for work. There’s not much to go around these days.”
A deep anxiety rose up in Seb’s chest, and he squirmed in his seat. “You mean, other people like us? Other mercenaries?”
“They’d better hope not. This is our territory. The locals would do well to remind these outsiders of that.”
Bez raised an assertive hand in the barman’s direction, and without missing a beat the old man smiled and nodded back. He knew this to mean it was another round, and fast.
Before they could react, a diminutive, frail man sat across from them. He had long blond hair and boasted a variety of expensive jewels and sparkling crystals all over his jacket and bracelets. The gleam of these precious gemstones caught Seb off guard; he shielded his eyes from their intrusive reflections.
This man was Felix, a wealthy tycoon who was well-renowned across Amia and beyond. He made his riches mining the natural resources deep underneath the desert – precious crystals and the like. His machines, along with the scores of workers, laboured well into the night to fully capitalise on the plunders of the desert.
Felix would be the first to tell you of all the magnificent adventures he had endured to pillage the wonders of the Continent. The reality of the matter was that none of it was true – his whole identity and appearance was built on a lie. He would always send out a group of mercenaries to do the dirty work for him, clearing out dens of Sandskins and other such desert dwellers, before swooping in as the hero to claim the benefit. This was exactly the kind of task he had bestowed upon Seb and Bez, and it certainly hadn’t been the first time.
“Ah, if it isn’t the formidable Teneki brothers!” Felix beamed. “I assume the job was a success?”
Bez scoffed and slammed the decapitated Sandskin head atop of the table.
“You could say that.”
The tycoon gagged, reaching into his top pocket for a handkerchief. He gently covered his mouth, taking a second to compose himself, before stowing it away and rearing his head as far away from the stench as possible.
“Very good. Your payment for a job well done.” He pulled out a pouch of silver coins and held them out. When Bez reached to take it, Felix withdrew his hand.
“I don’t like being teased,” Bez scowled.
“And I don’t much like mercenaries running around my crystal mining rigs,” Felix replied without missing a beat. “Would you boys like to tell me why one of my diamond drill bits is missing from a mining rig?”
Bez leant back in the stool and shrugged. “I heard Beetle and Birch got arrested at your mining field for something unscrupulous. Ask them.”
“We did. They said an infamous pair of mercenary brothers beat them to the scene. I’m not one to believe the testimony of a caught rat, but …” He tutted. “Their pockets were empty. Someone beat them to the diamond.”
“C’mon, Felix. Who’re you gonna believe – a bunch of hoodlum nobodies, or the mercenary duo who’ve never let you down?”
Felix grinned. It was a menacing gesture which shook Seb to his core. His brother, however, remained steadfast by his side, never giving the game up. It was a steely resolve which had saved their hides a thousand times over.
Please let it save us now. Please let it save us now. Please let it save us now …
In the end, Felix sighed and plopped the pouch of silver coins on the table. “Very well. Just so you know, those drill bits cost an arm and a leg. Quite literally.”
He stood up, straightening his bejewelled coat, and made for the rear exit, avoiding the dirty crowd as best as he could. Through the back window, a covert bodyguard deactivated his plasma rifle, trained straight at the brothers’ table.
Bez tossed the coin pouch up and down in his palm, staring deeply into its weary seams. He seemed … troubled. Lost in his own little world. It wasn’t a look he wore in public, but it was one Seb was getting used to seeing after the job was done.
I can’t pinpoint it exactly, but something about him has changed recently. That pained, empty face … Has something been on your mind recently, brother?
“What’s wrong, Bez?” he finally asked. “You seem awfully glum for someone who just got paid twice.”
“Chump change,” Bez grumbled, a slight venom in each word.
This took Seb by surprise. He leant forwards in his chair. “What?”
“You heard me! This is chump change. We’re here working our soddin’ legs off, risking our lives, and for what? Just to get by?” He weighed the pouch in his hand. “This’ll barely last us to the end of the week.”
“What about your other client? I thought she owed us five gold?”
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“She did, but she muscled me down to two.” He gave one to Seb, dismissive of it as it left his hand. “To pay our tab later.”
“Thanks … But chump change is what we’ve always been given, isn’t it? We go around, pick up loose jobs and loose change, move onto the next tavern. It’s a luxury most mercenaries would dream of.”
Bez shook his head. He wasn’t suppressing his emotions as much as he would have liked now, and Seb could finally see through his shrouded fa?ade. This was sadness, no doubt about it.
“Is that all we’re ever gonna do?” Bez asked, “Just go around in circles until we kick the bucket? We’re just wasting away out here in this soddin’ desert! We should be in the thick of it, where the real fighting is, trying to make a difference in the war instead of cowering away in some back alley tavern!”
Seb’s brow furrowed. He looked his brother dead in the despairing eyes.
“This is about mother and father, isn’t it?”
“They fought for something they believed in!” Bez exclaimed, letting the words bubble out of his throat. “And what are we fighting for? A couple of coins from a slimy tycoon? Please tell me you’ve been thinking the same thing, Seb?”
Seb nearly gasped, taken aback by this sudden outpouring of emotion.
I had no idea you thought that way, Bez. Fighting in a war that spans the whole Continent? I just don’t think I could wrap my head around that …
“I’ll be honest with you, Bez … No, I haven’t,” he admitted. “I’m still getting used to this whole mercenary lifestyle. It puts food on the table, doesn’t it? Ale in our bellies?”
Bez grimaced. “Yeah … I had a feeling that was what you’d say.”
CRASH!
The whole tavern turned to look at the entrance, where a man dressed in a dark, overflowing coat smashed the door open and stomped his way into the room. He sneered at everyone in his path, boldly waving around his weapon – a standard plasma blade – to any who sneered back, until he reached the bar at the centre of the tavern.
“Oi! Barman!” the man yelled. “A drink, and make it quick!” He spoke with a horrible, throaty tone, as if every single word was a pain to get out. His hand spent more time rubbing his oily face and ragged beard than on his blade’s hilt. Seb could smell his filthy stench from the other side of the tavern.
With impressive speed, the barman topped up the strange man’s mug, which was then emptied as quickly as it was filled. The man let out a disgusting belch and cradled his bulging belly.
“Tell me … What kinda jobs do you have for a Bounty Hunter like me?”
A chorus of gasps and whispers echoed around the tavern. Even Bez and Seb looked at each other in disbelief – A Bounty Hunter? In Amia? Seb thought they were extinct. If they did exist, he had certainly never laid eyes on one before. All he knew of them was the incredible stories his parents had told, of the Bounty Hunters of old who were the strongest, most feared individuals in the land. This man seemed neither strong nor intimidating.
But now there’s a Bounty Hunter standing before us, in the flesh … What I wouldn’t give to be that powerful one day. Could this man teach me his ways, I wonder?
The barman stood firm, holding his ground. “A ‘Bounty Hunter’ you say? Prove it.”
This angered the man, who raised his plasma sword and waved it aggressively in front of the barman’s undaunted face.
“You listen here, old man – we Bounty Hunters deserve respect.” Each word was snarled with bitter hatred. “That means shuttin’ your damn mouth when I say so! Otherwise this plasma sword could slice you apart in a matter of–”
BANG!
The man’s face contorted in pain, overcome by shock. He fell backwards; his huge weight cracked the wooden floorboards beneath him on impact. Everyone stared at the barman in disbelief, whose plasma pistol was still pulsing in his hands.
“Ha! ‘Bounty Hunter’ my arse. Should’ve been able to dodge that easy.”
After a pause, the rest of the tavern went back to their business, and normal conversation filled the room once again. The dead man was barely visible anymore; crowds of people walked around and over him as they made their way to the counter for more drinks.
Bez leant back in his chair, taking a second to steady his breathing. Out of the corner of his eye, Seb noticed him tucking his plasma pistol back into his toolbelt. Standing up, he beckoned to Seb.
“Come on, it’s getting late. We need to find somewhere to spend the night.”
Taking one last gulp of their ales, they paid the barman and made their way to the exit, once again avoiding protruding metal beams and elbows. Seb shuffled in close to his brother to hear him better over the general ruckus.
“Hey Bez, do you think that guy was … y’know … an actual Bounty Hunter?” he asked.
“Nah, can’t have been. They don’t exist anymore. And if they did, they wouldn’t come to the middle of the soddin’ desert, would they?”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Seb sighed, disappointed.
They must exist, whether Bez thinks so or not. There must be a way of becoming one …
They were almost at the back door to the tavern now. He could see the pitch-black night sky through the window, like a portal to a dark void. If they were going to find a place to stay, they would have to do it quickly.
Just next to the exit, an old man in decaying robes sat alone at a table. He neither drank nor ate, conversed nor relaxed … He just sat, wordless and motionless. His white beard was severely overgrown, and the crinkles on his face were lined with putrid boils and spots. As the brothers walked by, Seb heard the man whisper something under his breath.
“Such a shame. I could have used a Bounty Hunter for my task. Nobody else could possibly have the strength or skill required …”
Bez stopped in his tracks, holding a hand up to Seb’s chest to stop him as well. Without saying a word, he pointed to the old man, a look of curiosity in his eyes. Seb shrugged, utterly confused, but when Bez started to wander over he followed him without question.
“Excuse me, Sir,” Bez asked, “Did you say you had a job?”
The old miser seemed lost in thought, but when he snapped out of it he looked the brothers up and down, as if thoroughly assessing them.
“Have a seat, young men,” he beckoned. “Then we can talk.”
Bez sat down without a second thought, and a slightly more hesitant Seb joined him not long after. The old man stroked the tabletop, his bony fingers shaking as they fumbled back and forth.
This poor guy’s clearly out of it. Why should we bother listening to what he has to say?
“I’m sorry if you overheard my ramblings,” the old man croaked, “I suppose I was just thinking out loud.”
Bez seemed entranced by this figure, holding onto every word. “So you do have a job then?”
“Well, I suppose I do … but only for the most skilled workers. This is quite a delicate matter, you see. One that could shift the tides of war.”
If Bez was intrigued at first, now he was hooked. “My good man, you’re talking to two of the most well-renowned mercenaries around! You name it, we can do it.”
“Ha!” The old man cackled, coughing once his lungs ran out of air. “I like your resolve, young man. I see a bit of myself in you!” He leant forwards in his chair. “I’ll tell you what – if you can do this one little thing for me, you’ll both be rewarded handsomely … But not today, no. You must rest first for the challenge ahead. I’ll have the barman lend you his room.”
The old man signalled to the barman, who nodded back in understanding. Seb stared at the mysterious man sitting across from him with wonder and worry.
Just who is this old miser? Is there something he isn’t telling us?
“You’d both better head off to bed now,” the old man instructed. “I wouldn’t want you to go into this underprepared!”
“Don’t worry about us. We’ll get it done.” Bez beamed with confidence, and a slight smirk crept up his cheek. “Couple of quick questions before we do this – what exactly are we supposed to be doing? And how do we report back to you?”
The old man smiled. “You certainly ask the pertinent questions, young man.” He glanced over at Seb and his smile vanished. “You, however, could use a bit more zest. Are you sure this little thing is up to the challenge?”
Bez put his arm around Seb’s shoulders in steely defiance. “Of course. I would vouch for him anytime, anywhere.”
The old man stood up, wobbling as he rested his hand on his wooden cane, and began walking to the exit.
“Good. Get some rest – you’ll know what to do when morning comes.”
With that, he hobbled out of the exit and into the desert night.
