The Colour of Vengeance (16 page)

“I am Haarin,” Pern stated.

“Aye,” Swift replied with a sigh. “That ya are.”

Pern nodded and went back to standing at his post located just in front of Swift's desk between him and the door. Since beginning his contract almost three months ago Pern had witnessed seven attempts on his client's life and had been instrumental in stopping at least two of those. Truth was his client had a powerful incentive to stop the attempts himself and Swift was more than capable of stopping all but the most determined and skilled of assassins. At times Pern felt almost superfluous but it was not his place to judge whether he was needed; the simple fact that his client had employed the services of a Haarin would no doubt be enough to deter many would-be attackers.

Swift rounded the great slab of polished wood that was his desk, slumped into his chair, leaned back and rested his feet on the shiny wooden surface. Slaves cleaned and polished the desk daily but none had managed to remove the scuff marks that arose from Swift's feet buffing the surface.

Other than the ostentatious desk Swift's office was an austere place. There was no hearth as it never truly got cold enough to need one in Chade, no bookshelves so there were no books so that Swift's illiteracy would not be revealed. Two large wardrobes kept an assortment of clothing from the fanciest of finery to dirtied rags to boiled leather armour. A small weapon rack housed a variety of weapons most of which would never be used; Pern knew well enough by now that his client was always armed to the teeth even when he appeared empty handed. A grandiose painting of a very regal-looking man graced the eastern wall between the doorway and the desk. The painting was of the departed Lord Gregor H'ost. Swift claimed he hated the artwork but it served a purpose to remind folk that he was H'ost's only living son, bastard though he was.

“Right, who's next?” Swift said, eyeing the servant standing by the door with all the attention a wolf might give to an ant.

“Willian Flame-gorger,” the servant said, nervously glancing at Swift like an ant might glance at a wolf.

Swift laughed. “What sort o' name is that?”

The servant swallowed with practised precision before replying. Pern watched the man, assessing his threat level for the sixtieth time in the past hour and concluding once again that the man was as far from a threat as a man could be. “He is a fire eater, my lord.”

“Aye? Could be worth a laugh or two, I reckon. Send the fool in.”

The servant bowed low; as most folk did to Swift when they wanted to avoid his attention, and set to opening the door and allowing the fire eater entry. The man was tall and thin with a dark complexion and dust coloured hair slicked back across his skull. He had a crooked nose, a few days’ worth of red stubble and a smile that seemed fixed upon his face and far too wide. Pern was already moving by the time the fire eater bowed.

“My lord,” the man whined in a high voice and as he stood a small throwing knife appeared in his hand. The fire eater's wrist flicked with a casual ease and the knife flew towards Swift. Pern reacted in an instant; reaching out and grabbing hold of the knife mid-air with his left hand and then dropping out of the way as his client's own blades whipped through the air and embedded themselves in the fire eater's neck and face. The man went down in a gurgle of blood to the sound of laughter and the clapping of hands from behind.

A man of middling years in an impeccable red cotton tunic, a matching set of trousers and a long but light, brown over-coat stepped over the bleeding corpse; still clapping and laughing as if he had just heard the funniest jest of his life. He was handsome, of that Pern was certain, with strong, fine features, short cropped hair the colour of dark oak and a fashionable scattering of stubble. His bright green eyes seemed to shine from his face and his teeth were perfect and white except for a single gold canine that glittered in his mouth. Both of the man's ears were pierced in the lobe; one with a single gem-stone stud and the other with a gold ring. The newcomer was armed with a single visible long sword but Pern could feel the danger of the man as if it was a tangible thing, smothering the room in a dark, smoky cloud of menace. It was the same feeling he had gotten the first time he had seen his client. A purple aura surrounded this new man like a blaze; dangerous intent and control in equal measure.

“Brilliant. I do love a good show,” the man's voice was rich and full of warmth though Pern couldn't place the accent.

Pern drew his sword with his right hand even before Swift spoke.

“You alright, Suzku?” the tone in Swift's voice was an unneeded warning that the danger was not yet over.

Pern glanced down at his left hand. The throwing knife was embedded blade-end first into his palm and the tip of the blade stuck out the back of his hand. He ignored the pain and readied himself for a fight. “I am Haarin.”

The new comer laughed again. “So I see but I reckon you might want to put a bandage on that. Why don't you scurry off so me an' Swift here can have a little private chat.”

Pern made no indication of moving, Swift gave no indication of wanting his Haarin to move. This was exactly the situation Pern had been contracted for.

“Don't reckon I know you,” Swift said. Pern had no doubt his client was already armed and ready to attack in a moment.

The new comer didn't look in the least bit intimidated by the weapons pointed at him. “Then I should introduce myself. Captain Drake Morrass.”

Pern could almost hear the grin slip from Swift's face. “That ain't possible. I got people on the docks watchin' fer ya ship.”

Drake Morrass breezed past Pern; mindless of the sword pointed his way and slipped into the chair opposite Swift. “Aye. An unsavoury man by the name of Bryson did seem to be taking a particular interest in the
Fortune
when she sailed into port. Last I saw he was taking a swim in the bay; the fool decided to stuff his pockets full of stones and tie his hands together before jumping in.”

Swift looked somewhat less than pleased. “An’ why would he go an’ do that?”

“I can only assume he didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Drake Morrass said with a wide grin and held his hands out wide. “Surprise!”

“Aye,” Swift said and sat back down in his chair, a throwing knife still in each hand. “Seems ta me ya got some stones on ya, Morrass. Walkin' in here all alone as ya are. Might be dangerous fer folk such as yaself.”

“Hah!” Morrass barked. “Nonsense. We have no reason to want each other dead. Least far as I can see.”

Swift looked past Captain Morrass and waved in the direction of the corpse currently occupied staining the floor a healthy red colour.

“That? That was just me saying
hello
. You're still alive aren't you? No harm done,” Drake Morrass said with a wink towards Pern. For his part Pern did not entirely agree with the
no harm done
, the knife still embedded in his left palm felt more than a little harmful but his Haarin training had long ago taught him how to deal with and ignore pain.

“What is it ya want, Morrass?” Swift asked with no hint of amusement.

“Well there's a couple of things really. First it dawns on me I never did thank you personally for that job you did for me last year.”

“Ya mean killin' H'ost.”

Morrass' wide grin turned into a cruel smile and he rubbed at the fashionable stubble on his face. “Aye. Your father was an interesting one to be sure and a particularly annoying thorn in my side.”

Pern could tell Swift was still wary but he was settling back down after the attempt on his life. His feet once again scuffed the polished wooden desk. “Got a few o' those my own self. Don't reckon we'll be callin' H'ost my da' no more though. Never did no fatherin' far as I remember it.”

“And yet you keep such a… flattering depiction of his image,” Drake waved in the direction of H’ost’s portrait. “Also you've laid claim to the H'ost fortune as the sole surviving heir, bastard or no.

“The way I hear it all the other H’osts that managed to survive the massacre at Hostown had a series of unfortunate accidents that tended to result in an immediate case of death. Funny how a good old fashioned massacre can benefit some folk.”

For just a moment a haunted look passed across Swift's face. Pern had seen it before in the faces of older Haarins no longer able or willing to take on contracts. It was the look of a man who had seen things he never wished to remember. It was a look Pern never expected to see on the face of his client.

“What happened at Hostown was the Black Thorn's doin',” Swift protested. “I footed the bounty on his head myself...”

Morrass laughed. “Easy to post a bounty on a dead man.”

“As fer the rest o' the folk 'tween me an' H'ost's fortune. Well I don't reckon I did nothin' you wouldn't o' done in my own place an’ I’m more than certain ya’ve done worse in your time.”

The smile dropped from Morrass' face. “So you do have your father's money? You see there's something that's been bothering me, Swift. I paid you a lot of money to kill your father. Somewhere in the exact region of one million gold bits if I remember and I assure you I do. Enough to buy your way onto the ruling council for sure but not enough to then start buying up all of our dear departed Lord Xho's and Lord Colth's properties. So you see I was forced to ask myself where in the hells could my little assassin have gotten so much money.”

“Inheritance,” Swift said, his face a still mask as he lied through his teeth. “Rich daddy left it all ta me by process of elimination.”

“I do hope so, Swift. Your father had an acquaintance, I wonder if you've heard of him, goes by the name Kessick; formerly Arbiter Kessick.”

Swift snorted. “I weren't exactly friendly with my da'. He coulda known the fuckin' emperor o' Sarth fer all I know, or care. What's ya issue with this Kessick then?”

“The usual really. He wants me dead and I feel much the same about him. You'll let me know if you hear anything about him, of course.”

“Aye. Sure,” Swift said.

“Good. He's a hard man to find.”

“What did he do fer H'ost?”

Captain Drake Morrass didn't answer at first, he sat and watched Swift who in turn sat and watched back. Pern stood close by; motionless, forgotten but sword still drawn and ready in case of an attack.

“Your father wanted to unite the wilds, to place himself at the head as king just like D'oro did hundreds of years back. He wanted to re-unite the blooded families and he was willing to do it with blood, fire and fear. Kessick was helping him for reasons unclear.”

“How?” Swift asked.

Again Drake Morrass paused and artfully re-arranged the collar of his over-coat. “Don't know exactly but I know he didn't have the Inquisition's blessing.”

“An' you support someone else, do ya? Another one of the blooded?”

With a smile and a shake of his head Drake Morrass rolled from the chair onto his feet. “Nah. I don't care which of the blooded lot takes the throne, if any of them ever do. I just don't want Kessick in charge. Good?”

Swift nodded. “Aye. Good.”

“Seems you and I, Swift, together we got a controlling interest in this here free city. Reckon I might stick around for a bit and see how you've been handling the rest of the council.”

“Got 'em eatin' out o' my hand.”

Captain Drake Morrass laughed his rich, warm laugh and with a wave at Swift, a wink at Pern and a dramatic billowing of his over-coat he turned and made a leisurely pace towards the door; making sure to step over the still bleeding corpse of the would-be assassin. After he was gone Swift spent a long time brooding in silence while Pern stood by and dripped yet more blood onto the wooden floor. He was starting to feel a little faint; the knife would need removing from his hand sooner rather than later.

“Tell me somethin', Suzku,” Swift said. Pern forced himself to focus on his client. “Does that contract to protect my life extend ta preventative measures?”

It took only a moment for Pern to realise what Swift meant. “I am Haarin, not an assassin.”

“For four hundred-thousand gold bits ya should be whatever the fuck I want ya ta be. Get the fuck out o' here an' stop bleedin' on my floor.” Pern bowed his head once in acknowledgement and walked on unsteady feet towards the floor. “An' get rid of that fuckin' body whiles ya at it!”

“Dragonspawn,” one of the mercs; the fat one who went by the name of Lucky, said in a hushed voice as if the very word could bring a great, flying, fire-breathing lizard down upon their heads.

“It ain't dragonspawn,” Betrim opined and shifted himself in his saddle yet again. Seems no matter how many times he sat upon a horse he always managed to crush his stones. The mercs had taken to mocking him about it daily and the Black Thorn didn't take well to mocking. He might have done something about it but his hands were well and truly chained, not to mention he was more than a little outnumbered and lacking any sort of weapon.

“How do you know, Thorn? You gonna tell us ya met a dragon now are ya?”

“As it happens. Aye, I have,” Betrim lied with his usual impassive face. “An' that ain't dragonspawn. Jus' a big fuckin' lizard is all. Like them water lizards in the Jorl only these ones don't swim.”

The lizard wasn't doing much of anything at the moment, if truth be told. Seemed it wasn't interested in the passing mercs and their prisoners but was more than happy to lie on a fair sized boulder in a nice looking patch of sunlight. Betrim had to admit it looked like a comfortable spot and he was a little jealous of the beast.

“Well whatever it is I don't like it. Shoo! Go on, fuck off!” Lucky shouted at the lizard while waving his spear in the air.

The lizard raised its head and gave the fat merc a long, patient stare but showed no signs of impending movement. After a few seconds Lucky's horse stepped away from the boulder and its lizard occupant and Betrim didn't blame the animal. At just three times the size of a man from snout to tail this particular lizard made for a small member of its family who, up here in the northern, rocky areas of the wilds, were known to grow to twice that size and could easily make short work of a small party of travellers.