Blood and Honor

“Nice work,” said Tarrel, “but we don’t actually need this one. I brought one of Brey’s two around, and he told me everything.” Mordan turned to the thug, who was bent double, vomiting brackish river water. Their eyes met for an instant.

“Get out of here,” growled Mordan. Water dripped off him as he stood. The thug looked briefly from him to Tarrel and Brey, then limped off into the night.

“They’re the same crew that burned Falko’s place,” said Tarrel. “Your crime lord somehow found out we were onto Hintram and decided to get rid of the evidence.”

“Why did it go dark in there?” asked Mordan. “Magic?”

“My guess is, those fire-pots had something in them—a pebble, maybe—with a darkness spell cast on it. When the pot broke, the darkness was released along with the fire.”

Mordan grimaced. “Nice,” he said. “Since I let that one go, he’s going to know we survived.”

“We were an added bonus,” Brey said. “They weren’t expecting anyone but Hintram to be home. And don’t worry about him—I let my two go as well.”

Mordan stared at her.

“They’re just lackeys!” she said, a little defensively.

“And that makes it a good idea?” he asked.

“I don’t kill unless I have to,” she said.

“They would have been happy to kill all of us,” Solly pointed out. He was back to his usual form, and shaking a little now that the danger was over.

Brey put a hand to her forehead. “I may not be a paladin any more,” she said, “but I still try to do the right thing. As long as I can hold back from killing, I know there’s still part of me left; I’m not completely taken over by this”—she indicated herself vaguely—“this. I’m still in control.”

“So what now?” asked Tarrel.

Mordan took off his cloak and wrung it out. “You do what you want,” he said. “I’m going to get into some dry clothes, I’m going to pack a few things, and I’m going on a little trip before the Fat Man decides to feed me to the fish.”

“I hear Fort Zombie is lovely at this time of year,” said Tarrel. “What about you, my Lady?”

Brey snorted.

“Just call me by my name,” she said. “I’m not a general’s daughter anymore. Not here.”

“If you say so,” said Tarrel. “Though I’ll still have to figure out something to tell him.”

“Solly?” Mordan asked.

The changeling answered Mordan’s question with a shake of the head.

“I’m staying here,” he said. “This is the only place I know. Beside, the hired help didn’t see me—they saw your dead soldier. I’ll be fine.”

Mordan shook his pale, long-fingered hand.

“Good luck.” he said. “Meet at Brey’s in half an hour.”

“Fine,” said Brey, “but I may be a few minutes late. A couple of things to take care of before I leave. You go on up, though. I, uh—told—the landlady that you’re allowed.”

Chapter 10

A Passage Upriver

Olarune 19, 999 YK

From the outside, the boat looked like a perfectly ordinary sailing barge, broad and low in the water, with a single mast, a heavy rudder, and a low cabin rising above the stern. She was tied to a massive iron bollard, and a movable gangplank was hoisted up into a vertical position.

The creature that greeted Mordan, however, was far from ordinary. Its eyes blared red, and the lights of the waterfront reflected dimly in its black hide. It looked something like a dog—if a dog was made of spiked iron plates and animated by magic. It stood on the boat’s rail, glaring menacingly and working its jagged iron jaws. A warning hiss issued from its mouth.

“Decker!” yelled Mordan. “You there?”

He stood still and waited. The iron defender watched him, unmoving.

Heavy footsteps sounded from within the cabin, and a large masculine-looking warforged came out onto the deck, with a wrench in one hand and a wand on the other. He looked down at Mordan, then put the tools in the heavy leather tool-belt that he wore like a bandolier.

“You again,” he said. While his voice lacked the subtle tones of human speech, it carried a hint of weariness. As if picking up on his mood, the iron hound hissed again.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t skin you and use your hide for a sail,” said the warforged.

“You’ve already got a sail,” said Mordan. “Look, Decker, I’m sorry about the Metrol business, but …”

The warforged held up a massive, three-fingered hand. “Whatever it is, the answer’s no.”

“Well, can I at least come aboard?” Mordan asked. “Five minutes—that’s all I’m asking.”

Decker thought for a moment, then let down the gangway.

“Back, Fang,” he said. The iron defender came to his side, but it still glared and hissed as Mordan boarded the boat.

“Patrol,” said Decker. With one last malevolent glare at Mordan, the beast padded off across the deck.

The warforged motioned Mordan into the cabin. Cogs, screws, and other mechanical parts were scattered across the single table. Decker cleared them away with surprising delicacy, given the size of his hands. Mordan sat down opposite his host.

“It’s just a simple trip upriver,” said Mordan. “Two passengers, a couple of crates—nothing to it.”