Scourge of the Betrayer

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M y new patron clambered down the wagon, dark hair slicked back like wet otter fur, eyes roaming the stable yard in a measured sweep. He fixed on me briefly before continuing his survey, and it occurred to me, just as it had a hundred times since accepting the commission, that this would be unlike any other job I’d done.

Captain Braylar Killcoin beckoned me over as he spoke to a young soldier mounted on a horse. I hadn’t seen the captain since the initial interview several days ago, but where he’d looked neat and well put together then, he now looked worn and road-dusty.

As I walked toward the wagon, the young soldier nodded to the captain and rode my way. Despite having ample room to go elsewhere, he headed directly for me. I backed up against the barn, but he continued angling the beast in my direction, stopping only when its muscular shoulder was rippling in my face. I clutched my satchel, trying not to flinch as the hooves nearly crushed my feet and the youth’s scabbard jabbed me in the side. The soldier leaned down, face a battalion of freckles, tuft of sandy hair on his chin vaguely threatening, and said, “Bit of advice?”

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