The Mercenary

[Rayen]

“Sir, she has arrived.” a tenor-toned male voice stated cautiously, staring at the red-velvet back of the chair where his Master sat.

“...Excellent.” the seated man responded after a brief pause. “Show her in.”

“...Yes sir.”

~*~

Rayen stood outside the High Priest’s gate, waiting for the servant to allow her passage into the grandeur of the main hall. Mentally cursing the sloth of the slave, she glanced at the infamous Russic grey-dawn and ominous clouds on the eastern horizon. Didn’t her employer understand that she desperately needed to be out of the area before daybreak? Didn’t that lackey grasp the concept of speed? She supposed not.

A sharp clank caught her attention, and she whirled around to face the source of the noise. Once she saw it, she sighed.

“The Master has bid you to enter his personal chambers.” the drudge stated, unlocking the wrought-iron gate from the inside. After a few moments’ fiddling, he pushed the gate open nonchalantly. Before Rayen could enter, he stepped in her path and blocked her way.

“And do try to not track blood all over the rugs.” he sniveled condescendingly.

Raising an eyebrow, she sized up the little man. At five foot four, he was no taller than she, and certainly lacking in strength. A crooked nose and beady eyes graced his already putrid figure, topped with a greasy mat of black hair. While his cleanliness left something to be desired, it was certainly a step up from Rayen’s blood-soaked clothing and mud-splotched hair.

“You’re a bold one.” she snarled, pushing her face next to the gnarled one of the slave’s. With a fluid motion, she flipped her stained cloak to one shoulder, unsheathing a hidden dagger as she did so.

“Get out of my path before I drop you like the useless sack of flesh you are.” Rayen growled, tightening her grip on the hilt of the meager weapon.

Surprised at such aggression, the cad scuttled to the side and watched the dark woman with wary eyes.

“Idiot.” she mumbled softly as she replaced the weapon to its hidden sheath, turned, and strode towards the main entrance.

~*~


Without knocking, Rayen grabbed the knob of the grand door and flung it open, allowing it to shut with a harsh and resonating ‘BANG’ behind her. Coolly, the man in the chair swiveled to face her.

“Such hostility towards my cherrywood paneling.” he mused, causing the wrinkles on his aged face to twist with the movement of his leathery lips.

Rayen shuddered inwardly. He was just as horrid as the first time she had met him. Perhaps in his mid forties, the man was certainly old for his age. Stress had turned his hair from a handsome jet black to a mottled grey that had receded far beyond its original holding. His skin was pale and sagged where it should have been taught; but perhaps the worst feature about him was his milky-white, blinded right eye. Where as each of these compiled to make a horrific view of the man, each was amplified tenfold by the dancing firelight oozing from the fireplace behind him. Whatever else this small bit of light could not reach boiled with the ethereal greasiness of black evil.

“I’ve come for my afore-promised payment.” she answered harshly, ignoring his comment.

“Where are the rest of my employees?” the man asked nastily, his stiff white robes wrinkling as he straightened.

“Dead.”

“How?”

“Killed in the battle, of course. You managed to hire quite a lot of novices.” Rayen answered cattily.
T
he man’s crinkled brow shot up.

“You finished the whole settlement on your own?”

“Would you like proof?” she shot vehemently, reaching into her outward pocket and retrieving a golden trinket, never once taking her eyes off of the ghost of a man. With a flick of her delicate yet strong wrists, she tossed the item towards the man. It landed with a soft ‘clink’ at his knobbled feet.

His eyes flicked to the item on the floor. Once he realized what it was, his grey irises widened.

“Take your gold.” he stated as if in a trance, reaching into his pocket without glancing away from the glowing thing on the ground. “Take your gold and leave.”

Striding over to his seating form, she grabbed the full pouch he had produced from his pocket. Before she could turn to leave, he caught her wrist, sending an icy chill down her spine.

“Don’t wander too far. I have need of you again in the near future.” the man said, staring her hard in one eye.

“...What is it?” she asked, beginning to feel nervous.

“Another target. This one of Royal blood, not just a colony of refugee halflings. A perfect challenge for a mercenary of such skills."

“Who is it?”

“Arcon.”

“Arcon is dead.”

“No...but he soon will be.”

[Iwant2bafencer]

Wow Rayen I like. Haha you're a woman from my own heart . . . that is if you weren't after my king .
I like your style.

-----------------
Carpe Diem

[Moonitic]

Rayen, meet Ken-Dall. Ken-Dall, meet Rayen. Play nicely, ladies.

Brilliant. Simply brilliant!

[Swordsman]

Okay - even playing nicely, those two together would be creepy.

[Rayen]

Creepy's not always bad...

[Fencing Angel]

ok so how about just down right scary?? am thinking that 'twill be like mixing match with gas fumes..... <img border="0" title="" alt="[Wink]" src="wink.gif" />

and if that was intended effect... More power to ya.

[Moonitic]

Scary's even better...

[Rayen]

I'm home. This thread will be continued sohortly.

[Rayen]

As the rain began to sprinkle its spitting spray onto Rayen’s soiled garments, her mind rolled with the thunderheads above.

Execute a King? It wasn’t the thought of spilling blood of royal caliber that made her stomach turn; she would gladly slay any slave-holding King in an instant, without extensive thought or remorse. It wasn’t the idea of sneaking past the castle guards, staff, and royal family that bothered her; she had had enough experience with that sort of activity since she was no higher than her father’s knee.

Her mind drifted back to the brief meeting with that putrid man and his remarkably unintelligent servant. Why did he, the leader of a church, wish the King of Arconia killed?

She did not know.

And it troubled her.

Her mind still boiled with this absurdity. She had performed services for...less than desirable employers before, but even Rayen had to admit that this was the first one that actually had an aura of true blackness surrounding him. Only a person of pure evil could order a score of defenseless women and children to their deaths without batting an eye.

But she supposed she needn’t worry about that part. She had batted an eye for him.

A shrill cry shattered her thoughts into a million pieces, bringing her back to the present. Quite suddenly, she remembered the direness of her situation, and also that of her small tag-along companion.

Upon jogging briskly for a moment or two, she reached the point where her flea-bitten grey was grazing placidly. The stallion raised its head in greeting, whinnying softly as he butted her playfully in the stomach with his long nose. Rayen’s eyes filled with laughter as the creature lowered his head to be scratched. She complied.

“You rascal.” she commented, kissing the tiny white splotch on the horse’s forehead. Rayen rubbed the back of his ears and chuckled at the way her steed’s eyelids drooped.

This action was forgotten when another enraged shriek rose from a patch of soft moss not ten feet away. Wincing at the thought of this noise being heard by an overly curious passer-by, she strode over to the spot where she had left the bundle of tattered blankets. The stallion, annoyed at being suddenly abandoned, contented himself with a snort and a nibble on a patch of wildflowers he had missed earlier.

When she reached the area where she had carefully laid the carefully wrapped mass of cloth down, she knelt next to it.

“Quiet, you.” she said in mock seriousness, tapping the blanket with her index finger. “You’re going to wake the squirrels. They’ll throw their acorns at you, and then where will we be?”

The stallion snorted again.

Chuckling, she lifted the squirming babe from her make-shift bed and held it to her shoulder with one hand while the other undid the strap on her cloak. It fluttered to the ground and landed with a soft ‘crunch’ in a pile of leaves. Once this action had been completed, she cradled the olive-skinned Halfling child, carefully supporting the little girl’s thickly haired head.

She really is an odd little thing... Rayen thought to herself as she looked down on the infant. The young one’s mass of back hair seemed to stand completely on end, and was as soft to the touch as a kitten’s fur. Every once in awhile, her eyes would flutter open, revealing a glimpse of aqua blue. Perhaps the most noticeable feature about her was the oddly shaped ears that adorned her head and her petit build. She was obviously not a Human child. Still, Rayen was sure she could find a safe haven for this small youth. She had to.

The little girl gave a startled ‘meep’ when Rayen swung her onto the fallen cloak and fashioned it into a make-shift carrier. Tying the bottom of the cloth around her abdomen and the sleeves about her chest , it served its purpose well enough to last the trip to Arconia, where a suitable one could be found.

With her new parcel in place, she carefully lifted herself onto the back of her grey and nudged him forward with her heels. Talla, as Rayen had taken to calling her, grabbed two handfuls of her surrogate mother’s dark hair and nestled her head against the back of the woman’s neck. Rayen smiled.

An entire village had been lost not eight hours before. Each and every drop of blood that her victims had spilled stained the mercenary’s hands a deep maroon, which would eventually fade to a deep brown. Fade, not disappear.

She wasn't cruel enough to slaughter a child, but a King...that was a different story.

Still, it would be a long journey to Arconia.

[Rayen]

The gates of Arconia rose from the ground like two eagles taking flight in the early morning sun. Two marble pillars, more for show than effect, housed a wrought-iron gate that was almost never closed. Winter-rose vines wrapped both the gates and columns in their lush leaves and delicate blossoms, only adding to the brilliant blaze that was the sunrise.

Just past these two towering giants, rows of quaint, thatch-roof shops and homes lined either side of the street, and people poured from their entranceways decked in both battle and formal gear. Men dressed in leather tunics and knickers carried their sheathed weapons about their waists, while women gathered into groups on the edge of the roadways to gossip about the day’s newest trivial matter.

It seemed as if none of the many citizens of this city even noticed a woman with dark hair and eyes cantered in on a marvelous silver beast. While visitors were once a rarity for this little backwoods establishment, they were simply commonplace now. Once the traveler reached the gates, the clicked her tongue and slowed the stallion.

The woman riding in was able to catch snatches of conversations as her dapple-grey trotted briskly through the gates and onto the cobblestone road.

“Did you see him, Marian? He was...”

“My husband is the best when it comes to close-range...”

"He's going to win, he is!"

"Does he really talk to rocks?"

Bored, Rayen tuned the squabbling hens out and began looking for an inn. After all, she had to find a place for her and the child to stay for awhile. She had a feeling her ‘visit’ would last longer than a night, so a place that offered semi-permanent residence was just the thing she needed. Now to find it...

Before long, she came across a building with a wooden sign hanging from the eastern outer wall, which read ‘The Bitter End, Inn and Pub.'

Deciding this was worth a venture, she swung her right leg over and dismounted, trying not to jar her precious cargo too badly. With a skillful flick of the wrists, he had removed her steed’s bit and placed it in her pocket. That task completed, she tied the reins to a white fencepost, undid the carrier about her back, retrieved, cradled the sleeping child in the crook of her arm. Barely woken by the commotion, Talla yawned widely and grabbed a handful of Rayen’s clothing.

Checking the knot on the reins one last time, Rayen grabbed her saddlebag, slung it around her free shoulder, and started towards the door.

~*~

Steve heard the door open and close, so he looked up from the already spotless bar that he had been wiping for the last past hour. With all of his usual patrons either on a journey or headed for the tournament, his business for the day had been rather sad, if not downright inexistent.

“Hello there!” he greeted with a warm smile and a wink. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

Rayen sent him a genuine smile of her own. “I need a room for myself and the child, as well as a stable for my mount.” she responded, shifting the weight of Talla in her arms.

Steve grimaced.

“All the rooms are currently filled, thanks to this tournament for the crown!” he said.

Rayen’s face fell.

“Oh. Well, thank you anyway.” she said before smiling once more and turned for the door. While she was making her way across the room to the exit, Steve, glancing down at his empty money pot, had a sudden revelation.

“Wait!” the middle-aged man said, snapping his fingers. “I have a two-person room that I rented out to a smith. I could put up a room divider, bring in an extra cot, and it would almost be home!”

The woman spun to face him, startling Talla into grunting her sleepy protests while balling her tiny fists. Share a room with a smith? She supposed it was better than nothing.

“I’ll take it.” she said, striding back to the counter. “But I want half price on the room.”

Steve winced again, but reluctantly grumbled an agreement while Rayen pulled several golden coins from a pouch. Glancing at his deserted pub, he sighed.


It was going to be a very unprofitable day.