Book 3: Chapter 29: Liberation

Book 3: Chapter 29: Liberation

Like the regular armies of the land, there are ranks within the Mercenary’s Guild. Unlike the Adventurer’s Guild, which bases its ranks on metals, the Mercenary’s Guild adopts a more novel approach.

The guild is organized into so-called great companies, each a formidable force split into two Wings, each Wing comprising of five hundred warriors. These Wings are further divided into Claws, with each Claw numbering a hundred souls, and these, in turn, are divided into Scales, the smallest unit, consisting of ten fighters. Wing Leaders, Claw Leaders, and Scale Leaders serve as commissioned officers, and their ranks are reflected in the authority and respect they command within the guild outside of a campaign.

The nomenclature chosen by the guild is steeped in ancient legend and warrior mystique. A full assembly of a great company is also known as a 'Dragon'. It is said that in the ages before the Cataclysm, it took a full thousand men to slay one of the dreaded tyrants of the sky.

- In Search of the Dragons, by Captain Fiorella Haldane.

Checking my belongings, I made sure that nothing else had been taken from me by the poor excuses of ‘adventurers.’ I needed to get out of the inn for a while, sooner rather than later if at all possible. There were a few chores on my list that needed doing and it would be good to explore the city.

I ordered some juice and left the last dregs of my drink at the bar. Sitting at a table in the corner, I idly waited for half a turn of the clock. Zariyah’s mother, after settling a few ruffled feathers of her clients, joined me. I then spent a few minutes of my life explaining, in almost excruciating detail, what had just happened in her establishment. Elwin decided to join us, giving small nods at the right moments to affirm my narrative while quietly downing a warm ale. He soon wandered off in search of the bathroom, but Cordelia stayed seated by my side, her hands resting demurely in her lap.

Naira had been sympathetic. By all witnesses accounts I had been the victim. However, she still looked obviously worried, her hands shifting uncomfortably every now and again.

“Perhaps it would have been better if you had killed the lot of them. Simpler, at least,” she concluded shockingly.

“I beg your pardon?” I spluttered in my mug, almost comically choking.

“I see your people have not completely forgotten their murderous ways,” commented Cordelia snidely, looking fixedly at the older woman.

“The Mirage is a known troublemaking foreigner,” she explained, ignoring Cordelia’s barb. “Foreigners have a way of causing trouble, and the gods know they have a habit of dying. They bring their feuds with them to Al-Lazar, bundling them in their hearts and planting them fresh on new soil, wherever they go,” she paused for a moment, as if sifting through a past memory. I could see Cordelia almost bristling at this.

“But now, there are three of them, silver-ranked of the Guild, no less, who will feel themselves aggrieved by you. Fear will soon turn to thoughts of what could have been. It will fester away and turn to thoughts of petty vengeance. Such is the way of foolish men’s pride,” she warned as she adjusted a loose strand of dark hair.

“They did not seem so formidable to me, and their leader, if my recollection serves me well, was a woman. And if that is the quality of the Silver rank in this city, then my Copper, and the Copper of my friends, will be shield enough,” I boasted, placing my own badge on the table.

“Samasa, forgive me, but you must let me point out that this is Al-Lazar. One does not rise to the Silver without making friends and allies along the way. The Mirage is a troublemaker, but she is tolerated for a reason. Powerful as you might personally be, copper still makes for a poor shield. Please, you must try and understand your predicament,” she stated, her tone skirting the edges of patronizing.

A stark contrast to Cordelia’s bleak marble perfection, Zariyah had a dark beauty. And, if I was completely honest, it was the sort of beauty that felt much more attainable. Naira was an attractive woman in her own right, but Zariyah, bluntly speaking, was a younger, more attractive version of her mother. For some reason or other, I noticed that she had taken off the kohl and whatever cosmetics she used to enhance her natural beauty. It suited her. Without her painted face, she looked younger still, and I judged her to be younger than even myself.

I could feel my heart quickening, my eyes lingering upon the mute woman. For a moment I entertained thoughts as to the possible sounds she would make in the bedroom. Giving in to the throes of passion, would her affliction force her to remain silent?

As she drew closer, I felt an urge to score a few points and impress.

“Then you have misjudged me, and poorly at that. I have always intended to release your daughter. I simply required a guide for the city. Yet at every turn, events conspire to vex me. And I will not accept your money. Where I come from we do not deal in slaves like barbarians.”

“There is no slavery in Al-Lazar,” came Naira’s automatic response, as her daughter sat quietly next to her.

“You may paint over rot, but the rot remains. It is my firm belief that slavery, in all of its forms, is a great evil that needs to be expunged, wherever it is found,” I responded as smoothly as possible. I noticed that Cordelia looked at me as if I was explaining some sort of cosmic truth, her lips moving to silently repeat my words.

Surely those were inspirational words? Perhaps I needed to add some more conviction.

I noticed that Zariyah looked as if she wished to say something, the strain of holding something back drawing her features tight.

“Is there something you would like to add?” I inquired politely.

She looked at me then, not quite meeting my eyes. She shook her head and looked away. I was given to the study of her profile, the delicate arch of her nose, and the tilt of her eyes. I felt an urge to trace the line of her cheek, but I quashed it. Buried it beneath layers of decorum and doubt.

Was it disappointment that had flickered across her face? Had my words fallen short? In the court of a woman’s feelings, had I, unwittingly, played the fool?

Had I failed an unseen roll of the dice?

And for all that, not even a gain of Charisma. Did this world not reward doing good?