A Bountyhunters downfall

Tales of Redonia.

The chronicles of Mallich Norn.

Part 1: Bounty hunters' downfall.

Legend:

Arvangorn: God of commerce and trade.

Commissar: Representative of the ruling body of Haradrin, send to keep the law in the townsof Suneriv valley. The title is temporary, every five years the commissar is appointed another town.

Gyvur: God of agriculture and farmers.

Kopeck: Coinage used in the Suneriv valley. Comes in gold, silver and “Small” (copper, brassor bronze), platinum is unknown, instead this amount is paid is small bars of gold.

Policjaburo: Constabulary.

Praporshchik: Rank in the constabulary, akin to a lieutenant or sheriff.

Tivertsi: Clan of horsemen east of the Suneriv river. Known for their ferocity, skill with the sabre and the silver nuggets they use as currency.

Names:

The Norn Family:

Mallich Norn: a bounty hunter in Horodok

Igran: His father, also a bounty hunter.

Leva: His mother.

Landre: His brother, apprentice priest in the church of Gyvur.

Imhagan: His younger sister.

Waslov: Her husband, a fur trader.

In town:

Lord Swinden Harthill: Commissar of Horodok, a half elf of high birth.

Margis: the praporshchik in Horodok, in service to the commissar.

Rashal Dentor: A onetime trader, turned smuggler in service to the commissar.

Lev Radoslav: A smuggler.

1) Smuggler.

When the appointed call came, Mallich quickly finished his work on concealing the hunting trap and bolted to the ditch on the side of the road. He sat down on his haunches and waited for their quarry to turn the bend, leading him between the bushes and right into the ambush Mallich and his father, Igran, had set. Unconsciously his hand reached for the short sword he had on his belt, but stopped himself drawing it. Mallich was, unlike his father, of lithe build and depended more on his agility than on his brawn, but smugglers only were worth something alive, and sticking them had the tendency of leaving them dead.

Instead of his sword, he grabbed his club. He thought he heard the footfall of a man, maybe pulling a cart, but with the wind rustling the bushes he was in, he couldn't be sure. He was always the sharpest just before a catch, but sometimes his senses would get the better on him. Mallich had been right though; a long, wiry man turned the bend of the road, pulling an empty handcart. He looked tired, as if he had been away all night, Mallich and his father even had counted on that. The trek to the eastern plains was a long one, and while not perilous, still exhausting. The best moment to catch a smuggler was on his way back, when he was tired and not paying attention.

The man plowed on, straightening somewhat by seeing the smoke of the chimneys of nearby Horodok.This proved to be a mistake. The moment he looked up, his right foot touched down on one of the hunting traps Mallich had just set, and with a howl of pain the man fell down. Quicker than his girth would suggest, Mallichs' father ran out of the ditch on the other side of the road and hit the man over the head with his club. In two swings to the temple the man was unconscious. Seeing all was in hand, Mallich put away his club and loosened his shackles. He easily walked up to the scene and put the shackles on the man's wrists.

“Not a smart one, this man Lev is”, his father said, “bet this was the first time smuggling for him”.

Mallich grinned up at his father and added: “And the last time, as far as I reckon the commissar”.

Mallich and Igran hoisted the unconscious form of the unfortunate Lev on his own handcart, searched him for the telltale silver nuggets the tribesmen of the east used as currency and, when satisfied they had enough evidence by finding them, took off towards their hometown of Horodok.

2) Commissar.

Lord Swinden Harthill was not happy, praporshchik Margis found out the hard way when he came into the large hall of Haradok keep. The fire was down to embers, and the torches on the walls gave just enough light to see the angered expression on the lords' face.

“Margis!”, the lord shouted when he saw the praporshchik come in, “you come to tell me how you caught another of these local tax-evaders? You come to let me know I need not worry anymore, no need for those bounty hunters anymore, you got it all under control?”

Margis looked around, as if searching for support, but except for some human servants no one was there. Lord Harthill had only been the commissar of Horodok for the past six months, but life had changed drastically since he came. The former commissar had been an old woman of low noble birth, who had been strict but just. This one was highborn, also strict, but far from just.

“Lord, I'm sorry, I only come to report that the Norns have catched Lev Radoslav smuggling, Lord...” He trailed off, not certain how to make this news sound like any kind of succes.

“Of course!”, the Lord almost whispered, “of course, the Norns, you do know that all the income of our raised taxes go to that family lately? Just because you and your men are too lazy to catch some smugglers yourselves? Everything I worked for, and then as reward put in this rathole, and I also have to abide by incompetent peasants like you...” The commissar took a breath, seemed to be calmer now, almost thoughtful.

“Go away, take their well earned money and give it to them, and oh yes, send Rashal in.”As the praporshchik slowly walked back to the door the lord called out again in an almost friendly voice:

“Keep your men off the streets this evening Margis, let them have the night off, they deserved it after all their hard work.”

The praporshchik let out a surprised grunt, but nodded. On the way out he gave the big, evil looking human that was seated on an bench near the door a nod.

“I can go?”, the man asked.

“Yes”, Margis said, “Lord Harthill is waiting for you. I warn you though, he is in a whimsical mood, could easily throw you back in the brig as he let you out yesterday.” With that praporshchik Margis walked down the hall, off the stairs and into the afternoon sun. He had to pay a bounty hunter, and he had good news for his men.

3) Homestead.

Mallich was at home, counting out the gold kopecks he and his father made by their latest apprehension. Business was good the last few months. Ever since the new commissar was appointed from Haradrin almost every eastward trader in town had become smuggler overnight. Trade with the tribes of the east had been sparse always, but with the new taxes on luxury goods it was in no way profitable anymore, unless you could get out of paying taxes at all.

Why the commissar had raised the taxes to this level, Mallich didn't know, or even care. All he knew was that he and his father had a new source of income, which was much easier and less dangerous than finding and apprehending real criminals. Because of the rise in smuggling, and the other harsh laws the new commissar put on, the praporshchik was way in over his head, and the Norn family gladly helped out, for a price of course.

The last week had seen no less than four smugglers taken and paid for. At twenty gold kopecks per catch, twenty more if the smuggler was found guilty, the Norn family was getting rich fast. The only real problem they encountered in their work had been with a smuggler by the name of Rashal Dentor. Even trapped and after multiple hits by his fathers club, he still raged and fought. Mallich had to swing in with his own weapon and was forced to use both his shackles to bind the furious man. The rest of the apprehensions were as easy as the last one of Lev Radoslav. Most traders just didn't have the skills to be good smugglers, lacking the stealth and perception needed to keep out of the hands of the law.

After putting the gold coins away, Mallich took one gold kopecks' worth in smalls and silver to go to the market and buy some chickens. The whole family would come for dinner this evening, including his brother Landre, who was a apprentice priest at the church of Gyvur, and his sister Imaghan, who just married a rich fur trader called Waslov and lived in a nice townhouse on the edge of Haradok.

On the way to the market, Mallich entered the small church of Arvangorn and made some sarcastic offerings to this god of traders, thanking him for the influx of money he granted their family. The traders misfortune had been their source of riches lately, and he wanted to thank the god for looking the other way.

After his offerings he walked on to the market square and only stopped once, wondering. He thought he saw someone he recognized, although he was certain earlier this week that man had been put in the brig, awaiting trial. When the figure disappeared in the busy marketplace, Mallich went to buy his chickens, and thought nothing more of it.

4) Preparation.

Rashal Dentor was in a pickle, and he knew it. His conversation with Lord Swinden Harthill had been humbling, and ultimately only had brought him between an rock and a hard place. Originating from Triboar, Rashal only had come to Haradok to make some money on the eastbound trade, which had been easy because there were not many competitors, and those were not as strong and well build as Rashal was to make the long trek east. Yes, live had been easy until the new commisar had come. With the new taxes, the commissar had almost outlawed trade with the tribes. Rashal had been in the dark about the why at first, but he was quickly made the wiser when one of the men of the praporshchik had knocked on his door one evening, asking him to come for a “talk” with the commissar.

Rashal had been made an offer he couldn't refuse. He could keep up the trade with the east, the praporshchik and his men would keep their eyes shut on this, and he could keep twenty percent of his profit. The rest would go directly to the Lord, no questions asked. Refusal had been impossible, the commissar had made clear that the other option was to be tried and publicly punished for smuggling.

Rashal had agreed, agreed and failed. The Norn family had captured Rashal while heading to the east, he had fought for what he was worth, but couldn't escape. The praporshchik couldn't turn a blind eye on this, not in public anyway, so he had been incarcerated, and the Lord had him released after two days in the brig. Lack of evidence, was the justification. The real reason became apparent after the Lord was done raging to Rashal.

“You can of course make up for this fiasco,” the Lord had said, “maybe even get some revengeout of it, yes? I have an preposition for you, though you have to work out the details yourself. You see, I need my money back. Any profit I made off our deal is now in the coffers of the Norn family, about a thousand gold Kopeck...”

Rashal was uncertain what was asked of him, and stared at the lord uncomprehending.

“You get that money back Rashal, you get it back anyway you seem fit, and in such a way so I can't be linked to it! That way you save your miserable hide, and maybe your business. Now go, you have this night. The praporshchik has sent his men on leave.” With that the lord turned his back on Rashal, peering over some maps and ledgers, dismissing even the notion of Rashal still standing there.

Rashal had since that conversation been planning all day, buying ropes and cloth at the marketplace, finding a perfect location just outside of town and spending the rest of the time waiting outside the residence. This evening he would save his own skin and his business, and he didn't even have to hurt anyone for it. Not badly at least.

5) Feast.

The residence of the Norns was bathed in light. Mallich sat at his normal place at the large family table and for the first time in more than a month the whole family was sitting at their customary places. Mallichs' mother, Leva, had prepared a hearty stew of potatoes and turnips, and no less than five chickens had been grilled for the occasion. Next to Mallich was his brother, Landre, in his sturdy robes and carrying the sickle amulet that was connected to the priesthood of Gyvur. He was talking loudly about some goblins that had been stealing grain and the way he had caught them.

Opposite Mallich his sister Imaghan and her new husband sat, silent most of the time, but the smiles they threw each other and the rest of the family made more than up for that. When they talked it was mostly of the fur trade and the multitude of people they had met in that profession. Mallichs' father and mother where on the top ends of the table, celebrating the evening just for the sake of it.

“Strange thing, those goblin raids,” Landre said after boasting about his adventures, “It seems like they are not really interested in the grain at all. I get the feeling they are also memorizing the surroundings, as if these are sort of scout missions. As if they have something else planned.”

Igran grunted, and then shrugged, saying: “If they do, it's doomed to fail, I never met a goblin worth his salt if it comes to thinking. Me and Mallich have dealt with them before, and if they really become a pest, we'll deal with them again.” He winked at Mallich, who nodded, happy to be included in this conversation, and included as a full partner of his father.

“We even traded once with goblins in the east,” Waslov said, “or were those Orcs? I never get them straight. Not worse to trading with the Tivertsi clan. Human, Orc, or Goblin, all those horse riders are about the same to me. Not that it matters, with the new taxes I stopped trading to the east altogether...”

After this the talk went to happier things, not at least the fortune the Norns had made catching smugglers. No less than a thousand gold Kopeck had been earned in the last half year, and Igran and Mallich were thinking about expanding their business into guarding trade caravans. Options were talked about, and Waslov even offered to take a stake if his trade caravans to Haradrin could get protection from their company for reduced price.

Around midnight Landre, Imaghan and Waslov said their goodbyes. Landre was bound to the abbey nearby, while Imaghan and Waslov would walk the mile to their townhouse. Imaghan hugged Mallich on the way out. “I am so happy,”she said, “I couldn't imagine a better husband and a better family.”

With a kiss on Mallichs cheek, she walked outside. An hour later there was frantic knocking on the door. Mallich opened the door, dressed in his nightgown, and saw Waslov collapse in the doorway, his face bloodied and his left arm at a strange angle.

“He took Imaghan,” Waslov wailed, “he took her and I couldn't protect her.”

With that Waslov lost consciousness.

6) Abduction.

Rashal Dentor had been waiting for the whole evening outside the Norn house, listening to whiffs of conversation and the laughter from inside. He was certain he could get the money back, he was certain his plan would work. He had thought it over at least five times and could see no flaws.

He would go for the woman. Both the bounty hunters were too though, and the other brother was a priest, someone he didn't want to mess with. The mother never came out at night. No, the young woman, Imaghan he believed she was called, would have to do. Her husband was a trader, not a fighter, and Rashal was certain that he could easily dispatch him.

His plan was flawless; follow the pair when they went back home, attack in the most wooded area, dispatch the husband, take, bind and gag the woman and bring her to the small abandoned shed he had found about three miles out of town. Then ask for ransom, a thousand gold kopeck worth of ransom.

His plan was flawless, except for the fact that he was clumsy at precisely the wrong time, very clumsy, and stupid all of the time, very stupid. Everything had been going to plan. Around midnight the family siad their goodbyes. The priest brother and the husband and wife walked together for a short time, until the brother turned left towards the abbey. He kept his distance while he kept following the pair. They were talking to each other and carrying a lamp, making it easy for him to stay hidden outside the circle of light. When they came to the wooded area he had scouted before, he ran up to their backs and hit the man over the head with a sturdy club, meanwhile grabbing the woman by her hair. The man went down, but tried to get up, kicking and screaming, so for good measure Rashal swung the club twice more, once in the face, and once to the left arm of the man, breaking it. He then hit the woman once with his fist to her temple, swung her on his back and ran into the bushes. The man got up and shouted, and tried to follow him into the woods.

It was the running part that was his problem. He hadn't counted on the darkness in the woods, nor had he counted on the man trying to follow. He stepped up his pace, sometimes looking back. All of a sudden he felt panicked. What was he doing? He forgot to cover his face, so the man would know who he was, did he have dealings with him? His heart raced, he turned around, certain he heard something, stepped back... and stumbled.

He fell on his back, the woman he carried breaking his fall, and heard an ominous “snap”. The until now trashing woman all of a sudden went limp. When Rashal stood up, he saw that the womans'head was laying in a strange angle. He felt her breath, cursed and ran away in the dark towards the shed he had planned to use for his kidnapping, leaving the dead womans' body behind in the woods.

7) Discovery.

When Waslov was conscious again, Mallich and his father went immediately to the place he described where the abduction had taken place. Igran was a seasoned tracker, and in no time had found the tracks of heavy boots in the soft soil of the bushes, and not much later Mallich and Igran stumbled upon the body of their sister and daughter. Igran fell to his knees next to her, pleading with all the gods he knew to make her alive again.

After about ten minutes Landre also arrived, but none of his priestly magic was strong enough to bring Imaghan back to life. They took up Imaghans' body and carried her back to the abbey of Gyvur. The abbot took the body over with great care, and consoled Landre and Mallich as best he could, but Igran was devastated, and inconsolable. He only sat on a chair, looking outside, murmuring his daughters' name over and over again.

Waslov, who had received healing from Landre before he went after Mallich and Igran, came to the abbey not an hour later. With him was Leva, Mallichs'mother. Stricken with grief, Leva cried a while in Landre's arms, but then dried her tears and went to the abbot to arrange the funeral. Afterwards she tried to get through to her husband, but even she, the love of his live, didn't seem to get any reaction out of Igran.

“What did you see?” Mallich shouted to Waslov while grabbing his jerkin, “How could you let this happen? How could we ever have trusted you to take care of our sister?” He knew he wasn't fair to Waslov, who had been nothing but a kind man and a good husband to his sister, but he was too angry and saddened to care.

“I'm so sorry,” Waslov cried, “I loved her so much, I tried to fight, it was all going so fast though, I never even saw him coming. I saw his face though, I will never forget his face!”

At this Mallich stopped shouting. “Are you sure?” he asked, “would you recognize him if you saw him in a crowd? Was he from Horodok?”

“Yes,” Waslov said, meanwhile straightening his clothes, “I even dealt with him once or twice, a man called Reshel, Rashal or something.”

“Rashal Dentor?” Mallich cried out, “But we handed him to praporshchik Margis not three days ago, got him for smuggling, how did he get loose?”

Lost for an answer Waslov only shrugged and started crying again. Mallich started pacing, angry, sad and with a building hate rising in his chest. He had the feeling this was not an accident, and a small time smuggler like Rashal couldn't be the brains behind this murder.

Mallichs' father, Igran, sat on the chair in the hall of the abbey, while his wife Leva was holding him thight. He seemed not to notice, and instead stared with blind eyes and murmured: ”Imaghan, my daughter...”

8) Funeral.

Rashal couldn't get the image of the dead girl out of his head, not only out of guilt, but mostly out of fear. He had spoiled his only chance to get the money for the commissar. His only options were to get the money, let himself be at the mercy of the commissar and hope for the best, or flee. Every time he remembered the image of the girl with the broken neck, he felt all the guilt, self incrimination and fear well up in a wave, and his first instinct was to get away from here. But he knew that fleeing was a fools' errand. The commissar was of high birth, and would put anything in motion to get him back in the brig or worse if he did that. No, he needed another plan. A desperate plan.

He had been hiding out for the two days following his “accident” in the shed he would have used to keep the girl prisoner. He was relieved the Norns never took the time to track him to there, something he was sure they could have done. He was cold, filthy and thoroughly miserable. And he couldn't come up with anything.

When for the hundredth time he remembered the image of the dead girl, it dawned on him. “Of course,” he said to himself, “the funeral! They won't be home when there is the funeral, the only thing I have to do is wait for the funeral.” With that he searched his backpack for his hood, put on his cape and went to town. Trying to hide his features to anyone he might meet.

He staked out just outside the graveyard, trying to remember which god the one called Landre worshiped. He had found a perfect hiding spot in a ditch across the road of the graveyard. That way he could see any procession coming from any side. The moment he was sure it was the funeral of the Norn woman, he would run to their house, break in, get the money and be back in the commissars' good graces in no time. He imagined himself back in the trade with the eastern clans, getting rich, having the most beautiful wife, one that adored him...

As his thoughts trailed off, he missed the procession coming down the road. Only when the wailing of the women and the droning of the priest was audible, he shook awake of his daydream. The procession was right in front of him, and it was the funeral of that Norn girl! He stood up out of the ditch and started to run towards the house of the Norn family.

“Halt that man!” Rashal heard behind him, “That is the murderer! Halt that man!”

The Norn family was, if not loved, then highly respected. At least ten heavy hands grabbed Rashal and two burly farmers wrestled him down. He saw the lean, brown haired bounty hunter son of the Norn family come up to him with a club, saw him swing, felt the hit and lost consciousness.

9) Capture.

Mallich still couldn't believe it. “The man must be an idiot,” he said to Waslov, “Why would he be sitting in a ditch outside thecemetery? Why run as soon as we came in?”

Waslov shrugged, puzzled himself, but Landre put in: “It might be his guilt, wanting to pay respect to his victim, not knowing how to atone...”

“I have some ideas about how he can atone,” Mallich said, “Lets get to the commissar, and let him have his rightful punishment. I believe hanging and quartering is the normal punishment for murder.”

The three of them were on their way to the town hall. It was three days after the funeral and today would be the trial against Rashal Dentor. Igran had not recovered from his bleak madness, and Leva stayed at home to take care of her husband, so Mallich, Landre and Waslov would represent the grieved party.

The funeral had, after Waslov identified the killer, been a strange one. Although Mallich had wanted to pay his respects to his sister, he also during the whole funeral was impatient to get to the authorities to deliver her killer. Immediately after the funeral he had brought, together with his brother and two neighbors, Rashal Dentor to the policjaburo, where praporshchik Margis had his offices. Following the murder, the praporshchik had made a show of searching for the murderer, but more than visiting the murder site and filing a report hadn't been done.

When they entered the market square, they had gathered quite a following. Today would be a diversion of the daily business, something the townsfolk of Horodok couldn't let pass. The three men entered the town hall, with half the townsfolk in tow...

The commissar stood after hearing both parties, and managed to give the three young men in the grievance stall a look of sympathy.

“I must weight this accusation, for its extent is great, and the consequences high.” he said,

“therefore I rather err on the side of caution, than condemn an innocent to such a cruel fate of hanging and quartering.” Again a look of sympathy, but Mallich saw disdain, hate even coming from the commissar toward him and his companions.

“I judge, by lack of evidence, this man, Rashal Dentor, to be innocent of the crime of murder and say that he is free to go henceforth.”

Mallichs' face contorted, he let out an involuntary scream, threw back the chair he was seated on and in a flash was next to the accused, short sword in hand. With three short stabs in the side, Rashal Dentor fell to the ground bleeding.

10) Justice.

“Perfect! Just perfect! How the stupidity of that man could play me right in the hands! In one sweep I have solved all my problems!”

Lord Swinden Harthill was rubbing his hands in pleasure, a look of avarice in his normally smooth face. Praporshchik Margis had never seen the commissar so pleased. He couldn't feel pleased himself. He was sure Rashal Dentor had been indeed the murderer, set on the path by the commissar, although it was never explicitly said. He had been investigating further, although the commissar had forbidden it, and had found the shed where Rashal had been hiding. He had quite a good idea of what the initial plan of Rashal had been, but never said anything. He had a family to take care of.

“And that Mallich, that Norn pup, he even helped me by killing Rashal,” the commissar droned on, “no-one is the wiser, and I can legally get all my money back and get rid of that pain in the butt of a bounty hunter. Only shame is that I need to find me a new smuggler, but oh well...”

Right after the scene in the courtroom, Mallich Norn had been taken away by five of the praporshchiks' men, thrashing and screaming. He was now down in the brig of the town hall, awaiting “judgment”. Praporshchik Margis had a good sense of what that judgment would be, so what the commissar said next surprised him a little.

“Of course we can't kill him, no, we have to keep the townsfolk in check and Mallich is respected. No, we exile him, we brand him, we whip him, but we don't kill him...”

Lord Harthill stopped pacing, looked directly at Margis and said:”Get three of your most discreet men, we will dole out justice immediately and announce it tomorrow.” Half an hour later Margis, the commissar and three of Margis men were down in the brig. Mallich was rattling the bars, cursing at them and spitting on the floor in front of them, until one of the men hit him on the head. with the flat of his blade.

“I hereby find you guilty of the death of Rashal Dentor,” Lord Harthill declared, “because of the circumstances I will not sentence you to death, for you were stricken with grief. Instead I fine your family for a thousand gold kopeck, and sentence you to fifty whiplashes, branding and ultimately exile from Horodok and its environs, to be carried out right now.”

The still stunned Mallich was lifted out of the brig by two of the praporshchiks' men, and was bound to a pole in the courtyard. One of them took out his whip, and on the commissars' say started lashing.

The skin on Mallichs back was broken after three lashes, after ten Mallich stopped screaming and after twenty lashes his whole back was a bloody pulp.

“Turn him around,” Lord Hartill said, his eyes gleaming, “We need some skin left to brand him.”

On it went, and when also his chest and legs were crisscrossed with terrible wounds, one of the men for good measure kicked Mallich in the side, viciously. Another took out the branding iron that had been heating in a brazier nearby, and put it on the only unmarred skin left on Mallichs' right shoulder. Mallich only convulsed once, and then dropped back to his unconscious state.

After their dirty work the praporshchiks' men loaded the unconscious Mallich on a cart, took him to the edge of town and unceremoniously dropped him on the side of the road. One of them even whistled a rowdy tune on the way back.

Praporshchik Margis was on his way home after witnessing the punishment extracted on Mallich, when he suddenly stopped, seemed to linger a while in the middle of the road and then turned back towards the abbey of Gyvur.

11) Save.

Mallich woke up on a small cot in a cell. At first he thought he was still in the brig, but when he looked around, he saw that the walls of this cell were covered in murals of harvests and farmers, and that above his cot the symbol of a sickle hung.

“You're awake,” he heard a familiar voice say, “that's...good... I'm sorry Mallich, I'm very sorry. We did what we could, but some of the damage is permanent. They hit you hard, and some of your organs won't heal, not even with the abbots' magic. It was good the praporshchik came to tell me were you were.”

Mallich grunted, looked at the man talking. His brother, Landre stood in the corner of the cell, pouring water in a cup. Mallich tried to move and gasped by the pain he felt in his sides and his lower back. It felt as if his insides were burning.

“Stay down, you need rest,” Landre said. “we'll hide you for as long as possible, so take the time you have to heal as much as you can. Here, drink.” With that he set the cup to Mallichs' lips. Even swallowing was painful to Mallich, and after draining the cup he fell asleep again.

A week later Mallich was able to walk again, though every step hurt. If he stooped the pain in his sides seemed to subside, so he walked around the narrow hallways of the abbey looking like an old man. The robes he wore added to that image. He had to stay inside, out of the view of any window. His sentence had been announced in the market square, and he had been declared outlaw, with a price of fifty gold kopeck on his head if ever he came back in Horodok.

Two weeks later Landre and Waslov were with Mallich in the dining hall of the abbey.

“In a week I'll send a caravan to Haradrin, carrying furs and silk,” Waslov said, “If we are smart about it, we can get you in Mallich, without being noticed.”

“And rob me of my chance of revenge?” Mallich whispered, “I want to kill those bastards. They are responsible for the death of Imhagan, though Rashal Dentor did the deed. But I'm sure the commissar and the praporshchik thought it up, I suspected something, but the fine of exactly a thousand gold kopeck is too much of an coincidence. They are responsible for my suffering, innocent though I was!” Mallichs' voice raised, until he felt another fiery stab in his abdomen. He weezed, slumped back in his chair and stared with hate-filled eyes at a mural.

“And you're going to manage that how?” Landre asked, “I'm sorry Mallich, I understand your desire, though I can not condone it, but even so. You're weak,hiding inside doesn't make that better, and you're up against a high born Lord. You don't stand a chance.”

“So you'll not help me extract my revenge?” “I'm sorry, no, it is against my beliefs, Mallich, but not only that, I think it is suicidal.”

“Then so be it,” Mallich said with a sneer, “send me on the cowards' route, I'm too weak to do anything about it. But know this, I will get justice for my sister and for me, even if you two are too afraid and craven to help me.”

Landre tried to say something more, to lessen the anger and hatred he saw in his brother, but Mallich had already thrown his chair back and was walking toward his cell. Waslov and Landre looked at each other, saddened and hopeless. Their brother and friend had changed during his ordeal, and in their minds the change was a bad one.

12) City.

The Cleaver Pub was situated in the seedier part of Haradrin. A pub frequented by ruffians and sell swords, gamblers and pimps. A pub Gren Laag felt perfectly at home at. No self respecting Half Elf would frequent this pub, not even this part of the city, but Gren Laag was a Half elf, but not a self respecting one. He was a small time fixer for numerous thieves guilds, and though he wouldn't get rich from his work, he had a steady income. But he felt trouble brewing, the human thieves were more and more disgruntled by the Half Elven leadership in the guilds. They resented the fact that even in the criminal world, the power lay in the same hands as in the normal world, and were muttering louder and louder about it.

Out of necessity he had recently broadened his field of work outside Haradrin. The tension in the guilds was palpable, and every criminal in the city walked on tiptoes. There were less and less reckonings with guild-less thieves and debtors in the city, and the influence of the guilds waned, leaving a few pubs and bars in their power, but not much else. He was ready to go home, the whole evening had been a waste, not one note of one of the guilds, not one representative with an assignment for him. Business had to get better soon, or he would be back on the streets himself, roughing up some gambling addicts. Not something Gren Laag was excited for. He paid for his ales, asked the barkeep for the tenth time today to please keep any note or letter to him and turned to the door.

Just as he did that the door to the pub opened, and a stooped figure walked in. Although the figure was bend, he walked lightly, as if on tiptoe. He was clad in a hooded cape, and his face was obscured. It seemed like the man was walking towards him. Gren Laag put one of his hands behind his back, grabbing the hilt of the dirk he always carried in the small of his back. He relaxed when he finally saw the face of the man.

“Mallich!” Gren shouted, and clapped the man the back. The man cringed, as if the clap on the back pained him. Gren was puzzled by this reaction, Mallich had never been a muscled man, but wiry and of sufficient strength.

“Hello Gren.” Mallich wheezed, recovering from the pain the small clap on his shoulder had caused, “As you can see, some things have changed a bit.” Mallich managed a sardonic grin as he straightened himself a little.

“I have come upon some small misfortune lately, Gren, and I sort of need work, fast. Oh, and some leather armor and weapons. If you can get your hand on a hand crossbow and a rapier... I'll pay you for them, I'm afraid heavier weapons won't work anymore.”

Gren nodded, he had always liked Mallich, he had always been good to his word and provided income. “I'm sorry Mallich,” he said, “No work in the city right now, but I heard of a substantive bounty on some cultists back towards Triboar, maybe worth checking out? And for weapons, I'll see what I can do. Come back tomorrow, I'll give you the name of the town and your gear.”

“Thank you, Gren,” Mallich said, with a sardonic grin, “and oh yes, call me Rashal from now on... Rashal Dentor.”