Return to Canifis

arms bare. He looked down at Sulla with distaste. He snarled once, showing gold-capped teeth. He rode toward Sulla, stopping when he was within ten yards of him and dismounting in one easy move.

Even so, he stood as high as his horse.

“My name is Greagor, but I’m known as Behemoth,” he spat, his hand on the coiled whip at his belt. The weapon was made of silver and had black bands along its length. “You are Sulla?”

“I am,” Sulla said. “I am your employer, and might I remind you, you are a day late.” He shook his head angrily. “Who are the rest of you? I am happy with you and the dwarf, but the dandy and the mage less so.”

“We are a company,” the dwarf replied as he rode up. “It’s all or none. We are famed in The Wilderness, employed by His Majesty on tasks that carry us far from civilised lands, and we use less than civilised means to survive and do the job. And that is why we are a day late, we were detained in that pitiless place. You will have no cause to doubt us.”

That remains to be seen.

“My name is Axanamander,” he continued. “They call me the Mad Axe.”

“I have heard of the Mad Axe,” Sulla replied. “Your name and deeds have been known to the Kinshra for many years. You have served our lord well.” He bowed his head in deference, and as he looked up he saw the dwarf awkwardly do the same.

“My name is Mergil,” the dandy said, riding forward. “And you are right to assume that I do not possess the gift of strength or steel, nor of magic and fell sorcery. My humble skills are more earthly.” He reached into the saddlebag of the horse he led behind him, producing a yellow liquid in a vial. “I am an expert with potions and plants. I am a botanist, in truth, and originally I employed my three esteemed colleagues to travel with me through The Wilderness while I harvested the flora there. In time, my talents were proved beyond debate, and I joined their number.”

“There are none better than him at what he does,” the giant growled. “He can brew potions to speed or slow your heart, to flush your muscles with energy, or to make you sleep. More than once he has saved each of our lives from rotting wounds. And when he’s not travelling with us, he’s marrying rich widows who all seem to die within a year, quite naturally.” The man gave a golden grin to Mergil, who bowed his head to one side and smiled slyly. “What is it now Mergil, number three?”

“It is,” the dandy admitted. “A rich young widow who drank something that made her love me. In a few months she will drink something else, alas, poor sweet girl, and I will inherit everything.”

So, a self-confessed poisoner.

The raven-haired woman in the cart shot Sulla an angry glare.

“You told Straven you wanted someone who could get the job done. That is us. Don’t complain.”

“And who are you then, mage?”

“My name is Turine. I practise my art with the full knowledge of King Roald’s government, and by extension the Wizards’ Tower itself.”

“Then you aren’t a rogue mage?”

Turine laughed scornfully. Sulla felt his anger grow.

“I am,” she said haughtily. “Yet Misthalin needs those like me. The Wizards’ Tower does little or nothing these days. When something needs doing, Varrock calls on us renegades. Of them I am the most feared. I am surprised you haven’t heard of me?”

Oh Turine, I have heard of you. They say you walk the abyss, and converse with devils, enjoying the favours of its foul denizens while godly men fear what you have offered them in return. You are reputed to converse with animals and conjure creatures to do your bidding. I have heard all your tales, and little do I believe them.

Still, you might be useful.

“Mages are of little importance to me,” Sulla said, “unless you can give me two new hands.” He knew the answer she would give and she didn’t let him down. It was a non-committal shake of her head, as if she might be able to do as he asked, but thought it too troublesome.

It is like the tales she spins about herself. Impossible to disprove.

“Huh,” he responded. “Not unexpected. But we have more pressing-and more profitable-matters at hand, for the Wyrd is nearby, toward the lumberyard. My associate can track her as no other can. That is what gives us our advantage.”

“Your associate?” Mad Axe muttered. “You mean your werewolf.”

It is good they know, and good that they are unafraid. Although a bit of fear would have been helpful.

“Indeed so,” he replied. “He is with us now, watching. Jerrod!”

The werewolf appeared from the undergrowth only a few yards to Turine’s left. Sulla saw with satisfaction the fear grow on her face as she fumbled with her runes. Behind him, Behemoth’s horse neighed.

If he had been in earnest, she would be dead by now.

“No surprises, Sulla,” Behemoth shouted. “We haven’t any for you. Straven thinks you are too valued a customer to lose, so he isn’t playing you false.”

Sulla laughed.

“I would be a fool to trust his word wouldn’t I?” He turned serious. “And would any of you really follow a fool?”

Their silence gave him his answer.

“Very well,” he said, “let us begin while we still have the daylight.”

* * *

Jerrod had scouted the lumberyard for a second time. When he came back, Sulla breathed in relief.

I am vulnerable without him. And they fear him, even though they hide it well.

“She is there, Sulla,” Jerrod said. “Hiding in the eastern end of the warehouse”

“It’s a fitting place for her to make her lair,” Behemoth said. “This place is rarely used, for rumours say it’s haunted.”

“It is,” the Mad Axe grinned. “By her.”

The wooden building was large and silent. It looked close to ruin, and the fading afternoon sun contrasted the deep shadows eerily. Gaping holes appeared among its slatted sides, big enough for a man to squeeze through. The roof was little better.

“What if she chooses to run, rather than fight?” Turine asked. “Can we catch her?”

“Can you fly mage?” Sulla spat back. “Now, let’s get ourselves ready.”

Mergil stripped off his surcoat and fastened a leather-studded jacket across his chest. He made certain his sword drew freely in his scabbard, and then he picked several potions from his saddlebags, slotting them into custom-made leather rings in his belt. Both the Mad Axe and Behemoth downed a small vial each of yellow potion, chinking their glasses together as if in celebration and grimacing from the taste. The Mad Axe, Sulla noted, had two weighted bolos on his belt that held his chain mail against his bulging stomach.

Behemoth loosened his whip.

“Surely we want to take her alive?” Mergil suggested, his hand holding a glass bottle in which a green fog swirled. “If I break this near her, it should be enough to put her to sleep.”

Sulla saw Jerrod curl his lip and shake his head.

“Too much of a risk,” he said.

“Hmm. I’ll try it anyhow. The reward for a living prisoner is far greater.”

Turine nodded and examined her runes.

“If we try to take her alive, then I will snare her with my magic. That should give you time, Mergil. You know how we do it.”

The mercenaries nodded as one, and Jerrod looked to Sulla again.

“Very well, then,” Sulla said. “Jerrod will lead us in.”

The werewolf moved in absolute silence, guiding them west. They passed through a hole in the low wooden stockade that surrounded the lumberyard, and sprinted quickly across the open ground. The rest followed.

“Is everyone ready?” Sulla hissed as they entered the building through a rotted door. In the shadows, the mercenaries nodded, and he was just able to make out their movements.