It was a backwater town, but it was the largest town
William Riot had lived in. ‘Lived’ was a relative term. Perhaps orbited would have been better, for he stopped in long enough to find a suitable job, then left to track it down before returning.
Sometimes the job was easy; a burglar, or a cockolding swine who was still in the city and simple to track. Sometimes it was difficult - a runaway daughter with her lover, or a lost child in the grasslands. He was always well-paid when the ‘lost’ one was found alive. Sometimes they were found, but not in the condition the hirer had wanted. When that happened Will was rarely paid. It wasn’t
his fault the wanderers grew parched or fell victim to the wolves. His job was to find them and bring them back. Yet the ones paying the coin rarely cared why their quarry had died. They blamed him in all things.
That was why this prospect was so appealing. Will’s sponsor needed a scout for this expedition, one who would do as he was told and report back to him when it was done. The ranger would not need to find anyone or ensure their safely; merely help lead a small group of scribes who wanted to draw pretty pictures that showed one how to get to there from here. The pay was generous, and the contract solid. He patted its pouch as he walked, reassuring himself that it was legitimate.
He had spent the night alone, playing with the strange lodestone and needle he had been gifted after returning a wife to her sea captain husband (that had been a spunky one). It was a clever device, the balance impeccable, and when he turned his body the pointed end always pointed to the north. He was interested to see if it was as good as his own direction sense, and carefully wrapped the small box away before tucking it in his satchel. His bath that evening had been a rare treat, and though the women in the inn were comely, the chance of catching some crawling beastie so soon before a journey made him avoid their company. There was nothing worse than taking an uninvited ‘friend’ with you when you did not know how long you would be gone.
Will double checked his arrows; there would be no replacements where they went, and carefully coiled his extra string into the base of the quivery. He strapped his sword around his waist, then swung his grey-green woolen cloak upon his shoulders. The few bits of armor he wore; the metal bracers upon his wrists and the pauldron on his left shoulder, were light and did not impede his ability to fire his bow or climb upon the rooftops if he needed. High hopping across the closely spaced roofs gave him freedom from the crowded foot traffic below. Aside from the occasional hissing cat or raven, he had this road to himself. Soon he spied the one described to him by his sponsor and climbed down the side of a building to land lightly on the cobbled street below.
The gaggle of soldiers milling about gave credence that this was, indeed, the group he was to meet. And there in their midst was their leader. He was quiet a big fellow, a massive spear resting against the gate near him, and a feline helm and fur about his shoulders. The layers of armor and the wicked blade at his waist told Will that he was not a man to be fucked with. No…this leader looked hard and stern, and seemed to be assessing those who were assigned to the expedition and finding them wanting.
Will withdrew the cold, long stem of a pipe from his lips and slid it in his belt, then pushed the hood of his cloak back as he approached the man in charge.
His closely cropped dark hair and beard were well groomed, despite his somewhat disheveled and mismatched clothing, and his dark eyes were sharp as he regarded the taller man.
“Master Grimsson, I presume? I am William Riot, your forward scout.” He glanced about before returning his gaze to the larger man. “Where would you like me to be, Boss?”
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