Free The Sellsword by Cam Banks

leaped to his feet, tossing his fruit to the side and trying to look aristocratic. He failed. He said, “My lady highmaster! What a … oh,
there
you are!”
    “Here I am,” she said. “Where were you?”
    Oxoloc struggled to loosen the collar of his governor’s robes. “Me? Ah, well, you see, I felt like taking a little morning walk through the orchards, in the fresh air. So stuffy and uncomfortable inside. Going to be another rainstorm, though. Can you feel it?”
    “Governor, it’s been over four hours since I arrived. Did you not see the enormous red dragon in the other courtyard? Whose did you think that was?”
    “Ah. I confess to being a tad underinformed.”
    Rivven pinched the bridge of her nose with her hand. “You are one of the least informed men in all of Nordmaar. I thought perhaps you were avoiding me.”
    Oxoloc pulled on a cloak, a formal affair with gold lining and a clasp of ivory. “Ah, perhaps we should retire inside. I really do think there’s going to be a rainstorm.”
    Rivven followed the governor inside the palace, through hallways she had grown quite familiar with. Sure enough, as they passed one line of stained-glass windows in a lengthy gallery, the heavy Nordmaaran rains started hammering against the glass. It was going to be another wet, humid day.
    “So what may I help you with today, Lady Highmaster?” asked Oxoloc worriedly, settling into an overstuffed chair in a drawing room.
    Rivven didn’t sit; instead she leaned against the garish white ivory carvings surrounding the windows. “I’m trying to protect some investments of mine. There’s somebody in this town—your town, Oxoloc—who poses a threat to those investments. Now I know I could just send in my army, but they’d get in the way of everyday business, and I like to work in smaller ways. You know that, right?”
    “Yes, yes, I know. I wouldn’t want the people to be worried about armies and such. Terrible. So what would you like me to do about it?”
    “You and I both know your Seaguard haven’t been working for you for months.”
    Oxoloc wrung his hands. “Well now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, necessarily—”
    “They’ve become mercenaries, Governor.”
    “Ah. Mmm.”
    Rivven smiled. “Exactly. So this is how you can help. Who are they working for now? Who is the biggest employer in Pentar? I have been reliably informed that the threat to my investments will be looking to hire some muscle.”
    Oxoloc looked as if he had just won first prize in a kender-throwing contest. “Oh! Oh! I know of whom you’re talking! Yes! The gnome!”
    Rivven squinted. “The biggest mercenary boss is a
gnome?”
    “Yes, yes,” Oxoloc said, grinning. “He really is very clever. He beat the last boss in a duel, my people tell me. Never heard of such a thing before, but that’s Pentar for you. We get all kinds.”
    Rivven smiled again. “Yes, Governor. Yes, you do. Now tell me everything you know about this clever gnome.”

C HAPTER S EVEN

    V anderjack stood in the pouring rain, watching as soldiers bullied the cook.
    For the past ten minutes, he had watched from across the street as six soldiers harassed, mocked, intimidated, and jostled Etharion, presumably waiting for their captain to arrive. Captain Annaud was nowhere to be seen, nor were the two remaining soldiers, which the Hunter confirmed.
    “Well, are you intending on saving him pretty soon?” asked the Cavalier.
    “I am sure he is merely waiting for an opportune moment,” responded the Balladeer.
    “Likely so that he can miss that opportune moment and say that it wasn’t one,” added the Aristocrat.
    “He’s just a hired kitchen hand,” Vanderjack said, wiping more rain from his face. “Bakes a lot of cookies.” He looked above, noting the holes in the awning he was standing under. Water puddled around his boots and found a way down the back of his neck. “What I wonder is, what’s so special about him, other than his ability to