11.
To the Stepstones!
15: Chapter 11.
To the Stepstones!
251 AC.
Tyrosh.
Irat Rexarion.
“Another night stroll through the city in questionable company,” I smirked to myself, moving through the streets of Tyrosh.
Originally, I was only going to take Ross, more for company than for actual help.
After all, I was more than enough on my own against the handful of guards this Lupa had.
But when it was time to leave, Magok tagged along with us.
The three of us were already overkill for such a simple job.
I told the Summer Islander as much, but the mute just waved me off.
The rest of the veterans were left behind to watch over the new recruits and make sure they didn’t cause any trouble.
“So we just walk in?” Ross asked as we approached the inn where the traveling troupe was staying.
“You have any other ideas?” I smirked, reaching for the door.
With that, I pushed it open and stepped into the common room of the inn.
The smell of alcohol, sweat, and food hit me immediately.
There weren’t as many people as I’d expected.
A few scattered groups of patrons were spread out across the room.
Scanning the space, I didn’t see the fat slob’s figure anywhere, only a few unfamiliar groups drinking at their tables.
“Who are we looking for?” Ross asked, scanning the patrons just like I was.
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I headed for the bar where the innkeeper stood, pulling a coin from the small pouch at my belt as I went.
The moment I got close enough, the man turned his attention to me.
“What do you want?” he asked, not sounding particularly friendly.
Instead of answering, I tossed a coin onto the counter.
In the next instant, it vanished as if it had never been there.
The only sign anything had happened was the man’s suddenly changed expression.
His face softened, his mouth twisting into something resembling a friendly smile, and his eyes narrowed in a crafty squint.
“Where is Master Lupa?” I asked, practically spitting out the word “master” before adding, “He was here a few days ago.
A fat man, disgusting type…” “And ugly,” the innkeeper finished for me with disgust.
“That vagrant.
I know him.
He always stays here.” The man paused and looked at me expectantly.
Understanding what he was getting at, I irritably reached for my coin pouch and tossed him a couple more coins.
“Second floor, end of the hall, door on the right,” he rattled off, turning back to his work as if nothing had happened.
With the information I needed, I headed for the stairs, waving for my fighters to follow.
The second floor was unremarkable, just a long, dimly lit hallway with rows of doors on both sides.
At the very end, where I needed to go, two large men stood guard.
Just as I’d thought.
The fat man had hired himself some protection since our last meeting.
Too bad his stingy nature hadn’t allowed him to spend more on the job.
His guards only looked intimidating.
In reality, they were a different story.
First of all, they didn’t even notice us until we were right on top of them.
I doubt they would have noticed us at all if we hadn’t gotten so close.
But the blades Ross and Magok pressed to their throats left the men with no choice.
“Stay here,” I ordered, grabbing the door handle.
“And make sure no one bothers me.” “What about them?” Ross asked, nodding at the men whose faces were pale with fear as cold steel pressed against their throats.
“Kill them,” I replied, noticing out of the corner of my eye how the guards went even paler.
“Or tie them up.
I don’t care.” Without waiting for Ross’s answer, I pushed open the door separating me from a small, dark room.
Inside, surprisingly, everything was quite austere.
A simple chair and table near a slightly open window, and an equally simple bed with a thin mattress, upon which the fat lump was sprawled.
The slob lay on his back, one arm hanging off the bed, clutching a bottle.
Judging by the several empty containers on and under the table and the strong smell, both the bottle and Lupa himself were filled with alcohol.
Not bothering to hide my presence, I walked to the table and picked up one of the empty bottles.
I sniffed it and caught the aroma of Tyroshi pear brandy, not the cheapest drink.
“So much for being a miser,” I thought with a grin, sitting down on the chair.
For a while, I watched the sleeping, pig-like man and nearly grimaced with disgust.
I could barely contain the insane urge to kill him right then and there.
Lost in thought, I twirled the empty bottle in my hand until I just let it drop.
It crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.
The fat man jerked awake, sat up, and started looking around until his gaze landed on me.
His booze-addled brain took more than ten seconds to process the situation.
“Well, hello there,” I said with a grin, pressing the slaver down with my gravitational field.
Lupa bent under the weight as much as his fat folds would allow.
The bed beneath him groaned pitifully from the increased burden.
The master of the room started gasping for air, trying to take a breath.
In his small, piggy eyes, I could read despair.
“And why did you need to find me?” I asked rhetorically, perfectly aware of the reason.
“I thought we had an agreement.” “Gu…
guards,” he tried to wheeze loudly.
“You’re not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?” I laughed, shaking my head.
“How do you think I got in here?” I eased the pressure slightly so the pig wouldn’t die before I was done with him.
This allowed him to take in more air and think about the situation.
“Just imagine,” I continued, “and all of this over a little slave boy.” Deciding I’d had enough, I increased the gravity again and stood up from the chair.
Then I walked closer, savoring the fat man’s suffering, and leaned over his bulk.
Looking into his eyes, I saw a plea for mercy mixed with terror of the unknown force.
“You want to live?” I asked with a nasty grin, and in response, I got a barely perceptible nod.
“Wonderful.” I removed the pressure entirely and sat back down on the chair, crossing my legs and leaning back casually.
“Then talk,” I ordered.
“About what?” the fat man asked in confusion as soon as he could breathe again.
“Everything.
Absolutely everything,” I said, but still seeing no spark of understanding in his eyes, I decided to clarify.
“Where’s the money?
Don’t worry about your slaves.
I don’t care about their fate.” When I left the room, I was the proud owner of a purse as fat as its former owner, stuffed with coins of various denominations from different cities.
There were Braavosi coins, gold and silver marks from Yunkai and Astapor, and the familiar oval coins with the image of a naked woman, the Lysene honor.
Behind me, only a lifeless corpse remained.
Its neck was unnaturally twisted, lying on the floor among a pile of empty bottles.
From the outside, it looked like he’d gotten drunk, stumbled, and fallen, breaking his neck.
Or at least, that’s what I wanted it to look like.
What people who found the body would think was of no concern to me.
In the hallway, a different scene awaited me.
Ross and Magok stood on either side of the door, playing the role of guards, while the real guards sat bound in the corner.
“Well?” the big man asked when he saw me coming out of the room.
Smiling, I showed him the purse stuffed with coins, which earned me a satisfied grin not only from him but also from the usually stoic Summer Islander.
“We’re leaving,” I said, heading for the stairs.
As I passed my fighters, Ross suddenly called out to me.
“Hold on, commander,” he said, pointing at the would-be guards.
“What about them?” I threw a dismissive glance at the guards, who suddenly seemed to shrink.
I considered whether it was worth sparing their lives.
If I let them live, rumors of tonight’s events would spread by morning.
If I killed them, I’d get nothing except…
an increase in power.
“Waste not, want not,” I thought, sharply increasing the gravitational pull around each guard’s neck.
In the next instant, the men, who had been about to say something, rolled their eyes.
There was a wet crunch of breaking bones, and two bodies went limp like rag dolls.
Their necks looked like hourglasses, as though their heads might fall off at any moment.
“Now let’s go,” I said, turning and trying to ignore the surprised looks on my fighters’ faces.
— *** Interlude.
Araino Laar.
I paced nervously in my cabin, my preferred place for addressing important matters.
That’s what I was doing now.
Maelis Blackfyre’s latest orders had caught me off guard, and I’d barely managed to keep a straight face.
My worst suspicions had been confirmed.
Maelis truly intended to claim the Iron Throne.
He didn’t care that his predecessors had failed despite having significantly more men.
And that was without mentioning the support they’d had from within the kingdom.
Now, we had none of that.
Everything fell into place at today’s meeting when Blackfyre arrived not alone, and I finally got answers to many of my questions.
First, this descendant of bastards declared that the support of Westeros’s cowardly lords meant nothing to him when he had other like-minded individuals beside him.
It turned out that while we’d been executing contracts and accumulating gold, Maelis had been in the Disputed Lands, forming alliances with several questionable figures.
He arrived at the meeting with two of them: Alequo Adarys, a major Tyroshi merchant, and the Old Mother, also known as the Queen of Pirates.
And, as it turned out later, it was with the latter’s support that we would subjugate the Stepstones, while another part of the company would help capture the Disputed Lands.
Suddenly, the creak of the door pulled me out of my thoughts.
Astaar entered the room, the man I’d summoned an hour earlier.
“You called, Captain?” he asked with a grin.
True to form, Dahiris was cheerful.
Too bad it wouldn’t last.
“Come in,” I said, sitting on the bed and trying to relax.
He came in, closed the door behind him, and looked at me expectantly.
“Inform everyone that we’re leaving Tyrosh in a month,” I finally managed to say.
“Everyone must be fully supplied and ready for battle.” “Something serious?” the Joker asked, his face instantly serious.
“More than serious,” I said with a grimace.
“We’ve received orders to take the Stepstones.” Silence fell in the cabin for a few moments.
Only the distant sound of waves breaking against the ship’s hull could be heard.
After a few seconds, Astaar broke the silence, swearing quietly under his breath.
“Calm down,” I ordered the sergeant.
“This time, we’re not alone.
Details will come later, when we’re all together.
I don’t want to repeat myself.” Dahiris nodded seriously, without his usual forced cheerfulness, and hurried to leave the cabin.
But I stopped him before he could go, remembering one more thing.
“Astaar,” I called to him, waiting until he turned around.
“And keep Irat in check.
His recent stunt could come back to bite us.
I don’t want to have to make excuses to Maelis.
The man might just tear his head off.” — 251 AC.
Tyrosh.
Irat Rexarion.
“Are you just going to stand there?” I asked, lowering my sword and turning to face my guest.
At the edge of the training ground we’d claimed for our squad, leaning against some large boulders, stood Astaar.
His arms were crossed, and he watched my training with keen interest.
His usual false cheerfulness was absent from his face.
He looked focused, as if he were contemplating something while observing me.
After reaching some private conclusion, he nodded and put his Joker mask back on.
Then he slowly walked toward me.
“No respect for your commander,” he said with a weak grin, coming closer.
“Need I remind you that you’ve barely been able to finish our spars in a draw lately, ‘commander’?” I asked with a defiant grin.
Such an attitude toward a superior might seem strange for someone who’d only recently become a decanus himself.
Not to mention that not even three months had passed since I’d joined the company.
But Astaar had always treated me favorably, which he’d shown more than once.
Plus, our joint training sessions had helped establish something like a friendship.
The Joker raised his hands in surrender.
“The captain’s not happy,” the sergeant finally got to the point.
“Your recent stunt has stirred up another wave of unrest in the city.” “The common folk are always unhappy about something,” I waved it off as if it were nothing.
“Give it time, and they’ll calm down again.” Besides, the death of a little-known, disgusting fat man and his guards shouldn’t have affected the city’s residents.
For me, his death meant my own peace of mind and reduced future risks.
Risks that Varys would end up back in slavery, which would undo all my efforts.
“You can tell that to the captain yourself,” the Joker said with a hint of a laugh, in his usual manner.
“Even Maelis himself,” I thought with mild irritation while the sergeant kept talking.
“Our unit is already not well-liked in the company,” he grumbled.
“And you’re well aware of that.
Your stunt could lead to undesirable consequences.” Having gotten to know Astaar well over the past few months, I knew that if I didn’t stop his rambling, it could go on for a long time.
And I still wanted to practice with the spear.
On top of that, it was starting to irritate me that someone dared to lecture me.
“Are you going to get to the point?” I interrupted, trying to hide my annoyance.
The sergeant gave me a sideways glance for interrupting his monologue.
“Fine, to the point,” he sighed, seeing no understanding on my face.
“You have one month to fully equip and prepare your squad.
In one month, we march.” I wasn’t the least bit surprised by the order.
It was only a matter of time before we left Tyrosh.
But reality, as always, had other plans, and now there was far too little time.
All I could do was grit my teeth, try to get everything done, and not kill everyone around me in the process.
Standing there, mentally calculating how best to speed up the new recruits’ training, I didn’t notice Astaar already walking away from the training ground.
“Hey, Sergeant!” I called out, waiting for him to turn around.
“Where are we heading?” “The Stepstones,” he replied curtly and continued on his way.