Chapter 24.

  Taskmaster

  A lone man, bedraggled and angry, rode into the town of Militas on a horse much too fine for the abuse and neglect it had received from him. Hardwright heaved himself from the horse that promptly collapsed into the dust.

  Balancing on his good leg, he merely tsk’d in distaste before hobbling towards the warm evening glow of the tavern. The mangled limb would likely hinder him for the rest of his days, but thanks to the mental block he wove into his mind, the pain never would.

  Once a garrison for Grandia’s military, the encampment and its soldiers were abandoned years after the war for expansion was deemed too costly. Soldiers not under Holy Orders were not permitted within Grandias walls and most were still under reserve contract. So they remained, in a sort of limbo between soldier and mercenary, taking what jobs they could find for what coin they could get. And no tavern served better mercenaries than The Broken Sword.

  While the building contained the same booze, beauties and brutes that were essential to all such ale houses. This particular one held precisely what Hardwright needed. A Taskmaster.

  The Cardinal waded through the drunken revelry of the Holy Kingdoms forgotten sons. Each step boiling his blood as he limped through the sea of mediocrity.

  Tucked away in the back, was a booth guarded by two of the only three men in the building without tankards in hand. Hardwright attempted to adopt a straight back and a charming smile until he was stopped by a scarred hand on his chest.

  Hardwright’s face flipped from grin to grimace as he turned a furious eye to the large scarred owner of the hand that dared to obstruct him. “While we appreciate your interest, we are not currently accepting guests. Please return tomorrow between the hours of four and eight bells, at which point we will be happy to see to the needs of all our valued customers.” He said pleasantly.

  Hardwrights greasy brow creased together. “What was that, Oaf!?” The Cardinals thread snuck out from his sleeve. It lunged for the smiling man’s brow but was stopped an inch away by the lead gauntleted hand of the second man. The shorter guard ripped the thread away from his compatriots face as he placed a knife to Hardwright’s throat.

  “He said fuck off.” Growled the guard. Hardwright’s Thread struggled helplessly against the lead that gloved the man’s hand. unable to influence or escape his grip, the Cardinal allowed his Thread to fade from reality.

  “Gunther, Ginter, let’s hear what the gentleman felt was important enough to disturb my meal for.” The Taskmaster kept his eyes on his plate and his ledger as he motioned for Hardwright to sit across from him.

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  With prodigious strength, Gunther gripped the cloth of the Cardinal’s robe. Lifting the man who kicked and cursed into the seat across from Taskmaster Richard Piercer.

  Piercer was a grizzled man with salt and pepper hair that swept back in austere fashion. Piercing grey eyes flanked by crows feet sat above a a proud but slightly bent nose. His sharp jaw was dusted with a neatly trimmed grey beard that spoke of age and discipline. Broad shoulders on a thin frame suggested years of hard marches to harder battles. He wore dark leathers and tough cotton. Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled a simple kerchief to wipe the sauce of his meal from his mouth as he sat back to consider the flustered man across from him.

  A smirk curled at his mouth as he sipped from his cup. His cool demeanor infuriated Hardwright. “Do you know who I am!?” Hissed the cardinal, straightening out his robes. Piercer placed his mug back on the table.

  “I know exactly who you are Cardinal Hardwright. I know you left Grandia two weeks ago with seven guards and a woman.” Piercer’s observant gaze took in the man before him. “And now you’re here, injured, alone and in search of more men.”

  Hardwright squirmed under the intense scrutiny of the Taskmaster. How this man knew of him and his travels, he couldn’t begin to guess, but anyone with that kind of information and the resources to get it, was not to be taken lightly.

  Piercer continued. “You can’t request more men from the church lest word of your losses reach loftier ears than your own, and you can’t be seen to return empty handed.” He leaned back against the high leather pad of the booth wall as he continued his musings. “What could you be hunting that’s so valuable?”

  Hardwright snarled. “The only value you need concern yourself with, is the coin I will pay for your men.” Piercer stared at him for a moment, steepling his fingers, he nodded. “And how much coin would that be?” The Cardinal pulled a leather coin purse from the folds of his robes. “One hundred gold, delivered upon delivery of the man I seek, alive.”

  Piercer shook his head. “Alive costs more. Two hundred gold gets you eight men and a wagon for transport of live prisoners.”

  Hardwright spluttered. “Two hundred!? That’s preposterous!” The Taskmaster shrugged. “If you don’t like the price you can put out a bounty, but if you do…” Piercer grinned at the Cardinal “Everyone is going to know about your quarry, and who wants him.”

  Hardwright winced. Publicity was the last thing he needed. If the Patriarch found out that he failed to kill not only an apostate, but one who swore himself to another god, he would lose everything. He shuddered as he remembered the Ethereal green in Theodren’s eyes as he stalked him with his unearthly hammer. His nightmares since, had been filled with the man’s face.

  He grit his teeth. If two hundred gold was the price to subjugate such a fiend then he would pay it. After all; he grinned to himself. There were many in Grandia who would pay him handsomely for the true healing Theodren was reported to possess. With that kind of influence, the Patriarch’s seat could be his.

  Hardwright leaned forward offering a clammy hand to the Taskmaster. “We have a deal.” Piercer gripped his hand in a firm grip. “Half up front. Half when we deliver your man, and if there are casualties, 100 silver for each widow.”

  The Cardinal struggled under the firm grip. He considered using his thread on the man to sweeten the deal for himself, but almost as soon as he played with the idea in his head, he caught Ginter shifting in the corner of his eye. He had never seen Thread nullified so efficiently, and by a common man no less. Ginter’s lead covered hand glinted in the candle light of the tavern. There would be no trickery here.

  Hardwright sighed. “Very well.” Satisfied, the Taskmaster released his grip. Pulling out the Ledger he cleared his throat. “Now, name?” The Cardinal grinned. “Theodren, Theodren Stormwall.”