The man withdrew his hand to reveal a rounded pebble poised between two fingers. He turned it over and dropped it onto the table.
Sulla grinned when he saw the white markings on its surface.
“An air rune? That’s a point to you, Straven. So you have fifteen to my eighteen. And the death rune is among the three remaining.”
“Your turn,” the thief master replied. “Will you hold? Or will you risk it?”
Sulla shook his head and grinned behind his wild beard.
“I am ahead, and there is a one in three chance that you will pull out the chaos rune. Only then can you beat me. No, I’ll hold.”
Sulla saw Straven’s lip curl slightly in frustration, and he followed his opponent’s eyes as they settled on the item that sat at his side on the bench. Wrapped in a damp cloth, it dripped a brown liquid onto the wood and its smell reminded Sulla of a butcher’s shop. Straven gave a look of distaste. Very quickly, his eyes moved on, to pass over the Blue Moon’s customers.
From their position by the window, Sulla followed his gaze.
How many of them are your men, Straven? What are you waiting for?
It was early afternoon and the tavern was crowded, with at least two-dozen unfamiliar faces half-hidden in the fug of pipe smoke. The only man he recognised there was the gang-master’s own man, the fur trader Bareak, who had given him the message the day before.
Straven reached into the bag once more. Without pause, he withdrew his hand and dropped a single pebble on the tabletop. It was marked with salmon coloured lines stretching outward toward its edge.
Sulla laughed.
“A mind rune! Two points for you. I am still ahead by one. Now there is an even chance of victory or defeat, Straven. Only two runes remain, chaos and death. It’s a choice that reminds me of my own life up to this moment.”
“As I was saying,” Straven responded, “I watched Kara-Meir leave with the embassy. I am amazed that such a slight girl could have bested you in single combat. It makes no sense.”
Sulla shrugged.
“Much about her does not,” he admitted. “She even wounded my companion, and that’s no small feat in itself.”
“Ah, your companion. You’ve spoken highly of him, but he remains very elusive. From the moment you entered Varrock, Bareak had my footpads follow you, and yet you evaded them.” Straven looked Sulla in the eye, and continued cautiously. “I can’t recall anyone having done that before, not even that thief from Kandarin, the one who tried to run with my money. It unnerves me. And I don’t like being unnerved.”
His hand rested on the small bag which now only held two runes.
Is this the moment, Straven? Sulla wondered. Is this when you spring your trap and hand me over to the King? Or are you really unnerved by Jerrod and the ease with which he can vanish from sight?
He glanced subtly at a man who sat by himself. Jerrod was covered in a cloak he had stolen from a beggar the previous night. He had entered the inn an hour before Sulla, and had sat patiently by himself, watching and waiting.
“Come, Straven,” Sulla said amiably. “You have made a great deal of money from me in the past. When I was a senior member of the Kinshra, you worked for me a great deal, even though I could just as easily have used the Black Arm Gang.
“As I could now,” he added, leaning forward.
Straven’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t threaten me, Sulla,” he hissed quietly. “I have a dozen men in here right now. Within a half hour you could be trussed up and given to King Roald. Or worse. I could send you back to the Kinshra to suffer a slow death.”
Sulla smirked.
“And I have only Barbec, who waits outside in the street.”
“What of your mysterious companion. Is he here now, with us?”
Sulla shook his head.
“I won’t give everything away to you, Straven. But I will give you this-for your time and for a promise of a second meeting. Take my purse from my belt.”
Straven leant over and did as he asked. Without waiting for permission the gang-master loosened the cord and peered in. Sulla saw an eyebrow lift in surprise.
“The gem is yours, Straven. But there are more to come if you do as I request. Many more-it will be well worth your time.”
Request! he raged inwardly. Six months ago I made demands. A dark side of him wanted to laugh at his own fall.
Instead, he waited, watching intently.
“It had better be,” Straven said, “for I could profit a great deal from turning you in.” He licked his lips and glanced around the room. “What do you want?” he asked finally.
“A hot bath would be nice,” Sulla responded. “A shave and a haircut, too. A place to hide for a while. And…” He held up his arms, his wrists still wrapped in bandages.
“…new hands.”
Straven nodded.
“The first requests can easily be accomplished. I can’t help with the hands, however. You might need a wizard or a cleric for that, or even an engineer to fit some artificial appendages.”
“That would suffice for now,” Sulla agreed. “Something with sharp edges, so I can indulge my interest in pain.” He grinned, and noticed how the man squirmed uncomfortably. “I have a lot of pain to give. Six months worth of agony.
“But I don’t need you to arrange any of those things,” he continued. “And I wouldn’t want you to know where I plan to make my lair. The lure of Kinshra gold-or your duty as a citizen to your monarch-might outweigh your word to me. I want something else. I want asylum.”
Straven’s eyes went wide.
“What?” he said loudly. He glanced around, then leaned in and continued in a low voice. “You? The King would never grant it! You’ve too many orphans to your name-”
“Such as Kara-Meir?” Sulla countered. “I orphaned her, you know.” He waved his stumped wrists in the air. “She and her fellow victims have had their revenge on me, haven’t they?”
But Straven remained unmoved.
“No, Sulla. I have no way of contacting the King or his advisors, and you have nothing to offer them, even if I could.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Straven. Perhaps I have little to offer, but what of my companion? The one who evades your footpads with such ease?”
“Go on.”
“Jerrod is his name. Few know anything about him, though that may already have changed, thanks to Kara-Meir’s intervention in the barn. Regardless, he is a… man of unique value.”
Sulla leaned over to whisper.
“Jerrod is from Morytania. He is a werewolf.”
Straven gasped and pulled back.
“You keep ill company, Sulla,” he hissed.
“I am glad you realise that. Believe me when I tell you that he could find you wherever you hide in this city. Even if you were guarded by your best men, he would find you and eat your organs as you watched. I’ve seen him do it.
“But he knows things, too,” Sulla continued. “He knows about the Wyrd, Straven. His master can contact him from beyond the River Salve. It happened only last night, as we spent the night in an alleyway among the dregs, when Jerrod was asked to apprehend her.”
Straven’s face broke into confusion.
“Apprehend her? I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would he want her captured, if she is doing his bidding?”
Sulla smiled again.
“My question exactly. Interesting isn’t it? Something is afoot in Morytania, something that the King would give half his treasury to understand.” He paused for effect. “So here is what I want you to do. Find me fighters, Straven. I want you to recruit the most capable mercenaries Varrock has to offer. Men who are unafraid of The Wilderness and who will work under my command. Only a handful, but promise them they will be rewarded, for I intend to catch the Wyrd and give her to the King.”
“I know of four individuals, perhaps more, who will suit your needs, Sulla. Will that suffice? I think I can have them ready in three nights’ time.” Straven spoke carefully, eager to please, and Sulla knew he had the man in his grip. “Where shall we meet you?”