“What's keeping Laqhis so long? We have to move, and right quick.”

After an annoyed glance up the worn-down stairs of the shabby inn, Atau stared back into his drink. From within the reflection in the stale, murky beer, a large man with bronze skin, a short beard and a long ponytail stared right back. His view got trapped there, as he contemplated whether or not to take another sip of the swill or live with a dry throat for the rest of the day.

He had addressed to the man on his side, a mass of pure muscle, whose square features made Atau think he had been born straight from a stone. Fadelio di Pluritac, first son and heir to the great general of Medala. As if to reinforce the impact the imposing title had by itself, his figure was so hulking that any who first saw him would assume he was beyond human, an impression made worse by the wild, jet-black hair which hung loose down his back.

The man mountain towered over Atau by almost a full head, the difference in height made worse by the fact that he had to stand, since he wouldn't trust the rickety chairs of the cheap inn they had found a temporary shelter in. Not after one had buckled under his weight last night. At least Fadelio's size had prevented the owner from demanding compensation for his loss.

“Boss will be fine,” the mountain replied in a smooth, somber voice, “I'm more concerned with our persistent tail. How do they look, little one?”

The hulking man looked down to the last of the trio which had taken place around their table, a young boy around the age of twelve, almost on the cusp of manhood, though his childish features had yet to transform. He didn't share the bronze skin of his companions, or their long, dark hair. Instead, his complexion was as light as that of the men in their surroundings and his head framed by a light and lively brown.

“They're still there, still two. Right by the entrance.”

The boy's alert, green eyes found the gap between his two companions and no doubt landed on the two armed soldiers who had followed them inside last night.

“They're getting more and more brazen, aren't they?”

The standing warrior answered as his frown deepened. Atau was sure the general's son would once again launch into complaints about their lack of courage in dealing with the pursuers, when Atau finally found the one they had been waiting for climb down the stairs.

“He's here.” Rather than answer Fadelio's question, Atau's words moved everyone's attention to their leader and Atau's cousin, Crown Prince Corcopaca Titu Pluritac. The same long black hair which decorated their own heads flowed behind the prince, playing in the spring wind which entered from a window by their side. However, together with the dark skin tone the hair was the only thing they had in common.

A chubby face, with open and friendly eyes marked a face far too ordinary for the prince of a mighty empire. His height would have counted as large among commoners, but for a nobleman of Medala, he was far too short, with a stick-like physique, a remnant of the vile assassination he had survived in his youth.

The boy and two men all looked towards the prince's thin figure in expectation. Even in their darkest hours, Corco had always done his best to stand up for them and lead them ahead. Since the old Fastgrade had died, he had once and for all become their leader, the one to inspire them. This time, they were in dire need of inspiration.

Prince Corco, unaware of their thoughts, came over and plopped himself into the last unused chair, before he slammed an opened bottle of wine onto the table. Atau remembered the label on the front. It was Fastgrade's noblest. A fine grape from the hills of Colchia, one of the few things they had saved from the old Fastgrade merchant company. With a bitter look, Atau stared back down onto his tasteless beer. He couldn't help but compare it to his cousin's own drink. He didn't even have time to complain before Corco had already pushed the bottle next to his mug.

“Here, no need to force that beer down. You can have this one.”

With an ease of heart, Atau took the offer and poured the beer out of the window to his side before he began to fill his mug with the expensive wine. It was a liberating feeling.

“At least for today, we won't have to bother with that swill the people in this place call drink,” Atau said.

“Y'know,” Corco replied, in a snide tone much unlike himself, “it's really not the beer's fault. That's small beer, with an alcohol content of below two point eight percent. Back in the middle ages, they drank this stuff rather than water, cause all the rivers around the cities were contaminated.”

“Middle Ages?”

Atau looked up from his fresh pour and gave Corco a strange look. He didn't understand what his cousin had just said, but from the prince's own deep frown, Corco himself didn't seem to be all that sure. The uncomfortable silence started to weigh down on them, until Corco decided to ignore his strange behavior to ask the more pressing questions.

“So where do we stand with the duke's men?”

Since Atau had returned his attention to his mug and was busy washing away the astringent taste of the cheap beer, Fadelio took it upon himself to answer the question.

“Two over by the entrance. The rest of the duke's men should be waiting somewhere outside.”

“Shouldn't they have given up by now? I thought Etra was a free city? Why would they let the armed guards of a bornish duke into their walls?”

Corco returned a light sigh before he glanced over to the men by the door. Atau followed the look over his shoulder, and immediately he noticed swords at the sides of the soldiers, at least as sharp as their stares. Swords meant that they were not mere militia. They were trained warriors, or even knights.

“Etra is a place right next to the Balit Dukedom. Even if they're technically not part of the kingdom of Borna, they won't start a war with Duke Herak over some vagrants.”

“Oh, I just had a brilliant plan,” the towering Fadelio said, “how about we just smash their heads in and be done with it? This is humiliating. How could solemn warriors of Medala run from some lowly soldiers?”

Corco gave the warrior in his front a stern look. Meanwhile, Atau still enjoyed his wine. Fruity and refreshing, just the right flavor to start into a late spring day. As always, his cousin had a fable for picking wines.

“They're not alone. And they're not lowly either,” Corco replied to his warrior attendant, “Those guys are wearing some pretty heavy chain mail. Looks like they don't even mind the weight. And they carry swords. They're most likely knights in disguise. You really think we can just take them, without armor and only a couple axes?”

Fadelio set out to refute, but Corco still wasn't finished.

“Not to mention, there's another eight of them waiting outside. We're only three men, and I can barely call myself a warrior. I can take care of one. Maybe. How many do you want to deal with? Five? Six?”

This time, Fadelio didn't reply, but his frown still wouldn't leave his face. The general's son wasn't happy, being so exposed to the whims of others. Atau handed his mug of wine over to the hulking warrior.

“Less frowning, more drinking,” he said with a grin.

Fadelio tarried for a moment, before he took the presented mug and, in a single movement, put it on his lips. Even though he was only a warrior servant to Corco, Fadelio, first son of the great general of Medala, had always been the most prideful among them. It made his continued loyalty in the face of their humiliation even more worthy of respect. Atau hoped the wine would take the man's mind off his attempt at a solution, which would have been as honorable as suicidal.

“So, a direct attack is out of the question, but what do we do then?”

Upon Atau's question, Corco leaned his hand onto his chin and began to tap his upper lip, like he sometimes did when he sank into thought. A few of his cousin's words had been strange this morning, but little moments like this one made Atau relieved that Corco was still the same.

“Brym, you've been to master's hidden stash before, right?”

While Corco still stared onto the table in contemplation, he asked the boy next to him.

“Ah, yes big brother, but only the once. Father brought me over a few months back, just in case.”

The boy answered with a faltering voice. Fastgrade's death hadn't been easy on any of them, but of course the boy had been hit hardest.

“Good. How does the place look? Can you see inside? Can it be set on fire or smoked out?”

Brym looked at his big brother with dull eyes for a few seconds before he shook his head.

“No, it's well hidden in a cave in the hills. The cave leads down, so no smoke can enter from the outside either.”

A last tap on his lip and Corco's hand once again left his chin and landed flat on the table with a dull thump.

“Good. Perfect, actually. How much money do we have left?”

Without any further questions, everyone reached into their wallets, secret pockets and boots to assemble what little they had left. Soon, the table was sprinkled with an assortment of bronze and silver coins. Only three golden flecks were mixed in with the mound. For the top brass of the famous Fastgrade Merchant Company, it was an embarrassment.

Atau felt a sting in his chest as he looked at the remaining coins on the table, far less than what they had started with.

“What about yours?” he asked towards Corco.

“...gone. Here, I bought this.” He retrieved a vial from the deep pocket on his left and put it on the table, right in front of Fadelio. “It's Palegrass. A poison.”

Corco's three companions stared at him with large eyes.

“Boss, why did you...” Fadelio's words trailed off. None of them wanted to hear the answer to his question.

“No worries, I'm fine. Just... take the stuff away from me.”

Fadelio picked up the vial with an angry move.

“I'll just throw it out,” he said.

“No, don't.” Corco replied with a shake of his head, “You have no idea how expensive that stuff is. Plus, it might come in handy some time down the line. Just hold onto it.”

In a silent duel, the master and servant stared at each other, before Fadelio nodded with a grave face and made the vial disappear within one of his pockets.

“In any case, the money we have here should be more than enough,” Corco said with a lightness which had been oh so absent since the old Fastgrade had died.

“You have a plan.” Atau could feel the tightness in his chest ease up as well. There was still hope.

“At least the start of one. First step: Let's make some Brandy.”

Again, the three stared at their leader, in hope of a better explanation.

“For now, we'll have to assemble a few things in the city. Let's get going.”

Corco piled up the coins on the table before he swept them into a bag held ready by Brym. Atau saw some shady characters in the dark corners of the inn and, not least, the rotund man behind the counter penetrate the burlap cloth with greedy stares. Atau only had to hint a grasp to his trusty axe before the eager criminals shied away, back into the darkness. No matter how down on their luck they were, they still looked anything but helpless.

Once Corco had collected everyone's coin, he bound the ends of the sack and fastened it on his hip with rope, in a complex knot Atau had never seen. Soon, the Fastgrade merchant company got up and walked past the duke's men, out into the dirty roads of Etra. Atau could hear their tails rise behind them, no more than ten steps behind. More and more brazen indeed. He just hoped his cousin's plan was a good one.