PART ONE

  Company Accounts:

  Finances: ￡0

  Mercenaries: 0

  Assets: 0

  There was a stir from the other passengers on deck. Lothar opened one eye and looked in the direction they were gesturing. At last. The land of Gal’azu, their destination.

  A new world, barely explored. The perfect place for a fresh start. He studied the men and women who had shared his voyage, clutching bags full of worthless possessions. The only things they’d brought were the junk they couldn’t sell. As they looked at their new home, he saw no great enthusiasm or joy on their faces.

  Lothar felt the same. That’s the thing with people who want a fresh start. They lost the first time.

  Only those who’d lost everything would make this journey into the unknown. And when you’ve already lost once, or more than once, you act more in hope than expectation that the next time will be any different.

  It had certainly been more than once in Lothar’s case. It was only natural to reflect on those losses. The mistakes made. The people who had left him. Those who had died in his arms. Those who had left without a goodbye, sneaking away in the night, their faith in him evaporated. The people he had loved, who he had somehow failed. Not through lack of effort. Lothar didn’t think they would say that of him. I’m a trier, he assured himself. Things just never quite went my way.

  He got to his feet and studied the coastline. I’m in the same boat as everyone else–metaphorically as well as physically. This is it. Nowhere else to escape to if this doesn’t work out. It’s my last chance.

  His fellow passengers stood on the docks of Avolo, looking lost. Now they’d arrived, they didn’t know what to do. They had to find shelter. Supplies. And as soon as possible, work.

  Lothar had no such worries. He knew where he should head. He made for the nearest inn, peering inside. Measuring and judging. Made for the next. There were only so many to inspect.

  Avolo called itself a city, but that was overdoing it. The streets were mud; the buildings put up quickly, with whatever materials had been found locally. Still. Lothar could look ahead a few years and he wasn’t disappointed by his first impression. The place had promise.

  His inspection of the inns complete, he returned to the largest and busiest. The Anchor. This was the place where business would get done. Relationships forged and contracts made. This was where he needed to be.

  He took a seat in the centre of the lounge. Not too close to the heavy drinkers; not in the corner where the knaves skulked. Where a man of good reputation might sit.

  A serving wench approached him in a timely manner.

  “Is your mild drinkable? Or is it full of dregs?”

  The girl studied him. No doubt she saw a man well past his prime. But, Lothar liked to think, still a man it was best not to mess with. “I suggest you go for the stout.”

  “Very well.”

  She soon returned with his drink, served in a well carved wooden tankard. Pleased, Lothar relaxed into his chair and surveyed the scene before him. Late afternoon, but the place was already busy. Most folks looked decidedly poor and useless, as far as Lothar’s needs were concerned. But there were others. Men whose attire indicated they had an income, and not from ploughing fields all day. Lothar had been in the business long enough to spot the kind of fellow he wanted. They wore precious metals or gems at their belts, round their wrists and necks, in earlobes, beards, or other parts of their face. They carried the tools of their trade with them—weapons hooked onto belts, dangling from leather straps, or stuffed into trousers.

  Most mercenaries like to look the part.

  He spotted a couple of likely lads sat together. When he met eyes with one, he gave the man a nod and it was returned friendly enough. Lothar made his move, leaving his spot.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Certainly,” the first man said.

  Lothar took a chair, close enough to get a good look at faces. They were of a similar age, both in their twenties, he reckoned. The best age. One had a scar on his forehead, but otherwise they were free of serious physical injury. Brothers, by the look of them, even though one had a full beard and the other was clean shaven. Same wide nose, same dark brown eyes and thick, dark hair.

  “New here?” the friendlier one asked. He was the one with the scar and beard.

  “Just got off ship today. But looking to get going.”

  “For certain. If you’re looking for work, we can point you in the right direction.” It was said in a doubtful tone. “Thing is, lots of people are coming here looking for work. More every day, feels like.”

  “Ah,” Lothar said. “That’s where I’m different. I’m looking to provide the work.” Sure as hell getting too old to do it myself.

  “And you just got in today?”

  “I’m looking for reliable fellows. As soon as I get the clients, you get the work.”

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  “Makes sense. Well, you’ve met the right pair here. Honest and professional. My name’s Usa. This is Izil. We’ve done most kind of work, big and small. We’re signed up with another outfit. But like I say, there’s lots of people looking for work right now. If you can get us something, we’re likely to be interested. Short term or long term, doesn’t matter to us.” He gazed around the room, before his voice turned confidential. “And we’re not squeamish.”

  “Good to know. I need a record of your skill sets. Matching the right people to the right job is crucial.”

  “For certain.”

  The stats for Usa and Izil appeared for Lothar to inspect.

  Lothar studied them with an experienced eye. Not bad. Usa was the better of the two in every respect, capable of standing up to most adversaries they were likely to meet. Izil, though less impressive, was younger. He could improve his stats under the right guidance.

  “Thank you. I’ll let you know when the right job comes along.”

  Back at his table, Lothar was pleased with his first interaction. Usa and Izil were nothing special, that was true. But the work he could get was probably nothing special, either. Gal’azu was a new world of small farms and communities, eking out a place amongst the wilderness. The work would be simple and routine for the most part. But Lothar didn’t mind that prospect.

  What was more, Usa had made it apparent he and his brother weren’t getting as much work as they wanted. That sounded like Avolo was a perfect environment for Lothar to establish himself.

  He scanned the inn once more, looking for his next recruits.

  But it looked like the mercenaries of Avolo were ready to come to him. There were Usa and Izil, stood with half a dozen comrades who, by the looks of them, were more experienced fighters than the first two. Usa was gesturing in his direction as the others interrogated him.

  Soon, the half dozen had stopped at Lothar’s table. The men wore comfortable leather armour, had nice looking scabbards at their belts, and displayed gold and other treasure about their person.

  Their leader looked as fierce as any of them. What she lost in height to those who followed her, she made up in muscle and a savage countenance. Her hair hung shoulder length and loose, decorated with a variety of trinkets: coloured ribbons, beads, and tiny animal bones. Lothar enjoyed the looks of an athletic woman as much as any man, but this one was too lean for his tastes, skin tight across the sharp bones of her face. Her eyes had the look of someone who had seen and done terrible things, and Lothar suspected there was a touch of madness there.

  A trait often found in those in charge, he mused to himself.

  “A little birdie’s told me you’ve been recruiting in The Anchor,” she said.

  “Aye. You interested? I’m taking names and details.”

  The woman looked at her followers, sharing a mean grin with them. It was the first inkling Lothar had that he was in trouble.

  “We’re not interested, old man. Me and my brothers run the premier recruiting firm in Gal’azu. The Order of The Golden Blades. And we recruit out of The Anchor.”

  “Ah,” Lothar muttered. Shit. Rivals. “I’m fresh off the sea today. Didn’t realise. I apologise, er—I didn’t catch your name?”

  “Fresh off a boat, ignorant of your new home, yet you set yourself up here on day one without learning about the place? I thought the one advantage of getting to your later years was picking up a bit of wisdom on the way. You ain’t shown a smidgen.” The woman nodded at her followers.

  One grabbed Lothar’s hand, laying it flat down on the table.

  Another had a knife in his grip and a sadistic smile on his face.