2 Deals

The boy expired not long after he had shared his plans with the bruised mercenary. And the man had to admit that it was something beyond his expectations. Which meant that the Temple Guard was even more likely to be fooled. So he simply sat, and waited for the wardens to return, to claim their prize.

He didn't have to wait very long.

But the quartet that appeared merely took one look at the body in the cot before they gestured for him to step back. Then the gate of the cell was opened, and the wardens stepped inside, and immediately began to divest the body of the weapons that had been lying on it.

One of them even kicked at him twice, as though he took offence at the prisoner remaining so close to the rough cot and the body. The mercenary merely stepped back, until he was almost in the far corner of the cell. And made no move to speak to the wardens as he watched them tear the swords and daggers out of the dead boy's grasp.

Two of the wardens tucked the weapons that they had retrieved from the body into their belts, and frowned as they realized that there was one sword that refused to come free of the dead boy's grasp. And no matter what they did, or how much strength they exerted, it refused to be parted from the rapidly cooling corpse.

Nor were they able to break the boy's arms or figures, regardless of what they did. Nothing appeared to work, and the gorgeously adorned weapon remained where it was, despite the quartet's efforts to retrieve it.

By then, it was clear from their actions that these men in the warden uniforms were getting more and more frustrated. And the mercenary prisoner could not remember which of them had lost his temper first. But he certainly felt the force behind the blow from the fellow, as he was swiftly knocked down to the floor of the cell once again.

He didn't resist, and merely held his hands up to protect his head, as he quickly curled up on the floor. But he did shout out a quick warning, as soon as he saw one of them draw a weapon.

"I know why you can't free that last sword! If you kill me, you will never retrieve it!"

The quartet did not bother to reply, although all of them kept their weapons in their sheaths as they continued to batter him. One of them, however, started for the door of the cell as soon as he had spoken. But whether he was making a report, or planning to get instruments of torture, the battered prisoner had no idea.

But he froze as soon as he stepped outside the same.

"Hold! Hold, I say!"

The authority wielded by the trio that just stepped into the corridor outside the cell was clear. The three guards that had been beating him, and the last at the barred entry went suddenly quiet and still as they approached. The man in the loincloth tried a peek at them, and the magic that the boy had worked into his sight told him that two of the trio's gear were laden with enchantments. Clearly, they were of a much higher grade that the jailers who were beating up on him. Or that of the pale-faced warden at their heels.

The first of the newcomers did not even bother to question the men who stood surrounding the prisoner on the floor. His blade swept from its scabbard with an almost silent hiss, and slit the throat of the one closest to the cell-door. The guard gurgled as his hands started to reach for the wound, but they got no further than his own chest before he collapsed onto the floor next to the prisoner. The sword-wielder, whose hair was the color of straw, took the time to clean his blade as he stepped outside again, before he made a sharp gesture at the body. Two of the ones who were outside the cell quickly rushed in to remove it, while the pair was still inside the cell edged closer to the walls of the cell, staying as far out of his reach as they could, as the swordsman stepped inside once again.

The blond man studied the dead body on the cot, and as well as the weapons that were still on the floor. As well as those that adorned the belts on the jailers. The pair swallowed, their movement of their throats almost making sprawled mercenary laugh.

"You were sent here to recover the sword that the Raven boy was holding. Why has this not been done?" asked the blond-haired swordsman with an obvious impatience in his voice. He did not deign to look at the other prisoner, who took the opportunity to pull himself up into a sitting position next to the bed. And began to examine his new injuries.

"The sword could not be moved, kai. We were ... questioning the other prisoner on what he knew of the matter, kai," came the reply from one of the pair. The one that was first to start hitting the mercenary, the latter noted. It almost made him smile.

"Oh? I believe that someone disagrees with your account. Tell me, what amuses you, prisoner. Was that what happened here?"

That made the bruised man still lying on the cell floor laugh out loud. "For someone to be asked something, there has to a question, doesn't there? None was asked before the beating began. Unless, of course, that is the usual way for such matters in the cells. Clearly, this did not tell me that they felt that the answer was urgent."

The other one who was left standing inside the cell growled at that. But a glare from the Templar silenced him at once. The blond man wore a tight smile as he turned back to the man seated on the floor of the cell. And gestured for him to go on:

"Well, since you are here, I presume that the need for urgency is past. And that the priority has changed to one of accuracy. Am I correct?"

The blond Templar scowled at that. But one of his fellows from outside the cell, a red-bearded man, laughed. And took over the questioning from his stern-faced colleague: "Oh, you are correct in that. But tell me, why do you think the sword cannot be moved? I heard you say that you know that particular secret. So, what is the price for you to share that secret, hmm?"

The dark-haired man shrugged. "You asked why the deed was not done. That was the question asked. It is not my place to answer what was not asked. But if you are wondering why the sword cannot be moved, I believe that I know the reason why."

"Then tell us." The blond-haired swordsman's frown deepened as he glared at the man.

The other Templar, the man with the red-brown beard, made a chiding sound at his companion. "Ah, Kerris! You are too hasty! We are not so pressed for time that we cannot be civilized about this," he chided the swordsman, as he leaned against the doorpost of the cell, "Tell me, what would be your price for telling this precious little secret?"

That drew a smile from the mercenary in the loincloth. "I am here because I was dragged off from the common cells to help bring the boy in here. Not the sort of thing that I had expected to do, when I came to fight in the Arena. My first fight too, to tell the truth. But as I was saying, these men dragged me in here, together with the Raven boy. They were also the ones who took my weapons and my armor, leaving me like this. I would like to have my things back, before the fight, I should think. I'll be needing them surely."

The Templar outside the cell laughed. "Or we can just deal with the issue in another way," he said, as he pointed a finger at the pair that were still inside the cell, "Strip!"

One of the man stared back at the bearded Templar, his mouth hanging open. The other one, however, scowled and started to protest. He barely got two words out of this mouth. "But, sir ..."

The blond Templar's sword flashed again, and the second guard's voice deserted him, as he stared down at the blade that had impaled his heart. Kerris recovered, and had the time to wipe his blade on the man's shoulder before he collapsed onto the cell floor.

"Oh, my. I think you can see our dear friend Kerris is getting impatient. What are you waiting for?" the bearded man asked the remaining guard, who had already begun to tear his clothes and gear off. The Templar turned back to look at the bruised and battered prisoner as that went on, and smiled evilly at the man in the loincloth.

"There. I trust that should suffice. Now, about the sword ..."

The prisoner smiled back. "Well, he did say that no one who serves the Temple shall ever pry the sword from his hands, you see. I trust he had some sort of ... curse? Something like that which bound the blade to his body, I suppose."

The one called Melior seemed to catch on at once.

"Ah! But you do not serve the Temple, I believe. Indeed, you are not even of this Kingdom. I trust you should not have any difficulty removing the sword. Would you care to try?"

The injured man smiled back at the red-bearded man, who had asked the question. "That is a very interesting offer. Or threat. But if there is a curse involved ..., " he shrugged, "If you could add a little to the pot, I might be tempted to give it a try. Say, one of the swords? And a knife or two? Those things aren't even close to what you already possess, I believe. And I am going to be in the arena soon enough."

Then he turned to glance at the remaining wardens. "And I doubt that any of them would dare to make a move to snatch them, once you have given your word. The weapons are of a rather unusual design, so they would certainly not be able to hide them from you, if they did get their hands on the same."

It was Kerris Bloodbane who agreed then. There was no hesitation either, in the way that he replied. As though he considered the worth of the Raven Sword far above the rest of the weapons in the cell.

"Agreed. You can take everything else, if you so wish. Only get me the Raven Sword."

The injured prisoner sighed, and got up on his feet. And rubbed at his bruised jaw as he stepped over to the cot in the corner. All of the other weapons had already been removed by the Wardens earlier, leaving a lone long sword, with jewels and gilding decorating its hilt, lying in the corpse's embrace.

And he only paused for a moment, before he reached out, and plucked the long hand-and-a-half sword out of the corpse's grasp, and held it out in front of him, studying the pattern on the hilt.

"This bears the mark of the Raven Clan on its hilt and pommel, so I suppose it is the one that you seek. I trust you shall hold to the agreement made, and be content with just this one."

He held the weapon out to the pair then. And the stern-faced Kerris didn't hesitate at all, half snatching the weapon out of his grasp.

Melior Twohammer, on the other hand, merely grinned at him as he gestured at the other weapons that had been left lying on the floor of the cell, as though to remind him to pick them up.

"If you are worried about us going back on our word, and trying to wrest that sword, or those daggers in your possession now, I will add my promise to Melior Twohammer's. You have the word of Kerris the Swordmaster: those shall be your payment, and no one shall take them away from you."

However, the red-bearded Templar stepped closer to the same, intercepting the prisoner before he could get close to enough to pick them up. The latter seemed to sense something then, and scowled at Melior as he stopped his movement towards the weapons.

Only to see the Templar with the two warhammers on his belt watching his companion, who had already turned and was walking out of the cell. Melior Twohammer turned back then, and shook his head at the dark-haired, battered man.

"No, no. No need to worry. No one is going to stop you from walking away with the sword or the knives. After all, Kerris Bloodbane has already promised them to you, and we have to uphold the good name of all Templars, here in Yraengard."

Melior Twohammer's smile seemed to widen as he said that, as he stepped closer to the man with the bruise on his face. And leaned closer as if he had some secret that he wished to share.

"However, there is one small thing ..."

The Templar called Melior sniggered then. And quicker than the prisoner could even begin to make a response, slammed a gauntleted fist into his ribs! And the Templar merely chuckled again, as there was a loud cracking sound in response, even as the dark-haired man clutched at his side, and collapsed onto the floor of the cell once more.

"Just a little ... expression of my discontent with you, you understand? All that negotiation for a better price, and the way that you spoke to Kerris and I ... All of that is inconsequential. And the way that you expressed your thanks at the end was ... more than sufficient.

"However, I am somewhat miffed that you didn't rise when the two of us had entered the cell. Kerris may not care too much for that, but I am rather disappointed that you didn't offer us that simple modicum of respect. And that makes me more than a little displeased with you."

Melior Twohammer grinned at the prisoner, as he shook his head once more. "There is a certain price to be paid, for making me displeased. And I think you have already paid it. Now pick up your prizes and get going! You still have a fight to participate in, I believe, later today.

"And I have other matters to attend to."

Then the red-bearded man's feral smile widened further.

"I suppose I should wish you good luck for your fight. You will surely be needing it."

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