The Fly

Zevran lifts an eyebrow at the man who joins him at his table in the back of the tavern. "I was not expecting company," is all he says. "Have you some business with me?" He signals to a barmaid, who brings a bottle of wine and two glasses.

The stranger - who is not a stranger, Zevran knows perfectly well who he is, although they have not met - snorts. "Spare me the pleasantries. I know all about your business. You are an Antivan Crow, and you are in town to kill me."

Zevran pours them each a glass of wine, and offers one to the stranger, who takes it but does not drink. "And yet, believing this, you choose to sit at a table with me? I am impressed by your audacity, I admit."

"Don't play games. I want to make a deal. Whatever you've been offered by the Crows, I will pay triple if you instead take out the man who hired the hit on me."

Zevran makes a clucking sound under his nose. "Oh, my friend, you do not understand how the Crows work. As I understand it - of course I have no personal knowledge as I am not a Crow myself, whatever you may think-" The man snorts again, this time with disbelief, but doesn't interrupt further. "-once a contract has been taken, assassins are sent until it is completed. If an assassin undertakes a contract and then for any reason refuses to complete it, why then, the next sent is to take his life as well." He holds up his glass in a toast and takes a sip before continuing. "So you see, your request is...problematic, to say the least."

The man looks unconcerned. "I am offering triple the amount offered. I know what my life must have been worth; the Crows are as mercenary as any other group."

"Ah, but they consider a bargain concluded to be a matter of honor."

Zevran holds out the other glass of wine; the man ignores it and slams a fist down on the table. "An assassin, speaking of honor?"

"Well, you must have some faith in the honor of assassins, must you not? Or else you would not be sitting with me, even though you are so discourteous as to refuse to drink the wine I have just bought you."

"I'm not such a fool. You can't attack me here, not with so many witnesses. You'd never get away with it. But poison, that's another matter."

Zevran shrugs, unoffended. "If you prefer, we can trade glasses. You have seen me drink from this one, you know it cannot be poisoned."

"You could have taken an antidote and poisoned them both. I don't trust you. I just want you to deliver my message."

Zevran holds up his hands. "You wound me! I give you my word I have no intentions of poisoning you. But if you are unwilling to share in the pleasure of a harmless glass of wine, that is your concern."

The man's eyes are fierce. "And my message?"

Zevran shrugs and lowers his voice. "I will deliver it, in exchange for, shall we say, ten gold pieces. Paid in advance. But I do not think it will aid you."

The man visibly relaxes. "That's all I ask." He reaches into his tunic and pulls out a small pouch, and counts out the coins. "I'm sure your Guildmaster will be reasonable."

Zevran smiles. "He is a man of business, it is true." He nods a farewell and leaves the tavern.

The man sinks into a seat, and breathes a sigh of relief. He sits in the tavern for a time, but doesn't order anything; he doesn't trust the assassin to not have arranged for poison somewhere. He's always had a dread of poison, and the Crows are known for their skill in its use. Finally he leaves and makes his way home.

He is only a block away when a hand reaches out from a nearby alley and pulls him in; another hand shoves a dagger into the small of his back, between the vertebrae, severing the spine. It only takes a second. He is released, and falls to the ground. His legs cannot hold him, and he has only seconds left.

"Your word-" he croaks, before blood chokes his throat.

"Was good; I never lie. You have not been poisoned. You have been set upon. It is entirely different." Zevran smirked. "I dislike killing by poison. It is so impersonal. I will deliver your message to the Crows, as promised; I never said I would do so before fulfilling my task. It would have availed you nothing, believe me. As I told you, the Guildmaster is a man of business, and it would not be good for business for word to spread that the Crows may be bribed. You should have let me buy you a glass of wine, my friend. It is such a shame to let you go to your gods without that last courtesy. Ah well, your choice."

Zevran walks away, whistling, as the man breathes his last in the alleyway.