Myles Toyne watched the revelry around him with measured approval. As far as the eye could see under the veil of night, spirits were naturally high after a great victory. The Golden Company, under the employ of Myr, met the mercenary forces of Tyrosh and Lys two days prior and once the usually fruitless negotiation formalities broke down, the battle was started and won that morning. Though the joint force was impressive in manpower, amounting to nearly 6000 men strong, numbers proved of little worth against the training and discipline of the Golden Company.
Even after near a century in Essos, none could match them in either field. For the Golden Company was no rabble of sellswords, theirs was the bond of exiled brothers. Men either born and practiced for war. Iron Shields, Brave Companions, and Maiden's Men expectedly fled the field when absolute victory seemed even an ounce unachievable. The Company of Cat and Windblown, foolishly hired by the joint Magister and Archon alliance, quickly began fighting one another until the threat of destruction forced them into a retreat. With the bulk of the army lost or turning craven, whatever remained was quickly dispatched.
Good men were lost, to be sure but it was a relatively easy victory and a fruitful one. Even in the torchlight burning throughout the entire camp, the spoils of war glinted, sparkled and shone in the celebrating men falling deeper and deeper into drink, song, and joy. Some found such displays of wealth unseemly, a number of them thinking the Golden Company jeweled fools, capable of only adorning themselves with trinkets.
Myles liked this perception, it made men foolish enough to underestimate them even after so many years of more than proving their mettle in the battlefields of Essos. The Blackheart knew the value of creating a certain image about oneself to lull, trick or frighten friend and foe alike. With another glance around celebration, primarily at the men he'd issued to keep the order once so as to ensure no fools killed one another in a drunken duel or burned the whole camp down, Myles made way for his tent.
Situated at the center of every camp, one could easily spot it from the ring of pikes surrounding it. Each one adorning the gilded skull of the previous Golden Company captain-generals. His own would, in due time but he hoped not. There was still much work left to be done.
"Evening Captain-General," Royland and Bryce both greeted him, looking sharp, well rested and ready for a long night of standing around.
Poor sods, Myles thought, remembering when he was a young but promising man in the brotherhood. Still, one must learn the value of guard duty when everyone else is getting shit-faced.
"Evening lads," He greeted back. "Don't curse the Gods too much, there'll be ale left for you once your shift is done. I know from experience."
The younger men allowed themselves small smiles of relief as Myles walked past them. "But not a drop of it while you're on duty, of course."
"Of course sir!" They said in-unison as Myles pushed the golden cloth of the entrance aside. A small candle flame provided the only light within, illuminating the table and chest situated to the northern side of the tent. But a few steps inside, Toyne felt a very familiar, fine-tuned cold prickling sensation pass over him.
Before he could even think of reaching for the sword hanging over his right hand, something silent... moved through the tent, pressing cold steel against his throat. "Move or talk 'fore I say so and you're getting knifed, got it?"
Toyne did neither, the knife moved away by an inch. Outside, he heard thumping noises, like a hammer striking against steel followed by something dragged across the ground. It was Royland and Bryce, either asleep or dead left inside by some great, hulking black creature Toyne barely caught sight of from the corner of his eye before it vanished outside.
"Don't worry, your guys are alive," The knife wielder said in a slightly louder voice. It belonged to a very young man, he quickly discerned. "They're gonna have some pretty nasty headaches in the morning though. You too, if you do what I want."
"Y-You're him..." Myles spoke in a whisper. "The King of Thieves."
"How'd you figure that out?"
He snorted. "Who else could do what you have? Do you have any idea how many fools have died trying it? To steal from the brotherhood?"
"Good thing I'm not like those guys, cause I'm gonna get outta here."
"You don't have to keep me like this," Myles assured him. "I wish to speak with you plainly."
"You wanna talk normal to a guy breaking into your camp, beating up your men and who's gonna steal yer crap? Sorry if I find that hard to believe."
"It is the truth, master thief, your exploits are of great interest to me... and my associates. Ever since you brought that dragon to Westeros and upheaved all of the Seven Kingdoms."
Surprisingly, Myles did not receive a laugh from the youth but a barely concealed sigh. "Alright, listen, I don't know what you heard or what those morons saw but that ain't no dragon and I'm sure as hell NOT a dragon rider. Or one of those blonde weirdos either."
"You need not lie to protect yourself, not here. The Golden Company have ever been friends to the Blood of Valyria."
"Sure, that's why you tried kicking out all the Targs a bunch of times."
"Alliances change with the times, lad. Those who're once enemies become great friends as the circumstances require it."
"Yeah, that's real deep," The King of Thieves sounded thoroughly bored. "Now, how's about you say something I care about for a change and tell me where Blackfyre is?"
"That," Myles spoke again in a harsher voice. "Is something I won't tell you and I sure as the seven hells won't give up."
"Plenty of folks have told me that till I made them change their minds fast."
"It's fortunate I'm not like those men," Myles smiled grimly. "And you're a fool to think you can torture me inside my own camp."
"Oh, I don't need torture you," The thief shuffled through something sounding like coins clanking against one another. From the corner of his eye, Myles saw something in the youths free hand. A white-colored seed, twice the size of any Myles had ever seen. "Keep looking, old man."
Myles did so, watching the seed fly across the sky, strike against the chest and... causing it to vanish in a puff of smoke...
"Those little friends of mine gobble lots of bigger stuff up, shrinking them down so they can fit inside," Toyne heard a nasty satisfaction in the youth's voice. "Now, what do you think'll happen to a person who gets put inside one?"
"Do your worst, boy," Myles told him with utmost honesty. "I killed my first man before you were old enough to suckle your mother's teat. Death and I became familiar with one another long ago."
His captor said nothing for a handful of moments. Clearly, he didn't expect that for an answer. The silence was broken only by the small flicking of the candle and the sound of flapping wings outside. Until the knife flashed from Toyne's view and a hard blow struck him from behind. A sharp pain burst forth from his neck, covering his eyes in black spots and sending him hurtling toward the ground. As he fell, Myles attempted to and failed at keeping himself awake. The last thing he would remember from that day was the King of Thieve's words in the dark.
"I knew we should've just gone after that space sword."
A/N: Thus ends the Golden Company arc, with the first somewhat failure of Yamcha & Pu'ar's thieving career so far. Not very many yuck yucks in this one but after struggling to make this chapter unique in comparison to what's come before, it turned out alright.