Hey people. Wow, two updates in just three days. That's really smoking, for me at least.... (light, embarassed chuckles) But! This shall be my attempt to make up for it! So, here we go!...
To Mal: I'm not mad at you, just in a "D'oh!" state over the fact that you missed the point. Don't worry about it; it's just... the idea was not meant to be funny! Grrr! (eye twitches)
To My New Reviewer (extremely sorry, but I forgot your name :( Forgive me!): Welcome to my madness! Good to see you. Keep reading and reviewing, please!
Sabriel41: I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS ON SIEGFRIED AND IVY! They're perfect! It's the exact way to describe them...! And now I hate you. Even your reviews are better than my stories! (cries loudly) After reading your stuff, I'm amazed you'll even look at mine... You are a genius extraordinaire, my lady. Hope you'll keep reading and enjoying my little work here.
I'm assuming Nami&Siegy will review, so here's a preliminary shout-out to you two. Kudos!
Hey, guess what. This chapter's my lucky number! 13! Yes! Should be a good one...
And now, it's....
"SHOWTIME!"
Chapter 13
Unexpected Acquaintances
Somewhere near Spanish border with France, roads of Europe, heading East, three days after leaving "The Crying Dove" in Valencia, Spain. Noon.
Kilik hummed to himself as he walked the roads of Europe, trying to ignore the obscene, almost-voice in the back of his mind. It was a low thing, almost subaudible, whirling and spinning and gnashing and groaning, a living thing that sought to drive him insane. Kilik was far too powerful for the thing to take over, even in his sleep, but still it tried. The voice had been easy enough to ignore when he and Siegfried had been talking while Ivy lay unconscious (and just being near others seemed to diminish the shard's effect; maybe there truly was strength in numbers), but now that he was by himself he found the shard's efforts had been redoubled against him. Humming to himself, Kilik tried to ignore the shard in his pocket (he'd wrapped and rewrapped it in silk blessed by a wise man of India, but that seemed to have little or no effect on the shard).
Due to his preoccupation, he didn't notice the stranger on the side of the road until he was only a few yards away. The man was laying on his back, hands behind his head, one leg resting on a bent knee. A rapier lay on the grass next to him, it's empty scabbard on the man's belt. The man looked up as Kilik approached. Kilik guessed him at twenty five.
" Why, hello, stranger!" the man said, lifting one hand up from behind his head to wave at him. " Nice to see you!"
Kilik waved back, lifting his left hand (while shifting his grip on the Kali-Yuga with his right; one never knew what might happen in a meeting on the road like this). " Hello to you too. It is a nice day today," Kilik replied.
" Indeed!" The young man pulled himself up with one practiced jerk, and Kilik got a good view of the man. He'd underestimated his age by several years; the man's clean, shaven face and cheery greeting had confused him at a distance. As Kilik drew closer, he saw that the man was probably a youthful looking thirty. The man's face was open and honest, but his eyes were very confusing to Kilik. Underneath the trim blond hair, the man's blue eyes sparkled with something half hidden in them. It wasn't the bandit's gleam (as Kilik had taken to calling it- that shadowy sparkle in a robber's eye when he thought he was fooling a potential target), but rather something different. Something... gleeful? Was that it? Glee... or something... else?
" What's your name, traveler?" the blond man said, picking up his sword and wiping it off briefly on the side of his pants. Kilik noticed that they were almost the same red color as his own clothing. He kept holding onto his rapier, probably just as wary of Kilik as Kilik was of him.
" Kevin," Kilik said, quickly using the adopted alias he'd used when traveling in Europe during The Journey. False names, even ones as simple as what they'd been using (Maxi had been called "Max", and Xianghua used "Elizabeth"), were often enough to throw off pursuit. And there had been a lot of that. It had seemed, while on the Journey, that every random assassin and would-be king in Asia was after the Sword of Salvation, and once word got around that there were three people seeking to destroy it, a lot of knives had been sharpened. Thankfully, their pursuit had not expected them to use European names, and they'd always managed to give them the slip.
" Odd name for a foreigner," the blond man said, smiling, " but hey, it's your business. My name's Rafe! I'm a wandering traveler, like yourself."
Kilik smiled. He doubted very much that this man was very much like him in any way. " And where would you be wandering?"
The blond man laughed, a single big guffaw that seemed perfectly suited to a country bumpkin and not to a man wearing the clothes of nobility. " Not into your pockets, if that's what's worrying you. You can let go of the big stick; I'm not out to hurt you."
Kilik kept his grip on the Kali-Yuga. " That's not very reassuring, Mr. Rafe. Particularly since you talk like a countrymen," Kilik smirked as he said this, " and dress like a prince."
Rafe looked at his clothes and laughed. " Yeah, I guess so. But the guy I took these off of was dead, and he wasn't needing them. I tell you, nobles have as many problems as peasants do when you're talking about tax collectors. I just got lucky and managed to steal his clothes before the king did!" He laughed again. Kilik knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help feeling more and more inclined to believe this man. He seemed to be telling the truth, and Kilik's monk training sensed no more deception than usual about this man (everyone, as Kilik had learned in monk training, carries deception with them; the secrets we hold and carry mark us as possessing deception, and so monk training is virtually useless when dealing with spies, liars, and con men).
" Where are you heading?" Kilik repeated his earlier question.
" Probably to Greece," Rafe said. " I've got an old friend I got to meet there. Good man; a shipwright, I think. Or something to do with water. I tell you, I hate boats. Damn things make me seasick."
Kilik nodded. Apparently, the affliction that Siegfried had was shared by many across Europe. " It seems our paths are heading in the same direction, Rafe. I myself am heading that way." Kilik did not mention his final goal was Arabia, past Greece, but was otherwise being truthful.
" Mind sharing the road for a while?" Rafe said, putting his rapier in it's scabbard and dusting himself off. " It gets quite lonely out here. You're not a woman, but talk's almost as good as a shared bedroll, aye?"
Kilik quirked an eyebrow. " If you say so..."
Rafe laughed. " Come on, Kevin. You look Oriental- fascinate me with tales of the Far East."
So saying, the two set off walking together, completely unaware of the plots and plans both were formulating, plans that just might set off so many things... and stave off others.
As a wise man once said, the road is like a river; dip your feet in it and you never know where you might get swept off to.
El Gato de Fuergo ("Firecat"), town in Northern Spain, same time.
Siegfried and Ivy had spent most of the morning in quiet, uneventful silence as they strolled down the road heading north out of Valencia. Neither had spoken much, but the strange awkwardness that had followed them when they had first left Valencia had dissipated. Though Ivy was still a long ways from being happy, she was at least past the suicidal stage, and Siegfried took that as a good sign. He kept having recurrent nightmares that Ivy had slit her throat during the night while she was on guard duty, leaving him to wake with a corpse the next morning. He'd woken several times when it was his turn to sleep (there were bandits everywhere in this area, so they kept a night watch) and turned to stare at Ivy for a few seconds before returning to unconsciousness. Though she'd looked at him odd a few times, she'd never said anything about it. Siegfried was glad. He didn't know what he'd tell her if she did; he couldn't very well tell her he was making sure she wasn't trying to off herself, could he? That would probably cause her slowly rising morale to plummet very quickly. Besides, she probably knew already. Ivy was more than smart enough to realize what his disturbed sleep meant. That she hadn't said anything was probably more a sign of politeness and respect more than a lack of curiousity.
These thoughts Siegfried pondered as he walked into El Gato de Fuergo, or (roughly translated from Spanish), the Cat of Flame. A strange name for such an innocent little town.
Not so strange when one considered it was one of the biggest mercenary hotspots in all of Spain. Siegfried had heard of the town from several members of his father's army over the years (though he'd never been there himself), and Ivy knew about it from her father's ramblings about finding men to hunt the Soul Edge. Yesterday morning, they'd inquired at a quaint little inn by the roadside, asking for nearby towns. When informed that Firecat (it's name in English, one used by most people, seeing as how English was a semi-universal language) was within two days journey, they'd immediately set out for it. Both of them were broke, and Siegfried still had his lifelong quest ahead of him (though Ivy still didn't know about that, and God willing, never would). As they walked in, they nodded to the guards on top of the wooden palisade that surrounded the town. All four looked old, grim, and mean. One was missing an eye, and if the million ragged cuts that surrounded the eyepatch over his right eye were any indication, it had not been in battle. The guards nodded back and waved them through, without any of the usual rigamarole most towns put travelers through of checking their weapons in. In Firecat, more than half the townspeople were mercenaries, so it was an obsolete notion to have visitors turn their weapons in. The guards went back to scanning the road, crossbows at the ready, waiting to fire at the first sign of invasion or battle. Without really knowing how he knew it, Siegfried understood instinctively that all four men were expert shots. In a town like Firecat, only the best protective services would do. Mercenary towns were not very popular with the nations of the world; in fact, many barely tolerated them, and only in the most backwater of places. The king's soldiers wouldn't even come near places like this; Firecat's law was it's own.
All this considered, Firecat was the most clean, respectable looking town Siegfried had seen in ages. The streets were somewhat narrow, with barely enough room to put a wagon through, and the buildings all had sniper holes built-in to them ([Talk about paranoia,] Siegfried thought bleakly as they walked through the town), but traffic was light, and the street vendors had either not mastered the art of yelling out their prices or were gracefully declining to practice said art. Those people who were out on the streets were all armed, and Siegfried noted that there were no small children or obvious pickpockets waiting to step in and rob the unwary. In a town where everybody owned a sword (or two or three), thieves didn't last very long. Both reassured and distressed by the fact that no rioting or lawlessness was occuring here, Siegfried turned to Ivy.
" Remarkably quiet place, isn't it?" he said, not realizing until he said it that his words were far louder than he intended (he usually spoke English in a slightly louder tone of voice, covering any slip-ups he made with volume).
Some of the street vendors went quiet, and several people turned to look at him. Then half of them broke out laughing. One chuckling warrior came up to them and folded his arms to his chest, smiling.
" Yeah, it is kind of quiet here," he said, still chuckling, " and we like it that way. You two new here? Ah, don't answer- stupid question, I know. Name's Ivan, from Russia. Good to meet you two." He didn't offer his hand, and Siegfried figured that hand-shaking was a custom that had fallen out of fashion here some time ago.
[ Nobody wants to tie up their hands for even a second here,] Siegfried thought sarcastically, then said, " Nice to meet you two. Name's Siegfried, from Germany."
Ivy nodded to him. " Isabella, of Britain. You may call me Ivy."
Ivan chuckled. Siegfried scanned the man's body quickly, an old mercenary habit of his that had never failed him. The man was tall and broad, built much like Siegfried himself, though Siegfried could never remember being that broad in the chest. All of Siegfried's muscles were in his arms and shoulders. Ivan had a thick brown beard that stuck close to his face (Siegfried guessed that it had been trimmed recently) and his brown eyes held nothing but genial goodwill in them. A battle axe hung in a belt behind his back, handle in easy reach of one of his big, muscular hands. Brown hair covered the back of his palms, and through his open tunic Siegfried saw chest hair puffing out. The tunic and breeches were both brown, tapering to enormous boots that sat slightly askew on the cobbled road. When Siegfried returned his eyes to Ivan's, he noticed that the mercenary had checked both him and Ivy out as well. Ivan smiled.
" Yeah, everybody in this town does that," Ivan said, his grin showing off perfect white teeth. " Get a bunch of mercenaries together and it's just like a festival of paranoids. But it saves your life more often than not, eh? Come, I'll show you around town. It's a nice place. Quiet, like you said."
The rest of the town had returned to their business, and Siegfried looked at Ivy, who shrugged. He seemed harmless enough, so Siegfried followed him. As Ivan walked, he talked, revealing the fascinating and somewhat bizarre history of the town.
El Gato de Fuergo had gotten it's start in true mercenary fashion: a group of young men and women had been paid to start a town here, where a half-insane rich crackpot believed there was gold. The three hundred souls hired to live here had run the gauntlet from loyal, upright citizens to former soldiers to criminals running from the law. Banded together by the common purpose of greed, they'd lived in relatively peaceful harmony (more or less) and set about to work. They'd dug and dug to no avail, finding no rich deposits of anything except good, fertile soil. The old man refused to believe there was nothing here, however, so he kept paying them, and they kept staying. When he'd eventually died, the town had grown to over five hundred, what with the births and immigrants trickling in. With him gone, the townspeople became very worried about their futures here. Those worries were solved when a group of bandits, mistakenly believing that the town was an easy target, charged forth to take the town. A group effort by the townspeople, wielding pickaxe and hammer, had finished the bandit's career permanently. What the townspeople had not known at the time was that each bandit had an enormous fortune on their heads. When the townspeople, greedy as ever, did find out, they had cashed in and made good on the fortune. A love of bounty hunting had sparked up within them, and ever since then, the town had declared itself friendly to mercenaries, assassins, and manhunters of all kinds.
It had originally been named "Black Mine" in honor of the mines the townspeople had dug (the name was, originally, of course, Spanish, but that was incomprehensible to Siegfried, who only understood French, English, and his native German; Ivan translated it for him) but that had changed in true mercenary fashion as well. A French ambassador had once made a bet that he was so silver-tongued he could make the Spanish name a town after him within a month of his visit. As the deadline for the bet drew closer and closer, the ambassador got more and more nervous. Wanting to help him out (and make money), a group of townspeople had approached him with an offer to change their town's name for a little cash. They did too- in a fashion. The ambassador's nickname had been Firecat, for his fiery oratory and the annoying hissing breath he drew in whenever he was about to make a speech.
The ambassador lost the bet. But the townspeople kept the name anyway, mostly so they could barter it for drinks in the bars of nearby towns. A town built around greed for money and the thrill of the chase. Yet, despite that, it was an extremely clean and quiet place.
" If these tales are true," Ivy said, raising her eyebrow, " then why do I see no violence here? Mercenaries are not known for their gentle temperaments."
Ivan laughed out loud, shaking his big head. " Oh, but Firecat makes it's own way, as it always does," he said, still shaking his head. " No, m' lady, we're not the most peaceful bunch. But, that's only on the job. When we get back, from a long hard day of killing people or dragging 'em in to jails around the world, we want to kick back, relax, and enjoy our pay. We do not want to have to navigate streets filled with drunks and thieves. Have you seen any bars since you got here?"
Ivy looked around, for the first time noticing the lack of drunken beggars passed out in alleys, and the fact that the redolent stench of vomit and urine (constants about bars the world over) was nowhere to be found. " Now that you mention it, no."
Ivan smirked; Siegfried couldn't see it, but he could hear it in his voice. " We don't support bars here," he said, looking about as he talked, " because every mercenary with any brains knows that drink just causes you to lose your edge. We are a town of respectable mercenaries, and though that sounds like a paradox if there ever was one, it's true. Sure, we go out and kill people. But that's just our day job. At home, we're pretty quiet people."
" Who keeps the law around here?" Siegfried asked, something in him fascinated by the idea of a town of mercenaries. He'd heard stories, sure, but the reality was so much more wilder- and attractive- than they had been.
" We all do," Ivan said, nodding towards the walls. " We have a mayor, sure, and the assorted ambassadors and goodwill messengers who keep the towns nearby friendly and peaceful. And there's the token police force. But in reality, it's the townspeople who keep the peace. Hurt one of us, we kill you. Simple as that. There's an old saying I know, that sums up this whole damn town: " An eye for an eye doesn't make everyone blind; it makes you damn careful whose eye you take out." Everyone here is either a mercenary or related to a mercenary. We don't tolerate nonsense here."
Ivy smiled. " Sounds like utopia."
Siegfried snorted. " With sharp edges."
Ivan laughed. " You two will fit right in. What are you seeking here? Bounty heads, I assume?"
Ivy nodded. " Yes."
" Then follow me."
Ivan led them through the streets (all narrow, all with arrow ledges in the rooftops of surrounding buildings) to a small, squat building. Posters covered all sides of it, and eight clerks inside were catering to a crowd of some of the roughest (and plain strangest) people he'd ever seen. Despite it's large size, it was remarkably quiet and polite. As he watched, a thin man carrying a sickle blade was conversing with a small, rat faced clerk. As they talked, Siegfried noticed the man's unhealthy resemblance to some malevolent scarecrow come to life and walking around. Ivan pushed through the crowd, parting with words or brute force as necessary. When he reached the scarecrow, he said, " Hey Lenny. Good to see you. How's it going?"
The scarecrow man turned, his thin face oddly pleasant looking even as a wave of distaste pursed it's lips and ran through it. " Ivan. How many times have I told you that my name is Lenin? We come from the same country, you know. It's not that big a stretch of pronunciation."
Ivan laughed. " Just 'cause you're from Russia doesn't mean I have to cut you any slack, you hare-brained know-it-all. Come on, step aside for a second. I got two newcomers here, wanting a bounty."
" Don't we all?" someone asked dryly from the crowd, provoking laughter.
" Well, I have a new one here, practically hot off the presses," the clerk said. " It's a good one, too. Nice reward."
" Whose it for?"
Ivy and Siegfried's eyes lit up as they heard the name. Both gasped, as shocked as if they had seen a ghost.
Or in this case, heard one.
-Read and review, please!
To Mal: I'm not mad at you, just in a "D'oh!" state over the fact that you missed the point. Don't worry about it; it's just... the idea was not meant to be funny! Grrr! (eye twitches)
To My New Reviewer (extremely sorry, but I forgot your name :( Forgive me!): Welcome to my madness! Good to see you. Keep reading and reviewing, please!
Sabriel41: I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS ON SIEGFRIED AND IVY! They're perfect! It's the exact way to describe them...! And now I hate you. Even your reviews are better than my stories! (cries loudly) After reading your stuff, I'm amazed you'll even look at mine... You are a genius extraordinaire, my lady. Hope you'll keep reading and enjoying my little work here.
I'm assuming Nami&Siegy will review, so here's a preliminary shout-out to you two. Kudos!
Hey, guess what. This chapter's my lucky number! 13! Yes! Should be a good one...
And now, it's....
"SHOWTIME!"
Chapter 13
Unexpected Acquaintances
Somewhere near Spanish border with France, roads of Europe, heading East, three days after leaving "The Crying Dove" in Valencia, Spain. Noon.
Kilik hummed to himself as he walked the roads of Europe, trying to ignore the obscene, almost-voice in the back of his mind. It was a low thing, almost subaudible, whirling and spinning and gnashing and groaning, a living thing that sought to drive him insane. Kilik was far too powerful for the thing to take over, even in his sleep, but still it tried. The voice had been easy enough to ignore when he and Siegfried had been talking while Ivy lay unconscious (and just being near others seemed to diminish the shard's effect; maybe there truly was strength in numbers), but now that he was by himself he found the shard's efforts had been redoubled against him. Humming to himself, Kilik tried to ignore the shard in his pocket (he'd wrapped and rewrapped it in silk blessed by a wise man of India, but that seemed to have little or no effect on the shard).
Due to his preoccupation, he didn't notice the stranger on the side of the road until he was only a few yards away. The man was laying on his back, hands behind his head, one leg resting on a bent knee. A rapier lay on the grass next to him, it's empty scabbard on the man's belt. The man looked up as Kilik approached. Kilik guessed him at twenty five.
" Why, hello, stranger!" the man said, lifting one hand up from behind his head to wave at him. " Nice to see you!"
Kilik waved back, lifting his left hand (while shifting his grip on the Kali-Yuga with his right; one never knew what might happen in a meeting on the road like this). " Hello to you too. It is a nice day today," Kilik replied.
" Indeed!" The young man pulled himself up with one practiced jerk, and Kilik got a good view of the man. He'd underestimated his age by several years; the man's clean, shaven face and cheery greeting had confused him at a distance. As Kilik drew closer, he saw that the man was probably a youthful looking thirty. The man's face was open and honest, but his eyes were very confusing to Kilik. Underneath the trim blond hair, the man's blue eyes sparkled with something half hidden in them. It wasn't the bandit's gleam (as Kilik had taken to calling it- that shadowy sparkle in a robber's eye when he thought he was fooling a potential target), but rather something different. Something... gleeful? Was that it? Glee... or something... else?
" What's your name, traveler?" the blond man said, picking up his sword and wiping it off briefly on the side of his pants. Kilik noticed that they were almost the same red color as his own clothing. He kept holding onto his rapier, probably just as wary of Kilik as Kilik was of him.
" Kevin," Kilik said, quickly using the adopted alias he'd used when traveling in Europe during The Journey. False names, even ones as simple as what they'd been using (Maxi had been called "Max", and Xianghua used "Elizabeth"), were often enough to throw off pursuit. And there had been a lot of that. It had seemed, while on the Journey, that every random assassin and would-be king in Asia was after the Sword of Salvation, and once word got around that there were three people seeking to destroy it, a lot of knives had been sharpened. Thankfully, their pursuit had not expected them to use European names, and they'd always managed to give them the slip.
" Odd name for a foreigner," the blond man said, smiling, " but hey, it's your business. My name's Rafe! I'm a wandering traveler, like yourself."
Kilik smiled. He doubted very much that this man was very much like him in any way. " And where would you be wandering?"
The blond man laughed, a single big guffaw that seemed perfectly suited to a country bumpkin and not to a man wearing the clothes of nobility. " Not into your pockets, if that's what's worrying you. You can let go of the big stick; I'm not out to hurt you."
Kilik kept his grip on the Kali-Yuga. " That's not very reassuring, Mr. Rafe. Particularly since you talk like a countrymen," Kilik smirked as he said this, " and dress like a prince."
Rafe looked at his clothes and laughed. " Yeah, I guess so. But the guy I took these off of was dead, and he wasn't needing them. I tell you, nobles have as many problems as peasants do when you're talking about tax collectors. I just got lucky and managed to steal his clothes before the king did!" He laughed again. Kilik knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help feeling more and more inclined to believe this man. He seemed to be telling the truth, and Kilik's monk training sensed no more deception than usual about this man (everyone, as Kilik had learned in monk training, carries deception with them; the secrets we hold and carry mark us as possessing deception, and so monk training is virtually useless when dealing with spies, liars, and con men).
" Where are you heading?" Kilik repeated his earlier question.
" Probably to Greece," Rafe said. " I've got an old friend I got to meet there. Good man; a shipwright, I think. Or something to do with water. I tell you, I hate boats. Damn things make me seasick."
Kilik nodded. Apparently, the affliction that Siegfried had was shared by many across Europe. " It seems our paths are heading in the same direction, Rafe. I myself am heading that way." Kilik did not mention his final goal was Arabia, past Greece, but was otherwise being truthful.
" Mind sharing the road for a while?" Rafe said, putting his rapier in it's scabbard and dusting himself off. " It gets quite lonely out here. You're not a woman, but talk's almost as good as a shared bedroll, aye?"
Kilik quirked an eyebrow. " If you say so..."
Rafe laughed. " Come on, Kevin. You look Oriental- fascinate me with tales of the Far East."
So saying, the two set off walking together, completely unaware of the plots and plans both were formulating, plans that just might set off so many things... and stave off others.
As a wise man once said, the road is like a river; dip your feet in it and you never know where you might get swept off to.
El Gato de Fuergo ("Firecat"), town in Northern Spain, same time.
Siegfried and Ivy had spent most of the morning in quiet, uneventful silence as they strolled down the road heading north out of Valencia. Neither had spoken much, but the strange awkwardness that had followed them when they had first left Valencia had dissipated. Though Ivy was still a long ways from being happy, she was at least past the suicidal stage, and Siegfried took that as a good sign. He kept having recurrent nightmares that Ivy had slit her throat during the night while she was on guard duty, leaving him to wake with a corpse the next morning. He'd woken several times when it was his turn to sleep (there were bandits everywhere in this area, so they kept a night watch) and turned to stare at Ivy for a few seconds before returning to unconsciousness. Though she'd looked at him odd a few times, she'd never said anything about it. Siegfried was glad. He didn't know what he'd tell her if she did; he couldn't very well tell her he was making sure she wasn't trying to off herself, could he? That would probably cause her slowly rising morale to plummet very quickly. Besides, she probably knew already. Ivy was more than smart enough to realize what his disturbed sleep meant. That she hadn't said anything was probably more a sign of politeness and respect more than a lack of curiousity.
These thoughts Siegfried pondered as he walked into El Gato de Fuergo, or (roughly translated from Spanish), the Cat of Flame. A strange name for such an innocent little town.
Not so strange when one considered it was one of the biggest mercenary hotspots in all of Spain. Siegfried had heard of the town from several members of his father's army over the years (though he'd never been there himself), and Ivy knew about it from her father's ramblings about finding men to hunt the Soul Edge. Yesterday morning, they'd inquired at a quaint little inn by the roadside, asking for nearby towns. When informed that Firecat (it's name in English, one used by most people, seeing as how English was a semi-universal language) was within two days journey, they'd immediately set out for it. Both of them were broke, and Siegfried still had his lifelong quest ahead of him (though Ivy still didn't know about that, and God willing, never would). As they walked in, they nodded to the guards on top of the wooden palisade that surrounded the town. All four looked old, grim, and mean. One was missing an eye, and if the million ragged cuts that surrounded the eyepatch over his right eye were any indication, it had not been in battle. The guards nodded back and waved them through, without any of the usual rigamarole most towns put travelers through of checking their weapons in. In Firecat, more than half the townspeople were mercenaries, so it was an obsolete notion to have visitors turn their weapons in. The guards went back to scanning the road, crossbows at the ready, waiting to fire at the first sign of invasion or battle. Without really knowing how he knew it, Siegfried understood instinctively that all four men were expert shots. In a town like Firecat, only the best protective services would do. Mercenary towns were not very popular with the nations of the world; in fact, many barely tolerated them, and only in the most backwater of places. The king's soldiers wouldn't even come near places like this; Firecat's law was it's own.
All this considered, Firecat was the most clean, respectable looking town Siegfried had seen in ages. The streets were somewhat narrow, with barely enough room to put a wagon through, and the buildings all had sniper holes built-in to them ([Talk about paranoia,] Siegfried thought bleakly as they walked through the town), but traffic was light, and the street vendors had either not mastered the art of yelling out their prices or were gracefully declining to practice said art. Those people who were out on the streets were all armed, and Siegfried noted that there were no small children or obvious pickpockets waiting to step in and rob the unwary. In a town where everybody owned a sword (or two or three), thieves didn't last very long. Both reassured and distressed by the fact that no rioting or lawlessness was occuring here, Siegfried turned to Ivy.
" Remarkably quiet place, isn't it?" he said, not realizing until he said it that his words were far louder than he intended (he usually spoke English in a slightly louder tone of voice, covering any slip-ups he made with volume).
Some of the street vendors went quiet, and several people turned to look at him. Then half of them broke out laughing. One chuckling warrior came up to them and folded his arms to his chest, smiling.
" Yeah, it is kind of quiet here," he said, still chuckling, " and we like it that way. You two new here? Ah, don't answer- stupid question, I know. Name's Ivan, from Russia. Good to meet you two." He didn't offer his hand, and Siegfried figured that hand-shaking was a custom that had fallen out of fashion here some time ago.
[ Nobody wants to tie up their hands for even a second here,] Siegfried thought sarcastically, then said, " Nice to meet you two. Name's Siegfried, from Germany."
Ivy nodded to him. " Isabella, of Britain. You may call me Ivy."
Ivan chuckled. Siegfried scanned the man's body quickly, an old mercenary habit of his that had never failed him. The man was tall and broad, built much like Siegfried himself, though Siegfried could never remember being that broad in the chest. All of Siegfried's muscles were in his arms and shoulders. Ivan had a thick brown beard that stuck close to his face (Siegfried guessed that it had been trimmed recently) and his brown eyes held nothing but genial goodwill in them. A battle axe hung in a belt behind his back, handle in easy reach of one of his big, muscular hands. Brown hair covered the back of his palms, and through his open tunic Siegfried saw chest hair puffing out. The tunic and breeches were both brown, tapering to enormous boots that sat slightly askew on the cobbled road. When Siegfried returned his eyes to Ivan's, he noticed that the mercenary had checked both him and Ivy out as well. Ivan smiled.
" Yeah, everybody in this town does that," Ivan said, his grin showing off perfect white teeth. " Get a bunch of mercenaries together and it's just like a festival of paranoids. But it saves your life more often than not, eh? Come, I'll show you around town. It's a nice place. Quiet, like you said."
The rest of the town had returned to their business, and Siegfried looked at Ivy, who shrugged. He seemed harmless enough, so Siegfried followed him. As Ivan walked, he talked, revealing the fascinating and somewhat bizarre history of the town.
El Gato de Fuergo had gotten it's start in true mercenary fashion: a group of young men and women had been paid to start a town here, where a half-insane rich crackpot believed there was gold. The three hundred souls hired to live here had run the gauntlet from loyal, upright citizens to former soldiers to criminals running from the law. Banded together by the common purpose of greed, they'd lived in relatively peaceful harmony (more or less) and set about to work. They'd dug and dug to no avail, finding no rich deposits of anything except good, fertile soil. The old man refused to believe there was nothing here, however, so he kept paying them, and they kept staying. When he'd eventually died, the town had grown to over five hundred, what with the births and immigrants trickling in. With him gone, the townspeople became very worried about their futures here. Those worries were solved when a group of bandits, mistakenly believing that the town was an easy target, charged forth to take the town. A group effort by the townspeople, wielding pickaxe and hammer, had finished the bandit's career permanently. What the townspeople had not known at the time was that each bandit had an enormous fortune on their heads. When the townspeople, greedy as ever, did find out, they had cashed in and made good on the fortune. A love of bounty hunting had sparked up within them, and ever since then, the town had declared itself friendly to mercenaries, assassins, and manhunters of all kinds.
It had originally been named "Black Mine" in honor of the mines the townspeople had dug (the name was, originally, of course, Spanish, but that was incomprehensible to Siegfried, who only understood French, English, and his native German; Ivan translated it for him) but that had changed in true mercenary fashion as well. A French ambassador had once made a bet that he was so silver-tongued he could make the Spanish name a town after him within a month of his visit. As the deadline for the bet drew closer and closer, the ambassador got more and more nervous. Wanting to help him out (and make money), a group of townspeople had approached him with an offer to change their town's name for a little cash. They did too- in a fashion. The ambassador's nickname had been Firecat, for his fiery oratory and the annoying hissing breath he drew in whenever he was about to make a speech.
The ambassador lost the bet. But the townspeople kept the name anyway, mostly so they could barter it for drinks in the bars of nearby towns. A town built around greed for money and the thrill of the chase. Yet, despite that, it was an extremely clean and quiet place.
" If these tales are true," Ivy said, raising her eyebrow, " then why do I see no violence here? Mercenaries are not known for their gentle temperaments."
Ivan laughed out loud, shaking his big head. " Oh, but Firecat makes it's own way, as it always does," he said, still shaking his head. " No, m' lady, we're not the most peaceful bunch. But, that's only on the job. When we get back, from a long hard day of killing people or dragging 'em in to jails around the world, we want to kick back, relax, and enjoy our pay. We do not want to have to navigate streets filled with drunks and thieves. Have you seen any bars since you got here?"
Ivy looked around, for the first time noticing the lack of drunken beggars passed out in alleys, and the fact that the redolent stench of vomit and urine (constants about bars the world over) was nowhere to be found. " Now that you mention it, no."
Ivan smirked; Siegfried couldn't see it, but he could hear it in his voice. " We don't support bars here," he said, looking about as he talked, " because every mercenary with any brains knows that drink just causes you to lose your edge. We are a town of respectable mercenaries, and though that sounds like a paradox if there ever was one, it's true. Sure, we go out and kill people. But that's just our day job. At home, we're pretty quiet people."
" Who keeps the law around here?" Siegfried asked, something in him fascinated by the idea of a town of mercenaries. He'd heard stories, sure, but the reality was so much more wilder- and attractive- than they had been.
" We all do," Ivan said, nodding towards the walls. " We have a mayor, sure, and the assorted ambassadors and goodwill messengers who keep the towns nearby friendly and peaceful. And there's the token police force. But in reality, it's the townspeople who keep the peace. Hurt one of us, we kill you. Simple as that. There's an old saying I know, that sums up this whole damn town: " An eye for an eye doesn't make everyone blind; it makes you damn careful whose eye you take out." Everyone here is either a mercenary or related to a mercenary. We don't tolerate nonsense here."
Ivy smiled. " Sounds like utopia."
Siegfried snorted. " With sharp edges."
Ivan laughed. " You two will fit right in. What are you seeking here? Bounty heads, I assume?"
Ivy nodded. " Yes."
" Then follow me."
Ivan led them through the streets (all narrow, all with arrow ledges in the rooftops of surrounding buildings) to a small, squat building. Posters covered all sides of it, and eight clerks inside were catering to a crowd of some of the roughest (and plain strangest) people he'd ever seen. Despite it's large size, it was remarkably quiet and polite. As he watched, a thin man carrying a sickle blade was conversing with a small, rat faced clerk. As they talked, Siegfried noticed the man's unhealthy resemblance to some malevolent scarecrow come to life and walking around. Ivan pushed through the crowd, parting with words or brute force as necessary. When he reached the scarecrow, he said, " Hey Lenny. Good to see you. How's it going?"
The scarecrow man turned, his thin face oddly pleasant looking even as a wave of distaste pursed it's lips and ran through it. " Ivan. How many times have I told you that my name is Lenin? We come from the same country, you know. It's not that big a stretch of pronunciation."
Ivan laughed. " Just 'cause you're from Russia doesn't mean I have to cut you any slack, you hare-brained know-it-all. Come on, step aside for a second. I got two newcomers here, wanting a bounty."
" Don't we all?" someone asked dryly from the crowd, provoking laughter.
" Well, I have a new one here, practically hot off the presses," the clerk said. " It's a good one, too. Nice reward."
" Whose it for?"
Ivy and Siegfried's eyes lit up as they heard the name. Both gasped, as shocked as if they had seen a ghost.
Or in this case, heard one.
-Read and review, please!
