What I hear sends all those instincts, all that frenzied magick, into overdrive.
“If you’re looking for your next bounty,” the ogre says, a conspiratorial glint in his tone, “I’ve got one that’s worth a fae queen’s fortune.”
2
Callum
Pytri smells like the inside of a boot. One that’s been walked through a swamp.
Even from the other side of the table, his stench is only barely tolerable.
Despite the odor, the ogre never seems to want for company when he graces this particular tavern. A favorite haunt of thieves and vagabonds and mercenaries, his ugly green face and boisterous, belligerent attitude are a beacon for those who’d ply him with ale and pump him for information. Whether it’s a lead on a smuggling job, a newly posted bounty, or mercenary work for hire, the bastard always seems to have something worthwhile to say for those who can stomach his company for an hour.
And I’m not too proud to count myself among that number.
I caught him this evening just as he was walking through the door, and intercepted him to the consternation of at least half a dozen other patrons, no doubt looking to score their own next big payday.
Strange, the energy in the tavern tonight. Restless, unsettled, like there’s something brewing just below the surface.
Even Pytri seems to feel it.
Despite his bluster, he’s been cagey with news tonight, and in particularly annoying form as he bragged about a big loadof corril flowers he smuggled into the shadow realm, and the beautiful nymph he supposedly took to bed the last time he was in Faerie.
It’s exhausting, truly, to listen to him drone on and on. I was nearly ready to pack it in and head back to the Veil and to my own realm, when the conversation veered sharply left, into territory I can scarcely believe, even from Pytri’s well-informed mouth.
“What do you know about fae queens and their fortunes?” I ask, draining what’s left of my ale and raising my hand to signal the barkeep for another.
“I know what’s been circulating through all the thirteen realms this past fortnight. Where have you been that you haven’t heard?”
“Working. A new concept to you, I know.”
Pytri grunts, takes a long swallow of his own ale, then lets out a loud belch.
Odious.
Still, the ogre’s rarely wrong about his leads on a big score. After decades smuggling all manner of contraband around the realms, he hasn’t picked up any social graces, but he hears the chatter on the wind earlier than most.
“At least when I work, it’s for myself,” Pytri says. “A new concept to you, I know.”
It’s a low blow, but not an inaccurate one. I stifle the growl threatening in the back of my throat and cede the point. There’s no reason to argue with the truth.
“Tell me about this fortune, then.”
Pytri leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. “Why? So you can run it down and take all the reward back to your employer?”
“Believe it or not, not everything I do is to line Myron’s pockets.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Another stifled growl, and a bright flare of irritation at being called out for things I can’t control. For things Ihaven’tbeen able to control for the last ten years, and likely won’t for many, many more.
“The fae queen,” I say, not entirely able to keep the gravel from my tone. “Tell me.”
Pytri laughs, and when the barkeep sets my fresh ale down, he picks it up before I can, polishing off nearly half and belching again.
My hands ball into fists where they rest on my thighs, but I force myself to hold my tongue and wait for him to speak.
“They say she’s about to launch the biggest hunt the realms have ever seen.”
