The salty wind whipped at Bryn's hair mercilessly, but he was deep in thought and scarcely noticed. He found that he did his best thinking while leaning over the railing on the upper deck; Selenas preferred to stay below, where his books wouldn't be tarnished by the high winds and splashes of salt water. The groan of creaking wood and the crashing of the waves helped to focus Bryn's thoughts. The Crontan spirit trapped in the memory stone had given him no more useful information during his second visit. At least he knew there was a chance to save Cilirus. He also knew that the cultists would not hand over such a useful tool without a fight. There was no way of knowing how many warriors they had, besides the shadow assassins he had already fought, but he knew that his chances alone were minimal. He needed to hire help. A dry wheeze echoed from the steps behind him.

"I'm surprised you're here, Selenas. I thought the air was bad for the books?"

"Didn't bring them. I simply wanted to know how long we have before we make shore."

"Less than a day, would be my guess."

"Ah. No point in starting on Treatise of the Galadian Emperor, then. Shame, I was quite looking forward to it."

"That is a tragedy."

"Well, I'll start something less challenging, I suppose."

His retreating footsteps were like music to Bryn's ears. He stared hard at the hazy horizon. Less than a day. The closest place to hire mercenaries would be Tresil. They wouldn't be the best available, but he would have to make do. Hopefully his military training would allow him to whip such a mob into shape before the assault.

By the time they docked, the sun was a thin red slice, rapidly being devoured by the horizon beyond the Eastern Docks. Bryn's patience was wearing equally thin.

"I know a fair price when I see one," he said.

"Then what's the problem?" The carriage driver asked.

"This isn't a fair price!"

"Have you spoken to the other drivers in the area?"

"Of course I have."

"And what price did they suggest?"

"Similar prices to yours. That doesn't make it reasonable."

The carriage driver shrugged.

"Doesn't seem like you have a lot of options."

"Fine." Bryn slapped the coins into the man's open hand. "I don't have time for this. Tresil, quick as you can make it."

The driver heaved his substantial weight into the front seat of the carriage, while Bryn herded Selenas into the backseat. He took a seat and slammed the door. Selenas eyed him warily.

"I assumed you would be better at bargaining, Bryn."

Bryn stared at him and resisted the urge to throw his clenched fist into the scholar's spindly jaw. He relaxed his tense muscles with a sigh.

"So did I."

They passed the journey in silence, each imprisoned by their dissimilar thoughts.

The dim lights of Tresil illuminated the polished wood of the carriage as they entered the streets. Bryn glanced at the shady types that leaned against wooden walls, convened in gloomy alleys, or lay in drunken stupor on the dirt road. Rock cutters, soldiers who would fight not for honour or glory, but for a shiny peak waved in front of their noses, and women who rented out their organs for the pleasure of others. So much scum in this town. He couldn't believe he was forced to appeal to them for help. Despite the murky shadow covering every inch of the decadent town, throngs of scum still wandered the streets. The revelry of the thickening crowd overwhelmed the panicked horses, and they came to a halt. Bryn did not thank the robbing driver. He threw open the carriage door, waited for Selenas to exit, and followed him out into the dark streets.

Bryn narrowed his eyes at the sweating wretch sat in front of him. He clenched his fists.

"I said I would pay you. We only need you for three days. Anything after that is double."

The mercenary let out a loud belch and laughed at his own rudeness, looking around at his companions for their approval.

"Nah, thing is.. thing is though, we're just back from the mission. Need beer, whores and rock now, see? You know how't is."

"No, I don't," Bryn hissed. "I could never relate to an idiot like you."

The mercenary put his hands up in a show of mock horror. His companions laughed at his impertinence. Bryn turned his back on the wretch, to avoid doing something he might regret. A night in the cells would not help himself or Cilirus, if they even had cells in this stinking town. He stalked towards the door, flung it open, and entered the chill of night once more. Another inn searched, with nothing to find but an endless supply of uncooperative ale-soaked thugs.

"I think we might have more luck tomorrow, Bryn. Wait for them to spend their money and they'll be more likely to sign on."

Bryn nodded. The scholar was right. It just didn't feel right sitting around waiting while Cilirus was being held hostage in his own skin.

"Fine. Let's find a bed for a night."

The closest inn to the thoroughfare was The Grey Mantle. Bryn ignored the barely-dressed whores and roaring mercenaries who drank in the dim candlelight. In just a few seconds, they managed to cause a screaming headache. He headed straight for the innkeep.

"Two beds, please."

"Certainly sir, five copper each."

The price was a relief after the extortionate carriage ride. Bryn paid the innkeep and started for the stairs. They creaked with every step, protesting the weight on their old wooden bones.

"I'm hungry," Selenas stated, with the objectivity of a child.

Bryn halted mid-creak.

"Then stay downstairs and get some food."

Selenas nodded, as if this was a genius idea which had not occurred to him. He disappeared back down the stairs into the gloom. Bryn continued up the stairs, found his room and entered, closing the door behind him. Despite the gentle closing, the paper-thin walls shook. He wasn't concerned for the scholar; even if he irritated one of the thugs, he would be able to fight them off with his ridiculous staff until the commotion woke Bryn. He ignored the laughs and curses from the common room and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Bryn awoke early, to the sounds of shuffling footsteps and muffled voices from the street. He rose immediately and glanced out the bare window. Sunrise. He was relieved to hear Selenas' snoring. Despite being the most irritating liability in the known world, the scholar had somehow managed to grow on him. He reminded Bryn of a curious child who had to be constantly yanked from the edge of a cliff. He strapped his boots on. Still no sign of movement from Selenas.

"I'm going to round up some mercs. You coming?"

Bryn was answered by a snort, a mumble, and some steady snoring.

"Suit yourself, could use some time to myself."

As Bryn stepped out from the shade of the inn's awning, he was greeted by the winter sun. It was radiant, yet without a trace of heat. The biting wind smothered any warmth which might have filtered through. He spotted a man leaning against a wooden post across the road; thin strips of cheap fabric had peeled off what was once his robe, giving the effect of many feathers. Bryn couldn't tell where the original colour of the robe began and where the dirt ended. He approached the man cautiously; if you want to find scum, ask scum.

"I'm looking for mercenaries," he said. "Where should I begin?"

"Mercenaries? Nah, nah, not me, mate. Rock? Fire moss? I'll do ye a good deal."

"Offer me drugs again, and you'll be begging me for a deal. Where can I find mercs?"

"Th-the Hunter's Pavilion! Grand wooden building, centre o' town."

"Thanks."

Bryn heard the peddler mumble as he turned his back.

"Wrathful Mother, why do I attract the angry ones?"

He ignored the comment and headed for The Hunter's Pavilion.

Bryn studied the board outside. A Naga hunt, some farming work, and a manhunt for a criminal named 'Tickling Jimmy'. Each bill paid between ten and fifty silvers. He had come to the right place; if the mercenaries would accept this kind of dangerous, low-paid work, they could certainly be convinced to rescue a Duke. He eagerly pushed open the finely-crafted wooden doors, and was greeted by an empty taproom. He was too early to catch the hungover mercenaries. His spirits sank. As he turned to leave, he noticed a lone figure sitting at a table in the far corner. He looked more like a noble than a mercenary. He wore a pressed white shirt, black trousers and a peaked hat. A rapier scabbard leaned against the chair next to him, within arm's reach. Bryn approached the table.

"Mind if I take a seat?"

The man nodded. He continued to stir the soup that sat on the table in front of him.

"Are you a mercenary?"

The man looked up from his soup. His sharp grey eyes seemed to pierce Bryn's mind, searching for his motivations.

"Yes. Claret Fangs."

"Are you looking for work? I need experienced fighters, and I'm paying well above the going rate."

"Perhaps."

The man pushed the soup away. He stretched his hand across the table towards Bryn, who promptly shook it.

"Velin Fyrd."

"Bryn," he didn't wish to give out his surname, on the off-chance that it might be recognised or passed on, "Perhaps? What does that mean?"

"One of our number is injured. We're also babysitting a half-wit cutter. You'll have to speak to Kaler, our boss."

"Can you take me to him?"

Velin rose sharply, adjusting his hat as he did so. He scooped up his scabbard with a fluid motion and secured it to his belt. Bryn followed as he padded up the stairs which led to the upper floors of the Pavilion.