Page 53 of Sword & Sacrifice

The client stared down at the dagger and the smoldering wood. Carefully, he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a pouch. He set it on the table and slid it toward Valerian.

Valerian snatched it up and withdrew the dagger. A deep, black scorch mark marred the chair where it had been. He opened the pouch, shifting the contents around to make sure they were all gold pieces. After threatening the client, he didn’t want to stick around to count it, so he hoped it was all there. He saluted the table with his dagger and backed out of the room.

The minute he reached the street, he was gone and running to the next town, to his next payday.

A mountain of memories smothered Valerian. The only way out was to crawl and fight his way through each one. He had a flash of awareness, chest heaving with exertion, bloody hands wrapped around a white root, before the next memory buried him again.

Valerian preferred to work alone. Fewer people to question his age and no need to split the money. Magical supplies were expensive, and every coin he didn’t spend maintaining himself he sent to Krasna Manor. He would pay his debts to Lord Endre and break the chains binding him to Maksim, even if it took a hundred years.

However, the latest job was more than Valerian could handle, with too high a bounty to walk away from. He wouldn’t lose the opportunity simply because he couldn’t play nice with others.

The client had already hired a team of Arnsveldian soldiers, they were only missing a mage. After five years in the game, Valerian’s reputation and success rate had spread far enough for the client to request him personally.

“This is the mage you recommend?” one of the soldiers demanded, glowering at Valerian. The man’s gray hair and numerous scars attested to his years in combat. The weapons crowding his frame probably made him feel prepared for anything. It wasn’t surprising that he looked down on Valerian. Even if he had looked his age, the man would sneer at him.

The Arnsveldian team had two men and two women. One of the women ignored Valerian, focused on sharpening a knife. The other glared at him, her nose wrinkled in disgust and teeth bared in warning.

The client glowered sternly at the team leader. “I wouldn’t underestimate Sommers if I was you. Last time, he was the only bastard who came back alive.”

“He reeks,” said the second woman.

Valerian subtly leaned his head down toward his pit, sniffing once. It’d been a little while since his last bath—he rarely wasted money on the luxury—but did he really smell that bad?

The leader arched an eyebrow. “What’s he smell like, Gris?”

“Dog shit.”

“All right, all right.” The client raised his hands, one toward the soldiers, one toward Valerian, stepping in before a fight broke out. “No need to insult each other. If it’s not going to work out, I’ll find someone else.”

“We’ll work with him,” the leader said. “Under one condition.”

If they try to cheat me out of money, I walk. Valerian had risked his life for lesser payouts, but he wouldn’t risk his life to fill someone else’s pockets. He already had enough of that with Maksim. “What’s your condition?”

“You’re support only. You look like one strike from a blunt sword could split you in two. I don’t need you running into the fight, distracting everyone and making mud puddles with your blood.”

Valerian smiled and suddenly everyone in the room stood up straighter. The first woman stopped sharpening her dagger, shifting her grip to wield it instead. “As long as I get paid, I don’t give a shit where you put me.”

The leader eyed him more warily now. “What can you do?”

Valerian removed his satchel from his shoulder, flipped open the flap, and spilled the contents onto the table. Potion bottles, scrolls, and miscellaneous objects rolled out, covering the wooden surface. He watched one bottle roll all the way to the edge, thinking: please don’t fall off and break. The spread would be less impressive if it broke his tools. The bottle stopped an inch from the edge, and he internally sighed in relief.

Gris shuffled a step back, hand covering her mouth and nose with the same level of disgust as someone walking through a cesspit. Her tanned face took on a sickly green hue.

Valerian picked up items at random, explaining their purpose: “Energy potion, transfiguration—wood to steel or the other way around, bone to liquid, blood to poison, if you want to get creative—”

“What the fuck?” the other man whispered softly.

“Weapon enchantments to make them burn, freeze, track, or return to your hand after it’s thrown. If we’re working undercover, I’ve got spells to help you slip in and out of the shadows or various glamours—temporary and semi-permanent.”

The leader stared at the options available, lips parted in shock. “What kind of man starts with ‘I can make your blood poisonous’ and ends with ‘or dye your hair brown.’”

Valerian shrugged. “If it’s all true, why does the order matter?”

The leader rubbed a hand down his face. “Mages. Right, pack up all your shit and we’ll head out.”

As Valerian replaced each item in his bag, someone approached him from behind. He tensed and whirled around to face Gris, one of the knives still held in his hand.

She’d kept her distance during the whole conversation, pinching her nose. Her hand had dropped away, and her ice blue eyes scanned Valerian’s magical supplies with interest. “Quite a stash you’ve got.”