A Shipment Of Stones

The sun had reached its apex over Carrowhelm, and Alfrenzo, dressed in a set of sharp blacks, waited at the meeting point laying outside the merchant district. Beside him were six hired hands—lean men with average muscle—who were unloading crates of tightly sealed mana stones from the warehouse to a line of carriages. The air smelled of warm dust and money. 

Across the open area, the buyer approached—Dastel Ronver, fat in the face with greedy eyes and ringed fingers. He was rapping his golden cane on the stone path and walked toward Alfrenzo with a practiced gait. 

"Alfrenzo," Dastel said, opening his arms wide in welcome. "Oh look at how punctual you are!" 

Alfrenzo gave a curt nod. "Your money is worth more than stones, Dastel. It is worth reliability." 

They shook hands over a table where two glasses of deep red wine had already been set. Meanwhile, the hired hands, knowing when to speak and when they will not speak, moved the last crates into Dastel's black lacquered carriages.

Dastel settled into one of their chairs, sipping wine as he reclined with narrowed eyes in appreciation, "This is better than I could have hoped for. These stones are so much purer than I anticipated! You're either stupid, or you are the source of stupid amounts of stones!"

"I'm sure the jury is still out on that question," Alfrenzo said, managing a hint of a smile with a sip of his glass.

Dastel looked him over again. "You know, I was going to let this little nugget of information go about my buyer in the capital. He is a viscount that once ruled a fiefdom. The man has powerful contacts. Special sorts of people."

Alfrenzo gave a slight nod. So, it's probably the man Linlin wants killed... A duke's backing would explain the ambition.

Once the last crate was locked down, they rose and shook hands again.

"Great doing business," Alfrenzo concluded.

Dastel smiled. "Until next time."

Once Dastel's carriages were lost in the traffic ahead, Alfrenzo paid the men and dismissed them. As he neared the warehouse, he spotted six strangers, armored and cloaked, like iron-studded bread. As curious passersby studied them first before moving on.

The leader, a large grey steel man with a huge sword on his back, stepped forward. "You Alfrenzo?"

Alfrenzo inhaled deliberately once. "Depends. Are you the help I paid for?"

"The name of the merc company is Ironveil. We got your job notice from the guild."

Alfrenzo nodded, then led the merc company into the warehouse. Once the closed walls of his operation surrounded them, he took the time to get a good look at them.

"Let's get formal. Names and tasks."

The leader spoke first. "Throne. Three Star Knight. I lead, I fight, I follow rules."

A thin woman with hawk eyes stepped forward. "Kaela. Archer. I see before you hear."

A man with shoulder-length grey hair gave a curt nod. "Druce. Knight. Good sword fighter, quieter."

The second woman stepped up, a deep blue robe covering her body, and waved at her hand. Rings glowed on her fingers. "The name is Reeva. Water Mage. I keep things calm, or drown them."

Another knight leaned against a crate with arms folded. "Gregor. Axe knight. Heavy hitter."

The last, silent until now, merely tilted his head and muttered, "Call me Gilt." His voice was soft but deep, and his eyes were constantly scanning.

Inwardly, Luenor cringed at the introductions.

"Good enough," Alfrenzo said. "You don't need to know my business. You need to protect the crates and this warehouse and possibly me. Any questions?" 

None of them spoke. That was the professionalism Alfrenzo looked for.

____

In Carrowhelm, across the sky-world of healing, amidst the white-stoned walls of the largest hospital in the city, Hunter leaned against the counter as he completed the last of the paperwork. The quill scratched against his calloused hand in awkward silence.

The receptionist took the papers and slid a small invoice in Hunter's direction. The downpayment was steep, but Hunter could afford it. After a brief hesitation, he pulled out the necessary gold pieces without blinking, out of his cloak.

A few moments later the head healer, a towering figure in olive green robes, approached him. "Your friend," he began, "was in critical condition, you said he was injured in a beast attack?"

Hunter nodded.

"Well...you got him here just in time. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, and necrotic bruising. He has now been stabilized, thanks to our top treatments spells. You should be thankful."

Hunter crossed his arms, jaw locked. "When will he wake?"

"Another day or two. But mobilities will be at least a month. He will need physical help to get strength back."

"Make sure he gets everything," said Hunter, leaving no room for argument.

The healer nodded respectfully. "He will. Sir, we don't ask who you are, but the payment you leave ensures there are no delays."

Hunter had turned to make his way back out when he caught a glimpse of Arwin through a nearby door; a pale being lying quietly, elaborate wrappings of linen enveloping it. It hardly resembled a the man who left only hours ago. His face was barely recognizable to Hunter. His jaw had swollen even further from the torturous hours of weightlessness during his unconscious state, and his chest was wrapped tight, too tight. But he was alive.