The Viscount and the Witch (Riyria #1.5)

“I hope so. I hope we won’t have to go through this again. I’ll clear those stars from your eyes yet.”


Royce built a pleasant fire near the door, to allow the smoke to escape, and by the time he had it strong enough to put on a good size log, the sun had set and night arrived.

“Here,” Royce said, handing Hadrian a strip of salted pork.

“So that’s why you were rummaging in your pack.”

“I should let you go hungry,” Royce replied.

Albert stared at the bit of meat, his eyes following it.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Hadrian asked.

“Days. I had a bit of bread someone threw at me—that was…three days back. Yesterday I chewed some bark, which was awful, but it helped settle my stomach a bit.”

Hadrian held out the strip to him, which brought a groan and an eye-roll from Royce. “Didn’t we just go over this?”

“You gave it to me, didn’t you? Besides, you just said that I should go hungry, and yet you gave it to me anyway. Why was that?”

“Because…” Royce scowled. “Oh do what you want. I don’t care.”

Hadrian watched as Albert bit off the end and chewed, then asked, “So what’s your story? Why are you here like this?”

“I told you, I’m the Viscount Albert Winslow.”

“Seriously?”

Albert nodded.

“I thought that was just some line you were giving me. You really are noble?”

“Yes. Granddad Harlan Winslow lost the family fief by losing a bet to the king of Warric. My father didn’t do any better. He squandered what was left of the family fortune on women, gambling, and drink. Neither of them gave any thought to me and how I would survive with nothing but a title that serves as a noose around my throat.”

“How’s that?” Hadrian asked.

Albert took another bite. “Do you think anyone hires a noble for mucking out a stable or laying cobblestones?” He held up his hands. “I don’t have a single callus. Even if I decided to leave title and pride behind, I lack any useful skills. I’m like a milk cow slapped on the backside and turned out of the barn to make her way in the forest. A chicken, returned to the wilds to fend for myself.”

“I don’t think chicken’s have ever been wild,” Hadrian said.

“Exactly.” Albert paused to stare at the remainder of the salt pork strip. “Your friend is right. This is just prolonging the inevitable. It’s a waste. Here.” He held out the meat.

“Keep it,” Hadrian said, tilting his head at Royce. “I’m supposed to be learning a lesson.”

“Oh shut up, the both of you. I have more.” Royce pulled another strip of pork from his vest and handed it to Hadrian.

“So that’s my miserable story,” Albert said. “How about you two?” He looked at Hadrian. “I’m guessing you’re his apprentice?”

Hadrian laughed. “No. We’re…business partners.”

“What line?”

“Procurement,” Royce said.

“What kind?”

“Any kind,” Royce answered.

Albert stared at them for a moment, then his eyes widened. “You are thieves.”

“He is.” Hadrian pointed to Royce. “I’m new to this.”

“Really? What did you used to do?”

Hadrian thought a moment. “Kill people.”

“Assassin?” Albert sounded impressed.

“Soldier.”

“Oh. Guess that explains the three swords though. How’s business? Clearly you’ve been making out better than I. What do you do? Pick pockets?—no, with three-swords here you’re probably highwaymen, right? Hold up merchants? Or do you kidnap and ransom?”

Royce chuckled.

“What’s funny?”

“We don’t do those things,” Hadrian explained.

“No?”

“No. Stealing—like that, it’s—wrong,” Hadrian declared.

“But you’re thieves—you are thieves?”

“Like I said, he is.”

“Oh—I see. You’re the honorable soldier—but wait—why are you working with him then?”

“Same reason you’re trying to sell your nightshirt,” Royce replied.

“For rum?”

“Rum?” Hadrian said. “Not food?

Albert shrugged. “That’s what I do with all my money. It helps take my mind off the fact I spent all my money on rum.” He quickly added, “So what do you do, if you don’t rob people?”

“Contracts, mostly” Hadrian replied. “People who need help come to us and we—”

Royce grumbled. “You see how he thinks? We don’t help people, we use them. Let’s say—oh I don’t know…” Royce whirled his fingers in the air as if trying to conjure a thought. “Let’s say—purely as an example—a merchant sets up shop across the street from an established one. The established merchant, let’s call him Bernie, doesn’t like it, so he tells the new guy, we’ll call him Andrew, to leave. Let’s say Andrew doesn’t. The next thing you know some thugs tear Andrew’s place apart and breaks his wife’s arm. Then Bernie tells the new guy—Andrew—that he needs to leave, or the next time he’ll be dead.”

“So you’re the thugs?” Albert asked?

“No, we…”—he looked at Hadrian—“we help the new merchant.”

“How so?”

“I’m a creative problem solver.”

“You bust-up Bernie’s store?”

“No, that would get Andrew killed.”

“What then?”

“I hire the same thugs to trash the store of the wealthiest merchant in town—and tell them Bernie supplied the gold. Next day someone starts an ugly rumor that ’ole Bernie is causing trouble for his competition. The story is easily confirmed because of the first incident. The wealthy merchant, we can call him Sebastian, has connections—they always do. The next day a fire burns Bernie’s shop to the ground. Unfortunately for him, Bernie’s caught in the fire having accidently fallen asleep in his shop—tied to his bed.

“The money we paid the thugs is only half of what Andrew paid us. We pocket the rest. Once I get Hadrian schooled in the art of intimidation, we’ll make more.”

“They shouldn’t have killed him,” Hadrian said.

“See what I have to deal with? Problem is, you don’t get too many jobs like that. But what you said about ransom is true. There can be good money in that if you grab the right target. Even he can’t complain too much about that kind of work.”

“Well, in return for the meal, let me offer you a bit of advice,” Albert said. “We’re just outside the City of Colnora, and if I were you, I wouldn’t pull any kind of job around here, or the Black Diamond will be after you.”

“Black Diamond?” Hadrian asked. “Is that the city patrol?”

Albert chuckled, and Royce shook his head, looking at Hadrian as if he had dropped his pants in public.

“You’re not from around here?” Albert asked.

“From Hintindar, a tiny manorial village south on the Bernum river.”

“And you’ve never heard of the Black Diamond?”