Treasure Time, All the Time

Legault eased his head carefully over the lip of the ridge, his cloak pulled up over his hair, then ducked back down. “Two riders as usual, no more,” he muttered, just loud enough for Matthew to hear. He pursed his lips in thought. “You’re right, it is low. I’m not sure it’s that they weren’t expecting to be found, though. It feels like most of them are elsewhere. Doing what, I couldn’t say.”

The corners of Legault’s mouth twitched at the question, not quite into either a smile or a frown. Despite having heard that their little army had been soundly victorious over the Soaring Hawk’s shortly before Legault had joined them, it was still difficult to picture Uhai’s strong, cheerful face in death. “Mm. Hire is a strong term for one of the founders,” he pointed out, letting Matthew draw what conclusions he would.

“A year ago, I could have counted all of our Sacaens on one hand. The Fang didn’t hire, we recruited. Or at least, we used to. Now? They’ll take anyone with a blade and the willingness to use it. Given that Sacaens typically thirst for honor more than blood, I doubt they’ve added many more.”

He could hear the change in Legault’s tone, could almost sense the way his words had begun to press a soft spot. It wasn’t quite unlike the times he’d cornered him before, hurling questions with no regard for feelings or boundaries. What did feelings matter in this job, anyway? They certainly hadn’t done him any favors. (Still, he hesitated to press the subject.)

“Well, good,” Matthew replied, tersely. “I suppose that means we’ll be safe from anyone tracking us back to camp. I’d take a bunch of amateurs over a seasoned assassin any day.”

A Sacaen founder was surprising (it was frustrating to learn with each exchange how little he actually knew of the organization), but the way Legault talked about the Fang was almost... nostalgic. It made something crawl under Matthew’s skin in a way that made his jaw clench, in a way he couldn’t shake, in a way that made him angry and stupid.

If looks could freeze, Legault might have had the unfortunate fate of becoming a blackberry-colored popsicle.

“Lord Eliwood, fine, fine.” Titles were less of a reflex for Legault than they were for most people. “The ‘infighting’s’ a recent development.” He had no idea what was causing it, either, except that he was certain that it traced back to Sonia somehow. The first few flakes of a fresh snowfall drifted across his face, and he brushed them away. 

Well, at least their tracks would be covered.

He leveled a sardonic look at Matthew in return. “Oh yes, turn tail, because I’m sure Lord Hector would appreciate my return without his trusted left hand. Surely the life of one Ostian spy would buy a deserter his place back in an organization noted for killing their traitors.” He gestured down at his clothes, his knives. “I can’t imagine how they got that reputation,” he said mildly.

“Mm, we’ll keep that plan in our back pocket for emergencies, then, and hope we don’t need it. If the information we got is good, the headquarters should be beyond that next rise. I expect there will be a watch on the far side of this one, with a couple of outriders so that one can get back to warn the rest. That would be standard policy, but with the way things are now, it’s hard to say.”

Matthew bristled, but said nothing. The irony was not lost on him. Legault was right—killing Matthew would accomplish nothing for him. It was likely the Fang’s remaining members had already seen (in the very loosest sense of the word) Legault among their little army’s company and put together the pieces from there. And the intel he’d given them so far was solid...

(They could have planted him there, a traitorous voice whispers, to divide your forces from within. Emotions warred within him as he thought of Leila’s mission to do the same thing. For a brief moment, he imagined that the stabbing pain in his chest was the sensation of his companion driving a dagger through his heart.)

Snow began to fall around them. Matthew ran a hand through his hair to rid it of the first offending flakes, looking around them for any other watch patrols besides the one Legault had mentioned. The skies were clear of Bern wyvern riders as well, despite the run-in with the woman commander and her posse at the palace.

“I don’t think they expected to be found here. Security is suspiciously low, or we’d be dead by now,” he mused grimly. It was nothing short of miraculous that Lady Lyndis’ tracking skills had led them to this place, hidden by mountains and heavy snow... which gave rise to another question.

Matthew smiled a wry smile. “Hah. Wouldn’t you like to know, Hurricane.” His mouth upturned ever so slightly at the corner, mischievously, considering the question before smoothing his expression over once again.

The local tavern—a spy’s first go-to in their quest for rumors, gossip, and information. This place was no different, and the hour was a busy one. But that was fine for Matthew. Crowds meant better hiding places, more noise to hide a conversation, slimmer chances of being singled out. He would have preferred the option of a small table in a dark corner, maybe, but otherwise he couldn’t complain.

Matthew regarded the swordsman who waved him over carefully. He was perhaps on the older side of most mercenaries Matthew had encountered in Elibe, but he had a weathered look about him that suggested some measure of experience. His attire was certainly intriguing, and definitely unlike anything Matthew had seen before. Curiosity getting the better of him, Matthew returned the smile with a cheerful one of his own and strode up to the bar.

Not this again…

He adopted the most sarcastic tone possible, while still managing to sound like he wasn’t offended.