Chapter 15 - Part 12

It was twilight. The sun itself had set, but for the next fifteen minutes or so its rays would still be above the horizon. Brogan stood in the glade behind the training grounds, flanked by the two adamantine-coated warforged, facing the shifter known as Kurse.

“I love this light,” Kurse said, licking his lips. Next to him his spider twittered and danced. “My kind see in it like it is day, but your kind fears it.” He cast a mocking smile at the human behind him. They were a filthy bunch, many with rats sitting on their shoulders.

Brogan managed a brief smile. “Why do you keep them with you, then?” he asked. The humans numbered an even twelve, and were outfitted with cured hide armor and moldy wooden shields. Their weaponry was clubs and slings, but they knew how to use them. From what Marlal had learned, four were veterans of the Aundairian front, and all had access to minor, but still dangerous, magicks.

“They share my vision,” Kurse said, turning his head slightly. He raised one dirty finger and licked it, considering its taste. He had a club and a javelin handy, but Brogan knew that Kurse’s deadliest weapons were claws that he could briefly grow, a potent remainder of his lycanthropic heritage. “And you seek to buy my vision. Do you have a price I am interested in, eh?”

“You come with us to Droaam,” Brogan said. “To the Byeshk Mountains, full of the harpies that you hate.”

“How did you find out about this?” Kurse demanded.

“Your soldiers are expendable, I don’t care what you do with them,” Brogan said, ignoring the question. Vestiol d’Phiarlan had told him about the harpies, and it was something the Thuranni agent had not known. Buying information from both Houses was proving very useful. “But I intend to hit Droaam, hit and run, hit and run, and bleed them with hundreds of tiny cuts. Each time I hit, I want swarms of spiders and centipedes to appear first. The effect on morale, the fear from things that could come from anywhere, that’s what I want. You get it?”

“I understand fear,” Kurse said. “I love it. I live it. I drink it. It coats the Gloaming like gravy on chicken.” His eyes glazed over, and he flexed his hands. Then his normal demeanor returned. “But I do not know what would make me want to leave the Reaches.”

“Access to an artificer,” Brogan said. “The enchantments in your armor can be made stronger. The amulet around your neck can be given a greater range. We pick up the tab.”

Kurse smiled and tilted his head. “You have my interest, but not enough of it.”

“And bards.”

The shifter licked his lips. “Bards?”

“Bards hired to sing the praises of your name for the next five years,” Brogan promised. “Four of them. One in the Eldeen Reaches, one in Breland, and two in the countries of your choosing.”

“I like this.” The shifter seemed to be heading towards a state of rapture.

“I thought you might,” Brogan said.

“The end comes. Kurse’s name heralds it. Kurse’s name is the last word spoken before the end.”

“Lovely,” Brogan said. “Now are you interested?”

“Three bards in five countries,” Kurse said. “Keep your artificer promises.”

“That’s a high price,” Brogan said. In truth it saved him money, but he couldn’t agree too quickly.

“And I will make a half-orc…go away,” Kurse grinned.

“I could never hire anyone to do that,” Brogan said. But then he smiled. “But it isn’t like I would mind.”

“A deal then,” Kurse said.

“We leave at sunrise,” Brogan said, turning around abruptly. His warforged followed him as he departed. Brogan heard Kurse tell his dirty band of followers to go to the north creek, but nothing else. Maintain deniability, Brogan reminded himself.