Forsaken by Shadows Chapter 13: Business

~13. Business~

“You sure you don’t want to rest a bit?” Pearl asked, as she led him through the passages of the mercenary compound. “This can wait until the morning.”

“I’m doing this now,” Rismyn said, as he strode beside her. He took another bite of the meat pastry she had brought him in Kalos’ office. He had been too eager to get on with this mission to accept the offer to stay and finish the meal when Kalos’ briefing was over. In true military fashion, the food was such that it could be eaten on the move, and he desired to be on the move. 

“Well don’t choke on your supper,” she shrugged. “There’s more than one way to kill a drow, it's not always knives.” 

Rismyn ignored her, taking the last bite and brushing the crumbs from his hands. In truth, he probably should have waited, for he hadn’t eaten real food in what he now knew was twelve days, thanks to Kalos’ information. He was liable to make himself sick if he pushed himself so soon, but that was the least of his concerns. Every minute he was here, Mazira was defenseless in the Underdark. 

They passed several warriors on their walk, all of whom were male. Rismyn had heard once that Bregan D’Aerthe only allowed men in their ranks, but that appeared to have been inaccurate information. The men they passed nodded respectfully to Pearl and cast curious looks towards Rismyn. Some of them exchanged mutters and whispers, and he noticed a few coins change hands as they went. It was an uncomfortable sight, considering the reputation of mercenaries. 

“What’re they doing…?” he asked, when another soldier grinned as they passed and his companion glared. Another sack of chinking coins was exchanged.

Pearl glanced over and smirked. “Collecting their winnings,” she explained. “We like to make bets around here.” 

Rismyn didn’t hide his confusion, and Pearl laughed. 

“Is it so hard to believe we had bets about you, little prince? We get a hundred assassination requests a day, but not usually for such high-profile runaways like yourself.”

“I’m honored,” he said, dryly.

“You should be,” she said. “Some of the boys bet you starved to death in the Underdark. Others bet you’d be here before the tenday was up, begging for our help. That’s generally what happens to you deviants. We can’t all be Legends.” 

Though Rismyn found her general disposition annoying, something about her words caught his interest. “We?” he asked, stopping short and casting her a curious glance. 

Pearl grimaced. “It’s an expression. Now come along, I thought you were in a hurry.” 

Rismyn started after her again. “But there are others?”

“Of course there are others,” she snapped. She didn’t seem quite as perky as before. “What, you thought you were special?” 

“Well, you just told me I was.” 

Now it was Pearl’s turn to stop, looking him over with a disapproving frown. 

“What?” he asked, a touch defensively.

“Just reassessing my opinion of you,” she said, her frown turning into a sly smile. “Trying to decide if I still want to keep you.” 

Rismyn glared and strode on, not that he had the least idea where he was going. The female laughed again and kept pace with him. “My, my, you are touchy. Is it because you don’t know how to flirt, or are you one of those boys that believes you’re only allowed to flirt with one woman at a time?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grumbled, staring stiffly ahead. 

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll be happy to teach you,” she began, and she brushed her hand across his shoulder. 

Rismyn reacted as though she had hit him, jumping back and knocking her wrist away with a growl. A soldier who had been passing stopped and turned, a hand going to the hilt of his weapon. Pearl shook her head and the soldier nodded, moving on. 

“So,” she said, resuming her walk. Her entire tone and countenance changed. “She is alive, then. I thought so, when you asked for healing potions.” 

“What?” Rismyn demanded, but Pearl walked on without looking back. It took a moment for him to remember why he had been following her in the first place. He hurried to catch up.

“The faerie you stole,” she continued, when Rismyn reached her. “We’ve been debating it, Kalos and I. He says it was a lethal strike she took, but I told him we women had surprising strength of will. Thanks for confirming it for me.” 

Rismyn's irritation turned to horror, especially when he recalled the diamond Toloruel had offered for Mazira’s return. He had tried his best not to mention her, lest he bring unwanted attention to her. It was why he had asked for only one set of gear, not two. “You’re wrong,” he said. He meant to sound grave but instead he heard anger in his voice. “She was dead before I left Tier Breche. I buried her in a cave and stopped up the entrance with rocks.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“It’s true!” he insisted, which he realized too late made him sound all the more like a liar. 

“Oh, please. You haven’t behaved once like a man who's just lost the woman he loves.” Pearl stopped in front of a stone door, resting her hand on the handle. “They come to us raving and livid, demanding our services to help them exact revenge, expecting their title alone to buy our loyalty. Not like you, scared out of your mind and desperate to escape. No, you have something to live for. And I’ll bet all the gold in our treasury that it’s her.” 

Her analysis of him was shocking, considering how hard he had tried to hide his desperation. He clenched his fists, hackles raised, ready for a fight. Then, all her words sunk in. 

All of them. 

“Love…?” He deflated at once. She had used the word. The word Mazira had taught him, the word he had thought described his feelings for her until she rejected him so bitterly. He had been so angry with Pearl’s frank assessment that he almost missed it. 

“Yes, love,” Pearl mused, finally sliding the door open and walking into the room. “Have you heard of it? Deadly affliction. Makes good drow go dumb, and they do silly things like declare treason and jump out of windows in the middle of class.” 

Rismyn followed her in, the door sliding shut behind him. “But the drow can’t love,” he recited, trying not to recall the look in Mazira’s eyes when she had taught him that lesson, too. 

“What?” Pearl looked back at him, astonished. “Oh heavens, you’re serious. Who told you that?” 

She started to grin and Rismyn felt his face burn. She had a knack for making him feel incredibly stupid and he didn’t appreciate it. He looked away, turning his attention to the room around him. They had reached their destination at last--Bregan D’Aerthe’s armory. He was no longer interested in their previous conversation. “What can I take from here?” 

“Wait, I want to hear this,” the female prodded. “What makes you think we can’t love?” 

“I’ve got somewhere to be,” he said, eyeing a rack of blades hanging against the wall. 

“Oh, so now we’re in a hurry again.” He could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Take whatever you want. You’re just borrowing, anyway.” 

Rismyn nodded and set about the armory, looking over the equipment. There were two rooms, weapons in the first and armor in the second. A forge stood in the corner of the back room, probably for quick minor adjustments. It was lit but unattended. 

There was every sort of weapon imaginable in the first room, from swords and rapiers to oversized axes and polearms. Everything was arrayed in neat rows, organized by type and size. Some items were gaudier than others, with jewel encrusted hilts and intricate metalwork on the blades, but he passed by them. He didn’t care for such flare, and he didn’t fancy incurring a large debt if he lost something. Still, for all his insistence on being in a hurry, he took his time here, testing the balance of several blades before making his choices. 

In the end he chose what he was most comfortable with, a short sword and a dirk. For good measure, he also took a belt of throwing knives. Pearl watched him carefully, and he couldn’t help but feel like she was weighing his decisions, as though he was being tested for something. Finally, he selected a supple suit of drowcrafted chainmail and a piwafwi, since he had not been offered his Academy armor back. The weave of his new mail was tighter and stronger then what the students had been given, and would hopefully protect him better from impertinent women in dark alleys.

If Pearl approved or disapproved of his choices, she didn’t say one way or the other. When he finally donned everything, she straightened from the wall she had been leaning against and looked him over. She gave no hint as to what she thought. 

“Ready?” 

No. He’d never been on a real, unsupervised mission before, and he had never targeted something that wasn’t a mindless monster. But he shrugged and picked up a small vial of poison from a shelf. “May I take this?” 

“I said anything you want.” 

“But this isn’t ‘borrowable.’ When I use it, it’s gone.” 

This time he saw Pearl roll her eyes. “It’s on the house, kid. Are you ready?” 

“One more thing,” he said, though he knew he was just stalling for time. He turned back to where the forge was, its coals smoldering away on the hearth. Then, taking one of the slim throwing knives from his belt, he grasped the tail of his hair where it gathered at the nape of his neck and sliced through it, as close to his skull as he could make it. What was left of his hair fell loose around his face, and the leather cord that had once held back the long strands dropped to the floor. Rismyn cast the hair onto the coals, turning away as it burned. 

He was a prince of House Tear no more. No need to still try to look like one. 

“I’m ready,” he said, starting forward. 

But now Pearl’s expression had taken a distinctly disapproving cast. “Oh no you’re not,” she said, crossing her arms and pursing her lips. “Now you look ridiculous.” 

His jaw clenched. “I don’t care.” 

“Well I do. You’re not walking my halls looking like a mop that lost a fight with a hook horror. Come here so I can fix it.” 

Rismyn glowered. He hadn’t cut his hair for vanity. It had meant something to him, and he wasn’t about to let this female take that from him. He knew he ought to submit to her will, as the superior gender, but she didn’t act like any woman he had ever met before. She took orders from Kalos and demanded no respect she hadn’t earned. It was easy to forget they weren’t on equal footing. 

Until he tried to walk past her defiantly. 

Pearl’s hand darted out and grabbed his shoulder. Rismyn, of course, tried to pull free. A brief scuffle ensued, in which he found himself ending on his knees with his arm twisted behind his back and Pearl standing over him. How he got there, he could hardly guess. He had been trained by Menzoberranzan’s very best fighters, but Pearl was good. 

“I don’t have time for this,” he seethed, more humiliated than hurt. 

“It will only take a second,” she said, exasperated. “Gracious, you know you don’t always have to be so difficult, right? We’re trying to help you.” She let go of his arm but grabbed his hair, and he heard the sound of a knife leaving its sheath. 

“By blackmailing me with my family’s bounties?” he shot back, choosing not to struggle when she had a blade so close to his head. 

“Well that’s your fault,” she argued, as the knife went to work on his hair. “You’re the idiot who walked into Bregan D’Aerthe, knowing who we are and what we do.” 

“I believe you kidnapped me, actually.” 

“I saved your life, you ought to be grateful.” Rismyn winced as she tugged a little too hard on one of his strands. “You were so obviously running from something it was only a matter of time before a patrol stopped you. And besides, you already admitted you were on your way here.” 

Rismyn had no argument for that, so he just grunted in protest instead. 

“And while I’ve got you here, helpless little lamb that you are,” she added, and he would have argued the insult if he knew what a lamb was and her knife hadn’t just flashed briefly before his eyes, “let me give you some advice. Whoever told you the drow can’t love was lying to you. It’s as much in our nature as it is in our light-skinned cousins. That’s the damning secret that Lolth doesn’t want us to know, because it will ruin her little power game she has going on here. So she teaches our mothers to loathe their children and then they beat it out of us.” 

Rismyn couldn’t have moved now if both Pearl and the knife were suddenly gone. He had never in all his life heard anyone speak so insultingly of Lolth, especially a female. He glanced around, as though a giant spider would burst from the shadows and devour them for such blasphemous talk. But on went Pearl’s knife, trimming away the locks of his hair, without a concern for her words. 

“It’s for lack of love that so many of our young ones are fleeing into the Wilds,” she continued. “Chasing after the deviant Legend. They’re hoping to carve out a slice of life that isn’t bitter and poisoned, but the sad truth of it is, most never find it. The world isn’t kind to dark elves; our people reap what our ancestors have sewn. But!” She let him go, and moved to stand in front of him. “Sometimes, some of us get lucky. So, here’s my advice.” 

Pearl offered a hand to help Rismyn to his feet, and despite himself he took it. Drow women were generally taller and stronger than men, but Rismyn was tall for a male. When he was on his feet, he was at eye level with her. 

“If that faerie is the object of your affection, don’t tell her.” 

“What?” he asked, still taken aback by her words. 

“Chattel don’t like to hear it when their owners develop feelings for them.” Pearl turned away and selected a silver shield from the wall. “It wounds deeper than callous indifference. Here, what do you think?” She held the shield up, and it was polished enough that Rismyn could see his reflection as though looking in a mirror. 

But he could hardly care what he looked like at the moment. Pearl had just cut more than his hair, as her words recalled the very incident Rismyn tried so hard to distance himself from. “But...but I’m not her owner,” he stammered, forgetting he was supposed to be pretending Mazira was dead. “We were different...I was different…”

“Different?” Pearl gave a scornful laugh. “Oh you poor little orphaned fawn, how have you held on to your innocence so long? Look at yourself,” she commanded. “You might be different, but you sure don’t look like it in her eyes.” 

Rismyn finally looked at his reflection, and he was startled by what he saw. Not by the artistic way she had layered his new, shorter hair, but by the redness of his eyes, the darkness of his skin. He had thought it was enough to cut his hair to defy his family’s heritage, but he couldn’t change the shape of his face or the angle of his eyes. All he saw as he beheld his image in the shield was an uncanny resemblance to Toloruel, a likeness he had never noticed before. But of course it was there, and probably had been all along. They had the same mother, after all, if perhaps not the same father. 

What else did he and his brother have in common? No wonder Mazira had lashed out against him. She had probably seen it from the very beginning. He believed once she had been his only friend, a dear companion in a world of spiders. They had found something special in this dark and miserable place, and he had been hoping to find it again now that they were free and he understood more about the nature of his heart. 

But what if she never actually felt that way? What if she had just been playing a role for him, like she played for his brother and sisters? 

The implications were devastating, and he could no longer stand the sight of his own face anymore.

“I have to go,” he said, stepping around Pearl and heading for the door. There were so many thoughts in his head, so many confusing emotions. The sooner he got this job done, the sooner he would be back in his quiet cave to contemplate it. 

“Wait,” Pearl called after him, “you don’t know where you’re going!”

But Rismyn only hurried to the door, his mind set on the task ahead of him. 

One priestess, then he was done with this place forever.  

---

Kalos glanced up from the document he was reading as a figure appeared in the gray-hued doorway. After a moment, the form resolved into Pearl, who wore a very unusual look of deep consternation as she cast off her cloak and dropped in the chair he had materialized for Rismyn. 

“How did it go?” he asked, glancing back down as if he were more interested in the report than the young rogue they had just sent out into the city. 

“Fine. He’s off into the Clawrift, for better or worse.” 

Kalos waited for more, but nothing more came. He looked up at her again and this time set the document down. “Pearl?”

“He’s got a sharp eye for weaponry,” she reported. “Took good, solid adamantine. Nothing flashy, just killing tools.” 

Again, Kalos waited for more.

“And a vial of poison.” 

“Anything else?”

“No.” 

Kalos nodded. “So he thinks he’ll be done with it quickly. That makes him either overconfident or incredibly well trained.” 

“He’s a damn fool,” she spat, with surprising bitterness. “I don’t know how he managed to live this long. He’s transparent as sea glass and head over heels in love with that girl he stole. Gracious, Kal, where do you find these kids?” 

“They come to us, remember?” He sighed and drummed his fingers on the desk. “So the surface girl is still alive, then?” That was a very important detail. It made his information more valuable to the Tear family, should he decide to sell it. 

“Oh yes, he made it plain as Narbondel. Terrible liar, that one. Gets all flustered and wears his emotions on his sleeve, though he thinks he’s hiding it. He’s smart, but he’s not very bright. You owe me a gold piece, by the way.” 

“And you’ll have it,” Kalos remarked. He leaned back and regarded the woman with calculating eyes--and no small amount of interest. He never grew tired of Pearl’s ‘armor,’ as she called it, no matter how many years he had known her. “Is that why you’re so sulky, because your competition isn’t dead?” 

Pearl shot him a dark look. “You know I was only playing with him for information.” 

“But you still want to keep him.” 

At this, she sighed and slumped back. “So? I can’t help it. Jarlyn would’ve been about his age.”

“I know,” Kalos said, for he knew it was all the sympathy Pearl wanted. “But you still have the other one.” 

“Ugh.” She scowled. “He’s still all drow.” 

“We’re all all drow.” 

“You know what I mean,” she retorted, before tossing her head back and shutting her eyes. 

They fell into silence, and Kalos resumed his scanning of the parchment. It wasn’t a particularly interesting report, but all information could become profitable and was worth taking note of. No matter how droll. 

After a while, Pearl began shifting again. “Are we going to raise our children here?” 

Kalos looked up, masking his surprise under cool indifference. Not that it would matter; Pearl could read him like a scroll. “We don’t have any children.” 

“Yes, but you promised we would.” 

“I don’t believe those were my exact words…” 

“Kalos.” 

At last he broke, sighing and tossing up his hands. “What’s gotten into you? It isn’t like you to get sentimental like this.” 

“I know,” she grumbled. “But I can’t help it. It’s the boy, he--” 

But before she could say anything more, another figure appeared in the door. Though the enchantment allowed Kalos to decide whether or not he wanted to let the newcomer in, he opted to allow it. It was an interruption he had been expecting. 

The form resolved into a raging young warrior. “He was here!” the newcomer shouted, as soon as he crossed the threshold. “He was here and you didn’t let me know!” 

Pearl’s expression steeled over and she rose to her feet. “I see you have work to do.” She snatched up her cloak and stalked out of the room. 

Even in his anger, the young male’s eyes trailed after her, which Kalos supposed was part of what Pearl meant by calling the youth ‘all drow.’ And while he knew that Pearl didn’t care--for that was the whole point of her attire--Kalos still harbored a secret disdain for it. Most members of the band understood that the woman was his and his alone. This new recruit had yet to comprehend it. 

He would learn in time. They all learned in time. Kalos regarded the seething young drow for a moment before he gestured to the now vacated seat. 

“Have a seat, Dreder,” he said, patiently. 

But of course, Dreder did not. “You knew I wanted to kill him. It’s the only thing I asked for when I agreed to join your little club. And you let him walk out of here!” 

“Oh, of course,” Kalos replied mildly. “My apologies, I forgot that you had so many options. You could have chosen to beg in the streets, or even face your mother as a failure. We’re incredibly blessed to have been chosen by you.” 

The sarcasm had its desired effect, for though Dreder wanted to rage all the more, the truth of his position cut through his argument and he reigned himself in. 

Slightly.  

“It’s his fault I’m like this,” Dreder growled, which was an improvement over shouting. He raised his severed arm and waved it emphatically. “I want his hand for my own.” 

“We’ve talked about this,” Kalos said. We don’t hold grudges here, it’s bad--” 

“Bad for business,” the boy finished through clenched teeth. “You know I’m starting to question this business policy of yours. I know his matron would pay handsomely for his heart on her altar. How is letting him walk away good for business?” 

Kalos considered the boy for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to give a straight answer. Despite the boy’s unstable personality, Kalos liked Dreder. He had the makings of a fine mercenary, if he could get over his own ego and lust for power. Ambition wasn’t a bad trait to possess, but it could become a hangman’s noose if not tempered correctly. Perhaps this was an opportunity to educate rather than subjugate. 

“Profit comes in many forms,” he said, finally. “It’s not always about the coin you collect.” 

“Or the fire opals?” Dreder hissed.

Kalos frowned. Dreder wasn’t supposed to know that. Someone had been talking with loose lips. He made a mental note to find out who, but moved on. “Why do you hate Rismyn so much?” 

Dreder gave him a wry look, raising his stump again. “Why do you think?” 

Kalos sighed. “You are young and have been relatively sheltered, so I’ll excuse your lack of vision.” Dreder’s eyes narrowed, but Kalos didn’t give him the chance to speak. “Has it occurred to you that perhaps you ought to be grateful for the injury?” 

“Grateful?” the young drow spluttered. 

“Yes, grateful. Consider your position. How far would you have risen in House Ti’glath? Weapons Master in a few centuries, perhaps? Then what, in the meantime? A patrol soldier, guarding our fair city’s borders from monsters and Svirfneblin?” 

“A life of honor,” Dreder retorted defensively. 

“Honor is an illusion. It’s a life of slavery, is what it is.” 

Dreder looked as though he had been struck, but Kalos didn’t blame him. It was hard to undo years of brainwashing in just a few days. 

“But now,” Kalos continued, “you’ve been given a second chance. Your injury has set you free from that life, and your possibilities are endless, if you grow wise enough to play the game.” 

“Or I’ve just become a slave to House Bregan D’Aerthe.”

Kalos grimaced. He did like Dreder, but heavens how the boy could test his patience. “It’s true,” he allowed, “we do operate like a family, though I’d be careful about making House allusions. Some of the men won’t appreciate the reference. But I digress.” He straightened, locking eyes with the boy to make sure he didn’t miss his next point. “You are right. We exact heavy demands of our members and have high expectations. But the reward is great. You will be free to do as you please, within reason, and will share in all of our considerable wealth. You will not have to submit to any female who hasn’t earned the right of rank over you with her blood. You belong to a new family, now. I think you’ll find in time we are a far more forgiving family than the one you left behind. And far more interested in keeping you alive.” 

Dreder shifted uncomfortably and looked away. “What does this have to do with letting Tear walk?”

“We haven’t let him walk,” Kalos said. “We’ve sent him on a mission.” “A mission?” the youth repeated, wide-eyed. The envy in his voice was as clear as spring water. Kalos had forbidden him from leaving the compound until he had learned to fight more proficiently with his left hand. Truthfully, he wanted to keep an eye on the renegade until he could decide whether or not he could be trusted, but the boy didn’t need to know that. 

“Yes, a mission. And should he perform his task admirably, we’re prepared to offer him a place in this family, as well.” “What?” the young warrior gasped. “But he’s a deviant!” 

“We’re all deviants,” Kalos said, his tone dangerously soft. “The label is a myth, one you should learn to forget if you want to make it further in this world than Menzoberranzan.”“You can’t recruit Tear!”

“I can do as I like.” 

“Well what if he says no?” Dreder sneered. “Can I kill him, then?” 

“He’s already said ‘yes’ by agreeing to the mission.” 

Dreder’s brows drew down in confusion. “But you said--” 

“I am aware of what I said,” Kalos cut in. “And you must be content to not need to know everything. Now run along back to your training. I’ve business to attend to.” 

Dreder looked like he wanted to argue, but clenched his jaw tight and offered a stiff salute instead. He then turned on his heel and strode briskly to the door. There was hope for him yet. 

“Oh, Dreder, one more thing,” Kalos called. Dreder stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn. “If I discover you’ve made any plans to undermine my designs, well…” he trailed off with a shrug. “Let’s just say our band is forgiving, but our discipline is harsh.” 

The boy stood rigid, and rage seemed to emanate from him like an aura. Still, he nodded his head once and left the room. 

Kalos let out a breath and rubbed his temples. This was exhausting. And Pearl wanted children? He couldn’t imagine managing small drow when large drow were vexing enough as it was. Perhaps it was time to request a transfer to a different outpost. He hadn’t been to the surface in a while, and Pearl had said she’d been missing the sea. 

“You’re really that sure Rismyn will join the band?” 

Kalos looked up, slightly surprised to see Pearl had returned so soon. He hadn’t noticed the enchantment alerting him to her presence, so he hadn’t had the chance to keep her out. Not that he would. There were very few instances where her presence wasn’t welcome, and even then he probably wouldn’t have purposely kept her away. It wasn’t worth inciting her wrath. 

Though it might be too late for that. The woman stood just inside the doorway, her hands on her hips. She still had that haunted, philosophical look about her. As if his headaches couldn’t get any worse. 

“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” he said, taking up his long abandoned document. 

“Just watching your back. And you didn’t answer my question.” 

“It doesn’t matter what he decides. He’s ours now, regardless.”

“I thought that might have been your game,” she said. “Let me guess, you’re letting him think you’re allowing him to go free. But in the end, when Bregan D’Aerthe has need of him again, you’ll expect him to comply?” 

“He’ll have no choice,” Kalos said. “He can run, he can hide, he can even escape as far as the World Above. But he will always be aware that he owes Bregan D’Aerthe an insurmountable debt--a debt we can choose to collect on in the form of gold or fire opals. He’ll be all the more compliant now that we’ve confirmed he still has the girl to protect.” 

Pearl nodded, but he really wished she would smile. He didn’t like this sulking, disapproving version of his lady. 

“That’s clever,” she said. “Good for business, for sure.” 

She made it sound so terrible. “You know that it is.” 

“I know. The Captain would be proud.”

“And you?”

“I’m always proud of you.” 

“Well you don’t sound like it,” Kalos grumbled. He didn’t usually care what his subordinates thought, but Pearl was more than his subordinate. 

The woman only shrugged. “I came back because I forgot to tell you,” she said, abruptly changing the subject, “I gave Ty and Mercutio your orders. They’re tailing the kid now. I made sure they know not to interfere with anything.” 

Kalos clenched his teeth, but though he wanted to shake her and demand to know what was wrong, he refrained. He already knew what was wrong, anyway. It was these children, caught in the snare of Spider Queen’s web and their own hearts. He was tempted to remind her that neither Dreder nor Rismyn were Jarlyn, and neither youth could replace the infant that had been taken from her and given to Lolth. But that would be cruel. And though he was a drow, for all intents and purposes, he tried not to be cruel. 

So instead he said, “Thank you,” and then returned to his documents. 

Pearl left, but the weight of her dissatisfaction hung heavy over his head. Kalos started to wonder if these young recruits were worth the trouble they were bringing him. Dreder was one thing--no one seemed to want him. As far as his family was concerned he had been slain the day he lost his hand and they had no concern for him, not while his mother was still young enough to bear replacements. But Rismyn…

Perhaps he should sell the boy back to his mother. It might turn out to be the better profit, after all.

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