He did not bother with begging , nor threatening. The moment they had appeared from the shadow he just gave a few words.

"Are you sure?"

The sword became their orators as they danced.

It was a frantic, desperate waltz in the dark, their blades kissing and singing a sharp, ringing song of iron. Their legs skipped over the treacherous pebbles, sparks flying into the air like brushes of orange paint against a canvas of black. The darkness favored them; the moonlight was a fickle thing, providing just enough silver to track a movement but not enough to telegraph a strike.

Karlin proved his match well enough keeping his attention.

All Harlon needed to was wait. Then he found his opening, snaking through a clumsy parry to plunge his dagger into the stranger’s back.

The blade bit into the meat of the shoulder, and the man let out a shout of pain, blood dribbling out as he wrenched the blade away.

Since Harlon willed the man to live for the information he carried, he did not press for the heart or the neck. Instead, he let his heavier blade bite deep into the stranger’s thigh. The man collapsed into the surf, and disarming him of his sword and daggers at that point became very simple.

The stranger realized his fate the moment he felt the cold kiss of a sword-tip against his throat. The dry, predictable words finally spilled from his mouth, desperate and hollow.

"You are dead men," he wheezed, blood bubbling down his cloth and to the stone"You have no idea what trouble you are inviting by touching me. You don’t want trouble with those I serve."

Then, of course, the bartering began.

"Let me go... bring me to a healer, and I will forget this ever happened," he gasped, his eyes darting between the two silhouettes above him. "I have no quarrel with you. Let me go, and we can all walk away.Is it silver you searching for?I got a hoard of it for you."

The words would have been more useful if spoken to the deaf. The dice had already been thrown, and now they simply had to wait and see what face came up.

The wind bit at the back of Harlon’s neck as Karlin finally spoke, his voice like cracking ice.His words not much warmer.

"This was ill-done. We could have worked this a dozen ways better than this." The darkness shrouded Karlin’s features, but Harlon knew the expression, the thin-lipped, narrowing gaze of a man of low passion and heavy caution.

"I fail to see how we could have made it any better," Harlon snapped, his adrenaline still singing. "We captured him, didn’t we?"

"You captured an innocent and still very dangerous man!" the prisoner piped up. Harlon’s boot pressed down firmly on the man’s neck,telling just of how welcome his opinion was.

"We captured him, yes," Karlin whispered. "And what is the grand plan now, oh brilliant strategist?"

"We get everything we can out of him and denounce Barbut for the treacherous dog that he is," Harlon replied, finally shifting his boot just enough to let the man take a ragged breather.Then down it went again. "We press him for corruption, for treason, and we get that nasty, bald head away from his neck. Hopefully, I’ll be the one allowed to swing the axe."

"We have no proof," Karlin argued, his voice rising in frustration.

Harlon simply pointed a bloody finger down at the man. "Forthcoming."

"As far as the assembly is concerned, we just snatched a random traveler off the street and took out teeth and nail until he told us what we wanted to hear," Karlin growled. "Unless this weasel knows something that can actually be brought before a magistrate, something condemning enough to sink a Speaker, we are lost. Worse, Barbut will get wind of this and take his own fucking precautions. FUCK! Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"I remind you we don’t even know who this weasel is!" Harlon shot back. "You would have had us let the fish swim away for fear of throwing the net. Did you have another road we could have taken?"

"Yes!" Karlin snapped, stepping into Harlon’s space. "I had a better road, if you’d bothered to ask! Instead you simply jumped out like a fucking assasin.

We knew the bastard was meeting him here. We could have left men to linger in the shadows, to watch, to follow. They were bound to meet again in the weeks to come. We could have mapped the whole web and take both of them at the same time!At that point we would have needed no proof. Instead, we have this shit-storm. You fucked us, Harlon. You fucked a god-given opportunity of gold for a moment of bloody iron.If you had so much steam to let off by blade , you should have followed you brother and fucked off to Azania."

Harlon opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat as the cold logic of Karlin’s anger began to seep in. He looked down at the bleeding man and realized, with a sickening jolt, that Karlin was right.

He had traded a long-term victory for a short-term strike.

The sound of rhythmic footsteps and the flickering glow of torches began to descend from the upper cliffs as the night rolled on. Harlon’s family guards were finally returning with what they had been sent for.

"We’ll get something useful from him," Harlon muttered, though the conviction had left his voice.

"You had best hope so," Karlin whispered, his gaze turning toward the sea. "You had best hope he has the world in his pockets, or we’ve just given away the key to win this war of ours."

As the last words rolled on the guards finally arrived. The herald of the dolphin of the Auscii house hanging on their breast as they bound the prisoner’s hands with rough hempen rope and shoved a coarse sack over his head, cutting off his muffled protests with a gag. As they began the long trek back into the night, the stars above looked down on them, cold and uncaring, as they vanished deeper into the darkness.

It was still hours shy of dawn when they descended into the mansion’s basement. This was a house for pleasure, as such it was entirely unequipped with the thick, acoustic muffling one would expect for the work at hand.

The guests were all upstairs, no doubt sleeping the night away in a haze of wine and women, unaware of the blow that was made for thier unseen war. There was a nagging risk that a stray scream might drift through the floorboards and wake a sleeping lord, but Harlon already had his excuse polished: a common thief of a group caught with his hand in the sack while the other escaped with the prize.

With a rough jerk, Harlon ripped the sack from their guest’s head.

The man hung from a central pillar, his wrists bound high so that he stretched like a carved pig. A cocktail of raw hatred and sharp fear peered up at him from eyes that finally understood the gravity of the situation.

"All right, let’s get on with it," Harlon muttered. He turned his back to the prisoner, his eyes scanning the wide array of tools that had been laid out across a wooden bench. "How do you want to start?"

He turned back, brandishing two pair of pincers, one sharpened into blades, the other fitted with blunt, crushing plates. "I’d suggest the smaller ones first. We can make do with a torn nail or a tooth to start the conversation before we get more close."

The man wrestled violently against his bonds, his protests reduced to hollow, wet muffling against the cloth stuffed into his mouth.

The sight took Harlon back to his youth, when he still raided with his older brother. He recalled when his boots had landed on the scorched earth of Sharjaan, where he had worked over villagers to find their hidden silver. In the end, there had been no silver, only blood.

"I promise you your life if you collaborate, or if you don’t I can always crack something of yours to get your informations out. Makes no difference from me." Harlon said, his voice dropping into a dark, playful cadence. He snapped the larger pincers shut with a resounding clack. "By the way, these are for the balls. So, do you want to start small or...’’ He cranked them close with a smile ’’big?"

He brought the cold iron closer to the man’s thigh, but a firm hand caught his wrist, pushing the tool away before it could bite. Harlon turned to find Karlin gazing at him with a look of pure, unadulterated reproach.

"What think I can’t?Didn’t we sail enough to prove that wrong?" Harlon snapped.

"You’ve done enough, " Karlin said, his voice flat and unumused. "Let me take it from here. There might still be a way to salvage this disaster if I work quickly.Not everything need to be bathed in blood to work."

Something in his tone made him stop, and something in his eyes made him relent.Though not gladly.

This was the bastard biting at his brother’s heel. He wanted to snap his hands for a change.

"All right, fine. You do you," Harlon huffed, stepping back from the prisoner, much to the latter’s relief. "Want me to start the fire for the irons?"

’’Mhfhfmhmh’

’’None asked you!’’ Harlon snapped at the man with a punch to the liver.

The relief disappeared and pain settled in.

"No. In fact, I’d be thankful if you set foot out of this room and leave me, us, be." Karlin stepped into the light, his shadow stretching long against the prisoner, holding Harlon back before he could give his left. "I would like to have a small conversation with our friend before the screaming begins."

"Why?" Harlon asked,retrieving his arm away, his brow furrowing. "I’m the one who caught the rat."

"And you’re the one who tripped the trap early!" Karlin’s voice rose, the volume echoing sharply off the stone walls and telling Harlon exactly how serious he was. "You’ve already fucked up enough for one night! Every time I find a way out of the mess we’re in, you find a brand new way to set the damn curtains on fire. Now, get out. Let me have this, or by the Sea, I’ll leave you to explain to the magistrates alone."

Harlon opened his mouth to argue, but the sheer, vibrating heat of Karlin’s anger silenced him. With a frustrated grunt, he threw the pincers onto the table and stalked toward the stairs.

’’You have until I get bored’’ he turned to the prisoners ’’Treat him well, when you’ll see me next I won’t be as soft.You are mine.’’