you would risk anything?’ Gariath’s laugh was a derisive rumble as he loomed over the man. ‘Your eyes and breeches both go moist at the first sign of trouble. The Rhega spit in the eyes of death and demons.’
‘Oh, it’s not my death I’m afraid of,’ the rogue hissed, ‘I’m utterly terrified of the idea that you and I will both die and I’ll have to share my heaven with some scaly, smelly reptile.’
‘There is no heaven for rats,’ Gariath snarled, shoving the rogue. ‘They get tossed on the trash heap and rot in a hole.’
‘ENOUGH!’ Kataria’s cry temporarily skewered the argument. As an uneasy silence descended, she glanced towards Lenk, staring absently across the sea. ‘And what do you say? You’re the one who usually chooses between bad ideas.’
‘Oh, is that what I do?’
He had no more words, only eyes, and they were fixated upon the fortress. The sun was dying at the horizon, descending into a blue grave, and the impending darkness seeped into his thoughts.
One Abysmyth, he reasoned, was invincible. It was a vicious brute capable of ripping people apart and drowning them on dry land, sometimes inflicting both on the same person. The fact that there was more than one had seemed a nightmare too horrifying to contemplate earlier that day.
The fact that there were more than two, discounting how many multitudes of frogmen and Omens accompanied them, was too horrifying not to contemplate.
In light of that fact, all plans seemed equally insane, save the unspoken idea of just turning around and leaving.
And yet, he thought, not even Denaos has suggested leaving . . .
Further, he had entered a contract; not just an adventurer’s agreement, but a contract, penned and sealed with promises. He had sold his word to Miron Evenhands, for one thousand pieces of gold.
A man’s word, no matter how expensive it might be, is the only thing of any real worth a man can give.
His grandfather had told him that, he was certain.
Don’t forget, though, that honour and common sense are mutually exclusive.
His grandfather had also said that.
‘Lenk?’
He felt Kataria prodding him, breaking his reverie.
‘I . . .’ he inhaled dramatically and his companions held their breath with him, ‘am hungry.’ He sighed and so did they. ‘And tired.’
With that, he turned from the fortress and began to trudge away. They watched him for a few moments before Denaos spoke up.
‘What? That’s it?’
‘Night is falling,’ he replied. ‘If I’m going to my death, it can wait until I’ve had dinner.’
ACT THREE
The Mouth, the Prophet, the Voice
Interlogue
DON’T ASK
The Aeons’ Gate
Ktamgi, a few days north and east (?) of Toha
Summer, getting later
So, why be an adventurer?
Why forsake the security of a mercenary guild, the comfort of a family or the patriotism of a soldier to serve at the whims of unscrupulous characters and perform deeds that fall somewhere in the triangle of madness, villainy and self-loathing?
To be honest, I hadn’t actually asked myself that for awhile. Don’t misunderstand; I asked myself all the time when I first began doing this sort of thing, three years ago. I don’t recall ever finding an answer . . .
Eventually, one begins to accept one’s lot in life, adventurers included, so I suppose I’d say the chief reason people stay with this, let’s be honest, rather abhorrent career decision is out of sheer laziness. But that doesn’t really offer an answer to the chief question, does it?
Why do it in the first place?
Freedom, perhaps, could be one reason: the need to be without the beck and call of sergeants, kings or even customers. An adventurer is as close as you can get to that sort of thing without declaring yourself outright a highwayman or rapist. Hardly any profit in the latter, anyway.
Greed is certainly another factor, for though adventurers don’t get hired often, we do typically end up with whatever gold we acquire along the way from robberies, plundering or looting ... which might be why we don’t get hired very often.
That aside, I think the real reason is the first one: laziness.
Wait, let me rephrase.
Comfort.
There’s precious little of it to be found in an adventurer’s life, it’s certain . . . and maybe that’s why we pick up a sword or a bow or a knife and decide to do it. It makes sense, doesn’t it? We all want comfort, in one way or another.
Asper wants the comfort of being able to provide comfort to others in the name of Talanas; being an adventurer gives her plenty of