The narrow streets of Seagard felt different after the fight at the warehouse. The salt-laden breeze carried a hint of unease, or maybe that tension was simply Ethan's heightened senses, attuned to every flicker of movement and shifting glance. The city was alive with the usual hum of trade and the clang of ships docking in the harbor, but beneath the surface, Ethan felt the weight of unseen eyes, shadowed threats lurking in corners where daylight faded.
The return to Tomas's shop had been swift but calculated. They kept to less obvious routes, avoiding patrols and curious merchants. Kieran walked beside Ethan with a casual air, though the faint smudge of drying blood near his collar spoke of their recent encounter. The rogue's grin was ever-present, masking the sharper edge in his gaze.
"That went well, all things considered," Kieran said, flipping a small silver coin between his fingers. "Could've been worse."
Ethan's expression remained grim. "It was close enough. We got lucky."
Kieran's grin faltered just a bit. "Luck, skill—what's the difference? Dead men don't care either way."
Ethan didn't respond immediately. His thoughts lingered on the men they'd killed. Even in this ruthless world, where life was often cheap, there was always a cost to violence. Every move here had consequences. And they had just made themselves known in ways that couldn't be undone.
Tomas's shop came into view—a modest building wedged between a weaver's stall and a blacksmith's forge. Smoke curled lazily from the forge's chimney, and the rhythmic pounding of metal echoed down the street. The scent of iron and ash mingled with the salty tang of the sea.
Ethan pushed open the heavy oak door, the bell above jangling softly. The warmth of the shop washed over them, a stark contrast to the cold calculation of the warehouse fight. Shelves lined with bolts of fabric in rich hues and fine textures created a tapestry of color that seemed almost surreal after the grim violence they'd left behind.
Tomas stood behind the counter, his weathered face creasing with concern as he saw them. His thick arms, more suited to hauling cargo than running a merchant's shop, rested tensely on the counter.
"You're back," Tomas said, his voice low and edged with caution. "Did you find it?"
Ethan nodded. "We recovered the cargo. It's safe."
Relief flickered across Tomas's face, though it was quickly tempered by a wary glance toward the door. "And the men?"
"Dead," Kieran answered flatly, leaning casually against the counter. "They won't be a problem anymore."
Tomas exhaled slowly, the weight of their words settling over him. "You did me a great service," he said after a long pause. "But this… this won't go unnoticed. Those men weren't just common thieves. They had backing—dangerous backing."
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
Tomas hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the windows as if expecting shadows to materialize. "There are whispers. A new faction trying to muscle into Seagard's trade routes. They don't play by the old rules, and they've got coin to spare. Enough to buy loyalty—and silence."
Kieran let out a low whistle. "Sounds like a delightful bunch."
Ethan's mind raced. He'd sensed the shifting tides of power in Seagard, but this confirmed it. The city was a battlefield, not just for merchants but for control over trade itself. And they had just stepped directly into the fray.
"What's your plan now?" Ethan asked Tomas.
The merchant's jaw tightened. "For now? Keep my head down, secure my goods, and hope this all blows over. But if you're smart, you'll tread carefully. They'll come looking for whoever disrupted their operations."
Ethan met Tomas's gaze steadily. "Let them come."
Tomas shook his head, a grim smile tugging at his lips. "You're either brave or a fool."
"Both," Kieran said with a grin.
Tomas reached beneath the counter, pulling out a small leather pouch. He tossed it onto the counter with a clink of coin. "For your trouble," he said gruffly. "It's not enough, I know, but it's what I can spare without drawing attention."
Ethan picked up the pouch, weighing it in his hand. The familiar heft of silver was reassuring, a tangible reward for their risk. "It's appreciated," he said simply.
Tomas inclined his head. "You've earned more than just coin. If you need information or introductions, I'll do what I can."
"We'll hold you to that," Kieran said cheerfully, pocketing a handful of coins.
As they stepped back onto the street, the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The market was still bustling, though the energy had shifted as evening approached. Merchants packed up their wares, and the more unsavory elements of Seagard began to emerge from the cracks.
"So," Kieran said, breaking the silence, "what's the next move?"
Ethan's gaze swept the streets, his mind already working through possibilities. They had carved out a small victory, but the larger game was only just beginning. Power in Seagard was a delicate balance, and they had upset it. That meant opportunities—but also danger.
"Information," Ethan said finally. "We need to know who's behind this faction and what they're planning. And we need allies."
Kieran nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds like fun. Where do we start?"
Ethan's lips curved into a faint, determined smile. "The same place any power game starts—connections."
They made their way back toward the Sea Eagle Inn, the city's shifting energy a constant hum around them. Ethan's thoughts churned with strategies and contingencies. He knew that survival in this world required more than brute strength. It demanded cunning, alliances, and an unyielding will to adapt.
Seagard was a city of opportunity, but it was also a city of shadows. Ethan intended to navigate both—and come out on top.
The Sea Eagle Inn was a sanctuary of warmth and chaos amidst the cold, briny winds of Seagard. Thick wooden beams, stained dark from countless years of smoke and salt, arched overhead, creating a protective cocoon around the patrons who sought refuge within its sturdy walls. The scent of roasting meat mingled with the yeasty tang of ale, carried by the laughter and raucous voices of sailors, merchants, and wanderers. The air was thick with stories untold, promises made over drinks, and secrets whispered in dark corners.
Ethan pushed the heavy oak door open, stepping into the lively cacophony. The flickering firelight from the stone hearth painted the room in shades of gold and shadow, dancing across faces lined with hardship and joy alike. Behind him, Kieran sauntered in, his sharp eyes flickering across the crowded room with the ease of a man accustomed to danger.
The inn was packed tonight. A group of sailors huddled near the bar, their sea-weathered faces flushed from drink as they sang a bawdy shanty that made a few of the serving girls roll their eyes. A pair of merchants bargained fiercely over a pile of scrolls spread across their table, oblivious to the laughter and clinking tankards around them.
Ethan's gaze swept across the room until it landed on Bjorn, who sat near the hearth, a tankard of ale cradled in his large hands. His face, usually composed in stoic indifference, bore the weight of fatigue. The faint flicker of the fire highlighted the tension etched into the lines around his eyes.
They made their way through the bustling crowd, weaving between tables and dodging the occasional stagger of a drunken sailor. As they reached Bjorn's table, he looked up, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly before softening with recognition.
"You're back," Bjorn rumbled, his voice low and steady despite the din around them. "No trouble, I hope."
Kieran smirked as he dropped into a chair opposite Bjorn. "Depends on your definition of trouble," he drawled. "Ran into some resistance, but nothing we couldn't handle."
Bjorn arched an eyebrow. "That so?"
Ethan took a seat beside Kieran, his expression serious. "The cargo's secure, but it was close. These weren't just random thieves. They were organized and well-armed."
Bjorn's jaw tightened. "Who?"
"That's the problem—we don't know yet," Ethan admitted. "But Tomas thinks it's a new faction trying to muscle into Seagard's trade routes."
Bjorn leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath his weight. He took a long sip of his ale, his gaze thoughtful. "Seagard's always had its share of power struggles. The Mallisters keep the peace as best they can, but they can't see everything. If someone's trying to carve out a piece of the pie, it'll get messy fast."
"Messy means opportunity," Kieran said with a grin, his tone light despite the gravity of the conversation.
Bjorn's lips curved into a wry smile. "That depends on whether you're the one making the mess or cleaning it up."
Ethan leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We need information. Connections. Tomas offered to help where he can, but it's not enough. We need someone with eyes and ears in places we can't reach."
Bjorn tapped a thick finger against the table, considering their predicament. "There's a man," he said after a moment of contemplation. "Gareth Stone. Used to be a sailor until he lost his ship in a bad deal. Now he runs a gambling den near the docks."
"Trustworthy?" Ethan asked, though he already suspected the answer.
Bjorn let out a short, humorless laugh. "Not even a little. But he knows things. And if you've got coin, he'll talk."
Kieran's grin widened. "Sounds like my kind of guy."
"Be careful," Bjorn warned, his tone grave. "The docks aren't a place for fools, especially at night. And Gareth's got friends who wouldn't think twice about gutting you for a few silver stags."
Ethan nodded, filing away the information. "We'll handle it."
Bjorn's expression softened, though the lines of weariness remained etched into his features. "I'll keep my ear to the ground too. Seagard's shifting, and not in a good way. We need to stay ahead of it."
As the conversation lulled, a serving girl approached their table, her dark hair pulled back into a simple braid. She carried a tray laden with steaming bowls of stew and fresh bread.
"Evenin', sers," she said with a polite nod, setting the food down before them. "Anything else I can get you?"
"Just keep the ale coming," Bjorn said gruffly.
The girl smiled faintly before disappearing back into the crowd.
They ate in relative silence, the weight of their plans pressing heavily on their minds. The stew was hearty, filled with chunks of tender meat and root vegetables, seasoned just enough to cut through the blandness of most tavern fare. The bread was warm and crusty, perfect for sopping up the last remnants of the meal.
As the night deepened, the crowd began to thin. Sailors stumbled out into the chilly night, their laughter fading into the distance. Merchants gathered their scrolls and ledgers, preparing for another day of haggling and deals.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing with thoughts of their next move. Gareth Stone was a risk, but one they needed to take. Seagard was a city of opportunities and dangers in equal measure, and if they wanted to rise above the chaos, they had to play the game better than anyone else.
"Tomorrow," Ethan said quietly, his voice firm. "We find Gareth."
Bjorn nodded in silent agreement, his gaze steady despite the flicker of uncertainty that lingered there.
Kieran grinned, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I've always wanted to see how a gambler plays when the stakes are life and death."
Ethan's lips curled into a faint smile. "Let's hope we don't have to find out."
As the fire crackled low and the last patrons drifted away, the three men sat in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with risks and challenges they couldn't yet foresee. But one thing was clear—Seagard was a city of endless possibilities, and they intended to claim their share.