Cigne

The field was littered with dismembered bodies and the evening mist had already begun to settle here on the valley floor. The organ pickers had come and gone, and what was left of the putrid flesh was food for the vultures. Wheeling and spinning, they danced their ancient death dance in the sky, impatient.

The birds would have to wait. There was an order to things, and their time would come. Morgan nodded at Patch, who gave one last look for any hidden troops. Sometimes the winning side would hide cavalry in the woods waiting to pounce on the battlefield ghouls. Seeing it was clear, Patch moved in. The easy stuff had already been harvested. As usual, the locals had swept in, taking whatever they could make off with in a hurry. The organ pickers came in next, looking for livers and kidneys mostly. Hearts were worthless at this point, but some of the livers and kidneys would still be good. It only took a couple to make a years wages in the city. That’s if they weren’t killed by another picker who was after their find.

Morgan dismounted and kept watch, while Patch looked for the most lucrative treasure. They only had so much time, so he had to concentrate on the high value items. They were also high risk, which explained why they were still with the bodies. Getting caught with a fighters band would either get you handsomely rewarded, or killed in a way that would give you time to question your life choices.

“That’s twenty three right there.” Morgan dropped the sack onto the table.

The dealer opened the bag and examined a couple of them. ”Not bad. How many red and how many blue?”

“Do I look like I give a shit?”

“The reds are worth more right now. But you could wait a week, another battle, a different outcome. Things could flip.”

Patch lost his patience: “just give us the price we agreed on you bloody pirate before we decide to make our own terms.”

The dealer’s eyes were drawn to where Patch was caressing the hilt of his sword. ”Okay. Whatever you want. I was just trying to get us all a better deal.”

Morgan snorted, “you were trying to fleece us you overstuffed bag of piss. I haven’t eaten, drank, slept, or fucked for about 12 hours. Whatever you’ve heard about my patience you can cut by about 80%”

They took their gold and left. It was the same dance every time. The dealer would try to chisel them, they would threaten violence and the deal would be closed with a drink. That left three things Morgan still needed to cross off.

At the inn the keeper told them, “I’ve only one room.”

Another guest, a greasy drone of some sort, snorted: “There’d be a show…the two of them together!”

They were an odd pair. Patch was short and swarthy, but was a fearsome warrior, which had a charm all its own.  Morgan on the other hand was tall and athletic with red hair that fell down to her waist and stood out against her white skin. She could have been a princess, albeit one with a very bad disposition. As for Patch, he’d do, and had done, in a pinch.

Patch looked at the other guest and gave him a wry smile. It was the smile of a man who sometimes got to play above his pay grade.

Meanwhile, Morgan was staring at the bar maid. The bar maid was staring back. Without turning away, Morgan told the innkeeper, “We’re really gonna need a second room.”

“Maybe your friend here could sleep in the stable. I wouldn’t charge seeing as how you’re such good customers.”

From across the room the greasy man roared “Even better!!!! She’s one of those types. Can I watch?”

The innkeeper held up his hands to Morgan who had gotten up and was crossing the room. “Not in here! The last time…”

There was a thud that sounded a lot like a body hitting the floor. That’s because a body had hit the floor.

Patch put his arm around the keeper, “Looks like you’ve had a cancellation.”

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