For Want of Gold

       Farwater was a trading post town, and as such, quite large. Finding the stables had been a struggle, and by the time she finally came across them, Cozbi was just half a step beyond the threshold of exhaustion. Unfortunately, her day was far from over. She dismounted and led her mare inside to find what she assumed was the owner of the establishment laying across some haybales, his hat next to him brim-up.

           “A silver for a stall, miss,” a voice said. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark enough for her to see him, and she zeroed in on the bottle of unlabeled liquor beside him.

           She quirked a brow, but produced the coin and tossed it at him. Sharp as a whip, he raised his hand and caught it, then nodded. “Take any stall ya like, ‘less there’s a horse in it.”

           “Fair enough,” Cozbi replied. It was refreshing to roll into town without the usual amount of questioning from the locals- she picked a stall and took her time attending her mare. She’d labored hard this week, and she deserved every bit of rest she could get. Cozbi took the saddlebags with her- she knew from experience not to trust a stable hand with her belongings, no matter how seemingly inexpensive they were. She plopped them on the ground in front of the man that had taken her silver, catching his attention. “I was wondering if you could answer a question or two for me.”

           “Questions are a copper each,” the stableman said.

           Cozbi didn’t bother restraining her irritated scowl. She tossed three coppers at him, each clinking to place in his hat. Only when he finally fixed his attention on her did she proceed, holding up a wanted poster of an intimidating man with a heavy brow. “Have you seen this man around town?”

           The man whistled. “Dead or alive. Thems some heavy words. No, I reckon I haven’t.”

           “Know anyone who has?” she pressed.

           “Oh, yeah. That man’s a terror. Just last week, he went into the fletcher and ordered more’n two dozen arrows, and a bowstring. He used that string to tie the fletcher up while he robbed him dry.”

           “I didn’t know fletchers made that much coin,” Cozbi said, whistling.

           “Ours ain’t an ordinary fletcher. He makes them enchanted arrows. Gets plenty o’ business,” the stable man said. “Fletcher said he don’t look nothing like that picture, neither. Said he’s short, stocky, but talked real kindly up until he started robbin’ ‘im.”

           “Fletcher got insurance, do you figure?” Cozbi asked.

           “Ain’t none of my business if he does,” the stable man replied, face becoming very stoic very fast. “Anyway, you’ve been a real sport, so let me give you a fair warnin’. Rhyma ain’t worth your time. The Grey Wolf is after him.”

           “The Grey Wolf?” Cozbi repeated.

           “Mmhm. A bounty hunter, best in the kingdom. They say he’s so strong, he wields a claymore with one hand,” the stable man smirked, “Pretty little thing like you is gonna be no competition. But that’s yer three coppers’ worth. Any more questions are gonna cost ye.”

           “Sure,” Cozbi said, shouldering her tack again. “Thank you for the information.”

           She parted ways, stopping by the inn next door and paying two silvers for room and board. She was relieved to finally drop all her gear in the room and stretch out a bit. She removed her armor; it was heavy, cumbersome, and she didn’t anticipate running into Rhyma today anyway. Down to a simple tunic, breeches and boots, her hand moved instinctively to the ring she kept on a string around her neck. She brought it to her mouth, kissed it, and dropped it in her tunic.

           Soon, love.

She put her things away neatly, her pack next to the nightstand and her saddlebags hooked over the chair. She made good use of the wash basin with clean water that had been left out for her. When she was ready to leave for her next round of questions, and hopefully a meal, she took something out of the bag- a small box- and pocketed it. Only when her things were safe behind a locked door did she venture out to catch the fletcher before he closed shop.

           He was a tall man, remarkably unbruised for someone who’d survived a meeting with such a brutal man. “Hello,” Cozbi greeted. “I’m looking for this man. The stable man said you might have a lead for me.”

           “Oh,” he said, reaching out and taking hold of the poster. Cozbi watched his hands as he did- there were no marks marring the skin on his wrists.

           “Oh, yes, this man robbed my store just days ago! He’s most foul. Doesn’t look much like his picture, though,” he said, handing the poster back. “Little more squat, with a beard.”

           “A beard,” Cozbi repeated nodding. “Okay. Would you mind telling me about the robbery?”

           “He acted like he was going to buy a bunch of supplies, but when it was all gathered, he pulled a knife on me. Put it right up to my throat while his friend cleared out my store.”

           Cozbi’s eyes roamed the store. The shelves were indeed bare, but completely bare, and very few things were broken. “That must be hard on you and your family,” she said, tone absent any real emotion. “Could you tell me about his accomplice?”

           “I mean, it ain’t of much import,” he replied with a shrug. “Anyhow, I hear our troubles are almost over. The Grey Wolf is coming through.”

           “Oh, is he?” Cozbi asked.

           The man nodded proudly, as if he knew the bounty hunter personally. “They say he’s a mountain of a man, and carries an axe that could split the biggest tree in one swoop. I even heard from my cousin that he stopped through town and took down a whole mess o’ bandits on his own.”

           “Interesting,” Cozbi droned in a disinterested tone, “But I’m not here to question you about the Grey Wolf. His accomplice?”

           “Oh, right.” The fletcher rubbed the stubble of his chin, “She was tall. Slender. Lovely young thing.”

           “Tall, slender, and lovely could describe half the town, sir. Did you notice her hair color? Skin tone?”

           “Red hair, pale. Had freckles across her nose.”

           “Anything else I should be aware of?” she asked, already itching to move on. The place reeked of the man’s bullshit. She’d seen robbed stores before- this wasn’t one.

           The fletcher nodded, “Yes, actually- the tavern owner would’ve seen them both. I think they caused a ruckus in there just a couple days ago.”

           “Alright. Thanks,” she said, nodding appreciatively before turning back towards the door.

           “Wait, miss,” the fletcher called, waving her back. “Really, you should stay away from them. The Grey Wolf will handle it. He’s built for this sort of thing, and you’re…”

           Cozbi shot the man a glare that could chill lava. “Sure,” she said, slipping from the shop.

           Lucky for her, a tavern sounded like exactly the kind of place she’d like to go. She found it easily enough, with a wooden sign shaped like a tankard sloshing beer.

           She slipped inside and found it far livelier than any tavern should be before dusk. A group of adventuring types had taken up the large table towards the middle of the room, there were some jolly merchants against the wall to her left, and in the far back, cloaked in shadows as well as actual cloaks, two shady characters whispered lowly to each other.

           She eyed them. Neither looked anything like the wanted poster she’d been using to track her quarry, but to hear the stableman and the fletcher tell it, her quarry didn’t look anything like the picture anyways. Not like those pictures were ever accurate.

           “What can I do ye for?” the barkeep asked.

           “A room, a meal and a drink,” Cozbi said.

           “Traveling alone?” he asked, eyeing her ring finger. She waggled it at him, finding a small bit of amusement in the way he faltered and coughed.

“Yes. Looking to meet up with someone though,” she replied. She put the wanted poster down on the table. “I heard he’s paid you a visit recently?”

           “Oh yea,” he said, “Big ugly brute. Looks just like that, scar ‘n all.”

           Cozbi’s brows shot up. Now that was different. “Height?”

           “Taller than a barn.”

           “Hair color? Skin tone? Eye color?”

           “Brown, tan, and I didn’t exactly get intimately close to the fella,” the barkeep replied. “Really, Tami dealt with him most.” He whistled, catching the attention of the plump tavern girl.

           She flounced over, her blonde braid bouncing behind her. “Yes, papa?”

           “Tell our guest all about Rhyma.”

           “Oh, he weren’t so bad,” Tami said. Gods, was the girl blushing? She turned her eyes from me, “He really had a way with words.”

           “If you could call that gruntin’ words,” the barkeep said scowling.

           “Asked me if I wanted to run away with ‘im, he did,” Tami said, proudly. “O’ course a lotta men’ll ask a woman to run away, but he said he’d be a right proper gent by me.” Her smile faltered, “That was when papa came out and hit ‘im in the head with a skillet.”

           “Bopped him right over his fat noggin,” the barkeep boasted, putting his hands on his hips. “He got real mad too. Broke a table and left in a huff.”

           “Hasn’t come back to see me yet, but oh when he does…!”

           “Tami, you ain’t goin’ nowhere with no boy,” the barkeep said. He waved his daughter off, and she returned to her duties. The barkeep turned back to his patron. “There ye have it. An absolute brute. Shouldn’t have to worry about him much longer, though. I’ve been hearing the Grey Wolf is going to come put him in his place.”

           “About that,” Cozbi stifled a yawn, “Why exactly does everyone think the Grey Wolf is coming for him? I was under the impression he went where he pleased and took only the jobs he wanted. Why is everyone so sure he’ll crop up here?”

           “They say Rhyma’s set a trap for ‘im,” the barkeep said, speaking lowly now, as if he might be overheard. “Apparently, he put out some bait that the wolf won’t be able to ignore no matter what. But don’t you worry yer pretty lil head, miss, becau-”

           “Because the Grey Wolf will take care of him, yes, I’ve heard,” Cozbi said, exasperated. “Anything else noteworthy?”

           The barkeep accepted payment for the meal and nodded his head to a table. “Just a friendly warnin’. Best stay outta his way.”

           “Sure.” Cozbi walked passed the shady couple to get to her table, acutely aware of how their soft conversation stopped when she was in earshot. She sat at a small table hoping to catch their conversation, but even from two tables away, she could only hear the boisterous storytelling of the group in the center.

           “No, really!” a lithe boy proclaimed. He could be no older than twenty years, skinny, but toned, and carrying a sword that looked heavier than he could wield. “Look, bet me three silver and I’ll prove it right now.”

           “You’re on,” a bulkier, shirtless male jeered, taking his hand in a rough handshake that jolted the boy’s whole frame.

           To Cozbi’s surprise, the boy approached her. “Miss,” he said, inclining his head politely. “I was asking if I might see that wanted poster of yours.”

           “Oh. Sure,” Cozbi said, pulling it out. The villain didn’t even have a full name- just the name Rhyma, the words Wanted: Dead or Alive, along with the outrageous bounty of 550 gold. With that kind of gold, Cozbi would never have to work again. She might even be able to bribe her way back home again.

           “If you don’t mind, miss, c’mere and lookit.”

           Enticed by curiosity, Cozbi followed the man to the table. “Well, I’ll be damned,” the hulking, shirtless man said. “You’re right, twig.”

           “They’re different,” Cozbi said, eyebrows shooting up. And it was true- there were two posters, the writing identical, but the pictures different. On one Rhyma was a tall, curly headed woman and on the one that Cozbi had been carrying, it depicting the large man with a facial scar. “I’ll be damned,” she said.

           “That’s not all!” the boy said, excited to see his barbarian friend deflating a bit. With a new enthusiasm, he went to the tavern’s job board and inspected it just a moment before he pulled yet another poster and slapped it down. This one of a rather normal-looking bearded fellow.

           “What d’you make of that?” the boy asked her, as if she’d have the answer.

           Cozbi laughed. “It means Rhyma isn’t a man. It’s a troupe- a bandit trio maybe? Could even be more of these out there. Do you have any need of these, or may I have them?”

           “Go ahead,” the giant said, pushing his poster forward. The boy nodded as well, offering his. Cozbi thanked them and took them to her table, laying them out in front of her while she awaited her meal.

           Tami brought it to her quickly enough, then leaned forward. “Oh!”

           Cozbi looked up, raising a brow at the squeak. “Recognize anyone?”

           “Yes,” she said, softly. Her eyes darted to the shadowed corner with the suspiciously cloaked patrons. “The woman and the man…”

           “Say no more,” Cozbi said. “I’m going to finish my meal, and then, I will handle it for you.”

           “What should I tell my pa?” Tami twittered anxiously.

           Cozbi smirked. “No need to tell him a thing,” she slipped the girl an extra silver and watched her pocket the coin nervously and slip back into the kitchen.

           It was hard to enjoy her food when she could feel their gazes boring into her. She’d been flashing a photo of their friend- they must be looking to quiet her. She only wondered if they were waiting for their friend to find them.

           Cozbi hoped they were. It would be more convenient for her.

           Shouts in the street first alerted the patrons of the tavern that something was incoming- and that something just happened to be the big ugly Rhyma. He barreled through the front door, a large double-sided battle-axe at the ready. Cozbi patted her mouth with a napkin and pulled the box from her pocket.

           Her eyes glowed as she rubbed her thumb over a rune carved into its seamless surface and whispered an incantation. It spat out her weapon and helm- she crammed the wolf-shaped helm on her head and took hold of her sword. It was a two-handed sword, sure, but it wasn’t a claymore, and she’d never wielded it one handed before.

           She brought it forward to block, just in time to stop the path of Rhyma’s axe. “Finally show your face, did ye, Grey Wolf?”

           Cozbi grunted at his strength, but pushed him off of her, easily enough. She cast another incantation and the runes along the blade of her sword began to glow an eerie pale blue.

           “Don’t let her cast!” the woman yelled, bursting free of her cloak. She jumped atop the corner table and leapt tabletops until she was close enough to initiate a spell of her own- a muting spell.

           But it was too late. The last of Cozbi’s incantations had been uttered and the sword was alit with blue flames. She swung it at the sorceress, unleashing a hellish fire that blasted her back.

           The little Rhyma man was there to catch female Rhyma, righting her before entering the fray. Fighting both men off at the same time in pure silence was off putting and tiring- and Cozbi was plenty tired already. Her fate was sealed when the floorboards cracked and splintered, and roots whipped out of the soil, wrapping around Cozbi’s legs, and pulling her into the freshly upturned soil. The mute spell was dropped and her resounding howl made every other patron wince.

           “Cozbi DelWitter,” the female Rhyma said, unfurling a bounty sheet of her own. It was like looking into a mirror- a perfect depiction. Wanted: Alive. Bounty: 700 gold.

           “But you…!” Cozbi grunted, wriggling to escape the roots. “You can’t be bounty hunters!”

           “Oh, sure we can,” the short Rhyma laughed, “We manufactured and planted those flyers when we heard you were setting yourself up as a bounty hunter, Lady DelWitter. We figured you couldn’t snub your nose at a price that high.”

           Of course, she couldn’t.

           “Of course, she couldn’t,” the tall Rhyma said, echoing her thoughts. “She has a husband and child to get home to, don’t you? Gonna take a lot of bribes to remove that murder charge from hanging over your head. 550 gold might cover it, don’t you think, Hugo? Matilda?”

           “Maybe, Rhyma,” the short one- Hugo, apparently- laughed. “But then again, takes a lot to erase the crimes of a woman willing to murder her own mother and sister. Let’s get this one chained up and carted out of here. We’ve caused enough of a disturbance, don’t you think?”

           “Sure,” Matilda said, pulling some irons out of a bag, likely to be equally enchanted. She clamped them on Cozbi’s wrists, yanking her in place to do so. “Anything you’d like to add, Cozbi?”

           Cozbi fought the urge to cry. She’d be hanged for her crimes, doubtlessly. Her husband would lose his wife, and her son would lose his mother- though, arguably, they already had. “Only that if you’d met those two, you would have killed them yourselves.”

           Rhyma snorted, yanking her out from the ground roughly. “Sure.”