Malicious Intent: The Bastian Sagas, #1

By K. Ascher

No one said that being a Mercenary was easy, with long stretches in the saddle only interspersed with intense—yet brief—bouts of excitement, not to mention the incessant harassment from every rogue and rake when one is lucky enough to find an inn for the night. Nor had Sasha ever intended her hunt for the thief who killed her twin sister to take more than a decade to track down, but she had discovered the Mainland was much more expansive than her homeland island of Sebastia. But Sasha's vengeance knows no bounds, and despite the slog of traveling and hunting down a paycheck, she finds herself in more sticky predicaments than she had ever anticipated. Her solitary lifestyle has brought her few friends, and even fewer confidants to lend an ear, or even a hand, and her overly-independent nature might be the very thing that ends up destroying her if she doesn't learn to curb her quick tongue, not to mention her easily heated temper, and grab the hand freely offered to her. Vengeance is a hard road to travel, and is likely to blind the acutely-driven, and as the roads grow longer than the years, becoming disheartened and jaded is likely to drive her over the sword-edge she's traveled for so long. Until she falls into the path of a fellow Mercenary who can not only stand toe-to-toe with her, he subsequently shakes her foundation to the core, but Sasha's stubborn nature might still drag her down. Her worst enemy is not the rogue thief who slaughtered her twin, but the voice in her head that won't listen to reason. And even going home to Sebastia turns out to be mistake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ascher
• Release date: Apr 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201234669

Book preview

Malicious

Intent

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"She’s ready-made, and weapons-grade;

her eyes are brine, and luster.

That’s never good, and thus you would

be ill-advised to trust her."

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—Shriekback

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K. Ascher

The Bastian Sagas Book I

Copyright 2018 Ascher

Editor M. Streight

Cover Art Roadkill Studio

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This book is intended for a mature audience and may

contain material inappropriate for sensitive readers.

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This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons,

places, events and/or ideas are coincidental and merely

the construct of the author’s imagination.

I: Bastian Mercenary

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Without so much as a creak from her leather boots, Sasha stretched her knee out on the limb from which she crouched, waiting.  Her yellow-green eyes reflected the light from the dim moon, but  thankfully for her it had not yet waxed, or she would have been more visible to the man below—not that he would have noted her anyway, which was according to plan.  She had snaked her way up the tree some time ago, having taken advantage of the opportunity when the four men had left their camp.  Now though, only the one had returned, slathering drunk and repeating the same chorus of some song over and over and over.  Sasha would have sighed from sheer boredom but could not allow herself even that small a sound as she clung to the tree limb.  If only the other three would return, she thought, I could finish this.

But no, Sasha was forced to wait on her precarious perch as the man below her staggered about, cursing the moon and anything else in his vicinity, singing—poorly—that same bloody song and grating on her last nerve.  At one point the drunken idiot dropped his breeches and proceeded to relieve himself whilst running around the outskirts of the campsite.

Sasha rubbed her eyes with her left hand and made a mental groan in an attempt to ward off the headache that threatened, but just then her sensitive hearing caught the sound of galloping hoof beats.  Every muscle in her body was suddenly alive with excitement at the prospect of the coming fight, but she made no sound as her thumb released the safety catch on her small, hand-held crossbow and she let the bolt fly.

The drunkard she had been enduring hit the ground, dead from the bolt that had struck true—straight through his filthy neck.

Three men on horseback crashed through the shrubbery, one already gasping from a bolt-wound to the chest that Sasha had not inflicted, and he abruptly dropped off his horse.

Where the hell is he! one of the two remaining men shouted as he swung his horse around and his drawn sword glinted in the poor light of the moon.

‘He’ who...?  Sasha thought as she again squeezed the trigger and knocked the drunken bastard off his mount.

Before she even had the chance to string another bolt, a fourth horse skidded to a halt just beyond the camp’s clearing, the mounted man’s crossbow nocked and pointed directly at the last man Sasha wanted.  Against her better judgment, Sasha called out for him to hold, but just a breath too late.  The four men lay dead, and now she would have to deal with the man who had spoiled her kills.

The one remaining living man jerked his horse around, staying close to its neck. Who said that? he called into the dark, Where are you?

Sasha watched him from where she stood on her swaying perch, her claws buried in the living wood of the tree.  He was a little on the wiry side, somewhat disheveled from life on the road, clothed in black and brown leather armor, brandishing a crossbow... nothing untoward for a Mercenary.

He had pulled his mount up to a halt and cocked his head to one side as if listening, Are you hurt?

Sasha rolled her eyes to herself.  Of course he had heard a woman’s voice, and naturally would have assumed she was likely a captive of the now-dead thieves, and of course—as usual—she would have to prove she was otherwise.  Hardly, she drawled, and dropped down from the tree. She stood very straight, and tall for a woman, her crossbow still nocked and loaded, finger on the trigger, just in case.

Well, well... What have we here? the Mercenary gave her a grin, his crossbow leaning back against his shoulder. He looked Sasha over from the pointed ears atop her head all the way down to her black leather boots, A Bastian? Here? You’re a long way from home, honey.

The end of her furry tail twitched with her irritation as she gave him a nasty glare, I suppose now we’ll have to split the bounty.  Thanks a lot.

Ooooo.... he cooed, The cat-lady’s a Mercenary.  Who’d of thought?

The money’s good, was all the explanation she offered through tight lips before turning on her heel.  Now get off that mangy beast of yours and help me see if any of the arrows are still good.

Oh-ho!  Yes ma’am!

Sasha’s cat-like eyes flashed gold from the moonlight as she spun on him.

The Mercenary dismounted his horse and folded his arms across his chest as she stalked toward him.  He met her evenly, noting that she was scarcely shorter than himself.

Don’t mock me, Sasha snarled, meeting him eye to eye.  "I don’t appreciate you crashing in here and spoiling my work—I’d been tracking these louts for days, and now I have to split the money with you.  I could have killed you and saved myself the trouble, so don’t tempt me to change my mind."

He said nothing, mildly amused rather than taken aback by her. He gave her a half-smile and conceded defeat by holding up his hands in unarmed surrender.  He watched as she turned away, stomped over to one of the bodies, set her booted foot on the dead man’s forehead, and yanked the bolt free of his neck.  At that point the Mercenary made two mental notes.  One: this feline-woman, a Bastian, had been a Mercenary for a very long time. And two: that she wore a solitary crimson band upon her left wrist, a brand worn by those out for blood-vengeance, and he pitied the fool who had managed to raise her ire.

Sasha held the bolt up to the moonlight and turned its bloodied end to inspect the point, Will you stop staring at me and get to work.  It was not meant to be a question and she gained some satisfaction in the fact that he did not reply.

They did not speak again until the four corpses’ heads were loaded on one of the horse’s back and the other animals strung along.  Sasha ran a clawed hand down one animal’s leg and shook her head, We won’t get scratch for these beasts, they’re hardly fit for slaughter.  The swords though, might bring us a bit.

Is that all you think about?  Money?

No, she turned around to face him and folded her arms, "But it is the only thing I wish to discuss with you."

Look, I apologize for the way I behaved earlier, but it’s not as if I had been expecting you—or anyone else—to be out here.  Could you at least be civil for a moment?

Fine.  You got a name?

Lyle.  But the tone’s not much improved.

She made a show of clasping his wrist in greeting, Lyle, I’m Sasha.  When we dump the bounties, you can buy me a drink, okay?

"I can buy you a drink...?"

Hey, you just stole half my income.

For half a moment he wondered if she would kill him if he refused.  Alright, I guess that’s fair.

Hardly, she drawled, and turned away from him.

You’re about as warm as a snake.

Just get your horse.

"You want to ride into town now?"

She nodded toward the headless corpses and swung up into her saddle. I’m not waiting around for these bodies to go sour.

Lyle shrugged to himself since there seemed no point in arguing with her, and he mounted up, trusting that her night vision was likely infinitely better than his own.

*

You can’t leave these—these—body-parts in here!

Why not? Sasha growled, "You are the Sheriff, aren’t you?"

"Yes, but you can’t just dump them on me!  It’ll be hours before someone can bury ‘em!"

That’s not my problem!

The Sheriff glared at the tall Bastian, "It is, cause till then they’re in your custody."

And what am I supposed to do?  Buy them a room at the inn? Sasha snarled.

That, the stout little Sheriff spat, is not my problem.

Sasha flexed her claws from where they hung with her thumbs tucked into her belt, "Then I’ll just bloody-well make it your problem—" 

Watch it, woman, or you’ll find yourself sleeping in that gaol cell.

Lyle had been watching them yell at each other since the moment they had entered the gaol, and just now the feline-woman looked about ready to spit fire, so he decided that it was probably a good time to get a word in.  How about this, he said calmly from where he stood out of the line of fire. Sheriff,  could  we  at  least  put  them  in  the stables—  he saw the man about to protest and quickly went on, just until dawn?

What?  Oh... the little man groaned, Oh, I suppose.  If it’ll get you two out of my sight.  And I can’t get your monies until the morn’ anyway— 

What! Sasha cried, Oh, no—!

Look, missy... the Sheriff cut her off as he rose from his chair and pointed a stubby finger at her.

Sasha’s eyes flashed at the derogatory remark and Lyle thought she looked about ready to spring.  Fortunately for the town’s Sheriff, Lyle was near as quick as she was, and he got himself between the two of them.  Excuse us, he said to the Sheriff, turned, and forced Sasha to back up a pace by taking a deliberate step closer to her.

Belatedly she realized that he had just forced her to step back, and she promptly stood her ground.

Ease off, Merc, he said softly, ignoring the glare to her greenish eyes. It’s late, and I don’t want to spend the night in the gaol if that’s all right with you?  He kept his voice as soft and calm as he could without sounding condescending. You really think that little shite has that kind of cash lying around?  Just let me handle him, huh?  When she did not respond, Lyle continued with a sigh, We dump the bounties... I buy you that drink... We get a good night’s sleep and get paid first thing in the morning... No one goes to the gaol, and no one gets hurt.

Finally, Sasha let out a breath though she did not stand down to him.  I don’t like you, she hissed, and the end of her furry tail twitched.

Look... Lyle nearly sighed again and handed her the money pouch from his belt, there’s an inn across the street, I’ll meet you in a few minutes.  Just... he made a staying motion with his hand, let me handle this guy, okay?

Sasha snatched the pouch out of his hand.  You had better show, she said, and deliberately pushed his shoulder with her own as she moved past him to the door.

He spun on her. Oh, you can count on it, he called to her retreating back. I’m eager for that drink.

She sent him one last dagger-look over her shoulder before vanishing into the dark.

Lyle ran a hand through his tawny hair and shook his head with an exasperated sigh.

The Sheriff pushed some papers across the table at Lyle, Vouchers for the bounty so’s you can get paid.  He gave the Mercenary a look, That’s some woman you’ve got there.

Lyle let out a sharp bark of laughter.  "She’s not my woman!"

Sasha made her way into the mostly-dark inn and took up a seat at the bar, Any rooms left?

The innkeeper nodded and looked her over with a wary but leering eye.  What’s yer pleasure?

Sasha clicked each one of her long, curved, sharpened claws against the burnished wood of the bar, Unless you wanna wake up as a blind man you’d better keep to yourself and just get me a couple of damned ales.

He immediately averted his gaze from her, Ale’s all sold out, but the stout’s worth its salt.

Fine, Sasha muttered as she dropped a coin on the bar and turned her back to him so that she could watch the door from where she sat.  Aside from a wealthy drunkard wenching away in the corner, the inn was quiet, which suited her just fine.  She took a moment to savor a mouthful of the creamy stout but dared not take her eyes off the door. 

Fortunately for Lyle, he arrived shortly and joined her at the bar, How’s that drink?

Wretchedly long in coming, but surprisingly... fair.  She saluted him with her mug slightly, Thank you.

Ooo, a kind word.  That must’ve hurt.

You’ve no idea, she drawled.

Despite himself, he laughed a little.  And the rooms?

She handed him back his money pouch, Apparently.

Good, he took a long pull at his drink, I was getting tired of the great outdoors.

I’ll drink to that.

Excellent, he motioned his drink toward one of the tables, then a more private conversation is in order, and I’ll see if our friend here will bring us a pitcher.

Sasha’s eyes narrowed, but there seemed no intent in his words as he dropped another healthy coin on the bar, so she conceded and followed him to a small table.

Lyle leaned his arms on the table and squinted at her over the candle flame that separated them, "Exactly what color are your eyes?"

Sasha shrugged, Kind of a greenish-gold, I guess.  Why?

It was Lyle’s turn to shrug, In the dim light they look almost human.

She gave him a crooked little smile, Looks can be deceiving.

You’re not kidding.

She watched as he followed the statement with a pull at his mug, but it seemed more a comment than the accusation she normally would have taken it for, so she did not bother to reply.  Although the light of the inn was poor, she was able to make out more of his features, the tedious things that moonlight kept from obvious perception, even for one with the eyes of a cat.  His skin was tanned, and his leathers weathered from life on the road, but his hair was well kempt and his face clean-shaven.  He appeared to have a bit more muscle on his bones than she had first suspected and the grip on the crossbow slung to his back was worn with use.  She reached up and pulled the thong from her reddish-brown hair, thinking that she would have hated to find herself in a dark alley with this man.

From across the table Lyle noted that there was something very feminine about her movements as she ran her claws through her hair, and the firelight made interesting patterns down the length of her bracers that were lined with steel bolts.  Did I say something, cause you got awfully quiet all of a sudden.

Sorry, Sasha sat up a bit and arched her back over the support of the chair and gave her arms a good stretch, it just feels good to finally sit down.

Lyle wasn’t really listening, for the fluidity and flexibility of her movements had caught his eye.

I’d been in that tree since sundown, she continued.

Why?

Again there was a little turn at the corner of her mouth, I enjoy the element of surprise.

‘You’re not kidding,’ were the words he wanted to speak again, as she had gone from hard-won Mercenary to feline-feminine woman in one simple movement, but the veil had fallen back over her eyes as she turned the stout between her claws.  Well, he said, you certainly shocked the spit out of me. 

The little smile she offered in response softened her features some. 

Deadly and desirable, he mused to himself.  But you’ll be happy to know that the bounty on those two louts of yours was quite substantial.

And yours?

Equally as pretty.

Ahhh, well done, then, she raised her mug to him briefly before draining its contents.

He returned the salute and promptly refilled their tankards from the pitcher the innkeeper had finally brought. I don’t believe it, that’s the second kind word you’ve given me since we’ve been in here.

Yeah, well, don’t push it, she teased, and took another healthy pull at her mug.  So, what are you going to do with your new-found riches?

You do only talk about money, don’t you?

She shrugged, It’s a safer subject than most.

And are you always this guarded?

Is there another option?

His drink paused half-way to his mouth, and he gave her a sobering look.  Truce, Merc, he said in a dropped tone, I’ll keep my distance.  He intentionally avoided her gaze as he set his drink back on the table and his voice returned to its conversational tone. Thought I might take some time off.

Time off for what?

Oh, I don’t know, just a general pause between murders, you know, to do nothing in particular, and generally just relax a bit.

Sounds scintillating.

You’re so sarcastic.

You should see me in a foul disposition.

"Ahhh... no... thank you."

Sasha laughed a little, So what’s it to be then?  Drinking and wenching?  Militia practice?  Traveling off to some other province perhaps?

Possibilities all... but with the occasional bar-brawl thrown in for good measure, and maybe a stop by some local holy edifice that I might be forgiven my sins and whatnot.

Why?  You got a wife and little ones pining for you somewhere?  Or is it just easier to pay cash for guilt?

Ooo, a personal question.  I didn’t think you cared.

I don’t.  I’m just curious.

He arched an eyebrow at her, You know what they say about curiosity and cats...

She nodded her head a little as she contemplated a mouthful of stout and set the drink back down.  But satisfaction brought her back.

Lyle couldn’t help chuckling at that.  Fair enough.  So... no, I don’t have a wife or younglings—that I’m aware of—anyway.

Ooo... Sasha cooed snidely, "a promiscuous man."

I’m a Mercenary.

Yeah, well, aside from the garb and the bow, you hardly seem the type.

No? his curiosity piqued. Then what ‘type’ do I seem?

"Oh, I’d have pegged you for a fighter all right, but more the Captain of the Guard type, you know, lots of work in the aric with the occasional campaign thrown in for good course.  Something more... I don’t know, pristine, I guess...  With mess-halls and squires and a decent armory... the occasional sneaking the chambermaid into your quarters... that sort of thing."

Really?

Sasha nodded, "You just don’t have that mess-with-me-and-I’ll-slit-your-throat-without-so-much-as-a-thought aire about you."

Damn, Lyle swore and shook his head.  I’ll have to work harder on that.  They shared a brief smile before Lyle continued.  But you, on the other hand, ought to have a rattle on the end of that furry tail of yours ‘n’ give a guy a chance.

"Now why would I want to do that?"

He shrugged, Well perhaps not everyone is a bad-guy.

In my line of work, there is no such thing.

Lyle spread his hands out to her.  Then what does that make me?  Some kind of threat?

Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and her voice dropped, Not at the moment.

Lyle sat back in his chair with a slight purse to his lips and a gentle nod to his head.  Well, you can rest assured that I certainly would not cross you.

The end of Sasha’s tail flicked a little as she picked up her drink.  Then you are smarter than you look.

Despite the sharp tone of her voice, Lyle could not help but to laugh.  Oh, well, thank you very much, he replied with genuine good humor.

She laughed softly and her features softened a bit. "So if you’re not one of the so-called ‘bad-guys,’ then what are you—other than a Merc, I mean."

Lyle shrugged, I don’t know.  Why don’t you tell me?

"I don’t know you."

He topped off her drink from the pitcher, We can fix that.

Sasha shook her head a little and held up a hand to stay him, Nuh-uh, I intend to be on the road again by dawn.

Why?  You got someplace you need to be?

Not exactly.

Some forlorn lover awaiting you somewhere?

She laughed out loud. Ah-ha, no.

Again Lyle merely shrugged.  That’s a pity. But then it won’t kill you to help me finish this off.  After all, it’s not very often one runs across a fellow Mercenary, and rarer still that the Merc in question turns out to be a woman.

A Bastian woman?

That too.

Hum... Sasha rolled her eyes at him.  Just promise you won’t disappoint me with the same bloody question I get every time I end up in a dive like this one.

Lyle could not help but laugh out loud.  Why, is it true?

She shook her head, "Dis-a-point-ed..."

He laughed again, partly for her response, and partly for the subject matter.  As rumor had it, Bastian women had a natural tendency to surrender to their ‘wild’ side if a man were lucky enough to catch one between the sheets.  Hey, you brought it up, so now I gotta know.

She glared at him from across the table.

It is true, isn’t it? he mused at her.

I wouldn’t know, she replied through tight lips, I’ve never bedded one.

Again he had to laugh out loud.  "Now that is a mental image not soon forgotten."

Sasha sat back in her chair and folded her arms, less than amused by the turn in the conversation.

Come on, Lyle said, I’m teasing.  He wrapped a mental rein on his humor.

Sasha, however, was not so easily swayed, and it was evident in her voice.  If you want specifics on my sex life, you’re going to be disappointed.

He shook his head and tried to ease her temper with his tone, That is not at all what I meant.

I’m not going to bed you, so forget it.

Whoa-whoa-whoa-! Lyle held up his hands in surrender.  No one said anything about anyone bedding anyone else.

Her eyes continued to smolder across from him.  From where I sit, that is usually what follows.

Lyle was silent for a moment before he sat back in his own chair and ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair.  He was far from ignorant as to the ways of the world and suddenly realized, like it or not, that she was probably more often than not mistaken for someone who was easily had, if not an outright whore.  And now he had, by his own action—however inadvertently—lowered himself into the same category of letch he prided himself on not being.  I’m sorry, Sasha.  He shook his head a little, doing his damnedest to sound sincere, I did not mean to offend you.  Truly.

Forget it, she said emotionlessly, and drained her nearly-full mug. And don’t pity me.  The tankard hit the table louder than was necessary to set it down.  I can hold my own just fine.

Lyle remained silent as she rose fluidly to her full height, her shoulders squared and her jaw set, wiry muscles tensed beneath her scarred leathers.  She was certainly an imposing figure there in the dark of the inn with the firelight flashing off her eyes, and she positively bristled with weapons.

Thanks for the drink, she said tonelessly, and turned on her heel.

He watched as she moved toward the bar, tail swinging lightly to her walk, worn leather boots that reached up past her knees to her thighs, the curve of her hips and the definition of her slim waist...  He had to stop and turned his attention to her hands as she paid the innkeeper for her room.  He was loathe to see her go and wanted her to know that he was not entirely the scum she likely took him for.  Better judgment should have warned him against backing her into a corner, but there was little he could do about it now as his eyes continued to follow her and she continued to pointedly ignore him.  He called her name softly.

She stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned her cat-like eyes on him, and they were two mirror-bright balls of yellow light floating in the dark.

Suddenly at a loss for words, he offered her only the Mercenary’s farewell: Watch your back, huh?

Good-night, Lyle, was all she said before vanishing into the dark of the stairwell.

*

The sun was quite well into its trek across the sky as a small group of men burst through the doors of the inn and hastened to the bar.  Lyle ignored them, beginning on a well-earned breakfast of bangers and mash, and enjoying a tankard of watered-down wine, he was looking forward to being well-paid and was taking his leave seriously. This group though were a tightly-wound bunch and their excited speech reached through his privacy to strike a nerve.  He abruptly spit out his drink and practically leapt to his feet.  What? he demanded out of them.

The lot turned on him and one said: Aye, stranger.  They’ve locked up a Bastian ‘cross the street.  Said she’s mad as the third plane of hell, spittin’ fire and fightin’ up a storm!  Had to tie ‘er up and— 

Hellfires! Lyle swore and was out the door before the man had even finished speaking.

Okay, Lyle thought, so I didn’t see her this morning, not that I’d expected to, but figured she got her monies and headed out like she said.  What-in-all-the-nine-hells did she get herself into?  Damned woman!

Lyle had to shove his way through the throng outside the gaol, but with his temper excited it was a feat easily accomplished for one of his skill.  He grabbed the fat little Sheriff from the night before and dragged him bodily inside.

"What do you want?" the Sheriff spat.

What do you think? Lyle spat back.

Git outta here!

Not until I get some bloody answers, Lyle kicked the door closed.  Now where is she?

The Sheriff flung his puffy little hand toward the door that led to the gaol cells where a good deal of crashing and shouting could be heard.  You ought to put a leash on your woman!

"She’s not MY woman!  Lyle knew a fool when he saw one, and this Sheriff certainly was.  Now, I want to know just what is going on around here?"

She come in here first thing this mornin’ demanding her monies, but she ain’t got no papers, so I tells her to bugger off, an’ the next thing you know, she’s opening that venomous little mouth of hers and we’s havin’ a few choice words.

Why, Lyle said slowly, resisting the urge to slap the other man, didn’t you just give up her half of the money?

Told ya!  No voucher! And how am I s’posed to know she ain’t buggin’ out on you?

But you knew it was hers!

Don’t matter! ‘Specially not with her spoutin’ off curses faster than I couldda snapped my fingers!

Can you blame her?  That’s a lot of money, especially for a Merc!

May-be, but next thing you know she’s threatenin’ me with that little crossbow o’ hers!

That was a bad move, Lyle thought.

Took my boys hours to git ahold o’ her! the Sheriff went on.  Scratched a handful o’ them to near shreds!

She clawed up the goalers, this was getting worse by the moment.

She rode ‘em near all over town.  Put up one dandy of a fight too—well—till they got ‘er tied up ‘n’ dragged back in here.

Lyle was beginning to think that there wasn’t anything he could do to get her out of this mess, but even though he knew next to nothing about her, he just could not escape the fact that something was just not adding up here.  He gave the Sheriff a look that meant business.  So your side of the story is... that she simply came in here with an attitude and then put up a fight.  Is that right?

Well... the Sheriff balked, not exactly...

Lyle’s blue-grey eyes narrowed, "Exactly what happened?"

Well... some o’ the boys was in here when she come this mornin’.  See, they ain’t used to seein’ a woman dressed in leathers...

Please... Lyle shook his head, "don’t tell me she was provoked into a fight."

Well, not as such, no...  They’s just wantin’ a little fun with her— 

I’ll bet, Lyle growled through his teeth, seriously resisting the urge to reach over and murder the town’s Sheriff.  "Damn it, man, are you completely stupid?  She’s a Mercenary for gods’ sakes!  Did you seriously think she wouldn’t slaughter the lot of you to save her own skin?"

Now hold on— 

No! Lyle nearly knocked the other man over with that verbal blow.  How much it’s going to cost me to get her out of this stinking rat’s nest is all the information I need at this point.

I don’t know...  Boys’ talkin’ about hangin’ her— 

How much!

This time the Sheriff actually flinched under the Mercenary’s anger and finally balked.  How much you got?

Lyle’d had quite enough of this.  Out of pure frustration and the nearly overwhelming desire to pummel the other man to death, he cleared the desk with a single swipe of his hand.  He slapped the vouchers for the bounty before the Sheriff and held him in a gaze that would have kept a snake from striking.  "The Bastian gets the share due her, you get a cut from my half, and I get the key to the cell.  That’s more coin than a pathetic wretch like you is likely to see in a year.  Are we agreed?"

The Sheriff merely nodded his head to the affirmative.

Don’t make me come back in here and kill you.

The Sheriff shook his head to the negative.

Lyle turned and headed for the door, but just as he put his thumb on the latch he heard what sounded more like the screech of a mountain cat rather than anything remotely human.  He opened the door just in time to witness a spray of water followed by a flying metal cup and a young, disheveled guard trying to block the aerial assault.

Touch me again and I’ll rip your throat out, you foul, stinking, little whoremonger’s whelp!

The lad picked the cup off the floor.  I was just following orders to bring you some water.

Sasha rattled the bars of her cell, Get back over here you little coward and open this gods-be-damned door!

Oh, hellfires...! Lyle groaned mentally and stepped into the room.  He thought she looked a good deal more like a wild-woman than a Bastian-woman with her claws gripping the bars of her cell, her eyes narrowed and darkened with anger and her hair a tangled mess. 

"You... Sasha growled as she watched Lyle cross the room and take the cup from the young guard who was more than happy to give the job to someone else. You filthy bastard!  Why didn’t you tell me about some infernal papers!"

Lyle was not about to play into this game.  He filled the cup from a bucket that was set on a stool near the door and then calmly turned around to regard her with mild indifference.  Good morning, Sasha.  It’s good to see you again.

"Get me out of here!"

He completely disregarded her anger.  Did you sleep okay?

I hate you! she growled.

I missed you at breakfast— 

"Get me the hells OUT of here!"

I had hoped we could have worked things out, you know, after I tripped over my tongue last night.

Sasha took a deep breath, but as she did so it seemed that all the energy she had worked up simply drained out of her completely and her arms hung limp on the bars.  She dropped her gaze to the floor. Damn you, she all but whispered.

He refrained from sighing on her behalf.  You look terrible, he said softly.

She ran a clawed hand through her tangled hair but did not look at him.  That is also a very good description of how I feel.

He gently pressed the cup of water into her hand, Sasha— 

Lyle please... she closed her eyes to him.  You can keep the bounty from the two I brought in, just get me out of here.

"Now that is a sweet offer.  Especially since you have such a love for money."

She stopped to glare at him.

He had the audacity to give her a little smile in response. I’ve  already had it out with the Sheriff— 

Is he still among the living?

Unfortunately.

She made a hissing sound through her teeth.

Look, I’ve already arranged to get you out of there, but there’s something of a catch...

A what?

He nodded a bit.  I’m afraid that... well, that they’ll only release you to, um... my custody, he lied profusely.

"What?"

It was the best I could do, he continued.  But if you stay in there, these men will be all over you like the night on rain.  Then they’ll hang you.

Great... Sasha shook her head, dropped the cup on the floor and half-heartedly kicked at it.  So they’ll release me to you, and then what?

Lyle smiled a little to himself, enjoying a tiny bit of revenge despite which it was at her expense.  Oh, I intend to make you submit to my terms.

"Your terms?  Hellfires! She turned her back to him and leaned up against the bars with her arms folded.  What are they?"

His voice was gentle as he spoke very close to her pointed, furry ear, Nothing too dire, I promise.

She merely snorted by way of response.

Come on, he rubbed his index finger against her arm, it’s not that bad.

She jerked her arm away from him.

Sasha...

Oh-will-you-just-get-me-bloody-well-out-of-here!

Sure.  But Sasha, you can’t just go around slicing people up with your claws, there won’t always be someone around to bail you out.

I was holding my own just fine before I met you.

Lyle sighed, more to himself, and left it at that as he went to find the Sheriff and harass him some more whilst they dredged up the key and their monies.

They let Sasha out and even dared to give her back her weapons which she readily accepted.  Due