How Not to Poach a Unicorn

Fourteen

Prag was dreaming. He was dreaming one of his favourite dreams, he had it often when he was in a comfortable bed. He was walking. With each step he'd travel miles across the landscape. He'd move through fields and forests, across rivers and mountains. The whole world was his to explore and nothing could slow him down. Eventually he would stride up through the sky and wander through the silence among the stars. Tonight however, a strange and urgent voice was interrupting his repose and pulling him back towards the unpleasantness of reality.

Prag woke slowly and groggily with his sword at another man's throat.

The voice from his dream came again. "Prag!" It whispered desperately. "Prag! It's me! Warlis! For the love of drink, don't kill me!" "Warlis?" Prag mumbled blearily. "Didn't I shoot you?"

Warlis had attempted to sneak in and wake Prag quietly and, much to his chagrin, ended up pinned against a wall with a knife at his throat, a knee in his groin and his own sword arm very nearly broken. "Yes, you shot me in the leg. It's much better now. Why don't we laugh about it over a round of ale, eh?" Warlis was nearly in tears trying to talk down the half-conscious mercenary.

"I was having a very nice dream." Prag looked like he was quite willing to kill for the interruption of his good night's sleep.

"Yeah?" Warlis's voice was becoming hoarse as Prag unconsciously pressed the knife harder against the thief 's throat. "What was so nice about it?" He choked. He then smiled in the most passive manner he could muster.

"You weren't in it." Prag tossed Warlis to the ground while disarming him and nicking his purse all at once. He gave the prostrate burglar a swift kick in the ribs for good measure and considered going back to bed.

"You slit my throat Prag, you piece of toad's stool." Warlis spat out between coughs.

Prag was entirely awake now and was very much annoyed at that fact. "I did not slit your throat. I cut you neck. There's a world of difference. I could show you if you like." Prag sat down and started counting the money he'd just earned.

"This is a lot of cash to have on hand." Prag levelled a suspicious gaze at his foul-weather friend. "What's going on Warlis?"

Warlis, while trying to bandage his neck without strangling himself, was slow to reply. "It's for you Prag. I'm here to hire you."

That was not the answer Prag had expected. Nor was it an answer he was finding easy to accept. He bounced around the possibility of it being a lie, but it seemed too implausible to be invented. "Why in the hells would you want to hire me?"

"Not me Prag—Us." Warlis's voice became low and sober. "We got double crossed. We've had to go to ground and we need someone to take the fight to the two-faced-bastard-son-of-a-mule."

"Who is it?" Prag weighed the bag in his hand. It was sizable, but not so much as to pay for the death of anyone powerful or important.

"You know the shadow cloaks? Well, we've always paid for them in-kind. The old wizard that makes them would exchange them to us in return for gathering trinkets and oddities for him. It's never been anything particularly big or dangerous that he's wanted in the past. This time, though, he was looking for happened to be the dead body of the Emperor and the living body of a certain princess."

Prag was sceptical. "Kidnapping isn't exactly your normal fare. Why would Vinsen agree to it?"

"The boss didn't have much choice. Mr. Mercury, the wizard, had secretly put a contingency spell on the cloaks. He said he could turn them off whenever he wanted. Without those cloaks, we're just a rabble of catburglars and cut-purses. So Vinsen gave in and Mr. Mercury promised great rewards for the successful completion of the task."