Page 9 of Primal Call

Zee padded in behind him, her sleek scales glistening in the firelight. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the air, and a low growl rumbled in her throat. Kyral gave her a warning look. She fell silent, but her golden eyes remained alert, watching for a threat.

Kyral made his way to the bar. He slapped a handful of coins on the pitted wood, catching the barkeep's attention. "A flagon of your cheapest."

The barkeep didn't bother with small talk. He just scooped up the coins and turned to draw a mug from a keg.

Kyral leaned back against the bar, his gaze roving over the packed room once more. So many rogues and scavengers gathered in one place…

It was unheard of for a place this remote. No self-respecting Borraq lived up here in the cold. All the sane ones lived in the cities, or hunting and thriving with their clans in the jungles.

But up here, in the cold and the snow, you only found the rejects. The Borraq who had left their clans to make it on their own — or those who had been forced out.

Kyral wasn't the only one who'd had to make his own way in the world.

His drink was half gone when something caught his ear. A set of voices speaking in hushed tones, at a table just behind the nearest corner.

Kyral's ears pricked up at a familiar voice. That grating rasp, that mocking drawl… he'd know them anywhere.

Skarn. Vorat. Zorax. His old crewmates.

Kyral bared his fangs in a silent snarl. Of course those three disgraced bounty-hunting mongrels were here, sniffing around like scavengers after any whiff of profit. His hand tightened on his flagon as memories of their last job together resurfaced.

They'd done a few jobs together, taking down bounties. They weren't friends, but Kyral had thought that they'd do for working companions.

But the last bounty turned out to be too tempting to split four ways. They'd turned on him without warning, blades flashing as they tried to cut him out of his share — literally.

Kyral could still feel the sting of Skarn's poisoned blade as it sliced across his back, the acidic sting of the poison seeping into his muscles. If not for Zee's warning snarl...

Well, they'd have left him for dead in that cavern, just another soul lost to the wilds. As it was, he'd barely escaped with his life, the sounds of their mocking laughter ringing in his ears.

And now they were talking about a map…

Kyral's jaw clenched as he strained to make out their words.

"...I'm tellin' you, that old bastard wasn't pullin' our legs." The reedy voice could only belong to Skarn, that weasel-faced son of a rot-licker. "You saw his face, he was telling the truth! The map is real."

There was a derisive snort. Vorat. "Like a liar like you would know truth from turds."

Zorax's rumbling voice joined the others. "Even if the stupid thing really is real, how d'you expect us to find the valley? Could be halfway across the damn continent for all we know. I'm not going on a wild dog chase, even if it is for Taoth—"

"Keep your voices down!" That was Skarn again, his words a frantic hiss. "You want the whole damn outpost knowin' our business?"

Damn! A low growl built in Kyral's throat as his fist clenched, the flagon creaking ominously in his grip.

The three were after the same prize as him. But how? How could those three worms possibly know about...?

Suddenly, Skarn was there, turning the corner to the bar with an empty flagon in hand. His eyes went wide as he caught sight of Kyral's massive frame. The scrawny Borraq froze mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open.

"What's taking you so long Oh. Well, well..." Vorat's gruff voice sliced through the din as she spotted what had made Skarn freeze up. "We have company, Zorax."

Zorax twisted in his seat, those beady black eyes narrowing as they landed on Kyral. "If it ain't the lone wolf himself," he sneered.

Kyral turned slowly, fixing the three mercenaries with a look that could freeze a man's blood. "I could say the same for you three dregs."

Skarn flinched, but Vorat just bared her fangs in an approximation of a grin. "You'd know all about bein' dregs, wouldn't you?"

The barb struck home. Kyral's shoulders stiffened as a muscle ticked in his jaw. It was no secret that he'd been cast out by his clan, left to fend for himself in the wilds. Abandoned.

Kyral's eyes narrowed as he studied the three mercenaries. "Heard you three were on the hunt for some treasure." His words were casual, but his tone was sharp as a blade.

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