Page 10 of Primal Call

Skarn's eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. But Vorat just leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. "And where'd you hear a thing like that?"

Zorax's hand drifted towards the blade of his blade, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Maybe you oughta mind your own damn business, lone wolf."

Kyral just narrowed his eyes, unfazed by the threat. "This particular treasure is my business."

The three mercenaries exchanged a loaded glance. Then Zorax let out a harsh bark of laughter. "See? I told you guys there had to be more copies, it was too good to be true." He looked at Kyral. "I bet this guy has one himself."

Kyral's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression carefully neutral. "And where'd a bunch of rats like you get your claws on something like that?"

Skarn just grinned, his fangs glinting in the firelight. "Funny story, that. We were sent to collect on a debt, see? This scrawny little worm, owed our boss a hefty sum."

Vorat picked up the tale, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Poor bastard was beggin' for his life, swore up and down he didn't have the coin. But when we pulled steel on him, he got this look in his eye, started goin' on about some map."

Kyral's stomach turned as he realized where this was going. He could already guess the rest of the story.

Skarn let out a high-pitched giggle, his eyes fever-bright. "He said he'd give us this map, lead us to some big stash of valuables. All we had to do was let him live."

Zorax's grin turned feral. "Course, soon as we had that map in hand..."

Vorat and Skarn burst into laughter, the sound grating on Kyral's ears.

Kyral's hand tightened on the hilt of his blade, digging into the worn leather. Of course they'd killed the man. It's what he should have expected from curs like them.

The pieces all fell into place. The dying Borraq who had given Kyral the map — he'd been betrayed by his friend. That friend must have been the victim in Skarn's tale.

Kyral's jaw clenched as the mercenaries' laughter echoed in his ears.

He wouldn't let these disgraced jackals take what was rightfully his.

Not again.

Determination blazed in his eyes as he made to turn away. He'd find that valley, unearth the cache, and have the last laugh when those three worms came slinking after him, snouts in the air. Then he'd finally be able to afford the treatment to rid himself of this wretched gene sickness once and for all.

A life of solitude in the wilds was looking better and better. At least if he was by himself, he wouldn't have to put up with even more betrayals—

The sudden swell of raucous shouts and rapping tankards around him made Kyral freeze. Even the mercenaries fell silent, their expressions shifting to wariness as the rowdy atmosphere in the room took on a new, electric charge.

Patrons were rising from their seats, chairs scraping back as they crowded towards the center of the room. Grins split weathered faces, hands clapped shoulders, and raucous laughter echoed through the smoky haze.

Kyral went rigid, his free hand dropping to the hilt of his blade as his eyes narrowed. What was this? Some new deception? An ambush?

In front of the crowd, someone new swept into the bar.

Kyral's lip curled in disgust as the brutal-looking Borraq swaggered into the taproom, his golden skin mottled with scars and his horns chipped from countless brawls.

Kyral recognized him on sight. Rivek. He was a smuggler who plied his trade anywhere there were credits to be had. It seemed that out beyond the law, men like Rivek ran everything. He was the perfect embodiment of everything Kyral despised about outposts like this.

A pair of heavily-armed thugs flanked Rivek, their hands never straying far from the hilts of their blades. Not that the smuggler would need much protection in a place like this. The regulars were already crowding around, hooting and hollering like monkeys catching the scent of ripe fruit, wanting to buy whatever it was that Rivek had.

Kyral watched in disgust as Rivek basked in the adulation, that smug grin splitting his battered features. The smuggler lapped it up, playing to the crowd as he swaggered to the center of the room.

"All right, all right, you rankbreath scrappers!" Rivek bellowed, his voice carrying over the din. "Who here's got the credits to lay hands on a real treasure?"

A roar went up from the assembled mercenaries and traders. Rivek grinned, flashing a mouthful of fangs as he held up his hands for silence.

"That's what I thought. Well, you're all in luck, because I just happen to have acquired..." He paused for dramatic effect. "...The rarest, most valuable cargo this side of the galaxy!"

Kyral rolled his eyes. Whatever Rivek was selling, it was going to be cheap, dirty, and stolen. But whatever it was, the crowd ate his words up, leaning in with hungry eyes.

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