Chapter 8

Old Friends

He had been so close. After his prey had turned the corner, he shadowed the man's steps, ghosting along just behind him. He had seen the puddle too late, but quickly retreated between a pair of barrels. The man had wheeled around, but the shadows had made him completely invisible. After a moment of confused wonder, the man turned back around, and headed down the aisle. He had followed, drawing his weapons silently from his greased-down sheathes. He paused for a moment as he saw the other man appear at the other end, causing his prey to stop. A perfect distraction.

He melded out of the shadows. He was visible, but his prey was not expecting it. He only needed to take three steps.

In the first step, the man pulled out a pistol. Even better. If he didn't get him, his prey's enemy would.

He took the second step. The other man was raising the pistol up, saying something incomprehensible. He steadied his twin daggers.

The third step, and he was nearly on top of his prey. He could see the jugular in the man's neck, hear the pulsing blood in his veins. He raised his weapons, tensing his legs for the final pounce.

The last thing Sancristor remembered was his daggers closing in on his target's neck, ready to slice it apart in two quick blows. Then there was a loud crack and boom, something heavy impacting his left eye, and the grip on his blades slacking dramatically. He felt his legs give way, felt the strength leave his powerful, sleek body. He could not finish the leap, and stumbled forward for a second, then toppled back. There was a strange emptiness at the back of the Rogue's head as the darkness seemed to only get darker.

He closed his eyes, all the while hearing the voice of his master echoing in his head.

You have failed!

Then there was no more.

---

Stefan was breathing quickly and uncontrolled. He felt as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs fast enough. His eyes were glued to the smoking barrel of Haydric's gun, and his mind was repeating the same worried thought.

That didn't hurt so bad...

"Stefan?" asked Haydric, walking towards him. "Are you hurt?"

Stefan's knees were locked in place. Was this some sick joke? He had heard stories of death, and what comes after. It was nothing like this, no clouds in the sky, no golden gates. And where were the forty virgins?

"Am...I...dead?" asked Stefan finally. The look Haydric gave him only further worried Stefan, because the man was looking at him like he had just insulted his mother.

"No, you aren't," started Haydric, poking him on the chest with his finger, then pointing at something past Stefan. "But he is."

Stefan turned. It appeared as if a tangle of robes, flesh and bone had been piled together and then dropped haphazardly on the floor. He squinted in the faint light, finally realizing it was a withered Undead. The left eye socket of the thing was a ruin of sundered bone, and the back of the thing's head was strewn about in pieces all over the floor. He turned back to Haydric.

"So, that...thing was after me?"

"With the way it carried those nasty-lookin' knives, yeah I'd say so," answered Haydric.

"And you shot him?"

"Yes."

"Not me?"

"Still breathing?"

Stefan choked slightly at the man's jest, because he was still frightened by Haydric. The man wanted to seriously hurt him a moment ago, and now he was acting as if nothing had transpired between the two.

"Wait...so are we cool, Hayd?" asked Stefan.

The bounty hunter thought this over, tapping the nose of the gun on the bottom of his chin. After a few moments, he nodded to Stefan. Then he punched him, square on the nose. With a yelp of surprise Stefan fell over, clutching the broken appendage.

"Yeah, we're cool," answered Haydric, finally. He turned and climbed the stairs to the tavern above.

"Wha you insowent gawbwin awse-whoashippuh!" said Stefan nasally as he followed the man, nursing his tender nose.

---

Stefan and Haydric never made it out of the tavern. After emerging from the gloomy cellar, they decided drinks were needed. Iyana burst into the tavern, shouting when she saw them amidst the sea of merry men and frothing beer. She was confused to find them beckoning, the earlier hostility completely vanished. But as Stefan joyfully handed her a mug, his other hand preoccupied with his nose, the Night Elf was assured by Haydric that all would be explained. So they found an empty table and took their seats, and Haydric began to tell their tale.

It was a night like this, in such a tavern as the one they were currently patronizing. Haydric was enjoying a round of drinks with a crew that had just let off after a long trip from Menethil Harbor. In truth, the captain was Haydric's target, and his jovial attitude was all for show. It was at this time that Stefan had entered, headed up to the bar, and took for himself a mug of intoxicating poison. As he sipped his beer, Stefan was scanning the room. Haydric had spotted him as a Bountyman right away, but he had no idea that Stefan had been commissioned to bring in the same man as Haydric was. At the time, Stefan was a young man like Haydric, but he was much more ambitious.

Stefan had walked right up to their table, and though Haydric knew what was to come, he held his tongue. Stefan appeared at the captain's shoulder, tapping the unshaven man on the shoulder and asking if he was Gregshof Fabrosa. When the captain confirmed his question, that's when the trouble started. In an instant Stefan was on him, pulling him out of his chair by the shoulder of the portly man's jacket, forcing him to the floor. A couple of the deck hands decided to defend their captain, and that's when Haydric had decided it was time to act. Without help, Stefan wouldn't have been able to take them all on. He admitted that he was pretty good with the maces, but there were still too many. So Haydric had joined the fray, taking on a pair of burly sailors. After a minute of furious brawling, Stefan and Haydric were victorious, and concluded the bounty was a joint effort.

They combined their efforts on numerous occassions, and as close as swords-for-hire could be, were great friends. But soon they decided it was time they parted ways, seeking a real fortune. During a chance meeting in a Booty Bay tavern, the two had shared a drink, discussing their travels, rewards, and women. Haydric had just separated with an overly controlling woman from Theramore, and Stefan was currently unattached after a job in the heart of Stranglethorn. But he had his eyes settled on an attractive woman on the other side of the tavern, and voiced his opinion to Haydric. At the time, Stefan didn't know it was Haydric's sister, and he didn't tell him. As a joke, Haydric had made a bet that Stefan couldn't get the her to go to bed with him, and Stefan had taken him on.

When Haydric spoke with his sister the following morning, he was shocked to hear about the raunchy time she had had the night before. He asked her where the man had gone, but she only knew that he had to leave, and urgently. He caught up with Stefan a few days later, and though he was infuriated with him, handed over the money as promised. Still, he swore that on a later date, when Haydric was not so angry, he would repay Stefan with a proper re-setting of his nose.

---

"It seems you are a man of your word, Haydric," said Iyana.

"Aye, he got the money, and he got the free surgery too," laughed Haydric. Iyana giggled slightly.

"Hardy-har, what a comic," whined Stefan, rolling his eyes. He touched a finger to his nose, wincing at its soreness.

"You'll get over it, Stefan. Just as easily as that lump you gave me on my head," said Haydric.

"You didn't use the signs we went over! That wasn't my fault," defended Stefan.

Haydric nodded his head slowly. In many ways, he was a lot like Stefan. He was about the same age, and beyond their obvious choice of occupation, carried himself like Stefan. He wore fine clothing, though he stuck to the darker colors to bring out his jet black head of hair. Beneath the fine tailoring was a concealed piece of leather armor, and on a weapon belt at his waist hung his weapons. Besides the pistol, he carried a rapier, its fine, deadly blade sheathed in an ornate casing. Like Stefan, Haydric only took off his weapons when he went to bed.

"Excuses. Always got your arse filled with 'em. Haven't changed a bit," said Haydric.

"Actually I haven't used that one before. So unlike the past, I'm not repeating my lame excuses. Nice try though," jeered Stefan. They laughed together.

Haydric took another sip of his beer before continuing. "So where are the two of you headed anyway, needing a crew and all?"

"Northrend," said Iyana. Haydric's eyes burst into flames of wonder.

"The Frozen North? Interesting," he answered. "What brings you there?"

"We're searching for a historical item, not to mention the possibility," he stressed the word, glancing over at Iyana, "of treasure."

"Hmm..." mumbled Haydric, playing with his mug idly. "Still need a crew?"

"Aye. Not a single acceptable volunteer," answered Stefan.

"I know some old buggers, ex-Bloodsail. Really know their stuff. And let's just say they owe me a good deal," he said. "Shall I call in the favor?"

"Only if you want to come along, Haydric," said Stefan. He already knew the answer.

"A journey to the Frozen North, with Stefan Dreis?" said Haydric, seemingly hysterical. "Wouldn't miss it for a warm woman and strong liquor."

Stefan chuckled, holding his hand out. Haydric accepted his offer, and the wager was sealed.