Brynn didn't make it far before he saw Maulakanth slip away from some guards. He decided looking for the silver-spoon-holding Imperial would be fruitless. There were many more that needed him to get them back on track. This wasn't their fight, and murder or no, centaurs or no, he didn't care a stray fleck of piss if this town burned to ashes. It was his head that was on the line, that's what mattered. And for him to keep his damned head, he needed the rest of his party to keep theirs and not get their damned britches in a bunch over a town that didn't care a stray fleck of piss for them. He turned on his heel and made his way back to the Gaptooth Grin. The scene hadn't changed much, but two out of five of his best fighters were wounded something fierce. He clenched his jaw and looked about the battle, trying to cook something up. They could take shelter inside the tavern, but there was only one way in and one way out. With the way the centaurs' raid was going, the guard wasn't going to hold them for long and that tavern was no Greenwall.

He swallowed, nodded to himself and pointed to Gaela, “You, help Fiona to the stables near the gates!” He nodded to Faruq and Cyrendil, “Help the green bastard to the stables. Finch, you and Cedric are with me!”

They made slow progress through the city. Brynn tried his best to keep them in the alleys and backstreets on their way to the front gates and the stables. They needed horses and a cart and they'd find them there. They hid from guards rushing past and centaurs charging to and fro to burn and loot. They finally made it to the gates, the palisade doors broken down and the guards that greeted them earlier were glassy-eyed on the ground, arrows sticking out of them like pins in a cushion. Brynn led the way with Cedric and Finch into the stables, where they opened the door that held the horses inside. For their little bit of luck, a cart filled with hay had been left there. “Get the hay out of that cart and get it on a horse. Put Maulakanth on it.”

While the two men set to work doing that, Brynn checked each horse to see which one he liked best. In the end, he picked the one that happened to have some bard's things on it. A lute with extra strings, a map of High Rock and some booze. He stuck one of his boots in a stirrup and hoisted himself up into the saddle, gesturing to the inside of the stables when he emerged from the door, “Take your pick.”

Once everyone had gotten themselves in the saddle, talented riders or not, Brynn led them away at a fast canter. They needed to slip away from this town quickly, there were always more centaurs hanging around the edges, waiting for the second charge. Already, they'd begun burning and looting the farmsteads, he saw. They needed food and supplies to get them to Camlorn, laws be damned. He looked back at the rest of the people following after him and wondered what they'd make of the next step of his plan. He'd stolen before, he'd forced peasants to part with their cattle and sheep and burned and looted. But that was war, he had an excuse and he had an answer at his hip for those coming to collect it. He just wasn't sure if his companions would see it the same way. Even so, they rode up to the last untouched farmstead. A single candle burned inside, he could see it in the window as he dismounted. He turned to his party, “Stay here.” He turned to Cedric and the rest of his fighters, “Look dangerous. Meaner you look, the less ugly it'll have to be. Trust me.”

He put a hand on the butt of his knife and strode towards the door, taking one last look and trying to listen, wouldn't do for them to be chased off by centaurs at this point. He turned back around and his fist stopped short from banging on the door. He wondered what Cedric would think of him doing this, wondered what the rest of them would think. He didn't want to end up gutted on the side of the road again, he knew he wouldn't survive another one of those. He swallowed and banged hard on the door. He heard a woman's panicked whisper and a child start to cry while a man tried to hush them all. He opened the door, a meat cleaver clutched in a fist but what hardness was in his face disappeared at Brynn's wolf's grin. “Evening. We've come to barter.”

“Don't have nothing to barter.” The farmer's nervous eyes looked past him and at his gang of sorts behind him before returning, “You folk can find someone else, please.”

“Afraid I'm a man of convenience. Your stead was mighty convenient.” Brynn said, matter-of-factly, as if he wasn't turning over the prospect of a crossbow bolt in the back of his head now or a knife in his neck later. “We got gold with us. Happy to give you some.”

“Am I to eat the gold? Harvest was poor, so the reserves are low and I barely have anything to give to the lord.” His voice was shaky.

“Fuck the lord. Right now, I'm your lord, you're lucky I'm giving you this chance when the townsfolk over there only got fire and steel.” The farmer swallowed and looked at the column of smoke the centaurs had made of King's Gaurd and looked back to Brynn. He only nodded to the smaller man, “You know who I am?”

“You're Lordling Damarell's dog-er, his man.” The farmer whispered.

“Say it.” Brynn growled.

“Blood-Red B-Brynn.” That fear in his eyes, that respect, his grin grew wider at it and then he felt ashamed at that name, knowing what it was.

“Aye, and Brynn cut himself off from that lot and brought gold for your troubles. I could care a shit whether you eat the gold, a man let's his family go hungry when he's got enough gold ain't a man at all.” He turned around to his little 'gang' and nodded towards the farmer at them, “Grab some gold out of that sack and make sure this man gets it.” He turned around, “If you give me any more trouble, I'll make sure you will eat these fucking coins.”

Brynn set to loading up the cart Maulakanth was in with cured meat and sausages, some cheese and some fixings for porridge. It was a lumpy and lopsided bed, to be sure, but it was the best that Orc would get. Sure enough, the farmer gave Brynn and the rest of them dirty looks but clutched his gold tight and kept his mouth shut. After the ordeal was over, Brynn led his merry gang into the night. Brynn's conscience held up well enough when he was surrounded by folk as low as him, some lower, but the glances and glares he caught at that night's fire made him feel less than he was. He would've played a song, but instead, he just kept the lute in his lap. His mind wandered back to the farmer and the farmers he'd taken from before that one. He shook his head and said to no one in particular, “You know, I had a mind to go away from Morthal to Solitude to go to the Bard's College there. I had the voice for it, believe you me.” When no one answered, he sighed, turned to Finch, “Should get our rest tonight. I'll take first watch.”

* * *

Once they crested the hill it got no better. Thrown west by the consequences of their choices, one would think they'd get better living with each other. Maybe it was the fatigue from the long hauls, but at this point the horses had more right to complain. It was them with weight on their backs and doing the walking. He looked around at his merry band and shook his head. How could thieves and killers get along better than this whole lot? His horse, who he'd taken to calling Nag, huffed and Brynn felt the rise in the ground as they started working away at the next hill. He patted the beast's flank, “I know. Maybe this'll be our last hill to climb.” 

As the towering spires and battlements of Camlorn rose up into view high enough for the gods to catch their bollocks on, Brynn let go a breath. His mind reached back years and years and remembered Karling's words. [i]A dead man doesn't get paid, show me a hero fit for the songs in every way and I'll show you a headstone in Falkreath.[/i] He was hoping by now, they'd all become close and loyal enough to stick together when it mattered, but he still saw the cracks in their group, no matter how fine. A dead man doesn't get paid. Here's to hoping he gets paid at the end of this. As if the Gods were due for a laugh, they came upon a few dead bodies hanging from a strong branch. Brynn brought Nag to a stop and read the signs around the corpses' necks, two Dunmer and an Argonian. While the rest of his crew ambled past without a care, Brynn's stomach felt heavy. [i]This is what happens to bandits in Camlorn.[/i] The lawmen who hung them had more to say and wrote it on the sign below the dangling feet, [i]Sev'Ahmet's Gang. 500 septims for each one alive, 200 for each head. 2000 for the Knife.[/i] A crude portrait of an eye-patched Khajiit went along with it.

They'd gotten rooms at an inn far enough up the city's main road that they didn't see drunks laying in the gutter and topless whores flaunting themselves with no fear of the guards. Brynn didn't want a repeat of King's Guard and he was sure no one did either. They sat at a far corner near the hearth, a lit candle illuminating their drinks and plates. Their planning had gone mostly the same their whole stay at the inn. The only thing they could decide on is not cutting their way through the castle guard. “You think we could bribe the guards. But that leaves actually getting to the dungeons, let alone getting around the place at all.”