It started to rain as night fell in the border princes.
He recognized the place: that was the narrow wooden bridge in which the Baron's “Piatellos” - soldiers- had asked them for a tax to cross the river. Now, their guardhouse was void and abandoned: poor old Baron, in his own way. He couldn't even spare three more men to collect his sole source of income. Perhaps because of the 50 hard cash he was going to pay them each for the ork Boss' head. Hopefully.
The Sylvanian “petit mâetre” and the dwarf were outside the house in guard duty. Barbaggi felt again the pain in his torso, were the goblin minions of the greenskin had introduced their rusty lances. Damn vermin!. The Mirmydia priestess had just closed her eyes in the chair at the other side of the room. But Gahetano couldn't find yet the energies to supress his adrenalyn and sleep. Counting the fleas in the room. Maybe that would help him sleep...
There was a shout by the door, in the bridge. The priestess awoke and handed his lance. Gahetano found himself under a window, prepairing the crossbow. Rest... nuts!. He was still so nervous he had practically awakened later than he had acted. Outside, the dwarf was discussing something with some stranger. The sylvanian was desperately trying to get on charge of the conversation. Gahetano armed the crossbow, but he made an effort to relax: it was probably nothing after all. With naturality, he made a signal to the priestess to be calmed, and walked through the door, trying not to look dangerous or nervous. An easy task, since most people kept thinking he was some little girl playing soldiers.
Outside, two horsemen in seemengly expensive robes were arguing with Snorri and Manfred. Dark cloaks, black steeds... people who didnt seemed to belong in the poor Republic administrated by Baron Andrea Vitello.
And then he realized the girl.
Poor little Child Elzbeth. Sleeping and tied up just in front of one of the horsemen, who kept her with one hand and the beast's reins with the other. The priestess and Gahetano had paid three days worth of Inn room for the girl to be safe back in the village were the Baron was waiting for them. What was she doing here? Why had these men taken her?. Had it anything to do with his father's misterious suicide?
The priestess appeared behind him, but Gahetano decided and insisted in not intevening. Yet. The first horseman answered to Snorri's demands by showing them a ring. Manfred became white just by looking at it, but the Dwarf demanded the inmediate liberation of the girl anyhow. The imperial made a visible facepalm, but then he seemed to made up his own mind, and drawing his rapier, joined the dwarf's demands.
Next, it was all too fast.
The horseman who was holding Elzbeth raised a handgun and fired a shot at Manfred's head, making him fall behind the bridge. Snorri then jumped against the kidnapper and, in short time, horse and horseman had been cut in half by an axe designed to kill trolls.
The other man, exploiting his mount's fear for blood and noise, fled. Manfred, somehow yet alive but with one less ear, shouted: “Dont let'm scape! Dont let'm scape or we are all doomed!” The priestess threw his lance, and gahetano shot his weapon. Both missing. There were a brief moment that looked as an eternity meanwhile the tilean was prepairing another bolt. He pointed again...
He was very far away. It was a difficult shot. And the man could not scape, or they were all doomed, it seemed.
Gahetano downed his crossbow, hurried for Manfred's horse and jumping on it, forced the animal to start galloping inmediately. The man could not scape. That was not a possiblility. Dot.
The mercenary hadn't made lots of mounting in his life, while the horseman was, obviously, an expert. The night and the rain made it even more difficult to see anything. But it also made it difficult for the kidnapper to hear how he was being pursued.
Gahetano was able to close in to just a dozen metres from his prey. Driving the horse just with his legs -somehow- he made a much easier shot... at the steed.
The bolt penetrated deep into the animal's left rear leg, driving it crazy with pain. But the horseman was good at his trade, and didn't fell, resuming the run afterwards. Gahetano drew his short sword next, and concentrated into reaching the man and just cutting off his throat. Howewer, both animal and man were clearly apt for the sole purpose of going fast and reliably through great distances, and when Gahetano eventually catch them, it was only because the bloodloss had proven too much for the poor beast.
Both of them fell into the muddy ground, the rain now turned into a full monsoon that made it impossible to see a handful metres from one's nose. The mercenary descended from his own mount, shield and sword in hand, to properly end the work. The elegantly clothed individual was now scared himself. And tried to threaten Gahetano with the dire consequences of his actions. “No consequences once I've buried you in a grave with no markings” Gahetano thought under his water-soaked hair, over his mud-covered boots, before the man raised a charged pistol.
The shot went through his shield, his armor and his torso. A wave of pain invaded the tilean, but also a wave of adrenalyn. After receiving the shot without falling into the ground, he stared at the man: “I'm going straight to hell... but you're coming before me to announce my entrance!” And shouting like a maniac, he charged the terrorized kidnapper who had been as corageous as to drug a little girl. “Just die already!” the soon-to-be-corpse replied drawing another gun from his belt. Gahetano tried to stab him in the loins, but the man dodged it while trying to point the weapon correctly. The tilean, then, out of mere desperation, striked him with the big, round bronze shield. The weapon was just too big for dodging, and the man's nose broke with the first impact. Then Gahetano hit him again.
And again, and again, and again.
Finally, the kidnapper fell into the mud, were a crazied tilean mercenary stabbed him several times, kneeled over his body and crazed by pain, fear and emotion. It all ended when a thunder brought light to the darkness, and Gahetano was able to see his own face, mirrowed for an instant into a bloody puddle. Covered in human fluids, sweat, water and dirt. The face of an assasin he already knew. The eyes of someone who he never expected to become.
Now, there was just one scared man under that rain. Crying.
THREE YEARS LATER
The bridge was vacant, but he had had the good idea of asking in the village about Il Signore Di Trantio's lodging. Taking advantage of the stop in the bridge, Gahetano took a little time to polish his boots and replace his sandals with them. Then he made a handful of aesthetic adjustments, including a little bit of hygiene. In his experience, the only stains an employer may like to see in a mercenary were those of blood. Meanwhile, he kept repeating his presentation: “Buona Sera, my good sir: My name is Gahetano M. Bargbaggi. I've worked for two years in the border princes and for one year under noneless than captain Pirazzo. I can fulfill almost any....”
There was a huge noise. Like a tree made up of tinker falling apart. And Gahetano stopped in his trails to listen. A moment. Another moment. And then a gunshot. From the general direction in which the castle was. Crap.
He quickly gathered his things and rushed to that direction. He found the door open, so he interned himself into the building, where the echo of someone who was talking to a public was audible "Her name is Josephine Arnaud, a Damsel of Bretonnia but a minor one...” Gahetano followed the trail of the voice. In a matter of half a minute he had found the origin. And the scent of well-made pasta helped a lot. In the room there were a colorful gang re-united, and Gahetano had worked with adventurers before saying so. An elf seemed to be the newest newcomer till his own entrance. Some of the heads turned over the noise he was making, obviously worried, because the man seemed to be proposing a task so illegal it could mean a casus belli with nothing less than the kingdom of Bretonnia. Feeling himself target of such attention -and probably looking rushed, red and not employable at all- he coughed and raised a hand. He realized he had the sword in that hand: “Gahetano Barbaggi. I've returned from the border princes just to attend the call of Signore di Trantio. I'm just late because I waited too long for someone to appear at the bridge.” he lied. Then he realized another thing: the elf was a rare sight, the goblin was... well, that was just weird. And Myrmidia may know how had the Norse arrived so far south and with what intentions. But there was a lady in the room. Elegant, well armed, and beautiful. So he decided to be marginally polite: “Signora...” he said removing his helmet and making a brief vow. “I'll go and close the door, so the conversation may take place in more conpfortable circumstances. Then I'll join you again”
