After a week of travel, Mawr and her small band of just under a dozen mercenaries reached the outskirts of Alhut - a small fishing village to the far south-west of Shirith.

“[Alright, they’ve headed more or less in a straight direction,]” Mawr announced over her shoulder, “[if they stick with this pattern, we’ll have to cross the ocean to Zebrica. Anyone who isn’t going to join me that far let me know when we reach whatever passes for a tavern around here.]”

“[Yes, they headed south-west and hit every major city on the way - assuming whoever you’re after didn’t pay off all those who gave you the information,]” a mercenary Horse called back. He wore a light beige scarf which billowed out into a cape behind him, contrasting with his black mane and tail. Strapped onto his left side sat a scabbard housing a scimitar. He stood tall and strong, skinny yet muscular, and an old scar ran deep across the right side of his face.

“[Your name’s Kufn, right?]” Mawr asked, slowing to match his pace beside him. She had remained in her Changeling form, the journey from the last village they’d visited to Alhut being short.

“[That it is,]” he nodded. “[Though I fail to see why it matters in regards to my question.]”

“[Well, Kufn, let me tell you something I’m sure you’ll one day find useful: Money means little when you take hostages. Blood is the highest of prices.]”

Kufn raised an eyebrow at this, but made no immediate remark, merely watching as Mawr hastened to the front of the group.

“[Why are Equestrian mercs always so dramatic?]” He murmured.

An hour more they marched, until they reached the village proper. Mawr split the party into three groups: One to search the seafront of the town, focusing on ships recently bought or left for a long voyage; the second to search the market streets, questioning merchants about large rations of food. The third group were to join her in questioning the taverner - a group as large as they were tracking would need more than a day, and seaside liquor loosened lips.

Mawr was joined by Kufn, as well as a Zebra sorceress going by the strange name of Carry On and a brutish Minotaur named Aima. The speech of the latter was broken even in his own tongue, and Mawr’s natural affinity with language did little to help her comprehend his words. All across his body, strapped onto him in various ways, were large knives. Each with an edge razor sharp enough to slice through Changeling chitin like the skin of an orange. Carry On had a surprisingly similar getup: A leather bandolier across her midsection and matching belt across her waist. Rather than knives, Carry carried small sacks of various potion reagents, save for her belt which sported a few potions.

The tavern’s inside was snug, fitting for a town of Alhut’s size. Few patrons were present, at most half a dozen. A few quick and subtle flicks of Mawr’s head and tail orchestrated her orders to her hired help. Aima was to wait by the door, preventing any significant individuals from making a hasty retreat. Kufn was to sit at a table far end of the room, the most likely direction of an ambush and the best place to create an ambush of their own. Carry was to stay near Mawr, to watch her back against any unsavoury patrons creeping into her blind spots. Mawr herself was the one to do the talking.

Everyone moved into place. The barkeep, an older Horse seeming keen on polishing a particular mug, kept his gaze fixed to Mawr. Being in her natural form, she was struck with many a glare. The barkeep was no exception.

“[‘Less you’re wanting beer, we don’t serve your kind here, bug]” the barkeep grumbled. Mawr raised her eyebrows in slight disgust.

“[As if I’d want anything stronger from a thing like you.]” She’d added a slight upper-class accent to her voice, giving her a haughty presence. “[Set me a pint.]”

With a grumble under his breath, the barkeep grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter and slammed it on top. Mawr took the bottle in a hoof, then flicked a sandpaper sheet onto the counter in its place. She took a swig as the barkeep took a glance over the money. Deciding it genuine enough, he slid it toward himself and out of her view.

“[Your friend here not thirsty?]” He nodded toward Carry.

“[No, darling,]” Carry spoke for herself, “[what I’m thirsty for is information.]”

The barkeep narrowed his eyes. “[We got beer. If you’re not having beer, you're not having anything.]” A moment of quiet, filled with distant sounds of cheering and clinking of bottles.

“[That,]” Mawr started, “[is where you’re wrong.]” She placed the bottle on the bar counter. “[You're going to tell us about the group that passed through here recently.]”

The barkeep said nothing, yet his silence spoke volumes.

“[A group,] she continued, “[at least somewhat large, coming from the north-east and probably headed west. There’s no doubt in my mind they passed through here.]”

He was sweating now, but furrowed his brow and held his ground.

“[They had some cargo, some… living cargo.]” She frowned. “[My cargo.]” She picked up her drink and took another swig before replacing it on the counter. “[I’ve spent more time than I wanted to simply trying to take back what’s mine. Now, you’re going to tell me what I want to know. I'd hate to have to dirty this lovely bar of yours.]”

The barkeep was breathing rapidly now, clearly perturbed by Mawr’s words. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. Finally, he leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice.

“[He is our lord, and you non-believers shall perish.]”

Mawr blinked. “[Wha-]”

With a sudden surge of energy, the barkeep thrust a knife at Mawr’s eye, only for it to be blocked by the blade of Kufn’s scimitar. Mawr fell back, landing on her rump. Kufn stood to her right, sword held in mouth. After a moment of time standing still, Kufn slipped his blade past the barkeep’s and slit his neck like a begger’s purse.

Patrons screamed at the sight of the barkeep choking on his own blood as it spilled from his neck, and they quickly fled from the building.

With an offer of his hoof, Kufn helped Mawr to stand.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“[I'm gonna assume you were complimenting the size of my sword,]” he replied. “[They got on a sizable boat sailed down from Siline, a city north from here. Stayed here a short while first, stocked up on provisions, then left a couple of days ago.]”

Mawr frowned. “[And you know this how?]”

“[Had a drink with a couple of guys over there,]” he motioned his head to the table he'd sat at. “[Blood and drama may be all well and good, but I prefer a friendly drink and a chat.]”

“Dammit, not that ‘friendship’ crap again…”

“[Oh, and ‘less you can turn into a boat, I bought us passage across the Crimson Sea.]” He took her beer from the counter and finished it off. “[After you, boss.]”

Mawr narrowed her eyes, but lead them out of the bar.