Story Sketch: Idriq, revisited

So, as mentioned, Idriq is no longer a young lord but rather, a young lady! And so. A new story sketch for her. I actually like this much better, anyway. As with all story sketches, raw, unedited and exploratory.



Taiver had been watching the sharp-faced lad for near an hour before the youth approached him.

“I understand you and your friends are seeking employment.”

Taiver cocked a smile at the lad and drank before answering. “We might be. Depends on the job. And the pay.”

“It’s simple enough,” the lad said. “Look and listen, and don’t get noticed.”

“And the pay?” Taiver repeated, avoiding Bajyer’s eye across the table. If he looked at Bajyer now, he’d only laugh, and that wouldn’t do them any good, not if the lad had his father’s money to spend.

“Seventy lir,” the lad told him. Taiver’s eyebrows jerked up.

“That much? Who are you working for?”

“I’m working for myself,” the lad said, looking irritated. “Of course.”

“Come now.” Taiver set his tankard down and frowned at the boy. “That’s a lot of coin, but not enough to hide your master’s name.

“I’m not hiding anything,” the lad said. “I am employed by the Order of Firhkenn, but I am an independent agent.”

“Lying isn’t a nice habit for young lads such as yourself–”

Taiver found the rest of his sentence cut short as the lad put a blade to his throat. Bajyer, bless his heart, finished the sentence for Taiver as he bared his own blade and showed it to the boy. “–And that’s not very priestly behavior!”

“I’m not a lad,” the lad said, coolly, “And neither am I a priest. My name is Idriq Bestricht, and if you lot aren’t interested in helping me, there’s plenty here who will.”

Taiver’s eyes widened as he saw the lad clearly, as if for the first time: the fine, if sharp, bones; the soft brow; the almost-hidden swell of small breasts under the fur-lined vest. The not-lad pulled a silver emblem out from under that vest and showed it to them.

“The Raven is rolling in his grave,” Bajyer muttered, backing off. “Eyes of Firhkenn. I don’t know about this, Taiver.”

But Taiver was all smiles. A lad that wasn’t a lad, seventy lir, and a chance to spy for a heathen cult. He couldn’t imagine anything that sounded more troublesome, or more entertaining. He held out a palm to Idriq and bowed a little at the waist.

“I am never one to balk at assisting a lady,” he said, cheerfully, and when her scowl deepened, he knew it was a done deal.

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