Iron Veil: Contracts in the Shadow Ep 2 - Dark Fantasy Short Story

Written By: James K King

A Merc's Life

Morning crashed through the shutters—pale, gray, unforgiving.

Krev jolted upright, hand coming up with a knife pulled from a hidden sheath beside the bed.

Lira stood at the foot of his cot, arms crossed, expressionless. Black leather armor caught the dim light like oil on water.

"We're good to go on the contract."

Krev blinked the sleep away, scraped a hand down his scarred face. "Course you'd know. Probably got the messenger pigeon trained to shit on your windowsill."

She didn't smile. "Get dressed."

He swung his legs off the cot, grabbed his boots from the floor. The leather was cracked, stained dark with things he didn't think about. He shoved his feet in and laced them tight while battling through the morning coughing rituals that came with the merc nightlife.

"Where're the others?"

"Warehouse district. Our spot." Lira leaned against the doorframe, picking dirt from under one nail with the tip of her blade. "Trag's already loaded the horses. Corvo's...doing whatever Corvo does. Patch is complaining."

Krev stood, buckled his sword belt. "About what?"

She stopped and gave him an annoyed look, "Things? I don't know, I didn't pay attention. Complaints and solutions are your department."

A grin cracked across the man's lips, "Fair enough, so I take it from your ever so upbeat mood that we're all set then?"

"Just waiting on you, boss man." Lira replied with a mocking bow.

He grabbed his coat—battered Warden leather, pauldrons stitched directly onto the shoulders, chest, arms and mid-section patched with cartel scraps—and shrugged it on.

Along the short walk to their spot, Krev asked Lira, "You've been with me for a minute, are you still in the Cartel though or what?"

Lira gave him an annoyed sideways glare, "You're never out of the GC until you die, that's not new. But some of us are more autonomous than others. I'm more of an associate these days. And the Gloam sees me with you as useful."

She paused a moment, then stopped, causing Krev to stop as well and turn towards her.

"Why, what is this about. Like you said, I've been with you for a while, the longest in this crew. Why does this matter to you now?"

An awkward silence stretched before Krev abruptly broke the tension, "Oh, you know me, just making small talk." He then continued to walk.

"I'm also curious about how far your loyalty to The Veil goes. If a member was doing something damaging to the group, would you tell me? Or look into it perhaps?"

Lira grabbed his arm and spun him, "My loyalty is to myself, the Gloam Cartel, and then you. In. That. Order. Like I said before, complaints and solutions are your department, and I don't snitch on anyone. Not even the GC asks me for intel on you, others yes, but not those I work with."

Krev held the dangerous woman's gaze for an eternal few seconds before slowly peeling her grip off his arm. "Loud and clear, I can respect that." With a mutual nod, they moved on.

"Damn, women, you're grumpy this morning. Carrier pigeon must have shit in your mouth when it brought that message this morning." Krev said while laughing, getting a final dig in. More than a bit concerned about getting a knife as a rebuttal.

***

Krev and Lira meet up with the rest of The Iron Veil

The warehouse smelled like old hay and rust. Morning light leaked through gaps in the roof planks, cutting shadows across stacked crates and bundled gear. Five horses stamped and snorted near the far wall, already saddled.

Trag leaned against a support beam, arms crossed over his barrel chest. The shardsteel plating on his right arm gleamed dull in the half-light. His modified spiked maul rested against the wall within easy reach.

Patch paced near the horses, fingers drumming against his thigh. His medic's coat hung loose over travel-worn trousers, and his storm-gray eyes kept flicking toward the door.

"Oh shit, about time," Patch muttered when Krev and Lira stepped inside. "I've got debts breathing down my neck, and we're still pissing around here."

"Relax," Krev growled. "We leave when everyone's here."

"Speaking of—" Lira scanned the shadows. "Where's Corvo?"

"Corvo!" Krev barked.

A cough echoed from somewhere in the rafters. A gaunt shape dropped from a crossbeam and landed in a crouch. Corvo straightened, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes were too wide, glassy.

Trag smirked. "You pulling one off before we go, Corvo?"

The archer snorted, adjusted his shardbow across his back. "Ready."

Krev stepped into the center of the room, thumbs hooked in his belt. "I know Lira gave you the details but I want to make sure we're locked in. Quick in and out. Patch, make sure you have supplies. I don't expect much, but injuries can always happen." He paused, assessing gaze locking on the archer. "Corvo, stay alert. I have some reason to believe we may have potential competition or grudges coming for us."

Corvo cocked his head and snorted, "Making friends?"

"Something like that, ran into some salty dogs last night that made a threat to meet us past the tainted line," Krev explained. "This contract isn't a secret, so it might get more than a bit... Competitive... out there."

Trag's grin split wide, teeth missing in places. "Good."

***

The Iron Veil mounted in silence. Leather creaked, horses shifted weight, and the warehouse door groaned open to reveal Lanverra's underbelly.

The warehouse district bled into the slums without ceremony—cobblestones gave way to packed dirt, timber frames sagged under moldering thatch. Morning mist clung to narrow alleys where refuse piled against walls and hollow-eyed figures shuffled past doorways.

Krev led, reins loose in one hand. Behind him, Lira rode in easy silence. Trag's horse snorted, massive hooves crunching through debris. Patch and Corvo trailed, the latter hunched forward like he expected arrows from every shadow.

They turned down a side street. Ahead, three figures leaned against a crumbling storefront—Leitniks, judging by the wolf-tooth charms dangling from their belts. Young, hungry, vying for a foothold in the Gloam. One flipped a knife idly. Another spat into the gutter trying to look mean but only succeeding to prove his current worth as one of the Cartel's Guttersworn.

An older man shuffled toward them, muttering to himself. His coat hung in tatters, eyes unfocused. He fumbled coins from his pocket, pressed them into the first Leitnik's palm without breaking stride.

The third one slipped something small into the man's hand as he passed. The old man kept walking, muttering faster now, fingers clenched tight around whatever poison he'd just bought.

Patch grimaced. "Street glass."

Lira glanced back. "Always is."

"Saw more of that shit in the Krugskoll lately," Patch continued, voice low. "Rival crews buying hits before contracts. One squad rolled in so twitchy I thought they'd stab the dealer."

Trag snorted. "Fools. Burns you from the inside out. Seen Skyfire addicts lose their teeth in a season. Gravestone turns your bones to chalk." He spat. "Weakens the mind first, then the body. End up more liability than a use."

Krev didn't turn, yet his muscles tensed. "Keeps the cartels rich."

"And the graveyards full," Lira added.

Patch shot a glance at Corvo, who rode in silence, his distant glare fixated somewhere past the rooftops. The archer's fingers twitched against the reins, then, as if noticing the inspecting eyes, stilled.

Patch and Lira watch the Gloam Cartel Guttersworn deal in the streets.

***

The gates fell behind them—stone arch, rusted portcullis, bored guards who barely glanced at their papers. Beyond, the farmland sprawled in patchwork brown and green, hedgerows dividing plots like old scars.

The road curved through rolling fields, wagon ruts carved deep into packed earth. Crows scattered from fence posts as they passed.

Corvo stiffened. His head snapped left, eyes narrowing on something ahead.

"Lancers."

A low groan erupted from Krev as his gaze followed Corvo's line of sight—seven riders blocking the road, horses flanked around a supply wagon. Banners draped across saddles, spear through a shardcrystal crests unmistakable even at distance.

The Glass Lancers.

"Well now, we can't have this day go without a hitch now can we," Krev grumbled. "That'd just be too fuckin easy."

Stravik sat centermost, barrel chest straining against his shardsteel breastplate. Even from here, his grin was visible—wide, friendly, absolutely venomous.

Krev raised a hand, slowing the squad. "Easy."

Trag shifted his weight, hand drifting toward his spiked maul. Lira's expression flattened into something careful. Patch muttered a curse under his breath.

Krev nudged his horse forward, alone.

Stravik waved, all exaggerated cheer. "Krev Draegon! What a pleasure!" His voice came out a boom, as if a bear was speaking.

Krev reined in a few paces away, smile crooked and cold. "Oh look, it's the Ass Lancers. Little far for you all, isn't it?" He gestured vaguely toward the distant treeline. "Didn't the guards tell you? There be monsters in these woods."

Stravik laughed, deep and booming. "Figured if the Rusty Napkins came out to play, it couldn't be that dangerous." He leaned forward, grin sharpening. "That's why I decided to pick up the contract in Driftmarsh."

Krev's smile vanished.

Behind him, Trag spat into the dirt. Lira's fingers drummed once against her saddle. Corvo's twitching stopped cold.

Stravik spread his hands, mock apology dripping from every syllable. "Hate to spoil your payday, friend. My crew's riding out now—figured we'd save you the trip." He paused, eyes glittering. "But if you're so inclined, feel free to follow. Handle this past the tainted line."

A menacing grin split so wide on the freakishly large man it bordered a crazed sneer.

Keep smiling, you fuck, hold onto that. Krev thought to himself, barely holding himself back from lashing out right here in the middle of this field.

"Where laws won't get in the way of such gentlemanly discussions."

The rest of the Lancers behind Stravik shifted in preparation—Kalev's hand resting on his sword hilt, the infamous psychotic twins exchanging playfully dangerous glances, Farez watching with his foreign predator stillness.

Krev quietly seethed as he watched the group move away.

Lira's horse trotted up next to him, "What's the play bossman?"

Anger flashed into Krev's normally calculating gaze as he snapped his head towards the woman, "You have contacts informed enough to know when Krev of the Iron Veil signs a contract with your associates but not when our fucking rivals do?"

"I wasn't informed, and we can't fix that part now. You can be mad at me, or we can figure out the play."

Krev looked forward for a moment, watching The Lancer's wagon bounce along the trail. "It's a few days to Driftmarsh.  If they want to be first in that's fine by me.  They'll have to stick to the roads with that wagon of theirs and Stravik's gigantic ass.  We can loop around north into the town, and they can take on any lingering wake spawn still creeping around the outskirts.  While they're occupied, we slip in, grab the shit, and leave."

"And if we do run into them?" Patched chimed in, nervous apprehension dripping.

Before Krev could even answer, Trag's mount trotted past as he said, "Then we kill them and anyone else that stands in our way."

Krev watches the Glass Lancers as they go off towards their same objective.

Thank you for reading this dark fantasy short story of mine!

If you want more dark fantasy short stories with mercenary grit in this Wake Saga-themed chaos, then have no fear! Episode 3 will drop soon, don't miss it! Subscribe to the newsletter and check out the lore pages for more Wake Saga content!