Red Blood and Black Steel - Jeff Long Chapter 1 The doors of the Redguard Inn swung open for perhaps the hundredth time that evening, preceding the entrance of a woman with short blond hair and a grim expression. She stopped in the doorway to tap the dirt off her knee-high boots and brush off her plain travel leathers. Several long dirks hung at her belt, and a sword that seemed too large for her small form was strapped to her back. A few of the patrons looked up briefly at her entrance, but none more than raised an eyebrow. Warriors seemed to be common place nowadays, especially in the Redguard Inn. Looking around uncertainly, the woman walked slowly over to the bar. The barkeep was a large, rotund man with a friendly smile and immaculately combed grey hair. Still polishing a glass, he watched with shrewd eyes as the young woman, who must have been in her early twenties, approached him. She stopped at the bar, looking around as if unsure of what she was searching for. "Can I help you, Miss? A drink perhaps?" The bartender's tone was jovial, but there was just a hint of curiosity in his voice. The young woman turned slowly and spoke in a low tone. "I'm looking for the Bloodrunners. I heard that one can often find them here." The bartender looked somewhat surprised at this. "The Bloodrunners, eh? So you want to hire them?" His shrewd eyes narrowed somewhat. "No. I want to join them," the woman stated bluntly. The barkeep's eyes widened in shock, then he looked the woman over as if seeing her for the first time. After having satisfied himself, he spoke again. "The Bloodrunners have their own private commons room here. It's through there." The bartender pointed with a beefy hand toward a thick oak door. Without another word, the grim-faced young woman turned on her heel and strode purposefully toward the door. She hesitated for a moment as she stood before the heavy oak portal, then reached down and forcefully pulled it open. The room beyond was quite a bit smaller than the main commons room, but it was occupied by only about a half-dozen colorfully clad people, making it seem considerably larger. An oil lamp hung from the centre of the ceiling, and a cheery fire crackled in the small hearth. Most of the occupants of the room were seated on chairs and couches around a stout oak table. At the young woman's entrance, a handsome man with fiery red hair rose quickly and came over to greet her. "Ah, it appears we have a client. So, milady, of what help can the Bloodrunners be to you?" the man asked in a flowery voice. There were some smirks from some of the men at the table, but no one said anything. "I haven't come to hire you. I've come to join you," the short-haired woman said in a voice of steel. The smirks at the table faded abruptly. A tall woman with long brown hair shot the newcomer a sharp look. If the red-haired man was surprised, however, he covered it up well. "Well, if that's the case, you'll have to speak to our captain," the man continued in his dashing voice without missing a beat. He gestured with maybe a bit too much of a flourish toward a door on the far side of the room. The young woman turned and stiffly walked toward the door. Beside that door stood a slim man with jet-black hair, who, unlike the others in the room, was dressed in sombre brown and grey clothing. With just a hint of a sad smile, he nodded to the woman as she opened the door and stepped through. The room beyond contained only a large, elaborate oak desk, behind which sat the renowned Captain of the Bloodrunners. He was a stocky man of medium height and with a stern face. Dressed in a red tunic with a black vest overtop, blood-red breeches and knee-high black boots and wearing a cape of the same color as his breeches, he was scribbling on one of the many papers on his desk with a plumed quill. Despite his forty or so years, the man's somewhat dishevelled brown hair bore not a hint of grey. A black eye patch covered the man's left eye. If rumor could be believed, this was the most dangerous man in the city of Targus, and maybe in all Targaea. Without looking up, the man spoke. "So, you want to join the Bloodrunners, do you?" Taken a bit aback, the young woman quickly regained her composure. "Yes, that's right." The man in red looked up at her, his one steel-grey eye taking in every detail. After an uncomfortable silence, the man spoke again. "I won't inquire as to your reasons for wanting to join our group. It's true that we've been short a few members since our last mission. What's your name, girl?" The man still wore a totally impassive expression, his face not betraying the slightest hint of his thoughts. "My name is Serin Swandred," the young woman replied, trying her best to match the man's impassive stare. "Well, then Serin. I take it you fancy yourself a warrior. That sword seems a bit big, for you, maybe . . ." "I can hold my own in a fight, and I know how to use the sword!" the blond woman spat back angrily. Suddenly remembering just who she may have insulted, a deep red flush rose to her face. The man sitting at the desk, however, simply smiled faintly. "Good, you have spirit and courage. And enough wisdom to realize when you may have made a mistake. That's good, girl. I truly do need warriors such as yourself." The man's grin widened a bit, and suddenly seemed a bit rueful. "Of course, there was never really much doubt whether I would let you join the group or not. Garth has a very shrewd eye, and he wouldn't have let you through if he thought you weren't good enough." Serin's eyes widened once again in surprise. Did this man not select the members of his team himself? And who was this Garth? Was he the man with the red hair? The slim man in the sombre clothing? But before she could wonder further, the red-cloaked man rose from his seat and extended a well-muscled arm toward her. Slowly, she took his hand, and winced beneath his strong grip. The man smiled faintly. "My name is Rale Jaiss. Welcome to the Bloodrunners, Serin."