Dead Man's Money

Part One

NOTE: This story occurs roughly six months before the events of Aurian and Jin, my novel (link in my profile, blah dee blah, you can guess the rest). For those who haven't read it, here's your setting:

Aurian Koch, young, broke, and generally clueless Innkeeper, has just speed-married the roving foreign mercenary Jin Grewler, mostly because he needs a good sword around and considers having someone to help with chores just an extra part of the bargain. He doesn't know anything about her, except that she's an ideal solution to his bandit problem and, miraculously, is willing to work for a changed name and an out-of-the-way place in the Borderlands. Has any of this set alarm bells ringing in his thick young skull? Sort of. But it's a bargain, and Aurian likes a bargain.

ONE

On the day Chevril Dorm, Elected Sovereign Lord of the Borderlands, died, Aurian Koch was doing what Aurian Koch generally did.

In less delicate phrasing: Aurian Koch was drinking.

He had purchased, after haggling some might term 'desperate', three full fifths of Beinbark brandy from the Drunken Dreams stall at market. Apparently, it had been a poor brandy year in Beinbark, and they were looking to offload as much substandard stock as possible: Aurian, whose taste in alcohol tended mostly towards whatever got him toasty, was more than happy to take substandard for smaller payment.

He felt, actually, fairly bad about what he had paid. What with the expense of his marriage license, and the cost of the wedding, his Drunken Dreams payment had been one chicken more than he was comfortable parting with. His shittiest chicken, sure. But still.

"Ach," the Drunken Dreams merchantmaster had groaned, seeing the mangy feather-shedding package Aurian held out to him. "Son, I thought you had a chicken for me. Not a communicable disease."

But the bargain had been struck, and the men had made their marks to it. The merchant went home one scrawny chicken richer, and Aurian Koch, after some adjustment for space in his cart, brought three clay jugs of Beinbark brandy back to the Inn.

His wife was waiting out front for him, ready to help take in the few supplies he had bought. They tucked the supplies away with little difficulty and now they sat at the bar together, whiling away the empty day. Jin had whiled away a good deal of the brandy already, and was now concentrating with listless boredom on a fresh tankard of beer.

They had been married a few weeks ago, and Aurian was still learning the little details about her. Little details, such as her last name.

He was failing to learn many of the little details less sudden newlyweds took for granted. Jin Grewler (now, through the magic of the Infallible Temple of the Godborn Divinity of Aithar All-Aspects, Jin Koch,) had so far been resoundingly silent on details such as where she was from, who she had been, who her parents were, what sort of life she'd lived.

All details, really, save three: her last name, her favorite type of beer, and how very, very good she was with a sword.

This last was the reason for Aurian's unlikely marriage.

Since he hadn't seen a single marauder since the knot had been tied, he was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake.

Jin wasn't bad. He liked Jin. But he had the Inn to consider, and the limited state of his funding. The marriage license, purchased on short notice as it had been, had amounted to Aurian's two best goats and a silver coin with a hole in it. That had been the only non-copper coin Aurian had left around the Inn, and the only two goats.

Business wasn't exactly booming.

He had been willing to make the investment, however. At the time, he'd have been a fool not to: Jin's hand meant protection, and protection meant no more bandits robbing him blind.