We Men of Ash and Shadow (The Vanguard Chronicles, #1)

by H.L.Tinsley

It was the most highly recommended venue the city had to offer. It was called the Ring O’ Bastards and it had the lowest patron-to-murder-victim rate in a five mile radius.

Vanguard was a hard man to describe. People didn't like to look at his face long enough to notice any real detail. If they had looked, they would have noticed the tell-tale signs of a long career in service. They would have seen the scars and the tattoos, the patch on the side of his jaw where the skin had been burnt away. He reached up and ran one finger over the scars, feeling the coarse hairs that half masked the puckered skin. The scars didn't make him any less attractive. Time had done a good enough job of that. At a guess, you might have thought that he was older than fifty. Nobody was sure of his actual age, Vanguard included.

There was a thin line between mercenary and soldier, and an even thinner one between mercenary and murderer. Legitimate killing was a complex business. Truth be told, he had never really been sure at what point one thing had become the other.

Two little hands reached up and grabbed at the air around the paper package. Vanguard lifted the sandwich higher, out of reach. She pouted. “You mean O’Keefe? He’s a sack of shit.” The girl couldn’t have been more than six or seven. “Where’d you learn to say a word like that?” “This shit-hole. Welcome to the Pits.”

Priceless!