Journey of an Evil Henchman (2)

The man turned half around in his seat and waved his hand vaguely in the air. Almost immediately the bartender appeared, set two tankards on their table, and vanished. 'See? Beer. So tell me what you think you're doing in a place like this.' Any pretense of drunkenness seemed to have evaporated off the man like pure alcohol into the air.
    Benjamin picked up the cup and, since the man seemed to expect it, took a swallow. 'I'm looking for work,' he said.
    'What kind?'
    'The kind that pays.' This was the way his father had always started off in a new town; go to the worst bar you can find in the middle of the night and inquire about employment. It had worked well enough for him, up until those last few jobs. Benjamin took another pull of beer. 'Know anyone who's hiring?'
    The man looked him up and down, from his wiry black hair to his new waterproof boots. Finally he asked, 'What kind of equipment do you have?'
    'A rifle, two pistols, and a machete.'
    'Hmm...' There was a pause. 'You heard any of the news from over the Tarik boarder?' Ben shook his head. 'They say there's been a war up there, and the old regime toppled. Supposedly, Lord... Damn, can't remember the last bit, anyway Lord Kuer-something now has control, but he suffered losses.Gantz,' said the man, 'is a reasonably peaceful place; we've little need for mercenaries here. But you might find work over Tarik way.
    'Oh, and one last thing,' he added, as Ben rose to leave. 'They've got the main pass through the mountains locked down, but there's a second one, higher up, where people can still get through.
    'Don't forget to leave a stone at the top for the mountain god!' the man called after him, which set the bartender laughing, for no readily apparent reason.
    Benjamin pushed open the ill-fitting door and stepped outside into the post-rain mud. As he turned up his collar against the wind, Ben glanced west toward the towering mountains, which rose up steep and blacker than the night sky. The torn fragments of cloud raced along as if driven, by some ancient evil, away from the peaks. As if only flight could save them.
    If he had been some kind of tragic hero, Ben might have noticed a feeling of strange presentment, or even doom, as he looked at those mountains. But he wasn't, and didn't. All he thought was, 'Going to take me a week to ride up there, in conditions like this.' So Benjamin Rekhmire set off immediately, riding on his ancient motorcycle, and that was probably just as well, all things considered.