Scrave turned his attention to his food and picked at the congealed spiced lamb on his plate, its herb encrusted, charred skin, half submerged under a pile of steaming aromatic lentils. The meat had definitely seen better days, especially if it actually was lamb. He thought back to the name of this dreary tavern, ‘The Cranky Camel’, if he remembered right. Maybe this plate before him was the final resting place of such creatures that had outlived their usefulness, served up on a lentil bed with cucumber yoghurt for dressing!
It was time to leave. He had to find Kerian, he needed to return the necklace to him. He moved to stand then checked himself. Actually, no he did not need to go anywhere! He was going to sit down and play with his herby camel until the coast was clear! He moved his body as if signifying he was trying to free his trousers from riding up and crushing his groin, noting the hands of several nearby merchants slowly returning to their tables and meals, away from the sheathed weapons they had automatically reached for. Oh yes, the Cranky Camel had its fair share of cranky customers too!
“Crossbow at the ready!” A voice shouted from behind a nearby partition. Scrave froze, had they found him again? Were the guards surrounding him as he spoke? His eye darted about the bar but strangely, no one reacted, no hand reached for a weapon, no eye cast a worried glance. Instead, the customers acted as if nothing was happening. A rattling sound emanated from the screen indicated dice being thrown.
“We shall guard the door.” Muttered another disembodied voice.
“Speak for yourself.” Came the reply. “I’m picking the lock on that chest and taking the treasure.”
Treasure? Scrave thought, looking about and trying to identify the aforementioned chest. There was no obvious treasure here and they were definitely not talking about the food.
“You always want the treasure for yourself.” Someone stated indignantly. “One of these days that will backfire on you.”
“As a Prince I’m entitled to all the treasure. It’s only fair it all comes to me.” Shot back another voice.
“Allow me to congratulate you, sir. You have the most totally closed mind that I've ever encountered.” came a much deeper voice. “This is becoming predictable and I’m getting hungry. Where is our dinner?”
Scrave found himself shaking his legs, continuing the rucked up trouser routine, as he slowly walked over towards the partition to find out what was going on.
“The chest opens to reveal a combination locked box.” Stated someone else, followed by a roll of more dice, but you fail to open it.”
“What?” came the cry of disbelief! “Of course I can open it I am a master thief.”
“Not this time. Oh and behind you a dragon crashes through the door.”
“Oh come on!” A youth stood up, his spiky blond hair making him look like an inverted brush, a set of spectacles balanced on his nose. “A dragon. How can a dragon fit through the door?”
‘Sideways,’ Scrave thought to himself breaking out in a grin.
“Sideways” came the reply, without missing a beat.
“Why does it always have to be a dragon. Why can’t it be a stegosaurus?” A massive man stood up towering over the group. He was wearing a velvet cloak and by the size of him, looked as if he could take on Rauph, his voice matching the deep one heard earlier. “I’m going to ask where our food has got to. Anyone fancy a drink?”
“I’ve already ordered and it’s on its way. Fireball chilli, spiced potatoes and ales all round.” A youth stood up, all cocky smile and quiffed brown hair, he gestured for the tall man to sit down then stared across the table at the person who had announced the arrival of the dragon as a sly smile slid across his face. “I think you are going to tell us the combination.”
“No I don’t think so.” The faceless voice replied. “The dice have spoken.” As if on cue, another throw of rattling dice sounded.
“Get him.” The voice was filled with pretend menace and all of a sudden, the partition rocked violently as a rush of people seemed to descend on the end of the table still hidden behind the screen. An octagonal dice slid across the floor and ended at Scrave’s boot, he bent down and picked it up.
“Right I know the combination now.” Another voice sounded, amid the grunts and scuffles. “The treasure is mine by right! I shall keep it under lock and key as is my right as ruler of the world!”
A serving maid, petite, all blond hair and a winning smile, came over to the table with several platters filled with steaming potato cubes and bowls of spiced meat and beans. The sound behind the screen stopped with the clearings of throats and chairs being scraped across the floor.
“No really, he’s fine.” The cocky youth stated to the maid, explaining away something only she could see. “We are going to let him out of the head lock now.” The young woman laughed, placing the plates down before stepping nimbly out of the way of the sprawling mass of legs and arms on the floor. She walked back past Scrave who raised his eyebrows questioningly and placed the recovered dice in her hand.
“I think they dropped this.” He whispered. “What in the world is going on behind there?”
“Oh I don’t know.” Her smile wavered as she noted Scrave’s face but when the Elf showed no sign of threat she relaxed.” They come in once a week and play at some mad game. Apparently, the last place they were at, a windmill I think, burnt down.” She shrugged her shoulder and patted down her dress as if uncomfortable at having her passage back to the bar blocked by the Elven trader.
“A game?” Scrave asked. “What kind of game?”
“Don’t ask me. It is all rather confusing. All I see is them arguing all the time and setting fire to things but they seem to be having fun.” She replied, “The owner is quite happy for them to play, as long as they drink plenty and eat lots of food.” She smiled politely, not sure how to voice her need to get by, then gestured towards Scrave’s table. “Your food is getting cold.”
“Oh, so it is.” Scrave muttered, forgetting the disturbance behind the screen and moving over to sit down, thereby allowing her to walk past. He noted her backwards thoughtful glance as she weaved through the crowd, then she was gone and he was alone once more with his tepid meal and his depressed state of mind.
“Excuse me?” Scrave looked up to see a young man standing before him; his hair all messed up, his face a mass of acne and his throat all red as if he had been held in a headlock. The youth seemed really uncomfortable and unsure of himself. “I don’t suppose you have seen my dice? Someone said you picked it up.”
Scrave took a moment to take in the young man’s hazel eyes and noted intelligence and wariness in there, the look of someone who had experienced a life of disappointments and betrayals. The Elf smiled and gestured towards the bar.
“I gave it to the serving maid, I’m sorry I thought she was going to give it back to you.” The answer clearly upset the boy, as he became even more red in the face.
“What’s the problem?” Scrave asked. “I’m sure she will return it if you ask.”
“I’m sure she won’t even talk to me!” came the nervous reply.
“Why not?” The Elf asked. He watched as the young man anxiously fiddled with the hair behind his right ear. The maid in question was back to serving, delivering another plate of ‘cranky camel’ to another unsuspecting customer.
“It’s so much easier in my stories, the heroes always know what to say.” The boy replied. “Always so much more confident than I can ever be. I don’t think I can.”
Scrave grinned and raised his arm, signalling for the maid to return. She appeared more nervous this time, glancing over her shoulder towards the bar as if hoping the barman would call her back. Scrave gestured to the young man standing beside him and she immediately reached for her pocket, fumbling for the dice secreted there but her face revealed something else was going on.
“Well here’s your chance.” Scrave smiled. “Short of locking the two of you in a store cupboard and not letting you out,
there is no better way to get to meet someone than over a lost dice. I promise, you will have a lot more stories to tell living in the real world, than just playing your games.”
The Elf watched the youth turn an even brighter hue of crimson as he shuffled towards the petite blond waitress, then he turned his gaze away, secretly hoping the two would hit it off, even as the serpent dagger at his waist writhed in warning. His gaze glanced over to the entrance of the inn and he noted the four heavily armed guards entering.
Unbelievable! The maid had betrayed him! Here he was trying to do something nice for someone and she turns him in! He stood up again, pushing his lamb to one side and started to slide through the crowd, jostling against other customers who glanced at him both suspiciously and aggressively. He turned to avoid another collision and backed into a large merchant upsetting the man’s drink all down his robes.
“I’m terribly sorry.” Scrave offered. “Let me buy you another one.” The man snarled and threw a punch, which the Elf nimbly ducked, allowing the clenched fist to slam into the face of another seated customer. The man stood up swearing, his associates sitting about him also getting to their feet, reaching for anything they could use as weapons. The man with the spilt drink tried to apologise but his pleas for understanding fell on deaf ears. He backed up towards his own group of travellers who also leapt to their feet in defence of their friend. Within seconds violence exploded as one set of traders jumped at the other and the air was filled with flying chairs, tossed tables, beer tankards and congealed lumps of lentil coated lamb.
Scrave ducked and dived, avoiding shards of shattered crockery, limbs of broken furniture and the odd bloodied tooth spinning across the floor. He ducked into the kitchen, pushing past a protesting chef and confused serving staff before slipping out the back door, leaving the ruckus and mayhem behind him to ease into the velvet darkness of the alley behind the inn.
Of all the luck! He thought about where he had to go, out across the desert. No! Not that way he had to avoid doing what his mind was telling him it was just going to lead him into more trouble.
“Elf!” came a sultry voice from the shadows. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Huh!” Scrave spun towards the sound, only to find himself facing a blistering orb of fire magically flung from the owner of the voice. He threw his arms up instinctively, with no time to dodge the fireball, when thrown with such deadly accuracy. The magical missile slammed into him, flames flickering hungrily around his body, searching for something to sear and feed its fire.
There was a surprising flash of green from Kerian’s pendant and a blessed cool wave of magical protection rushed over Scrave in response to the blistering attack, deflecting the heat of the fiery blast mere inches from his skin. The fireball swept hungrily past, igniting litter, searing the brickwork of the inn, catching some of the thatch on the roof and turning the squealing rodents that resided in the shadows into four-legged charcoal biscuits.
A second fireball roared in, washing over Scrave’s stunned form before he could even draw a breath, the orb of magical power angrily crackling as it swept past him to impact on the side of the inn and throw his steaming silhouette up against the wall.
“I’m impressed. Not many people can block a fireball, let alone two.” Justina stated, stepping out into the light thrown by the flickering flames of her attack, her dark robe parting to reveal a tantalising glimpse of the smooth curve of her left leg, her right hand holding a smoking jewelled wand. “Your magical powers are stronger than I would have believed.”
Scrave lowered his hands and tried to regain his shaken composure, gently checking his body, ensuring nothing vital had been incinerated. The serpent dagger hissed angrily at his waist, urging him to draw it and strike back at his enemy now that she was revealed. He reached down and allowed the enchanted blade to coil comfortingly about his wrist, the scales gently rasping against his flesh. He had no idea how he had avoided the blasts but realised he could not allow her to catch him by surprise again.
“I guess being so mysterious makes me more of a catch.” He laughed nervously, trying to portray a confident manner, even if his legs felt like jelly. “I would never seek to be predictable for the likes of an exotic beauty such as yourself.”
Justina stepped nearer, the light from the flickering flames lovingly caressing her body and highlighting her captivating face. Scrave found himself wondering what it would be like to hold such a beauty in his arms, feel the soft curve of her breast crushed against his chest. A hungry crackle arose from behind him as the thatch of the inn firmly ignited.
“As if I would ever be interested in the likes of you.” Justina replied arching an eyebrow and offering the Elf a heart stopping coltish smile. “You did well with the warm up, now let us see how you deal with the main event.”
“So much for foreplay.” Scrave muttered, his mind reaching for the magical words in his limited magical repertoire. “If you want unpredictable, then I’m your Elf.”
An earring shattered, magical energies flowed and a shroud of darkness dropped over Justina. She took a deep breath, refusing to panic and stepped to the side, recognising the limits to the spell from her own arcane studies and the fact that it would only affect a specific area of the alleyway. The light was initially blinding as she stepped from the shadows making her squint, seeing double images of the flames racing across the roof and two smirking eye-patch wearing targets. Justina blinked and waited for her vision to clear only to find herself still facing two Elven foes as her eyes adjusted.
Scrave smiled warmly and tilted his head, his mirror image did the same. He offered a wave and as his right hand lifted on one Scrave, the left hand lifted on the other.
“Now what a handsome chap I am!” both images said as they looked themselves up and down. “Surely, dating two of me leaves all kinds of options in the bedroom. How unpredictable is that?” Justina’s brow furrowed in concentration. Which one was the real Elf? Which one illusion? She gripped her wand tightly, there was only one way to find out.
Fireball after fireball burst from the end of her wand, the blistering orbs roaring across the narrow space, tongues of flame hungrily consuming everything they touched. Both Elves threw their hands up in mock horror as the magical missiles slammed into them, burning searing holes straight through Scrave’s torso on the left image and taking the head off the Scrave on the right, before both disappeared into wisps of smoke like the illusions they were.
Justina walked forwards, her wand sweeping the alleyway, searching for any clue as to the Elf’s whereabouts. She was not stupid enough to believe that she had killed the cocky magician. He was still here somewhere. Angry and scared voices were filling the air, guards were entering the alleyway now, looking at the sultry mage standing there with her wand in her hand and then at the roaring fire behind her, the roof of the inn now consumed by the inferno.
“Stop right there!” one guard shouted.
“Or what?” Justina snapped, flicking her wrist and sending out a bolt of magical force in his direction. There was a clatter of armour and the other guards slid to a stop, staring down in horror at the giant warty toad now pulling itself from the guard’s armour with a frustrated ‘ribbit’.
The sorceress turned away from the guards, her eyes sweeping the alleyway in the other direction as she carefully retraced her steps to where the supernatural area of darkness still remained, looking like a foreboding tunnel leading to nowhere. Her sandal came down with an unexpected crack and she moved her foot to find a small slither of glass on the floor. Her splintered image reflected back at her. Justina could not help but smile. The Elf was not stupid; he’d used the distraction of the darkness to move behind her whilst she was blinded, then used this mirrored glass to cast an illusion in front of her and distract her whilst he made his escape.
She scanned the alleyway warily, eyes flashing with renewed interest. Then a thought occurred to her that initially made her feel very cold. If he had been b
ehind her when she had stepped out of the darkness, why had he not plunged his dagger into her unguarded back? Loud voices came from the end of the alley, breaking her concentration. The guards had reinforcements now and were heading towards her with renewed confidence.
Justina smiled as she remembered the Elf’s cocky smile and the way he held himself. She was going to enjoy catching him and she knew she would manage it. Scrave had not seen the last of her, she promised herself that. She was determined more than ever to apprehend him. She raised her wand threateningly, then stepped backwards into the very darkness that had been used against her, triggering her own spell at the same time and causing a stench of brimstone to fill the air as she teleported away.
* * * * * *
Colette sat in the shadows of Rauph’s cabin feeling worthless. She had checked every one of the spell books on the shelves until her eyes ached. There were spells for every occasion written lovingly and precisely within the aged pages, yet not a single one offered help or a means to ease the burden placed upon Violetta. There was nothing here that could be used to help the chef arrest the poison coursing through Thomas’s veins. It was a complete dead end. There was nothing she could do and it was driving her insane.
All of this immense power collected in priceless ancient volumes, spidery words of script that made your eyes hurt to read them, arcane alien phrases that made the tongue twist with pronunciation and the hairs on your arms stand up with the anticipation of shaping the supernatural energies contained within but nothing that would serve her in this hour of need. Colette ran a frustrated hand through her hair. She was surrounded by all of this power and she still found herself impotent.
The ghostly image of her mentor sitting silently in the corner, further infuriated her. She needed his guidance more now than ever and yet he sat there as silent as the corpse he was. She stood up, feeling adrift and headed towards the door, failure laying heavy upon her shoulders. Then she noticed the open tome on the cartographer’s table. How had she missed that one?
The Labyris Knight Page 57
