“Things much worse than the Serial Killer?” he asked.
Della blushed as she bunched up her lips. “I’m sorry. I was deep in thought. Yeah, but it’s not your problem.”
“Maybe it could be?” asked Terran.
Zara made a noise in the back of her throat, and when he looked over, she rolled her eyes.
“When my husband died a few years ago, he left us with a hefty gambling debt, which I’ve been trying to pay off. I’d started to make progress, but the Tavern Killer put an end to that,” said Della.
Terran reached towards his pouch. “How much do you owe?”
Della blew out a breath. “Something north of five thousand gold.”
“Yikes,” said Terran, pulling his hand away from his pouch sheepishly. “That’s a lot. But...maybe we can look into it.”
“Thanks,” said Della, looking up into his eyes. Her lips pursed. “I know it’s unlikely you can do anything, but I appreciate the offer. It’s very sweet.”
You have been offered a quest: Find a way to eliminate Della’s debt.
Only the shiniest of knights would take this quest on.
“Isabella, darling. Would you go back into the kitchen and rustle something up for our guests.” Her daughter disappeared into the back. The sounds of pots and chopping soon followed. “Now what kind of information were you looking for?”
Terran leaned on the desk, suddenly finding it hard to locate a comfortable place for his hands. “We came to Dagrath to find someone named Gold Eyes.”
Based on Della’s widening eyes, Terran added, “You know this person?”
She shifted her mouth to the side. “He’s the one I owe the money to, and whose thugs you just thrashed.”
Chapter Six
The long, protracted silence ended when Zara said, “Well, that’s awkward.”
“I’m very sorry,” said Della, looking appropriately apologetic. “You were very kind to help, but now that’s complicated things for you.”
Terran buried his face in his hands, massaging the bridge of his nose with his index fingers.
“I guess we shouldn’t have gotten involved,” said Zara.
“It’s fine,” said Terran, pulling his hands away and sighing. “How quickly do you think word will get back to Gold Eyes?”
Della frowned. “They’ll probably go somewhere and lick their wounds before showing their face to the boss. He has a reputation for punishing failure. His thugs are afraid of him as much as people are of his thugs. Last year, he drowned a guy in a pile of manure for farting while he was eating.”
Zara shook her head and crossed her arms. “Gold Eyes is an adorii elf, right?”
“To his core.” Della lifted her chin, appraising the tall redhead. “You don’t know much about gold root elves, do you?”
“Clearly not,” said Zara.
“They’re miners, most not by choice. Most of their existence they’ve been enslaved by other races for their ability to find the valuable gold root. Estabario, or Gold Eyes, came from a Crag Troll mine in the far east. Supposedly, he led a revolt of the slaves and killed the Crag Trolls. Eventually, he found his way to Dagrath and worked his way up through the crime syndicate, eventually taking over when the old boss died unexpectedly.”
“Unexpectedly,” said Luna. “A likely story.”
“Broke his neck when he fell off his horse in the middle of town,” said Della with a shrug. “But the rumors still persist that he engineered it somehow. Fortune seems to follow Gold Eyes.”
“Maybe we can talk to him before his thugs get back,” said Terran. “Can you tell us where he is?”
“Sure thing,” said Della, “but he doesn’t just let anyone see him. Paranoid someone will do to him what he did to his predecessor.”
Della gave them directions to the Pit, which was not a descriptor for the place, but the name of the compound where Gold Eyes lived. It was across town. They left right away, even though their stomachs were grumbling at the delicious smells coming out of the kitchen.
“I should have listened to my instincts and not gotten involved,” said Terran as they hurried through the streets. The shadows were lengthening. “I hope we can get our information before word gets back.”
“It was the right thing to do,” said Zara.
“I know. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but it just makes things complicated,” said Terran.
Luna snickered. “You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if it wasn’t complicated.”
“At the very least, it might earn you a nice roll in the hay,” said Zara with a raised eyebrow.
“What?”
Zara turned her head, forehead knotted. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice Della staring at you longingly?”
Terran blushed, swallowing. His first thought was of Chanterelle in the hammock. “No, actually, I didn’t.”
“Well, you know now,” said Zara, punching him in the arm. “You should take advantage of it while you’re in town...or are you still hung up on that old girlfriend of yours?”
His shoulders dipped. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“You’ve never really explained that part, but I’ll let it go,” said Zara, appraising him. “Clearly she still means a lot to you.” To his surprise, she grabbed his arm. “Whoa.”
Zara was staring across the street to a yellowed poster on the wall of a provisioner. They hurried over to it.
“The Tavern Killer,” said Zara, touching the wanted poster. “I guess no one’s gotten a good look at him.”
The drawing on the poster was of a hooded figure. Terran tapped on the number at the bottom.
“Five thousand gold reward. We could take care of multiple problems if we found him,” said Terran.
“Good luck with that,” said Luna. “No description, only that the killer attacks tavern patrons after dark.”
“Yeah,” said Terran. “Probably getting too hopeful that we could find him, but while we’re here it’s worth a try.”
“Unless we can get that information from Gold Eyes and get the hell out of here,” said Zara.
They made it to the Pit as torches and lanterns brought the streets to life with their flickering lights. The Pit was a big wooden compound with a heavy palisade and guards at the front entrance. There was only one way in and out.
Zara hesitated as they neared. “You sure you want to go in? If Flinty Tim and the gang beat us here, we’re dead meat.”
“Don’t got a choice,” said Terran.
“Actually, you do,” said Zara.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I choose the risk.”
The guards put their hands on their weapons upon approach. Their casual examination spoke of a higher competence than the thugs they’d bested at the Golden Kumquat. Terran imagined that Gold Eyes would put his best people at the entrance to ensure a safe existence inside. It probably didn’t require much more than brutes to collect protection money in town.
“This ain’t a place for you sweetmeats,” said the biggest guard, who wasn’t quite Zara’s size. He puffed up his chest as she stared him down.
The second guard added, “We got a whole mess a folks inside ready to come out and bleed you dry if you plan on starting something.”
Terran put his hand on Zara’s fist, which had risen slightly. “We’re just here to talk to your boss.”
“He’s not accepting visitors,” said the big guard.
“How do you know if you haven’t asked him?” asked Terran.
The guard grunted. “He don’t see anyone he don’t know. So if you ain’t a name in the city, then he ain’t gonna see ya.”
Terran put a hand to his pouch. “How much would it be worth?”
The guard gave him a lazy squint. “Ain’t worth my head, which is what happened to the last idiot who took a bribe. Anyway, the boss pays good enough to keep me well lubricated, if you get my meaning. Go on. Bugger off. You ain’t gettin’ in.”
Terran checked the stree
t. It was empty near the Pit. Probably no one wanted to be spotted near the crime lord’s abode. He contemplated trying to find a sneaky way in, but the place looked like a fortress and Zara wasn’t known for her subtleness. He raised an eyebrow in the redhead’s direction. She responded with a lifted shoulder.
“That’s a nice jaw you got there,” said Terran, stepping close to the bigger guard. “How well can you take a punch?”
“Huh?” asked the guard, right as a fist impacted the middle of his face.
“Love tap!”
The second guard barely had his blade out of his scabbard when a second punch laid him flat. As Terran checked their pulses, Zara said, “Oh. Love tap.”
“Humans are weird,” said Luna, shaking her furry gray head.
“What do we do with these two?” asked Zara.
“Drag them into that alleyway, dump that bottle of whiskey you swiped from the Golden Kumquat all over them. When they wake up with a bad headache, they’ll know they can’t go running into the Pit, or get blamed for being drunk on the job. It’ll be bad enough that they let us past in the first place,” said Terran.
They left the two guards sprawled on their backs. Terran untucked their shirts, making them look like they’d passed out, and covered them in whiskey.
“This is making me really sad. That was a good bottle of whiskey,” said Zara.
“Let’s go before they wake up,” said Terran.
As he reached for the front door, he had a moment of panic that there’d be a second layer of guards, or that it was barred and would require a password, but it swung wide, and Terran sighed with relief when he saw the inner hallway was empty.
“Don’t need a lot of guards if you’re the baddest mofo in town,” said Zara.
“Just act like we belong from here on out,” said Terran as his heart revved up and his palms grew sweaty.
Zara shot him a wink, a grin lurking on her lips. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I should let you punch more people,” said Terran. “You seem more relaxed.”
“Pugilistic therapy,” said Zara, nodding. “I could get behind that.”
There were multiple doors at the end of the hallway, but the largest one reverberated with the sounds of a party inside. Terran paused with his hand on the big metal handle.
“If things go south, try to cause as much chaos as possible and make a run for it. We could probably bar them in right here,” said Terran.
“Don’t tempt me,” said Zara, reaching back and caressing the big axe over her shoulder.
“But that’s a last resort. Gold Eyes has the information we need. If he’s dead or pissed, this is going to be much harder.”
The heat of bodies and laughter, along with the stink of alcohol and body odor, hit them when Terran swung the door wide. The place was a long hall with a center fire pit. The ceiling was high, allowing the smoke to escape through slats in the upper reaches. No one noticed them until they were a few steps inside, the noise slowly dying as they entered the light.
There had to be at least thirty thugs, men and women of all sizes, and every one had the stare of someone who killed for a living. Some were gathered in the alcoves, playing drinking games at tables with dice and knives. The loudest group was in a corner, flipping their blades into the air and catching them above the table, laughing when the latest throw ended in a bloody palm, only to find the rest of the room had gone quiet.
“Who in the stinkin’ Abyss are you?” came a voice from the far end. A figure sat lazily on a wooden throne with a woman on his lap.
A cacophony of blades whispered into existence, the tension in the room pulling back like a taut bow. The nearest thugs stepped closer.
Under her breath, Zara said, “Ready for chaos yet?”
“Future business associates,” said Terran in a loud voice.
“Like hell you are,” said the figure on the throne. Even from across the room, his gold eyes glowed with malice. “If I don’t know who you are then you’re not worth knowing. Why the hell did the gate guards let you in here?”
The thoughts of parley were rapidly depleting like sand through an hourglass. Thugs stepped closer, tightening around them like a noose. A guy with broken teeth and brass knuckle-dusters was close enough Terran could smell his awful breath.
“I’m the leader of Gneiss Glen,” said Terran, the words falling flat with nary a twitch of recognition. “We defeated Grimchar the Necrochanter”—he stepped closer to Zara as the circle got smaller—“and bested the Crimson Brigade at the Crag Troll Fortress.”
Gold Eyes’ head came up at the last part. Terran could sense the decision behind his almost glowing eyes, but it was too late. His thugs were moving in for the kill. A brutish woman with scars on her cheeks—self-inflicted by their precision—tried to grab Zara. The redhead spun on her heel, fist following the rotating motion until a loud thunk echoed through the room, followed by the woman hitting the floor.
Gold Eyes’ lips curled, whether in anger or mirth, Terran couldn’t tell, and he didn’t have time to wonder about it, as a thug was lunging at him with a blade. Released from the shoulder harness, the crystalline staff barely blocked the blow, and the edge of the blade deflected harmlessly off his whisperweave tunic. Two more thugs came after Zara, who dispatched them—one, two—grunting, “Love tap!” with each blow, while Luna bared her teeth and snapped at anyone getting close.
With the staff free, Terran blasted the left side of the room with a Vocal Slam, purposely reducing his voice enough to make them regret their approach, but not kill anyone. A few mugs shattered in the thundering arc, spilling ale and whiskey, but the thugs continued coming.
“Are we to chaos and escape yet?” asked Zara as she bloodied the nose of a wide brute who looked like he ate two hams a day, washed down with a keg of ale.
Terran spared a glance at Gold Eyes, who watched with squinting interest, his lips pursed to the side. He hadn’t yet decided their fate, but also wasn’t about to stop his thugs. He respected might, but Terran wasn’t sure they could survive long enough unless they started killing, which would surely doom their attempt to find information. They needed to impress Gold Eyes quickly. Terran wished he still had his Rock Leaf armor for brief invisibility, but the remembrance gave him an idea.
“Protect me,” he said to Luna as he accessed his pathway traveler ability.
Having experimented with the map function, he knew not to let himself get distracted by the wider landscape, and immediately zoomed in on his location. The precision of movement at short range was not fine, and he could just as easily end up outside the fortress, but he triggered the movement to a spot he hoped was not too far away. The moment of vertigo was followed by a quick reorientation, and he found himself behind Gold Eyes’ throne.
As a murmur of surprise went up in the hall at his disappearance, Terran hurried to the throne, placing the azure crystal on the end of his staff beneath the crime lord’s throat as if it were a blade.
“Can we talk now?”
Chapter Seven
There was a brief moment when Terran was certain that his tactic had failed. He sensed a tightening of the shoulders, the will to fight back coalescing until it became a physical force. Though the crime lord was a slight man, he held himself like a razor’s edge. He was all blade and no hilt.
The gold root elf snorted, before raising his hand. “Enough.”
The chaos of battle halted. Zara, still in the flow, caught the big guy in the jaw, which snapped his head to the right, but didn’t knock him down.
“Love tap? Sorry.”
“You have my attention now,” Gold Eyes said. Terran kept the staff at his throat. “And my protection. You may stand down. I will keep my blades at bay while you’re in my home. You have my word.”
Terran knew that was the best he was going to get, so he replaced the staff in its holster on his shoulder and moved to the front of the throne, where his companions joined him. For the head of a crime syndicate, Gold
Eyes didn’t dress the part. His attire was simple, well-made, but nothing ostentatious, not even a hint of jewelry. What he wore was the supreme confidence of someone who was willing to do—and had done—what it took to survive.
“I’m Terran, leader of the Rock Leaf Elf settlement of Gneiss Glen. These are my companions, Zara and Luna. We’ve come to Dagrath for information.” The crime lord stared back dispassionately, so Terran cleared his throat and added, “My apologies, what may we call you by?”
The crime lord smirked. “I’m sure you’re wondering if you can call me Gold Eyes. It is a slang term that many use for my race. There was a time when I would put a blade deep in someone just for thinking it. Now, it just tells me something of the person who uses it, or who chooses not to.” A grin rose on his face, and for the first time Terran truly worried about their visit. “My name is Estabario Fane. You may call me Lord Fane.”
“Lord Fane.” Chuckles and shared glances filled the room. Terran was certain in that moment that no one called him Lord Fane and he was messing with them, but he decided to go through with it for the sake of the information he needed. “There is information I believe you have and wish to acquire.”
The crime lord looked bored by the discussion. He stared at his fingernails. Released a heavy sigh.
“My apologies, have I offended?” asked Terran.
“Is this how you come up on a lady? Hand straight up her skirt for the goodies?” asked Estabario.
Terran furrowed his forehead, but said nothing.
The crime lord cocked his head towards Zara. “You like working for him? I haven’t seen someone one-hit so many of my gang before.”
“I don’t work for him,” said Zara. “He’s my friend.”
“Everyone works for someone,” said Estabario.
“Who do you work for?” asked Terran.
The grin on his lips didn’t match the menace in his gaze. “I’ll let this one slide.” He tilted his head. “So how did a stripling like yourself defeat the Crimson Brigade? I’d heard rumors that such a thing happened, of course, the Brigade isn’t keen on spilling the details, since it sullies their reputation, but still…”
Champion's Prophecy: A LitRPG Adventure Page 7
