by R. E. Fisher
“Important to whom?” Eod asked.
“To all that he meets,” Tetra answered cryptically, not wishing to disclose too much.
“Let’s try this. Why do you seek this person and for whom?”
“Because he unwittingly brings the potential for great harm, so I seek to move him from the path he travels. I do it for all people, because I must,” Tetra said.
Lavalor listened carefully to her words and thought that she now spoke as though she was finally agreeing with him that the outworlder should be slain.
“So, one of the ancient and fabled Elfaheen seeks someone of importance who could cause great harm. Hmmm…” Eod said condescendingly and then asked, “So where were your kind when the world was being burned under the heel of Herol? I don’t recall your kind being mentioned in the stories of his defeat, and yet he destroyed much while killing a countless number of people in his quest. This threat is so much greater than his?”
Tetra looked at the mage, realizing that he was well educated and understood the importance of her involvement. That was going to make her desire to share very little with him that much more difficult. She hoped he knew nothing of the Im’Shallene. “Whereas Herol’s path was one that he chose knowingly, the one I seek has no knowledge of his path or its outcome. He poses a risk to all of the Rohrlands, not just to those where he has settled.”
“So, he is unaware of his importance?” Eod asked.
“Yes. But that does not make him any less important.”
“So why would I, with all my conversations with merchants and other mages, have any idea whom you seek? He is not driven to create a world in his image; he obviously holds no power, or else you could have found him; and he is not anyone of note. What is it that would make him memorable to myself or others?” he asked Tetra.
“Because he is an outworlder to the Rohrlands,” Tetra told him truthfully.
Eod casually turned and looked at Machillis, flicking his eyes toward the door and uttering, “Please leave us.”
The assassin finally sheathed his daggers and walked from the balcony, knowing exactly what Eod wanted as usual. He wanted him to find Dmitri and hide him away until their visitor left.
Eod then turned toward Illissa and said pleasantly, “You may go as well, my dear. Please let everyone know that all is well, and that we have nothing to fear from our guests.”
He turned back to Tetra; using every skill he had learned to lie properly, he said, “Then it appears that my reputation for gathering information was certainly overstated. I don’t know anything about any outworlders, nor have I heard anything about them as of late. It appears that your long journey was for naught, my lady.”
Catching the mage’s use of the plural of outworlder rather than just one, Lavalor seethed, He lies! Press him, or I will!
Tetra felt a minuscule shifting of the sheath that held Lavalor, as if he were going to attack the mage. For some unrealized reason, she did press him on his answer, but she also crossed her arms in front of her to ensure that Lavalor had a clear path toward the mage if he so chose. Her threat was done in a manner that was just as Lavalor would have done long ago in his past. “Let us be frank with one another, mage, now that we are alone. I have power that you have not even begun to realize. And if you believe that you could defeat me, you would find that a disagreeable situation. You are calculating, intelligent, and careful. Now, would you care to tell me about the lie that you just chose to declare? I will not be dissuaded now that I know from your own lips that you have something to tell me,” Tetra said calmly, yet also malevolently. She used his lack of knowledge of her to convince him that she was much more capable than she truly was.
Being the mage that he was, Eod could feel the strength of the magic she possessed; he knew that although he had once defeated a dragon, he would not be able to defeat her should she have even the slight idea of how to use her magic. Since he had no way to gauge her abilities, he chose discretion rather than conflict. In all his life, he had never seen such beautiful malice. However, since the dragon had not arrived per the pact that they had made and tiring of his failures, Eod decided that this woman would help him whether she wanted to or not. It was a sacrifice that he hoped he wouldn’t later regret.
“I know of a dragon that searches for the Sword of Jerrous. I helped put him onto the outworlders’ path. He seems to think he will lead him to the sword, according to some ancient prophecy. To fulfill his need for great and wonderful treasures, I presumed,” Eod said, telling her just enough of the truth to satisfy her.
He is lying about something, Lavalor whispered to Tetra.
Tetra looked at Eod skeptically and waited until he replied, “I owed him a favor,” filling the uncomfortable silence.
Before she could stop him, Lavalor leapt from the scabbard at her waist and rushed toward Eod’s throat, stopping in just enough time to dig into his flesh—tasting the blood of the mage but not truly harming him. Lavalor hungered as he sipped upon the crimson nectar that was the mage’s life. As he tasted the mage’s blood, neither Lavalor nor Tetra felt the tug of desire from the minuscule increases of magic and life that the blade was now passing into each of them.
“Utter the wrong word or tell me one more untruth and that friend of mine will ensure that you never utter another,” Tetra stated icily.
Knowing that he would not be able to cast a spell to stop either her sword or her magic, Eod stammered, “He came into the Rohrlands in some sort of a machine, and one of the demons I deal with informed me of his arrival. I told the dragon this and now he thinks that the outworlder will lead him to the Sword of Jerrous!”
Lavalor dug himself into the mage’s throat just a fraction more to motivate him, knowing that he was leaving out information. His thirst for dominance over the mage increased with each cut that sliced deeper into his throat.
“The last I knew is that he was in Noli Deron. That’s the extent of my involvement!” Eod lied pathetically in response to her veiled threat with the sword.
Lavalor leapt back toward Tetra, who reached out and grabbed him, pointing the sword tip into the scabbard and pushing Lavalor unwillingly into his sheath.
“See, intellect and reason—they do go hand in hand,” Tetra said.
“Nothing about that was intellectual or reasonable. Or even necessary,” Eod spat.
“My friend says otherwise. He is much better than I am at understanding the lies of another,” Tetra said, patting Lavalor’s pommel.
“Is there anything else?” Eod asked.
“Is there?” Tetra asked him in response.
Silence ensued as Eod struggled to contain his rage because he was unsure of her abilities. But he realized that as one of the ancient creators, it was highly possible that her skills were much more powerful than his own.
Tetra looked at Eod, smiling, and winked at him. She then disappeared from his sight to arrive above him, sitting on the shoulders of Telerex.
“Head to Noli Deron,” she told Telerex, who was surprised at her arrival but said nothing. He was, however, becoming dismayed at the curt way she had begun commanding him as of late. He turned back to the southeast, and sensing Tetra’s urgency, he took the most direct path toward Noli Deron possible.
As they settled into yet another long journey, Lavalor reflected on the conversation Tetra had had with the mage. With all the tension that had developed, he had missed something earlier, and so had Tetra. What would a dragon want with the Sword of Jerrous?
As Telerex flew toward Noli Deron, Tetra sat upon his shoulders trying to understand why she had indulged in threatening and frightening the mage as she had. Regretting that she was unable to figure out why, she frowned at her own behavior.
Lavalor smiled at the thoughts she was having. He smiled because her behavior told him that she would succumb to his will soon. Not only that, but also because he no longer had to go searching for her thoughts! She was beginning to share them with him unconsciously.
Chapter 19
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��Any who would set aside the needs of their loved ones or themselves for those of a stranger shall have my blessings evermore.”
(A.Iz., 1.7 - Book of Air, Tenets of Izzuisa, Chapter 1, Verse 7)
Ollie rode through the gates alone just after noon. His thoughts were on his family, his friend Laz, and his companions he had just left in the field. Unsure as to whether he should return to the barracks, he stopped at an inn to get something to eat and drink. He also needed to see if he could find answers to the questions running through his head—questions that he been unable to answer during his ride back to the city. As he saw it, he needed to deal in truths to be able to determine his priorities. And to himself, he concluded, he hadn’t been honest.
His first admission to himself was that this world terrified him. It was full of fantastic and frightening beings and scenarios. When walking through the various scenarios, he found none that provided any comfort to him. The idea of living in this realm was tantamount to trying to get onto that television show where they left you alone with no clothes or anything and told you to survive for a few weeks. That wasn’t something he had ever contemplated or desired to do. Seeing a hanging placard for food and drink, he brought his horse to a stop in front of the tavern. He dismounted, secured his horse, and walked toward the entrance, smelling the roasted meat and stale ale that wafted through the open doorway. He may have felt the need to avoid the establishment had he been able to read the name of the tavern in the common language.
The Bloody Talon was known as the place to go to get satisfaction should the common guard, king’s guard, or magistrates fail you in your need for so-called justice.
Ollie walked in, lost in his own thoughts, and chose a table that was open, careless of the need for caution within. Upon sitting down, he looked around and saw several individuals that gave him pause for concern; however, in his preoccupied mental state, he failed to heed his inner voice advising him to just get up and leave. He waved the barmaid over, comfortable in the fact that little would occur, as it was just early afternoon—not the hour of the day that trouble was known to begin. The barmaid brought him ale and set it in front of him.
“Do you want anything to eat, sir?” she asked, adding, “Our venison is rather fresh, and we serve that with potatoes and leeks.”
“That sounds fine. Thank you,” Ollie replied, noting her ample cleavage, which was barely contained within the soft, bright red-and-yellow shift she was wearing. He also noted that she was strikingly beautiful, with her long legs and hair that was the color of soft flames. His thoughts abruptly shifted to his wife and what she would think if she caught him staring at this woman as he was.
The barmaid walked away to fill his order, and while he was preoccupied with thoughts of lust and guilt, he felt a tug on his belt. He looked down and slapped at the small hand that tugged on the coin purse attached to his belt. Upon seeing the small man, he shouted, “Thief!” and the small figure cringed as if he had been struck. His clothing was immaculately clean, which was unusual for the inhabitants of the tavern, Ollie noted. The clothing was also very well-fashioned for such a small figure. His black shirt and leather trousers were highlighted with a purple waist belt, a dark-green leather jacket, and knee boots. He also wore a purple bandana and an earring. He looked like a cross between a gypsy and a swordsman, Ollie thought.
“Thief? You’re calling me a thief? I, the one who found your purse lying on the ground next to your spotted mount outside, and was returning it to you?” the would-be thief sputtered with mock indignation as he stiffened to his full two-and-a-half-foot height.
“Yes, you, thief!” Ollie exclaimed.
Ollie failed to notice the attention the sudden exchange had gotten from several of the patrons, including the barmaid, who was now walking back toward where Ollie and the short-statured fellow were exchanging opinions of the situation.
As she approached, the barmaid waved her hands downward in a shooing gesture toward the small man, her breasts shifting about with each motion of her arms. “Now, now, Winston! Get along and don’t bother this gentleman; you know you’re not allowed in here anymore. Grogg told you so his self.”
“Yes, go away!” Ollie added.
“That isn’t what Grogg told me, Rosie. What he told me was that I wasn’t allowed in here unless I could pay in coin, which I will soon have, just as soon as this honorable gentleman provides the reward for the safe return of his coins,” Winston stated with confidence.
“Thieves are not rewarded. Especially failed ones!” Ollie replied.
“I am not a thief! I have never stolen anything. I’m a Reunioner!”
The sheer audacity of the little fellow caused Ollie to pause and ask, “And just what is a Reunioner?”
“Well, being this small and this close to the ground, we shelflings tend to be able to notice and see things that you, tall ones, cannot, because your eyes are so far away from the ground. We find items and attempt to reunite them with their proper owners. But alas, that isn’t always possible, and we safeguard what we find until we find their owners. Things like your coin purse, for example. I noticed that it fell from your belt as you dropped from your stirrup. I mean...it was nearly in my direct line of sight; I hardly had to move my eyes. It hit the ground, and if you remember, there was a caravan wagon passing by as you got down from your horse. It was loud and rickety. I’m positive that is why you didn’t hear it hit the ground. And with you being so big, why would you even notice that you lost the little weight that it carries?”
The small man took another deep breath, and without waiting for any interruption, he continued, “Anyhow, I picked it up and I tried to return it to you, but you didn’t notice me. You walked in here without so much as a greeting. And as you just heard from Rosie, I am not allowed in here unless I have coin, but finding your gold caused a bit of a moral dilemma for me. I could stay outside and hope I wasn’t robbed of your treasure! After all, who else may have seen your coins fall? Or should I do the right thing and try to return it to you and face the wrath of Grogg? ‘What a dilemma,’ I said to myself, and it took a few extra moments for me to face my fears and raise my courage enough to risk angering Grogg. But ‘Risk be damned,’ I said, ‘this fine gentleman deserves to have his coin, and I, having been the fortunate Reunioner to have found both the lost and the loser at the same time, am required by professional creed to do my best to get both owner and property back together!’ So as quietly and as unobtrusively as a I could, I entered this fine establishment. Not wishing to be accused of violating Grogg’s instructions but feeling it necessary to get your gold back to you without raising his attention, I felt it appropriate to simply put your coin back onto your belt as quietly as possible and to exit as quietly as I entered so Grogg would be none the wiser. Makes absolute perfect sense to me,” Winston said confidently as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Ollie and the barmaid, daring them to challenge his long-winded version of the events.
After a brief silence, he held his hand out to Ollie, palm upward, awaiting his reward.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Ollie laughed. “Seriously? Has anyone ever fallen for that?”
Indignantly, Winston turned and began to leave the tavern, aware that he was lucky to even be given the chance to leave without something violent being done to him by his mark. Winston was a good thief and knew when to cut his losses and extricate himself from these types of situations. Yet fate would intercede, as it so often did with him. As he neared the door, a large, brutish-looking half-orc stepped through the doorway, blocking Winston’s escape. Grogg Stonefist, owner and peacekeeper of the Bloody Talon, stepped inside. Upon seeing him, Rosie retreated to the bar, confident that her boss could handle the shelfling and the stranger.
Grogg’s nose had been broken countless times, so that even he was unable to remember what it had looked like in his youth. The number of scars running across his face told others that this was a man accustomed to pain and recovery, and that he had never steppe
d back from a fight in his life. His knuckles were brightly scarred, which told the observant that some of his fighting had also been recent. He wore a bright red shirt unbuttoned to the waist, exposing the scars of wounds that would have been fatal to most other men. The orc’s trousers were made of a deep, dark leather, which was either from a beast that was unknown to Ollie, or he had used blood to stain it.
The proprietor of the Bloody Talon let loose a throaty growl and became more upset than he usually was upon seeing the well-garbed shelfling, moving toward the small man with a speed that surprised Ollie. He scooped up the shelfling by the collar of his coat and lifted him up to stare him in the eyes, his legs dangling. “I could have sworn I told you not to ever come back into my tavern, Winston. So, what are you doing here?” he asked. Without waiting for the small figure to answer, he added in a louder voice, “There are too many bodies that I have had to litter the street with because of your shenanigans! Can you not find some other tavern or house of pleasure to torment?”
For the first time since the thief had attempted to lift his coin, Ollie saw that Winston was nervous. He watched, realizing that these two had some history between them, and that the half-orc had grown tired of dealing with the diminutive man.
“What are you doing in here, Winston?” Grogg demanded.
“Now, Grogg, I know you are going to have trouble with this, but you see that gentleman there?” Winston asked as he pointed toward Ollie. “Well, he was about to pay me a reward for finding his coin purse, and then I was going to pay Rosie for the damage that happened that last time I stopped in for an ale.”
“No, I wasn’t, little man!” Ollie exclaimed, not wishing to get drawn into whatever scheme Winston was attempting.
Ignoring Ollie, Grogg asked Winston, “How much does he owe you?”
“I don’t owe him anything. He was trying to steal my coin. He’s nothing but a cutpurse!” Ollie objected.
“How much was the damage from last time?” Winston asked.
