Damn them if he was forced to finish their ales yet again, but it was just like Jikun to make him wait! If there was any truth to General Bardolph’s jest about Black Blood, he would be hairier than a mountain dwarf by the time his companions arrived.
He chugged his liquor vehemently and reached for the second mug. And in that large room bursting with pilgrims and successful men, he was suddenly, entirely…
Alone.
There was an abrupt crash against the tavern wall as the door flew back against its hinges. Cold billowed in with a flurry of twisting snow, enveloping the men nearest in winter’s embrace. The din died somewhat as a portion of the crowd turned to glare at the uncouth arrival who dared leave the door wide.
But Navon forgot the cold. His hand dropped from his tankard in relief and elation. “Eldaeus!” he exclaimed.
The Farvian male managed one stumbling, faltering step before he pressed his ragged body against the doorframe. He was coated in white flakes, his hair was laden with ice, and his purple lips trembled violently in the cold.
As Navon’s eyes swept over the male, his elation began to fade.
He was alone.
The whites of Eldaeus’ eyes engulfed his wild gaze as it flicked about the room. Three long, tattooed fingers pressed hard against his bandaged gut, hardly masking the vibrant stain of red.
And then their eyes met and Navon felt his surge of hope quenched within his breast.
“Jikun,” Eldaeus rasped, “Jikun is dead!”
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 59
