“I do not believe that is such a good idea.”
“Agreed?”
“The goblins are-”
“I see a tavern over there,” Nyx interrupts him, pushing her hair behind her ears. She fights with all of her might to ignore the pain in her chest. “Maybe I’ll go inside and see what happens when I announce myself. I can see some very large and mean-looking guys through the windows. I’m pretty sure at least one of them has ogre blood.”
“We will discuss this over a hot meal,” Timoran calmly says. He puts a hand on Nyx’s back and leads her down the street. “That is the best I can offer without permission from Lord Highrider or Tzefira.”
“It’s better than nothing,” Nyx admits. She adjusts the borrowed tunic and wrinkles her nose at the mild stench. A wave of melancholy rolls over her when she sees people are still cautiously staring at her. “I don’t want to be hated, Timoran.”
“Very few people wish for that, my little friend,” he kindly responds. “Trust me when I say that this will not last. Once the dangers have passed, people will move on with their lives. It may take time, but it will happen.”
“I’m going to make sure it does,” Nyx quietly declares, balling her hands into fists. She holds back the natural urge to cover her hands in fire. “I’m not sitting around while my friends fix my mess. I will earn this city’s forgiveness. Don’t try to talk me out of getting involved, Timoran.”
“I would not dream of it,” the barbarian says, crouching to look her in the eye. “I am with you to the end of your adventure as long as you stay by my side. No wandering off.”
“Deal, my loyal bodyguard,” Nyx agrees, doing her best imitation of a princess. “First order of business . . . I’m really hungry and in pain. Can we please get some food and healing potions?”
Timoran’s bellowing laughter startles everyone on the street.
6
“You sure the thief went this way?”
“As sure as I can be.”
“This’ll be the tenth time we cornered him.”
“I don’t think it’s a him.”
“I don’t care what’s between a thief’s legs. This one has been making fools of us all week.”
The seven guards slowly step into the crate-filled alley, their swords drawn and their shields in front of their chests. The rising sun casts some light into the mouth of the alley, but it is not enough to destroy all of the shadows. A shaggy cat screeches and scampers from its hiding place as the guards continue their cautious advance. They stare at every shadow, each guard looking in a different direction. After several painstakingly slow minutes, they reach the back of the alley where the white brick of a house blocks their path.
“I love that you guys are persistent!” shouts a deep, baritone voice from behind them. “The guards in Rodillen usually give up the chase after three days.”
The guards spin around to see a muscular shadow step out from behind a stack of wooden crates. They are about to charge when the shadow holds up its fist and casually waves with its other hand. The squad of guards nervously murmur before the mysterious thief spins on its heels and runs out of the alley. They try to follow, but the swaying towers of crates crash to the ground as the thief races by them. Before they can get to the street, the guards are trapped under a pile of crates that are filled with pillows, empty bottles, and random trash.
Darting across the street and ducking into another alley, the muscular thief weaves its way through the shadows. The bulky figure leaps onto a low ledge and proceeds to gracefully bounce between the closely set buildings. Grabbing the edge of the roof, the thief flips out of sight and rolls into a crouch. The sun washes the dark figure away, exposing a slender form clad in a full-body leather suit. She casually tucks her short, blonde hair behind her pointy ears and stretches her arms over her head.
“Come home, Flitter,” the elf whispers into the wind. She sits down on the roof to count the money she stole during the night while a young barn owl swoops out of the sky. The small beast lands on her head, leaning forward to stare into her golden eyes. She pulls a dead mouse from one of her belt pouches and hands it to the hungry owl.
“You did a good job finding marks,” the thief says, dropping her new wealth into an empty pouch. “We should find a way to gather more attention. It’s been a week and the guild has been quiet. In Rodillen, I would have been threatened or recruited by now. Maybe even both, but these guys seem to be pickier.”
The barn owl makes noises as it excitedly hops along the far edge of the rooftop. The thief creeps over to the bird and peeks over the edge to see the seven guards standing in the street. In the middle of the guards is a large knight with orange hair and a pronounced lower jaw. A fancy war hammer is strapped to his waist, his hand gripped on its handle in case he needs to draw it quickly. He points around the street, sending the guards to search the surrounding area. The thief grins as she realizes that she has gained the attention of Lord Highrider. After watching the knight for a few minutes, she sees that his left gauntlet is a lot thicker than his right gauntlet.
“I think I found a way to get some attention,” she whispers, licking her ruby lips in anticipation. “I need you to draw the guards away, Flitter. The knight won’t move until they call for his help. Get them about ten blocks away and fly high to look for me because I’ll probably be on the run.”
The owl hoots and hops to the center of the roof before taking to the air. Its shadow transforms into a faint, humanoid silhouette bounding over the rooftops. She patiently waits for the sound of the guards shouting that they see something. Straining her ears to track the differing footsteps, she listens for all of the guards to leave the area. To her relief, she never hears the heavy steps of Lord Highrider. Reaching into her dark velvet and leather boots, she pulls out a vial of thick, red liquid and a strap of flesh-colored adhesive cloth with a horizontal slit through the middle. Still listening for movement from the knight, she sticks the cloth to her neck and covers the entire area with the red liquid. Reacting to the sun, the liquid shimmers and flows down her chest as if it is seeping out of a wound. To anyone who takes a quick look at the thief, it would appear that somebody has slit her throat.
“Time for a performance,” she chuckles, stepping off the roof and drifting to the alley floor. As soon as she hits the ground, she slams herself against a stack of boxes and screams at the top of her lungs. The scream cuts off with a horrifying gurgle and she stumbles her way to the mouth of the alley. She pitches forward, landing face first on the ground and sending the red liquid splattering ahead of her.
“Help me,” she whispers, reaching toward the towering knight, who is swiftly approaching. Her other hand squeezes her neck, squirting fake blood through her fingers.
“Hold this to your throat,” Lord Highrider urges her, pressing a yellow handkerchief to her wound. “I will get you a healer immediately.”
The thief grabs his left wrist when she feels him attempt to move away. “Please don’t leave me. It’s getting cold and dark.”
“You need a healer if you are going to survive,” the knight insists. He looks around the street to see if there is anyone he can call to for help.
“You’re very kind, but the wound is too deep and I’ve lost so much blood,” she says, her voice getting so low that he has to lean in to hear her. “Just don’t let me die here alone, sir.”
“My name is Lord Highrider,” the worried warrior says, gently stroking the elf’s head. “I promise to stay with you until the end. Can you tell me who did this to you?”
“I was attacked from behind,” she answers with a weak, trembling voice. Her eyes suddenly go wide and she tries to point across the street. “Him . . . that guy has my blood on him. I can see it on his arms.”
Lord Highrider tries to hold the panicky elf down without causing her pain before he turns his head to look across the street. A few people have left their homes to go to work or get some early shopping done, but he does not see a man with blood on
his arms. In fact, it is only women on the street and all of them have stopped to stare at the gory scene. A suspicious feeling washes over the knight and he suddenly notices that he no longer feels the dying elf in his arms. He looks down to see that his gauntlet compartment has been opened, his emergency money pouch no longer inside.
“Guards!” the knight shouts, his voice echoing along the street. He notices a brief flicker of movement on the rooftops and hurries along the sidewalk. “The thief is a female elf with short blonde hair and golden eyes! She is on the rooftops!”
“The name is Linny if that helps,” says a playful voice from an alley as Lord Highrider walks by. He stops and turns in time to get hit in the face by a wet strip of cloth that covers his face in red, tangy liquid. He feels a light impact on his shoulder as the thief lands on him and leaps into the street.
Linny hits the ground and sprints down the street to the invigorating sound of shouting guards. She sees several armored men coming down the street, so she ducks into the first alley that she knows will lead to another street. As she nears the far mouth of the alley, a young spearman steps into her path and holds his weapon out to stop her. Without slowing down, Linny leaps onto the spear, briefly sliding down the weapon, and flips over the guard. She spins around to hit him in the back of the head with a leather sap and races toward the bustling street, hoping to use the crowd as cover.
Skidding to a halt, Linny realizes that several guards are already pushing through the crowd. Looking back at the alley, she can see the broad form of Lord Highrider approaching with his war hammer drawn. With a confident smile, she races forward and hooks her arm around the waist of a young woman holding a basket of oranges over her head. Linny spins the startled woman, causing the oranges to fly out of the basket and hit several people. One of the oranges hits a man carrying wooden boards and he turns in surprise, hitting a guard in the face with the boards. The chaos grows as people are knocked into stalls, littering the ground with crushed, fallen goods.
“Everyone halt!” Lord Highrider yells as he exits the alley. The crowd freezes, allowing him to scan the area for signs of the thief. Several guards gently push through the crowd to stand in front of their leader and await orders.
“We should spread out to find the thief, but she could very well be gone thanks to this crowd,” Lord Highrider says in a resigned voice. “Disperse the crowd to make things easier. I want you three to search the crowd in that direction and you four will search the crowd in the other direction as they thin out. It’s a feeble attempt, but we have to try.”
The guards salute and follow their leader’s orders as he keeps a careful eye on the whispering crowd. His eyes suddenly shift to a prone, semi-naked form behind a toppled stall. Lord Highrider approaches to find a guard who has been knocked out and stripped of his armor. He is about to yell more orders when he hears several people whispering about finding gold coins in their pockets or behind their damaged stalls. An amused grin crosses the knight’s face and he puts the unconscious guard over his shoulder.
“We’re done here, men!” Lord Highrider loudly announces, trying to sound frustrated and upset. “That little weasel got away for now! Tomorrow is another day to catch her!”
*****
Linny smiles wickedly as she enters the four-story tavern on the docks. A wild collection of tired, travel-worn faces look up and brighten at the sight of the slender elf woman. She stays in the doorway to let their eyes greedily work their way around her body, occasionally turning to giving them a different, enticing view. Once she is sure all eyes are locked on her, Linny strolls up to the bar and leans over to put her face a few inches from the gnomish bartender.
“I want to be queen of your tavern for the day,” Linny declares, dropping a bag of gold coins and diamond spheres into the gnome’s idle hand. She spins around, so she is sitting on the bar and throws her hands out to make sure she has everyone’s attention. “All drinks and food are my treat!”
“Long live the queen!” shouts the drunks as the waitresses bring out the free ale and food.
“To what do we owe this celebration?” asks a young man with porcelain skin and hair of purest black. Unlike the grizzled sailors and unwashed city drunks, the young man is neatly dressed in a royal blue tunic and black breeches. His leather boots flair at the cuffs and shimmer in the candlelight. There is an enchanting sheen to his sapphire eyes, which Linny meets with an equally seductive stare, making the young man grin.
“I had a successful night and wish to share my good fortune,” Linny answers, slipping off the bar and onto one of the long-legged stools. “Does my curious gentleman have a name or are you going to make me guess?”
“My apologies, your majesty,” he says with a low bow, revealing the ornate rapier on his back. “I’m Stephen, a traveling magician.”
“I can see that,” Linny replies with a suspicious glance at the rapier. “I assume you make your sword disappear into people’s stomachs before you help yourself to payment. Don’t bother trying to lie to me, Stephen. You have independent mercenary written all over you and I’ve been checking you out since I entered. The only clean, expensively armed man in the tavern and you try to say you’re a magician? You insult your queen, good sir.”
Stephen takes a seat next to Linny and politely accepts a mug of ale. “Your attention to detail is both flattering and intriguing. You must be one of those thieves I’ve heard the townspeople talk about.”
“I’m not one of those thieves,” Linny scoffs, dramatically rolling her eyes. “I’m an independent like you. The local guild I heard about has yet to approach me, which I’m more than happy with. It means I get to keep everything I take and do with it as I please. Such as buying food and drink for total strangers in return for adoration.”
“You’re very generous,” Stephen admits, his hand falling onto her leg. She gently removes his hand before putting her booted feet in his lap. “Am I to be your king until you’re through with me?”
“My king is off doing things of a boring nature,” she says, taking a mug of ale for herself and sipping at it. “I find myself in need of a brave knight to do as I command and watch over me as I sleep. Is your sword on the market?”
“I don’t want to anger your king,” Stephen answers. His eyes run along Linny’s body and she can see the lust igniting in his eyes. “I find that it’s very dangerous to indulge in another man’s dessert.”
“You’re truly noble, but you will find that I’m so worth the risk,” the seductive elf proudly whispers. She places several gold coins on the counter and turns to the bartender. “My knight and I require your finest room. I trust the glorious feast will continue in my absence.”
The gnome takes the coins and smiles at Linny, revealing several of his teeth have rotted away. “Best room is on the fourth floor. It was cleaned this morning, so everything is fresh for your use.”
“Large bed with a soft mattress?”
“Four-poster and a ten gold mattress.”
“Robes if we wish to get comfortable?”
“Various sizes and all freshly laundered.”
“Supplies for fun?”
“Bottom drawer of the corner dresser.”
“Perfect,” she says, returning her attention to Stephen. “Shall we go to our private party?”
“Please wait a minute or two, my queen,” the mercenary requests, putting a warm hand on her cheek and easing her against the bar. “We barely know each other and I’ve not had the chance to enjoy your generosity. Once you take me upstairs, I’ll miss out on the food and drink you’ve provided. May you allow me to stay here and indulge for a little longer?”
“Very well, but I’m not a patient queen.”
Linny finishes her drink and reaches for another as it is placed on the bar. She politely listens to Stephen talk about battles and adventures while slowly finishing her second mug of ale. Every time she is about to suggest going to the room, Stephen grabs another drink or orders food from the kitchen. Linny b
egins to think he is stalling because he is scared that her king will cause him some trouble. After a while, she begrudgingly admits to herself that the alcohol and flirting are failing to put him at ease. Even running her booted foot along his leg and licking her lips have had no effect on the chatty mercenary.
“You’ve no intention of going up to the room with me,” Linny bluntly states after an hour has passed. “You’re terrified of my king.”
“My caution has served me well over the years,” Stephen claims, noticing a childish pout on Linny’s face. “Don’t take my refusal as an insult to your beauty, my queen. You’re the very picture of lustful desire and your scent is simply enchanting. I freely admit to barely being in control of my hands and senses when in your presence.”
“So, you would gladly accept me if I was unattached?”
“In half a heartbeat.”
Linny pulls out a vial filled with tiny, yellow gems, which she tucks into Stephen’s belt. “Let me indulge in your company. Afterwards, you can kill my king, keep those gems, and never hear from me again. Is that a suitable arrangement?”
“How do I know I can trust a thief?” he asks, glancing down at the gems and nervously drumming his fingers on the bar. “This could be a trick.”
“How do I know you won’t kill me when we’re alone? An assassin is nothing more than a specialized mercenary,” Linny contends, licking her moist lips and hopping off the barstool. “I’m getting tired of this sparring, Stephen. I had a long, grueling night and wish to end my work day with some carnal indulgence. If you’re not up to the task then I’ll take my gems back and find a better man. I’m sure a sailor would jump at my offer without the assassination contract and payment.”
Stephen eyes her suspiciously before getting to his feet and taking her by the hand. She easily slips from his grasp and dances her way to the stairwell. The drunks cheer her name as she disappears up the stairs with Stephen a few steps behind her. He stops when he sees she is no longer in the stairwell, so he slowly continues to the fourth floor. When he is about to leave the third floor, Stephen hears a board creak behind him. He spins around to find that nobody is there, his hand on the hilt of his elegant rapier. As soon as he turns back around, Stephen feels a pair of sweet, warm lips touch his and slender arms wrap around his neck.
Legends of Windemere: 03 - Family of the Tri-Rune Page 16
