The staff and other customers didn’t react as one might expect. This was a common occurrence. The mysterious Black Dragon warrior would soon despatch his attackers and losing a pair of inner city trouble makers wouldn’t make much difference – there were plenty more out there. As for the ring leader versus the half-elf, a few thought that might just be entertaining enough to be worth a small wager.
Phaer didn’t like close quarters combat, but at leas t the odds were better. At the critical moment, however, the red-haired barmaid appeared seemingly out of nowhere, to stand behind the big thug’s back, who stiffened as something cold and metallic pressed against his skin.
“You feel this dagger?” the girl purred seductively, almost like a lover. “It's my favourite one because it's so long and slim. Now, make any sound at all, and it'll find its way up to your heart. Move and I can’t guarantee the results. You might get away with it, but then again I might accidentally sever your spine. And just in case you feel like you want to take your chances, if you did somehow escape me, my friend over there,” she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “he's a dragon you know.” In a normal tone, she instructed the thug, “Now, drop your weapon.” He simply let go and his sword clattered to the floor.
Phaer sheathed his own weapons, seeing the dragon-warrior put his away, too, having dispatched one of other two antagonists and grabbed the second by the throat, who then found himself physically thrown out of the tavern by the dragon warrior. Phaer gave him a nod of respect in acknowledgement and thanks.
Calandra, however, was decidedly unhappy with the young barmaid's intervention. “You would stab a man in the back?” she demanded, indignantly. The girl cocked her head and raised her eyebrows in a facial shrug. “I find it's the safest way. Besides, the way I see it, if a man is stupid enough to threaten someone whilst leaving his back unguarded, he deserves whatever he gets. In this case, though, I don't think killing will be necessary. Now, my loudmouthed friend,” she continued, addressing her captive, “just stay perfectly still and relax...this won't hurt a bit.” She was holding her dagger in her left hand, so with her right, she produced a mace from under her dress. Holding it the reverse way, she gave the warrior a sharp rap with the handle, catching the nerve perfectly. The big man crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
“Nice move for a barmaid,” the dragon -warrior commented. “I'm no barmaid, I just borrowed the dress from a girl I met a few minutes ago. She isn't likely to need it for a while...she’s a bit tied up. Tell you what, why don't you get to know these good people while I change. I'll be right back. Betcha miss me already!”
Blowing a kiss and slapping Phaer’s backside, she left. Taking her advice, the dragonwarrior introduced himself to Eilidh. “M'lady, I am known as Loric. Thanks for giving me an excuse to sort those guys out. They've been coming in here the last few days while I‘ve been away and giving everyone a hard time. They also did something that they shouldn't: they stole from a little blind girl who was selling flowers. That is one of the reasons why I came back today. That and to give what money I had from a job, to the local orphanage so that she could have a place to live.”
“Very commendable behaviour,” said the white cleric.
“Yes,” Toli agreed, “a bit different to the last time we met.”
“My friend makes a good point,” Eilidh added. “Not that we're ungrateful for what you just did.” “I regret what happened down in Shakaran and I'm thankful that the misunderstanding was cleared up without bloodshed. The prince seemed like a decent person, and so did you. I've given you a lot of thoughtsince we last met, which is why I’ve been following you.”
“I thought so.” Eilidh remarked.
“You did?”
“When we visited the Dark Knight barracks, Sir Quentin dispatched a pair of dragon-riders to hunt for a rogue obsidian dragon his mount had sensed. Itseemed an unlikely coincidence.”
Loric nodded. “That was me. It was a close call. Blues have sharp senses and the Knights train them well, but I managed to avoid them. Just.” Toli whispered something to Eilidh, who nodded, encouraging her hobbit friend to speak her mind, so she did. “Since you seem so much into children's causes, and you regret attacking the Prince, maybe you can help us to help him. His daughter, Mystaya, has been kidnapped and we're here to rescue her. My magic is, well, it's not up to much, offensively speaking, so we could probably do with another warrior on our side. Will you help?”
“Kidnapping a child? I'll string him up when I get my claws on him and anyone who gets in the way...well, they'd just better not, that's all, or they can become real men and try to pick on the famous Black Dragon of Avidon instead of children!”
Chapter 9
The two Knights had been having little success in gathering information. They had discussed approaching Hand of Darkness officials at one of the administrative government buildings, or at least the closest thing the Liberation Front had to such a thing. They rejected the notion, however, not wanting to have to answer difficult questions about their mission. The Hand had done such a fine job of enforcing their laws regarding forbidden areas that the general populace refused to speak of it even if they knew anything. It was most frustrating.
The codes of both orders of Knights prohibited drinking alcohol whilst on duty, but when they came across a quaint little coffee shop, they both agreed that a tea break would be a good idea. They could discuss whether to continue the search for knowledge, or simply ask the whereabouts The Black Dragon's Claw, where they were to rendezvous with Eilidh and the others.
In the time she had worked with Sir Quentin, Lady Hannah had slightly revised her view of the Dark Knights. She still did not like them; she still found their black armour chilling and their very existence blasphemy. Now, though, she had a greater respect for them, or at least one Knight in particular. His devotion to Mortress aside, he was everything a Knight should be: brave, efficient, proud and honourable. Both Knights knew there were certain topics they should not discuss, but by respecting and accepting that, they were able to converse freely.
The coffee shop seemed to be quite popular and when they paid for their pot of tea, looking around, they realised that all the tables were taken.
“My goodness, you two make a curious couple I must say!” Someone called out. The Knights followed the sound to a small table in one corner, at which sat a single individual. Lightly armoured in green leather, she was only slightly shorter than the average human, with the lilac skin and large pupils that identified her as a gnome. She gestured to the empty seats at her table, inviting the Knights to join her.
“Current events must needs an alliance between our respective orders,” Sir Quentin explained, sitting opposite her.
“Mmmm, yes, the chaos creatures. I heard that Keothara and Baltacha are under heavy attack.” “Indeed,” Hannah concurred, taking the seat between them. “The Knights of Paladinia stationed there hath reported some significant battles.” What the Knights termed `significant battles` most other people called `allout war`. “Shakaran hath been targeted only by small rag-tag groups thus far, easily despatched. Merlyon seems to be of great interest to them, but as one would expect their efforts are proving somewhat futile against their magical shield.”
“But let us cease this discourse of war,” Sir Quentin suggested, “and seek other topics.”
“I'll drink to that!” the gnome concurred but then discovered her mug was empty.
“Please, allow me,” Hannah offered and poured out the tea.
The gnome thanked her and took a sip. “Sugar?” Sir Quentin offered.
“Oh great, a decision, I do so well with those," the gnome said sarcastically."I don’t suppose this one would make much difference, though, would it?”
“It would make your tea sweet.”
She waved that aside. “Yes, it’s a matter of taste, obviously, but otherwise, would it make any difference?”
“Not really.” “But,” the gnome continued, putting her tea down an
d holding up a finger for emphasis. “Suppose I could use my magic to control people's taste buds so that they didn’t like sugar anymore? That would make a difference. Sugar sales could drop, causing massive disruption all the way down the supply chain. All the way back to those who cut the cane.”
“My grandfather,” Lady Hannah put in, “when he retired from the Knighthood he was still fit and hale and certainly not ready to take to his bed. He used his Knight's stipend to buy a sugar plantation. He employed people to work the land and tend the sugar cane. He turned it into a very successful business. He was able to pay generous wages so his workers could keep their families well.”
“There you are then,” the gnome concluded. “If everybody had stopped taking sugar, your grandfather's business would have been badly affected and so would all those families.” Sir Quentin scowled darkly, and said, “If all this obsession with sugar had never started, my great great grandfather would never have lost his land. Wealthy developers camest with great interest in his home, across the sea, simply because fine grade sugar cane didst grow there. They didst offer money on the condition that he leaveth. He would not. He had no interest in either sugar, or money; he was a man of simple pleasures who wished merely to be left in peace to tend his own land. If sugar had not been so powerful a motivation, then, my great great grandfather wouldst not have been kidnapped, chained up and sold as a slave here in this very city! Sugar hath done no favours for my family. 'Tis only through good fortune and hard work that my family hath risen up from slavery to Knighthood in scarce five generations!”
Lady Hannah was stunned to hear such a tale, but the gnome simply accepted it as justification for her philosophical line of thought. “You see,” she said. “Whether or not I take sugar does make adifference.” She absent-mindedly tossed a sugar lump into her tea and stirred, as she continued her line of thought. “Every choice has consequences,” she said. “Even the smallest ones. In fact, sometimes it’s the smallest choices that make the biggest difference.”
“Life is indeed ever thus,” Lady Hannah agreed.
“Yes, thou speakest true,” Quentin concurred. After a moment of reflective silence, the Dark Knight said, “Mayhap we shouldst introduce ourselves. Our lofty titles wouldst doubtless be of little interest to thee, so suffice it to say that I am Sir Quentin of Shakaran, and this is my comrade Lady Hannah of Merlyon.”
“Nice to meet you. I'm Rochelle Ribbons of Avidon, although I would gladly be Rochelle Ribbons of Somewhere Else. Even under siege in Baltacha would be preferable to here where my life is so messed up. A crisis of faith, you might say.”
Rochelle explained that she was a druid-fighter and enjoyed the balance her healing gave the killing she had to do as a warrior. The trouble was, she was leading a double life. The Hand of Darkness Liberation Front, who demanded the worship of the Mistress of Death, gave the only warrior training available in Avidon. Her personal feelings, however, lay towards the Balanced One, which was why she secretly studied her druid healing magic under that alignment. Unfortunately, she was due to take her vows of service to Mortress in a few days and the dark clerics would see right through her deception. Then she would be executed. Trying to leave the city without official licence would get her killed on sight for desertion.
“So you see my problem,” she said. “It’s too late to change my magical alignment – it would just attract attention. Whatever I do, my name will appear in front of Hand of Darkness officials and then they will know that I have been lying to them. So they will execute me. You are looking at the walking dead.”
“Your tale is indeed a tragic one,” Sir Quentin agreed, “but thou didst bring it on thyself with thine deception.”
“Perhaps,” Hannah allowed, “but thou canst hardly expect the populace of an entire city to align themselves to the dark just because the ruling parties say it must be so.”
“’Tis only a problem because she chose to become a warrior in the Hand of Darkness armies. If their rules were not to her liking, she should have chosen otherwise.” “And therefore her skills and talents wouldst go untempered. As Rochelle hath intimated, elsewhere in Mythallen she wouldst have had wider choices. 'Tis unfair to penalise and even execute someone for reason of her place of birth. We shouldst help this individual.”
“Under the terms of the agreement between the Knights of Zhentilon and the Hand of Darkness, I am forbidden to interfere, even should I wish it.” “You might be so constrained; I am not. Upon my honour, Rochelle, I pledge myself to thee and thy safety. Thou shalt leave this city unharmed whereupon thou shalt be free to pursue whatever thou shouldst wish.”
“Really?” Rochelle asked. “You'd do that for me?”
“The deed is not without risk, but I will help you if thou wilt but sayest the word.”
Rochelle shrugged. “Risk is irrelevant. Any risk sounds very attractive to someone who's facing certain death.” “This is a matter for thine own honour, Lady Hannah,” Sir Quentin said. “But I warn you that shouldst thou commit thyself to this course, I must needs end my association with thee and thy comrades. If I were to learn the details of any plan thou makest, I wouldst be honour-bound to inform the Hand of Darkness.”
“I understand, but our agr eement is technically at an end anyway. Thou didst agree to escort duty and thou hast performed admirably in that regard. When we embark on our mission, thou and thy Knights shouldst merely return to thy myriad other duties. At that time, whatever Rochelle and I shouldst choose to discuss shalt be beyond thy knowledge.”
The two Knights shook hands to seal the agreement, and then Rochelle spoke up. “Er, excuse me, mission? What mission? What exactly are you doing here in Avidon anyway?”
Lady Hannah explained the situation. “Kidnapping the Princess of Shakaran!” Rochelle whistled in amazement. “Has it occurred to you that maybe the Hand are involved in this? It's the sort of thing they would do, you know. A little ambitious, maybe, but the Red faction might be able to pull it off if they put their collective minds to it.”
“We cannot discount that possibility, but thus far all the evidence indicates that the kidnapper is working alone, without any outside assistance, although his true motives do remain unclear.”
“Well, maybe I can join you and help? It seems only fair and my skills could come in useful.”
“Indeed, thou wouldst be ideal protection for our vulnerable mages and white cleric.” “Absolutely - that's the position in which warrior-healers are trained within the Hand’s armies. We stand ready to protect our magic-users from physical attacks while we heal our front line fighters. It's a good system.”
“Well, I have no experience in fighting with magic – it is forbidden in my Order - but I know that others in our party wouldst welcome thine efforts most heartily.”
“Plus,” Rochelle added, “if this kidnapping is the work of the Hand, I know how they operate, so I should be able to spot any signs.”
“Then thou art doubly welcome.”
The three finished their drinks at that point and left, making a beeline for The Black Dragon's Claw.
* * * * * “My, My! Who knew the Black Dragon of Avidon would be so melodramatic!” exclaimed the beautiful redhead who had rejoined Eilidh and the others without anyone noticing. Her barmaid's uniform was gone, and she was now wearing a sultry red dress. The bodice was low cut around the breasts and the skirt possessed a slit up the left side, exposing her thigh. “Of course,” she whispered, “I know you're not a black dragon at all. You're an obsidian.” She moved sensually close to Loric and whispered, “I like your kind better, so I won't tell anyone else, I promise.”
“Actually, Eilidh here already knew that,” Loric replied, “but then she had the advantage of seeing me down in Shakaran.” “Why? What difference does that make?” Eilidh wondered. “My scales lack the shine typical to my kind due to the cold climate up here, but when I visit a warmer climate, some of the sparkle returns. Mind you, warm or cold, most people don't know dragons well enough t
o tell the difference. The Hand knows, of course, but I've had a pact with them ever since I saved the Red Division Leader’s eldest son from being a griffin's midnight snack. I must admit I do love griffin…once you get past the feathers. Anyway, for most people, given the history of the black wing of the Hand of Darkness, having a single black dragon around looking out for mortal children makes for a good story, so they don't question any further. People believe what they want to believe, and see what they want to see. Except, that is, for a few sharp-eyed individuals like you and our young barmaid friend, here.”
“I told you, I'm not really a barmaid. Although, if that's the image that turns you on...” She left her offer hanging, and then continued. “When you've had to survive the way I have, you learn to keep your eyes open. Now, do you think one of you gentlemen could be so kind as to find me a chair?”
Phaer leaped up. “Take mine, my Lady.” She flashed him a dimpled smile. “Thank you, kind sir. I must say it makes a nice change to be referred to as a Lady. I don't believe anyone has ever used that particular form of address with me before. I've been called many things but never that.”
Chosen (Majaos Book 1) Page 11
