The Gems of Raga-Tor (Elemental Legends Book 1)
Read The Gems of Raga-Tor (Elemental Legends Book 1) Online
Authors: CA Morgan
Tags: #General Fiction
Chapter 4 On the Moren Forest Path
Chapter 6 On the Road to the Red Vale
The Gems of Raga-Tor
by CA Morgan
To
CG Browning
Eris was always your first and favorite above all others.
Even with you gone, your words of encouragement remain,
and others now carry your banner and wear the bunny slippers.
Alliance
Eris Pann stood at the edge of a pier and stared down at his moonlit reflection rippling in the dark water of Rennas Baye. He cursed the image as he had many times in recent months. Looking back at him was his humiliation, his enchantment, and he saw it all through the eyes of a woman’s face rather than his own, which he much preferred.
Lost in brooding thought, he failed to notice the gradual rise of the red, crescent moon. Red, dagger-like images danced across the water, the reflections of the evil crescent called Azoreth. A flash of coppery red near his image made him shiver and look up. Evil rode in the night sky, and grew in men’s hearts and minds when Azoreth traversed the skies. But, if the gods were merciful and fate took pity, tonight he would have the first piece of a charm with which to
cure
himself.
With muttered curse, he pulled his cloak’s hood low over his face and stepped inside the stale-smelling establishment behind him. As the deep of night was still hours away, the tavern was only half full. The faces that bothered to witness his entrance were weary and nondescript. He liked that in a crowd. It meant the likelihood of trouble decreased... somewhat.
From a serving girl with a face like countless others, he took a stained, wooden mug brimming with malted ale, a hard roll, and a fat slab of yellow cheese. Taking a seat by the door, he ate quickly and drank slowly, knowing that if his plans for the evening went awry, he might have to make a hasty exit from the city without the usual provisions.
An unpleasant thought as his current status was as a hero of sorts for almost single-handedly rescuing a caravan from Brazzi marauders. He would have been better rewarded were he not a foreigner to the southern lands, and if he didn’t speak with a strange, unrecognizable accent. Nevertheless, the grateful quartermaster filled his purse with gold coins. Tonight, it was with this hard-earned gold that he had carefully planned and arranged to buy an object. It wasn’t considered priceless by the city’s wealthy, but for him, it was the first step in taking back his life.
In spasms of uncharacteristic anxiousness, his hand curled and uncurled several times around the mug’s barrel. The fingers of his other hand played with the hilt of a dagger tucked into his bracer. A nearby patron watched him and moved quietly and slowly away. No need to be in the wrong place when the black-clad figure started swinging the long sword that peeked out from beneath his cloak’s deep folds. For a time afterward, the seats at the end of his table remained conspicuously vacant.
Much later a short, wiry fellow dressed in fabrics too rich for this part of the city entered the tavern, paused and stood near him. The newcomer’s gleaming rodent-like eyes discreetly surveyed the room. He pinched his thin lips together with thumb and finger, and then nodded greeting to Eris.
“You’re late, Tivol,” Eris said, his voice muffled by the hood. He grabbed Tivol by his tunic’s neck and roughly shoved him onto the bench across from him.
“What’s wrong with your voice?”
“I have a cold. More importantly, where’s the seller?”
“Things happen,” Tivol answered, smoothing his shirt. “He’ll be here.”
“Maybe he was and left. Time has passed.”
“We’re offering a lot of gold. No one passes that up simply on account of lateness,” Tivol assured with a flicker of a smile. “No, the hungry animal doesn’t give up its meal, because the trap remains long empty. He waits.”
“An interesting choice of words, Agent Tivol,” Eris said suspiciously.
Suddenly anxious, Tivol pinched at his lips. “I’m not implying anything. Merely making an observation based on my vast, and honest, experience.”
“We’ll see.”
Eris traded his empty mug for a full one. He leaned back against the tavern’s wall and stretched out his long legs. The cloak’s deep cowl hid the impatience that creased his face.
Tivol fidgeted under the weight of slow-passing time made worse as he was unable to see where Eris’ attention was rooted. He was relieved to see the hood’s edge move and lift upward, away from him.
Both watched as three, lissome, dancing girls pranced and whirled along a warped, sagging balcony as they headed for the stairs. In spite of his growing temper, Eris smiled slightly as they wove their way through the room teasing and playing tricks on the patrons.
Tivol suddenly turned back, leaned forward and rapped his knuckles against the table. “He’s here.”
Eris pulled up from his slouch. “Where?”
“Next to the counter. The one with the heavy, black beard. Be right back,” Tivol said and left the table.
Keeping an eye on the little man proved to be a task as a dozen unwashed and stinking men entered the tavern and loitered near him, blocking his view of the service counter. A loud bark of laughter drew his attention to a nearby table where a trio of sailors, long at their cups, sat. The veil-clad girls giggled and squealed loudly as they taunted the drunken men with fleeting glimpses of bare skin beneath their colorful, wispy garments.
Grinning stupidly, eyes bright with lust, a sailor reached out and tore the gossamer veils from one of the whirling dancers. The girl, no less a whore than the other two, screeched indignantly at the betrayal of her modesty. The sudden appearance of bare, ample breasts and a slender, twisting torso instantly prompted a dozen defenders. Chaos erupted. Drink-muddled punches connected indiscriminately, blood sprayed from broken noses, and mugs and trenchers crashed to the floor.
Eris tucked his feet beneath his bench and pressed against the wall. He wanted nothing to do with the now tavern-wide brawl. In moments of clear sight, he spotted his agent talking to the bearded man—a large man with a face oddly twisted by scar lines that disappeared into the mass of his black beard. A moment later Tivol signaled that all was well and that he should join them. Returning a signal that he would do so, Eris was halfway to standing and froze in horror. Two men flew toward him, tumbled across the table and all three crashed to the bench. With a resounding crack, the bench collapsed and they sprawled on the stained, wooden floor.
The hood was pulled from Eris’ head. A tumbling mass of raven locks and the face of an exquisitely beautiful woman appeared.
Tivol and the seller stared at him wide-eyed, their faces blank with shock. Tivol knew very well that his client was a man with a quick temper and a sharp sword. A terrible, angry glare contorted the woman's strange, but not altogether unfamiliar face, and did little to dampen its beauty.
“Damn you with the disease of whores!” Eris’ anger exploded. Shoving and kicking the drunken men away with furious disregard, he scrambled for the door through which the seller just exited.
Hands clutched at the hem of his cloak, slowing him. “What a beauty you are, sweet face, perhaps we might share company?”
“Bastard!” Eris spun, kicked the man hard in the chest and left him gasping.
Tivol collapsed against the side of the rough plank counter. Pale and shaken, he grabbed and gulped down the first mug of spirits he found. He trembled in the face of unsuspected sorcery. He thought he knew the faces of all the magic users currently in the city, and generally avoided them. He gulped more ale and went a shade paler as he thought of the huge commission he had probably just lost and slumped to the floor.
In a whirl of curses, kicks and black fabric, Eris ran out onto the wharf looking left then right for the seller; a thousand misfortunes on the drunken curs for ruining his plans.
The bearded man had disappeared. There was no way of knowing where he went, or whether he was still amenable to the sale, which Tivol had negotiated over several weeks. Now, after seeing what he had, perhaps the seller felt betrayed by both buyer and agent and would seek another buyer. A moment of uncharacteristic panic prickled through Eris.
After brief consideration, emotions quickly settling, Eris smirked and pulled the hood over his head. The big man wouldn’t be far. In fact, he was probably hiding, watching from one of the many shadows that hugged the buildings on the leagues-long wharf. He wouldn’t be fool enough to pass up a chance at a heavy pouch of gold carried by a mere ‘woman’, and the treasure as well. What was it Tivol said about greed and traps?
Choosing an alley behind closed shops and away from prying eyes, Eris’ cloaked silhouette faded in and out of the shadows created by mountains of water-stained crates and piles of tattered sails. All was silent but for the occasional, muffled outburst of raucous laughter from one of the other taverns. Seawater sloshed beneath the great pier. It lapped against the wooden planking now that the tide had come in and sent up tiny rivulets through the cracks. The sound was too soothing, too gentle to accompany what was likely to unfold.
“That’s far enough, Eris Pann,” a voice sneered.
Eris spun to face the huge man, who stepped with dangerous intent into the rising red moon’s faint light. Evil and malcontent filled the space between them. “Or should I call you ‘Erisa the Wench’. I’m surprised you’ve lived so long without someone discovering the truth about you.”
Eris gripped his sword’s leather-wrapped hilt and drew it from its scabbard.
“You know nothing about me.” His voice sounded neither male nor female.
The black beard smirked. “More than you think.”
“I have the gold. Do you have the stone?”
“Aye, but now I know your secret. All those stories I’ve heard about you were just that—stories. You’re no more a man than am I one of those jades back there. And to think I believed you almost single-handedly wiped out those caravan marauders,” he said humorlessly. “I, for one, won’t be made a fool. So, for your little trickeries, the price just went up.”
It was then Eris realized he was familiar with the man by name and profession; a mercenary with a reputation for changing sides with every sunrise. It didn’t surprise him that he was the one to “find” the curative gemstone.
“The price is set. You know the procedure. Put the stone on the crate, step away and I’ll toss you the gold.”
The man called Slott grinned unpleasantly as the pale scars contorted his face.
“Rules—I spit on them. The first rule in Rennas Baye is that a contract is renegotiable. How much is this stone
really
worth to you? I can find another buyer,” Slott taunted as he dumped the stone from its pouch into his palm. He flipped and caught the bright-green, plum-sized gem in his thick-fingered hand.
“At the price you’re asking, doubt it. I’ve brought enough gold to keep you in good wine and women for a year. Put it on the crate.” Eris raised the sword to a more ready position.
“Then you have a problem, woman.” Slott nodded at the sword. “Want to kill me yourself? Bah, it would be a pitiful attempt.”
“Don’t tempt, for by me you’ll go to Riza’s Pits with a length of steel in your gut. The agreement was made. Put the gem on the crate and hurry. The city guard isn’t completely cowed by this part of town.”
Slott snorted and glanced around.
“New deal. Let’s say we make ourselves comfortable for an hour or so, make the trade, and then you are free to go. What say you?”
Eris made a disgusted sound, but Slott paid no heed to the fury in it. “You’re a bigger fool than I thought.”
“Your secret is mine and I intend to have my reward for discovering it”
Eris said nothing. His feet moved into a fighter’s stance.
For a moment Slott stared at Eris with an amused grin, then chuckled and shook his head. He scarcely believed her audacity.
“You’re going to take this charade to the very end, aren’t you?”
“Laugh all the way to hell, because I have no problem killing you. Give me the gem.”
Slott scowled fiercely. His humor vanished. His face contorted into deep lines and crevices.
“Insolent wench! I’ll give you a fight. And I’ll not stop until you're begging on your knees,” Slott sneered. He dropped the gem back into the pouch and drew his heavy sword.
Eris said nothing, but pushed the cloak over his shoulders.
“You’ll wish you had accepted my offer by the time I’m finished with you,” Slott snarled. “Your death will not be an easy thing at my hand.”
