The Gems of Raga-Tor (Elemental Legends Book 1) (2 page)

Eris said nothing and set his stance.

Face to face, their swords arced and clashed in a shower of yellow sparks. Eris stepped back and swung low. The blades scraped together again, points to the wooden planking.

Skipping back, Eris made an off balance move drawing Slott eagerly forward. Eris’ blade flicked upward cutting through Slott’s breeches and deftly countered his slashing stroke.

Slott glanced down, surprised, as through the rip in the fabric, a stinging, red line appeared on his thigh. He had just underestimated the skill of his opponent and fell for a risky trick of an experienced swordsman; or rather, a lucky swordswoman.

Three times Slott came for Eris. Three times his attacks were repelled.

“Damned bitch!” Slott grimaced and breathed hard. His leg stung and burned as blood ran down his leg. “No more holding back. No trying to save your pretty face.”

“What generosity.” Eris assumed a cocky stance. His unexpectedly swift and unchecked stroke slashed across Slott’s belly beneath his leather breastplate. “That could have cost you your dinner.”

Slott didn’t see the devilishly amused smile that flickered for a moment on his opponent's face.

Slott sucked in his breath as he drew away. Rage, fueled by a woman’s taunts, and her bit of luck, made him growl with fury. No woman was this skilled. He raised his weapon overhead to deliver a crushing, two-handed strike that no amount of skill could prevail against. Only brute strength equal to his could stop him and unyielding strength met his blow.

Eris kicked the stunned man back. Slott stumbled and fell backwards over a low pile of crates. Eris’ sword was at his throat.

“Give me the gem and I’ll let you live,” Eris warned.

“Go to hell, bitch!” Slott snarled, grabbed a crate and threw it.

Eris blocked the box and Slott rolled. He screamed in agony when Eris lunged and his blade stabbed through the back of his thigh. Warm blood pulsed from the wound, the artery cut. Slott grabbed for the wound to staunch the flow.

Eris kicked him to his back and blood flowed onto the wooden pier. His sword’s point pressed against Slott’s throat.

“Give Riza my regards,” Eris sneered as Slott grimaced.

“Cursed wench! Take off that hood!” Slott shouted furiously. His hands trembled, his strength flowed from him.

Eris squatted next to him. “First things first, my friend,” he said sarcastically, and cut the pouch from Slott’s belt. The gem dropped into his palm. “A pretty thing, isn’t it?”

Eris held the stone to Slott’s dimming eyes before he slipped it into a concealed pouch in the bracer buckled to his sword arm.

“Too bad you didn’t take the gold. Now you have no gem, no gold, and,” Eris bent closer and whispered, “no life.”

“The hood,” Slott slurred.

Eris pulled back the hood.

Slott’s eyes widened. Even with his vision fading there was no mistaking the masculine face, with a trace of stubble, that smiled a vague, disarming smile down at him; a face of deadly arrogance that suddenly smiled wickedly at seeing surprise consume the dying man’s face.

“If it’s any consolation,” Eris said, cutting Slott’s coin pouch from his belt, “you do know my secret. Too bad you won’t live long enough to figure it out.”

“You bas—”

Riza, lord of the pits of damnation, claimed Slott mid-word. A shiver rippled up Eris’ back. In the night’s cool blackness, he sensed the dread passage of the demon-lord. Seeing from the corner of his eye, he knew Azoreth sharpened its crescent with the blood of a man.

It wasn’t the clean exchange he and Tivol had planned, but it was done. Soon, he would be back in his room in the company of a very good bottle of wine. As for women, he’d had more than his fill of them.

He had only walked several paces, when he paused and cocked his head slightly to one side; a misplaced sound. His senses, still heightened and wary, reached out into the red-black. Again he heard a muffled, quick scrape. This time he knew it was a heavy-soled shoe moving against the planking. Someone lurked in the shadows behind him.

It wasn’t the city guard or they would already be dragging him to the nearest gibbet for killing the man. He was sure that whoever it was could hardly be more trouble than the last. Likely a desperate sort who had seen the exchange and desired the extra pouch of coins.

Sword still in hand, Eris held it ready beneath the folds of his cloak. The end of the alley, where it opened onto the lighted wharf and the sea, was a short distance ahead. The thief needed to act soon. Eris smiled. The night was proving more profitable than he ever imagined. Perhaps he would add a few more coins to his fattening purse. He continued on.

The clumsy scrape sounded again, but suddenly much closer than he anticipated. Eris swung around into his fighting stance. At the same moment, he heard the clicked release and whistle of a crossbow quarrel as it flew in the darkness. He froze. There was but a moment to hope the assailant was unskilled, when the quarrel thunked into the wood behind him.

Eris let out his breath with hardly a sound and glanced behind. It was close, too close. The quarrel caught and pinned a portion of his cloak to the wooden plank door behind him. His eyes quickly scanned the darkness. He saw no one. He reached up to untie the garment and escape before the bow was reset.

“Don’t move,” a voice growled out of the red-tinged darkness. Eris paused. “Or the next shot goes right between your eyes.”

“Step away from those crates and show yourself, coward,” Eris demanded. He despised cowardice, especially when it was directed at him.

“Now, calm down, my boy. I was only trying to get your attention.”

Eris was taken aback. The voice was almost…friendly.

“You’ve got it. What do you want?”

“I want a few words with you.”

“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. If you’re a friend of that rotting flesh yonder, let’s be at it. I’m not interested in conversation.”

“I’m not selling anything. And I certainly have no wish to fight you.” The voice had a slow, rambling tone. “I just want you to hear me out. Give me a few moments of your time.”

Eliciting no response from Eris, the speaker continued.

“Now, I realize my request will seem odd as we have never met, but I want to speak with you about forming…shall we say…a working partnership. An alliance, if you will.”

“Save your breath. I’m not interested especially if this is your idea of an introduction. I’ll direct you to a tavern where you’ll find the sort of idiot you want.”

“On another occasion, perhaps, but I’m not looking for a half-witted fool—not this time anyway. You’re just the one I’ve been looking for.”

“Then I’ll give you the name of my agent and he’ll make the arrangements. My services are not cheap,” Eris said.

“You certainly have a very fine opinion of yourself.”

“What I think doesn’t matter. My services to certain members of this city haven’t gone unnoticed.”

“No, I guess they haven’t. Perhaps, that’s part of your appeal.”

“Don’t flatter me. I’d just as soon see you hung. Do I make myself clear?” Eris wondered if he should try untying his cloak again.

“Perfectly. However, what I have in mind doesn’t involve contracts or money. You know, I really dislike this “agent” system this city seems to thrive on. Makes for a very slow way to get anything done.”

“Much like your dragging conversation,” Eris commented, irritated. “What do you want?”

“I’m trying to make this as appealing to you as possible. Let’s just say I need a partnership…more or less like two friends working for each other’s mutual benefit.”

“Really? And you find it amusing to pin your wanted
friend
to a door with a quarrel?” His temper rose as did his left hand toward the cloak’s cording.

“I really have no intention of harming you. And what I'm proposing, if you’ll just listen, will benefit us both in the end,” the hidden voice assured.

“Good. Then see my agent if you want my services. I’m leaving. The air grows chill.”

Eris had almost reached the cord at his throat, when the air whistled and another quarrel plunked itself into the plank between his feet. He looked down at the quivering wooden shaft between his legs, then into the darkness trying to see his tormentor.

“Verin’s manhood!” he exclaimed, feeling more shocked than angry. His patience was gone.

“You almost lost yours,” the stranger chuckled.

“Damn you! Get out here and tell me what you want. I’ve no time for these insulting games.” No hiding coward was going to make a fool out of him.

“That’s more like it, Eris.”

Instantly Eris heeded the warning voice screaming in his head as a stack of crates began to move. The stranger knew his name. He wondered if this man had followed him from the tavern, or chanced upon him here. Slott had managed to learn his name and wasn’t afraid to use it. It was possible this new menace had witnessed that encounter and learned it that way. In any case, he needed to choose his path cautiously lest the morning sun shine on his bloated corpse floating in the briny bay.

It was only by the faintest light that Eris saw the man, a big man. As the stranger moved away from the shadows, Eris saw he was bigger than Slott, but with a face and head thick with burnished red hair. His shoulders were broad and he had the appearance of needing both feet flat on the ground to support his mighty girth. He stood nearly a head taller than Eris, who himself towered over the general populace by at least the same amount. Though travel-worn and stained, his clothing was well made. He wore a curved blade on his hip and the polished hilt of a knife stood up from one sturdy, brown boot top. In addition to the crossbow, spanned and once again aimed at him, Eris saw a longbow hanging slack-stringed across his chest and back.

After quickly sizing up the man, Eris realized this was no one to cross. The man could span a crossbow faster than anyone he’d ever met. He tried hard to bury his swaggering arrogance.

“Well?” Eris prompted, warily, yet impatiently.

“That gem you acquired this eve belongs to me,” the stranger said.

Eris regarded the man with a furrowed brow. His hand tightened and untightened around the sword’s hilt. With every passing word the stranger became more dangerous.

“And what gem would that be?”

“Now who’s playing games, eh, my boy? I tell you, the gem is mine. I can prove it, but the story is long. Perhaps we should go back to your lodgings?” the red-faced man suggested, pleasantly.

“The gem belongs to no man. It belongs—”
Careful!
“It’s really none of your business who it belongs to, and you’re not coming to my quarters. If you want the gem, you’ll have to kill me for it.”

“As I told you before, I have no intention of killing you—at least not yet.” His shrug rocked the crossbow. “Now, making an assumption about your sudden loss for words, I’m going to assume that you know the story of Raga-Tor, Red Vale sorcerer, the one who had his three power gems stolen. They say he dreams in an enchanted sleep in some far off place. But, as I said, I think you know that. You know just as well that the green gem you have also belongs to him—belongs to me. I am Raga-Tor.”

Eris remained silent. Of course he knew about the gem, and the powers he hoped to pry from it. He was also fairly certain the man was lying. If he was trying to assume the title of Raga-Tor, he was doing a poor job of it. A sorcerer of the reputed caliber and legend of Raga-Tor, a first-level elemental, would hardly stand before him and politely ask for his stone back. As Eris understood the ways of magic, it wasn't possible for the sorcerer to be ensconced in a magical sleep, and at the same time stand in front of him and make claim to the green stone.

“Your silence convinces me I’m right. Yes, you are as shrewd and wary as I thought. I'm glad to know I haven’t misjudged you.”

Eris was annoyed. His silence proved nothing, except that he considered the conversation a waste of time. His mind wandered and a thought came to him. He wondered if he was in the right alley. Wishing for a bit of luck, he assumed a bored demeanor as the red beard prattled on. He let his eyes wander over the expanse of planking around him. He nearly smiled, when he spotted a piece of wood no more than a hand-span across with large, brass nails pounded into each corner.

It was the spring to a cleverly disguised trap door. Several times in the recent past he used the little convenience to rid himself of incriminating evidence by sending it into the sluggish water beneath the pier. Pretending to shift his weight from one foot to the other, he took half a step backward clearing himself of the door. The red beard stood right in the center. The fates had not abandoned him and he felt he had won a small triumph over the fate-twisted city.

Eris listened with feigned interest as the red-bearded man continued his long-winded discussion outlining their proposed joint venture. A nod now and then kept him talking with enthusiasm. Slowly, Eris moved his left wrist back and forth until he felt the dagger he carried in the bracer slide into his palm. Careful not to drop it, he eased the point out of the sheath and balanced the weapon in his hand. If his aim was true, and usually it was, and the dagger thrown forcefully enough to spring the trap, then his escape would be successful. If not, the fates would have to sort it out.

The air trembled and Riza chuckled in his fiery pit. Perhaps tonight he would add one more soul to his domain.

“So, my boy, what do you think of my proposal?” the man asked.

“Quite frankly,” Eris said, raising his arm at the elbow, “I really haven’t been listening.”

The dagger shot out of his hand and landed solidly in the center of the square. The trap door fell open. The crossbow flew from the red-beard’s hands as he tried to grab the sides of the pier to stop his fall, but missed. The heavy stranger went down into the sea with a horrified gasp.

Eris’ quick smile turned to a startled stare as the black water unexpectedly, inexplicably, began to roil and bubble. The trap door swung up and closed with a decisive click of its locking pin. A brilliant, fiery glow, brighter than any reflection of Azoreth, appeared beneath the planking and grew steadily bigger and brighter.