Elora La’Rille was a profoundly unhappy woman. The assignment had seemed simple enough. Capture a fledgling vampyr and relieve him of the Ring of Olivanticus. Bring both back to Eben’s Spur. The vampyr had a two day headstart, but no mount, no allies and no support. She should have caught him inside of a week, Thandres willing. That week had come and gone over a month ago.
She’d chased her quarry down six hundred miles of Olivantian coast, passing through dozens of hamlets, villages and towns. Yet he was always a day or two ahead. No matter how she pushed her mount, or how diligently she searched.
The vampyr had proven far more resourceful than she’d expected, though in retrospect she shouldn’t have been surprised. Grond had said the vampyr was a godtouched, granting him powers beyond what a normal vampyr would possess. Those powers allowed the vampyr to create illusions and charm the weak willed. That made tracking him far more complicated.
That was how she found herself standing in the freezing rain beside a ramshackle inn in a ragged little town, too small to have a proper name. It was no different than the score that had been come before, though it had worse weather to be sure.
She shoved the door open and strode inside, rain sliding off her arataskin cloak. It kept her dry, though it did little to protect against the cold. Elora lowered the hood and scanned the common room. A dozen fishermen eyed her with open interest, something she was accustomed to. Golden haired women were rare this far south and men liked the exotic.
The guttering fire in the stone hearth fought a losing war with the shadows. Yet it was enough to pick out something interesting. The slender man at the bar eyed her like the others, but his expression was different. There was no lust, only resignation. He turned back to his drink just a bit too quickly.
Given that her quarry was a master of illusions he could appear to be anyone, so she’d need to interact direcly with the man to see if there was any chance he was who she’d been searching for. She crossed the worn oaken floor, stained black from decades of hard use. The fishermen at the tables she passed wore open leers, but she paid them no mind.
She settled atop the rickety barstool next to the slender man. His angular face was a bit too narrow to be called handsome, though be had a strong chin and clear blue eyes some women might fancy. His clothing was ragged, yet he carried himself with the bearing one would expect of nobility. Interesting.
He was focused just a bit too intently on the wooden mug before him, hands grasping it like a drowning man at a piece of driftwood. A dust covered bottle of dark glass stood within easy reach. Good, he’d been drinking. That should make this easier.
Elora gave a start as she noticed the weapon belted at his side. The finely wrought hilt would have drawn attention simply for the craftsmanship, but that wasn’t what seized her breath. The metal was so dark a casual observer might call it black, yet a closer look revealed the truth. It was the deep crimson of a heart wound. The weapon was forged from bloodsteel.
A clear gem the size of a walnut capped the pommel, and she’d bet her cloak it was an earth diamond. The weapon was not just some well crafted sword. It was an eldimagus, a living weapon designed to bond and grow with its wielder. It was very similar to her own blade.
The man’s rapier was beautiful, yet not in a gaudy way like some noble’s dress sword . Those whorls around the hilt would shield the wielder’s hand without restricting movement. Definitely the work of a master. The leather wrapping the pommel was well worn, suggesting the man knew how to wield it. Or at least handled it often. Definitely not the sort of weapon she expected to encounter in a fishing village.
“What’ll you have?” a low voice growled. She shifted her gaze to the older woman looming over her like a vulture. The innkeeper’s scowl could have curdled milk.
“I’ll have whatever he’s drinking,” Elora replied, nodding in the stranger’s direction. The man gave a such a violent start that his elbow sent the bottle spinning away to crash on the floor. The panicked expression he wore was both comical and revealing. Had she found her quarry at last?
“You got coin?” the woman barked, eyes narrowing as if Elora were some strange bitch encroaching on her territory. Did she have designs on her potential target? How odd.
“I have coin,” Elora replied, keeping her tone carefully neutral. She threw open her cloak, revealing the long blade belted at her side. The innkeeper’s eyes widened as they fell upon the sigil on the pommel. She’d obviously seen the eye before and knew what it meant. “I’ll also need a room for the night. How much?”
“Five marks. Good Hasran weight,” the innkeeper replied, hands dropping defiantly to her hips. The statement surprised Elora. Not many were stupid enough to cheat a member of the Unseen.
“I didn’t say I wanted to buy your dirty little inn,” she shot back, weeks of frustration getting the better of her. “Nor do I wish to spend my evening haggling like some wine merchant. I will give you two marks, which is more than the room, a meal and a cup of scut is worth. You’ll take my coin, force a smile and pretend to be pleased about it. Otherwise, I might lose my temper. Have we an accord?”
“We’ve an accord,” the innkeeper asked, face deflating. She wasn’t willing to risk the wrath of an Unseen. Even here the small folk had heard tales. “Hasran weight to that coin?”
“Hasran weight,” Elora agreed. She fished a pair of silver from her pouch and handed them across. The woman snatched them like a hawk diving on a fieldmouse.
“The room leaks a bit, but it’s all I got,” the innkeeper rumbled. She withdrew a dusty bottle from behind the bar and pulled a mug from beneath it. “Sit tight a moment and I’ll get your stew. It ain’t much, but at least it’s hot.”
The woman was suprisingly industrious given her size and disposition, and within moments a bowl of stew and a mug of scut were set before Elora. The innkeeper retreated to the corner, where she shot disapproving looks when she thought Elora wasn’t paying attention.
Now that the innkeeper was dealt with she was free to turn her attention to her quarry. He’d finished his mug of scut and was now eyeing the door that led deeper into the inn. Probably hoping to escape to his room.
“That’s an interesting weapon you’ve got there,” she began, trying to keep her tone light. “I’ve never seen the like. Where did you come by it?”
He shifted on his stool, turning to face her. The man’s old grey eyes seemed out of place in that youthful face, as if he’d seen horrors no man should witness.
“She was my father’s. Her name is Kira Alik,” he replied. His accent was slight, but noticable. He came from eastern Olivantia, which matched what she knew of her quarry.
“That’s ancient Olivantian from around the time of the Fall,” she replied, recognizing the dialect. “It means ‘Dark Defender’, does it not?”
“It does indeed. I am impressed. One does not encounter many educated women in these lands, especially one with such striking hair. Where are you from?” he asked, slight smile curving his lips. He was flirtatious, but still wary.
“I’ve journeyed all the way from Valys,” she admitted, more sure than ever that this was her quarry. Still, she needed to confirm the matter before taking action. There was an easy way to do that. “I came from a little town called Eben’s Spur. Have you heard of it?”
She had him. His eyes widened in shock, but to his credit that was the only reaction.
“I…have heard of the place,” he replied after a long pause. A lesser man might have tried to lie, but he knew it was futile. “Some chance companions hailed from there. They were headed back that way last I knew.”
“Oh?” she asked, leaning closer. She dropped a hand to her boot and eased a slender dagger free. “Perhaps I know them. What were their names?”
“Grond was the most memorable of the lot,” he replied. His hand slipped inside of his cloak. The man was likely preparing to ensorcell her. “You would remember him if you met him. Big fellow with an even bigger axe. I do not think I ever saw him laugh. All business that one.”
“I’ve met him,” she said, sweet smile slipping onto her face a she leaned in. She was close enough to kiss, but nothing that intimate was going to happen. She dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned in still closer, eyes bare inches from his. “If you ever want to father children you’ll remove that hand from your cloak. I’ve heard vampyr regeneration has limits. We can test them if you’d like.”
He glanced down at his crotch. Her dagger was pressed firmly against his inner thigh, the blade a hair’s breadth from doing some very permanent damage. To anyone else in the room she would appear they were locked in a loving embrace.
“Alright, alright. I yield. No need to get violent,” he replied, slowly easing his hand from his cloak. “You have me at a disadvantage in more ways then one. I met several of Grond’s companions, but I am certain he never mentioned you. I’m Talius D’Rynth. And you would be?”
“Here to take you and the ring back to Eben’s Spur,” she gave back smoothly. “You do still have it don’t you? Because if not my hand just might slip…”
“I have the bloody ring. It’s on a leather cord around my neck,” he replied, slowly reaching a hand under a tattered red tunic. She tensed, waiting for him to try something.
He withdrew a slender ring forged from the same metal as the sword. It was studded with different gemstones, each glowing with their own inner light. Talius pulled the cord over his neck and set the ring on the bar.
“There. The ring is yours and I am of no further use to you. Why not let me go?” he asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice. “Listen, I am deeply sorry for the theft. But to my credit I did help your friends deal with a dreadlord. They’d be dead if not for me. So would your town. I saved lives. Hundreds. You owe me at least a little. If you release me I swear you’ll never see me again.”
His words were convincing, but his gaze was resigned. He didn’t believe she’d listen. It was the last effort of a man who’d given up, yet tries to cheat death anyway.
“Very well,” she replied, removing the dagger. She couldn’t help but grin. ”You are free to go.”
