The Eye of Glory: Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Talsin’s thoughts were elsewhere. He would probably not have noticed the newcomers were it not for That Ominous Silence, of the sort that descended upon the Fighting Chance once in a while and was almost always followed by a bloodbath.

Talsin looked up, glancing at the doorway like everyone else on the ground floor of the inn. His left hand drifted to the throat of his long scabbard, steadying his sword for a fast draw.

In the dimness of the doorway, framed against the greater darkness of Kerinstye night outside, stood four... five... six... seven bravoes. No, not bravoes. These were uniformed troops. Tradeguards serving the Prince-Mercantile, to judge by their maces and yellow-plumed helms. Their quilt armor and bucklers were identical and of good quality. You could say the same for the Tradeguards themselves.

Talsin bit his lip, glancing around for somewhere to disappear. If this was another of the Prince-Mercantile’s attempts to annex the Fighting Chance then the poor grunts in the doorway just didn’t have one.

A fighting chance, that is.

But if their business was with just someone in particular... someone hovering nervously in the corner of the room wearing a crimson shirt, say... then most of the clientele would let them get on with it. Other than making a few side bets, of course.

Dalden shifted position, lifted the crossbow from the bench and began cocking it. Readying a crossbow while remaining unobserved was one of Dalden’s little talents. It occasionally came in useful, and certainly more often than his ability to impersonate the mating cry of a bull alligator.

The seven Tradeguards moved forward across the room, being careful to avoid jostling the patrons. Talsin swallowed hard. No, they weren’t heading for the bar or the fighting pit. They were spreading out, maces held ready. They were after someone, and Talsin wasn’t taking bets that it about who it was.

“Dalden. Side door,” Talsin said harshly.

“Which one?”

“Any one. Nearest. Ready?”

“Ready... what’s this?” Dalden trailed off. Ardurn had vaulted out of the fighting pit and confronted two of the Tradeguards. Sharp words were exchanged, then one of the guards raised his mace threateningly, ordering this unarmed and bare-chested man to step aside. “Oho! Mistake!” Dalden chuckled.

Ardurn reached out and took the mace away from its owner, sending him sprawling with a mighty shove. The second guard raised his weapon and stepped forward.

“Really dumb!” Dalden said loudly, standing up with his crossbow ready. Ardurn raised his captured weapon for a mighty swing, let the hapless Tradeguard gauge the blow and lift his buckler to block, then kicked him soundly between the legs. The Tradeguard doubled up as other servers moved to stand beside Ardurn. The five remaining Tradeguards took the wiser option of going around the servers, gaining Dalden and Talsin a little more time to edge towards the side door.

The remaining five mace-armed enforcers were only halfway across the room, lost in a sea of hostile patrons, when Talsin’s right hand found the hidden side door catch. He threw it open, ducked into the dark space beyond and slammed it behind Dalden. A few seconds’ fumbling found the outer door latch. Talsin lifted it, then paused for a second, listening. There was nothing but silence from the side alley, but some instinct told him all was not right. He pushed the door open and stepped sharply to the side instead of leaping out to race away down the alley.

Two crossbow bolts hissed through the air where a less paranoid man would have been standing to open the door. They thunked into the timber of the inner door near Dalden’s head.

“Thanks for the warning!” snarled Dalden as Talsin took in the scene in front of him. Two of the crossbowmen facing him in the alley had uselessly discharged their weapons, true. But the advantage was minor since the other seven were still loaded. Two Oafs hulked nearby, fingering their weapons in anticipation. Behind the wall of soldiery stood two figures with empty hands. One was a tall man dressed in clothing of dark leather, his dark, weather-beaten skin disfigured by several large bruises. The other was a tiny child-like woman... an Ilf named Halfassi. Talsin cursed himself for a fool, then cursed Halfassi and a couple of the gods for good measure. It didn’t help much.

The tall man held out his right hand, though he did not approach. “I want it back,” he said softly.

“We sold it... I can take you to the fence if you like....” Talsin babbled.

“They didn’t fence it,” said the Ilf in her soft, musical voice.

“I know. I want the Eye, Talsin. Give it to me and I’ll let you live. You and your lumpy friend who’s trying to aim his crossbow past you. You do realize that if he shoots, the prod will crack your spine, don’t you?”

“You’ll let us go?” Talsin said through a tight throat and dry lips.

“No, I’ll let you live. You’ll be beaten and stripped and chucked in the nearest cesspool, of course, but you’ll survive. Probably.”

“That’s a bit ungrateful! We left you a knife!” Dalden burst out.

“Ah yes. Speaking of which... who did you sell my sword to?”

“I’ll tell you in exchange for....” Talsin began.

“No, you’ll just tell me. Then you’ll hand over the Eye, take your beating and try to crawl out of the muck before the cesstoads nibble you to death. If you’re very lucky the Prince-Mercantile will cancel the bounty on your heads after that. Talsin! I want the Eye!”

Talsin glanced from crossbow to hatchet to crossbow to spiked club, to more crossbows. He reached slowly for the memory tablet in his pocket, trying to think of a clever way to use his meager magic to get out of this one.

“Or we can take it off your slowly-cooling body,” the Ilf suddenly put in. Her tone was still light, her voice musical. Talsin shuddered at the thought of what might have been.

“You know, you could have just taken it off me in the bedroom,” Talsin said almost wistfully. “That’s at least a pleasant way to get robbed blind.”

Light fell on him from behind, bringing with it a waft of the smoky-sweaty smell of the Fighting Chance. The Tradeguards had found the door catch, then. He reached into his secret pocket to hand over the Eye. There was simply nothing else for it.

Dalden heard the door behind him start to open. He swung his crossbow out of the way one-handed and threw his weight against the door. He had meant to hold it closed, but in his desperation he’d forgotten that it opened the other way. Dalden crashed back into the taproom of the Fighting Chance, bowling over two Tradeguards and throwing a third aside with the heavy door. He stomped on the nearest Tradeguard’s head, denting his helm somewhat, and discharged his crossbow into the still-standing man’s chest.

Inside the taproom, a couple more of the Tradeguards were involved in an all-in wresting match with a mob of patrons. Dalden grinned, realizing that the way to the main door was wide open. Or as wide open as it ever was likely to be.

Dalden reached behind him, grabbing Talsin by the shirt, and yanked hard. Talsin grunted as he slammed against the door frame, then staggered backwards into the taproom, tripping over one of the downed Tradeguards. A volley of crossbow bolts slashed the air as they hurtled past into the taproom. Most passed harmlessly over the patrons’ heads, but one, aimed by some wicked demon of fortune, plunged into a shrouded alcove and drew forth a scream of pain.

Dalden kicked the inner door shut, pulled Talsin to his feet and began dragging him across the floor to the main doorway. Most of the patrons, those not directly involved, stayed in their seats, watching the show but alert in case they suddenly became the main attraction.

A stool crashed over, and Talsin yelled, “Dalden! Let go of me! I can walk dammit!”

“Better run then!” Dalden replied and began hurrying across the room, threading between the tables. He knew better than to try to bull his way through. The two Oafs who came through the door seconds later had less sense. Having just burst right through the sturdy timber, a few tables occupied by a mix of degenerate humans and Alfar, intermingled in one hot and sweaty cesspit of alcohol-soused hostility, did not seem to be much of an obstacle to such powerful humanoids. They soon found out different.

Leaving behind the struggling Oafs and the mob of sellswords who’d tried to oppose their passage, Talsin and Dalden wove a path among the tables, heading for the door. They evaded the malicious outstretched boots and the odd hurled dagger to plunge headlong into the street.

The air was cooler outside, though it smelled little better. A different type of filth was still filth. Talsin stopped in the doorway, glancing up and down the packed-earth street. Lights burned in the windows of Lucrissa’s Palace of Bodily Ecstasy opposite and the half-derelict workshop of Julsun The Mad Alchemist farther down. The street was empty but for a few piles of animal dung, some puddles and a corpse.

Talsin grunted as Dalden ran into him from behind. “Why... you stopped?” the shorter man gasped out, taking the opportunity to reload his crossbow.

“Left or right?” Talsin replied.

“Right. Left is into....”

“Yeah,” Talsin cut his friend off. “But right is past the alley where that army was practicing their marksmanship.”

“We’ll sneak past the end of the alley. They’ll all have chased us back inside anyway,” Dalden asserted optimistically. “There’ll be nobody there.”

Talsin groaned, pointing to the right. “That’d be all of them except those six, then,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Okay, we go left!” Dalden snapped, dragging at Talsin’s sleeve. He broke into a careful jog that was the fastest anyone who knew the streets of Kerinstye dared to run. Talsin snapped a fearful glance at the advancing crossbowmen and hurried after him.

The hiss of a crossbow bolt made Talsin wince and almost trip up. He cursed himself for a fool - if you hear it, it’s too late to duck - but what his brain knew to be true, his terrified body refused to believe.

Ahead, Dalden scrambled around a corner, kicking aside a bundle of rags that muttered something about alms and grabbed at his boot. The bundle yelped as Talsin stepped on it and lost his footing. They ran on into the darkness.

After a moment, the pair slowed to a stealthy walk, then took cover in an alcove, listening. Booted footsteps and low soldiers’ voices came from nearby as the crossbowmen began to search. Someone muttered not far away, then yelped.

Dalden’s harsh whisper, almost soundless, reached Talsin’s ear. “Bit of luck they’ll spilt up to search for us,” he said. “Then we’ll whack them.”

“We will not!” replied Talsin. “We’ll very quietly slip back out the way we came and leave them to play with the locals.”

“Kinder to whack them.” Dalden sounded disappointed.

The sounds of searching grew fainter as the crossbowmen widened their coverage. As the first scales-and-feathers stirrings reached their ears, Dalden and Talsin left their hiding place and moved stealthily back the way they’d come. At the first wet thud and choked scream, they ran. Not the careful jog of Kerinstye’s streetwise this time but the headlong full-pelt sprint of two mortally terrified men who knew that to try to fight, or to stop, or simply to look back, was death. So, probably, was running.

But at least it offered a little hope.

They ran. Back past the Fighting Chance where, from the sound of it, a major war was taking place. Past the alley mouth and through a hurried volley of crossbow bolts. Past the whorehouse and the Mad Alchemist’s workshop and into the Plaza of Manifold Victories, its heroic statues long ago melted down for their bronze content. There, they paused to draw ragged breath.

“You... and your women....” gasped Dalden.

“How... was I... to know?” Talsin replied, leaning on a stone plinth that had once supported some great hero’s likeness.

“Easy. They’re... all... trouble. Every one.”

“Hmph,” Talsin retorted for lack of anything better to say. “What now?”

“Dunno. Most of our stuff is in the Fighting Chance. Just a few coins and not even a decent outdoor cloak to our name.”

“Probably just as well. You can get your throat slit for a cloak....” Talsin said. The thought prompted him to start looking around for more trouble.

“All the same, once we cool down we’ll freeze. We need to move on,” Dalden said.

“Agreed. Where?”

“Nowhere’s safe.”

Talsin drew a harsh, chilly breath through clenched teeth. “Right. From the fact they used Tradeguards as a distraction and swordfodder, I’d say the Prince-Mercantile is after our... acquisition. She’s pretty powerful in this end of the city. She could buy anyone who we might turn to.”

“See what I mean about women?” Dalden said sourly.

“Yeah, all women are evil hell-creatures. I know. But where now?” Talsin shivered as the sweat soaking his shirt began to chill him.

“I have an idea,” Dalden said suddenly. “This Eye thing is magical, right?”

“I think so,” Talsin replied.

“Then let’s go to the University and offer them it. The Prince-Magus always buys up magical stuff.”

“Only if it’s interesting,” Talsin said.

“Yeah? Look, Talsin. Everybody, and his dog, tried to kill us for this thing tonight. Sounds interesting to me.”

“Okay. What say we chuck it in the river?”

“Who’d believe we didn’t still have it? Without first cutting our gizzards open to see if we’d swallowed it?”

Talsin grimaced. “Remind me to find a less morbid friend sometime,” he said. “But yes, you’re right. Before we try the University, though, let’s visit Master Ikai.”

“Ikai? Great idea, Talsin. You have it away with your master’s daughter, steal half his arcane library, and vanish with his savings. And now you want to go ask him for help?”

“Got any better ideas?” Talsin snapped.

“No, I’m just pointing out what a dumb one this is,” Dalden said, hefting his crossbow like a talisman against unseen danger. Which in some ways it was.

“Let’s go, then,” Talsin said, moving off into the darkness.

“Right,” said Dalden softly. It was a measure of his deep, if fractious, friendship with Talsin that Dalden did not discharge the crossbow into Talsin’s unprotected back and make off with - or better still, without - the Eye.

Ikai’s house was dark when they finally reached it. Ikai’s house was always dark, even in broad daylight. The clinging shadows held a hint of creeping evil, too. It was an enchantment the old mage had set up years ago to ward off prospective thieves. It was a sort of protective coloration rather than any real deterrent - many of the other houses in this part of town had their own auras of slithering malice or skulking doom. Many of them were for real.

Talsin rapped on the heavy door, stepped back, and waited. Finally a voice spoke from the darkness above. “Crossbow aimed at your head. Away with you.”

“Bugger off, Kahali, and get the Master. I’ve come to settle with him,” Talsin replied. Kahali might be chief apprentice now and in charge of defending the house, but when Talsin had held that post Kahali had been his favorite victim. He’d probably respond out of the habit Talsin had beaten into him. Unless he just shot the ex-senior apprentice out of hand, which had once been a fond dream of Kahali’s.

Silence fell, and lengthened. Not far away, a drunk was set upon by footpads. A few thumps and grunts later the footpads moved on. Dalden watched the performance with cynical disinterest. Amateurs. They’d missed all but the most obvious secret pockets.

Dalden sauntered over to the drunk, who was sitting propped up against a wall nursing some new bruises. He’d had the sense not to try to use the knife at his belt, and had got away with a few punches. He looked up at Dalden and sighed.

Dalden kept one eye on the retiring footpads. They might be amateurs but they could see it wasn’t worth tangling with the likes of Dalden. The drunk slipped a hand into his secret pocket and withdrew a few coins. He held them out with a wry smile.

Dalden accepted the coins with a similar expression. This drunk knew better than to believe that Dalden meant to assist him. He should also have known better than to expect Dalden to just take the money on offer and go.

Dalden kicked the drunk a couple of times, then went through his clothing with the experience of years of footpadding to guide his search. A few more coins rewarded his efforts. He gave the drunk a paternal pat on the head and sauntered back to Talsin’s side just as the heavy door opened.

In the doorway stood Ikai, master of the House of Great Enchantments. Two of his burlier apprentices flanked the mage, holding clubs at the ready. Talsin bowed respectfully. “Master Ikai. I have done you great wrong. I come to make recompense.”

Ikai was not a tall man. His dark skin and the straight black hair, tangled and wild from sleep where in the day it would be neatly braided, marked him as of nomad stock, as did the clan-signs embroidered on his tunic front. His hands were empty, but faint light shone from a point behind him, framing him in a wreath of light that the ignorant might take for an aura of power.

Ikai was not tall, no. Nor powerful, nor even armed. But he stood above Talsin and gazed down as if he were a great lord surveying his realm. Finally, the mage spoke.

“Talsin. You have returned. And full of remorse, you wish to make such restitution as your pitiful talents allow. Am I correct?”

Dalden started to bristle, but Talsin said humbly, “Yes, master. As always you are quite correct.”

“And I suppose you will even have the gall to beg for a place within my household once more, to continue your studies and perhaps become a worthwhile citizen?”

“I would not dare to hope....”

Ikai cut his ex-pupil off. “So you have learned at least a little sense, then. You think I would be such a fool as to allow you within these walls? Not just for what you have done, but because of what you have brought down upon your miserable self.”

Talsin shifted, about to speak. Ikai held up an imperious hand to silence him. “Today a man named Malrein came to this door. He is an important minion of the Prince-Mercantile. Some say that he is her chief enforcer. He said that you had stolen from him an object of some minor worth, and suggested that if you brought it to me, I might wish to hand it and you over to the Prince-Mercantile in return for financial considerations.”

Again, Talsin made to speak.

“Silence! I refused of course. I do not do the bidding of merchants or their princely lords. But I told him that I would decline to help you in any way. And that promise I will honor. I had thought to take from you what you had stolen, and turn you over to the Prince-Mercantile for so-called “justice”, but I took the opportunity to research the object you have stolen. I deduced its nature from Malrein’s description, and I have learned that it is a magical artifact of some age. I will even tell you its powers.”

“But you said....” Talsin began.

“It is the Ruby Eye, the Eye of Glory. It confers great power and physical prowess upon its chosen bearer, and leads him to glorious conquest. It is an artifact of the Time of Vainglory, and it is indeed immensely powerful. So powerful that if I were to take it, I would merely become a target for those who wish to wield the Eye’s power themselves. At present, I am told, it is sought by three of the Princes of the city, a number of Nomad herolings, and a small horde of hired thugs. You have the ability to awaken the Eye’s power, Talsin. You learned that much from me. When you need to, you will be able to waken the Eye.”

“Why’re you telling us this? You said you’d not help us!” demanded Dalden.

“I am telling you because it will not help you in the slightest,” replied Ikai with a wicked smile. “Call it a form of revenge, if you like.” He stepped back into a sudden blaze of light, and when Dalden could again see to shoot, the door was closed. Probably barred, barricaded and ensorcelled, too.

“You know,” said Talsin slowly. “We might be in more trouble than we thought.”