The three of them stood in the center of the crumbling warehouse facing the large double-doors, with Mitchell out front between the two girls – Allora on his right and Lethelin on his left. Her bow was in hand and Allora’s sword was out, as was Mitchell’s. There wasn’t likely to be an attack, at least not right away, but Mitchell wasn’t about to be caught unawares. He sensed more than heard Vras in the rafters, skulking about, and that brought him immense comfort.
In just a moment, the sound of voices came drifting through the rotting planks and crumbling stone and then the smaller door inset into the larger door on the right was forced open on rusted hinges, the screech of tortured metal shockingly loud in the quiet space. A child stepped in and a shimmering field immediately sprung into place around him and he braced as if expecting an attack. With his boosted vision he could see the youngster peering into the darkness beyond until his eyes locked onto Mitchell and the girls. He studied them and Mitchell studied him right back.
It was then that Mitchell noticed he looked shockingly old for a child. As he paused to ponder, it clicked and he realized he was looking at a halfling, which made a lot more sense. He didn’t want to think about the kind of person that would press a child into service and then make them first through the door.
“There gonna be a problem?” he asked, his voice gruff and gravelly.
“That depends on your boss, doesn’t it?” Mitchell told him, his voice flat. “He’s the one keeping us in here.”
“Seems you got a little handsy with Jonan,” the short man said, his shield shimmering slightly in the gloom.
“Seems Jonan wasn’t honest and he’s lucky all I did was use my hands. I don’t like being lied to.”
The short man grunted.
“Sereg wants to talk. Answer his questions and you’ll likely be free to go.”
“If he commits no violence against me and my companions, then I will do no violence against him. I give my word.”
The caster stared at the three of them a few heartbeats more, then turned his head and spoke quietly through the door. It wasn’t meant for Mitchell to hear, he was sure, but he could pick it up just fine.
“Three of them, sir. Bow and two blades, man and the elf are casters. Too dark to see how many stones he has on his sevith, but I can make out three on the elf’s krisa. Nothing glimmering. What you want to do?”
There was a pause, then Mitchell could make out another male’s voice, just barely.
“Let’s see what gifts the redhead brought me, then. Stick to the plan.”
Mitchell saw the man nod, then he dropped the shield and stepped aside.
In walked a man as tall as Mitchell, but leaner. His blonde hair was cropped short into almost a high-and tight style like Marines often wore. Short on the sides and spikey on the top. His face was smooth and he looked no older than Mitchell, but he also wasn’t human. At least not fully. His eyes didn’t have the same angularity that the other elves had, but his ears also weren’t rounded like a human’s either. Mitchell could see that he had blue eyes which were almost glass-like but didn’t have that sort of glow present with the other elves. He was strikingly handsome. All-American good looks didn’t quite cover it. He was that and more, some sort of alien beauty.
His outfit was of a style that Mitchell hadn’t seen before. It looked to be a strange hybrid of toga and breeches. The toga portion was tucked into the front of the breeches but the sides flared out like a cloak at his back. There was a long rapier at his left hip and a sevith on his left hand with three stones in it. The pants were black leather, and the toga blouse top was a deep blue. It looked to be made of sterner stuff than silk and Mitchell could make out runes etched into the fabric that glimmered ever so slightly in the darkness.
The man, Sereg, Mitchell presumed. Stepped into the room and forward several steps and behind him came three more figures. A human woman, a male dwarf, and another human male. Once the little entourage was through, the halfling swung the door shut and then, as one, they all began to walk forward. The dwarf had a moderately-sized war hammer held in both hands, the woman had two scimitars, and the man sported a staff about a head taller than Mitchell. All of them wore armor of some fashion or another, the dwarf being the most heavily protected of the lot, with plates of steel over his bulky frame. The man with the staff was wearing robes but Mitchell could see there were plates sewn into it at different sections similar to his gambeson, and the woman was wearing form-hugging leather armor that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
Unlike the thugs they’d fought back in Iletish, all of them were moving like they knew what they were doing. Mitchell was seasoned enough at this point to spot those who knew how to use their weapons and those who didn’t. All of them carried their arms with confidence and walked with a casual grace that spoke of being seasoned fighters.
Next to him, Allora sucked in a sharp breath. He turned to her and saw her eyes were wide and locked on the dazzlingly handsome man striding toward them with a dangerous air.
“What is it?” he whispered.
Her eyes flicked to his and she wobbled her head ever so slightly but also stepped back and a little more behind him. A heavy weight began to settle into Mitchell’s stomach as he turned to face their host, who was coming to a stop about two meters away.
“Well,” he said breaking the silence and looking over Mitchell and the girls. “Three gifts indeed.”
He drummed his fingers on the pommel of his sword and then fixed his gaze squarely on Mitchell and let the silence stretch. Mitchell knew this trick though. He kept his mouth closed and met the man’s stare. It wasn’t even that hard as Mitchell found his blue eyes were fascinating. Not human, but not elven, either. Not the flat dead eyes of a doll but still reflective like colored glass.
After almost a full minute of the two groups eying each other up, the man Mitchell presumed to be their host grunted and spoke.
“I’m Edrokii Sereg. I trust our sister from Varset has found the accommodations suitable?”
He flicked his eyes to Lethelin and gave her a feral grin.
“She most certainly does not!” Lethelin snapped. “You would do well to remember the accords, Edrokii Sereg.”
“I have broken no accords,” he said, his voice tight. “But these are dangerous times we live in and I reserve the right to see what is moving through my city.”
His accent reminded Mitchell a lot of the way Allora talked. Measured, precise and with intention. He wasn’t just some street thug who rose up. He had an education, Mitchell surmised. Still, her reaction to seeing this man had troubled him and Mitchell found he needed to know why before they went any further.
“Edrokii Sereg, is it?” Mitchell spoke up then.
The crime lord’s dagger-sharp eyes flicked back to Mitchell and he narrowed them.
“What a strange accent you have. I don’t think I’ve heard the like before. Where are you from?”
“Give me a moment,” Mitchell said, ignoring the question. “I need to talk with my associates.”
Without waiting for an answer, Mitchell turned and placed himself in front of Allora, blocking Sereg’s sight of her and then indicated she should walk to the back wall. Lethelin dutifully followed. Reaching it, gave Mitchell about eight or ten meters but it would have to be enough.
“Okay,” Mitchell whispered. “Who is he?”
“His name is Falen Ne Eristan. His father was a minister Baylor’s council, although I forget what he oversaw. Falen was in the palace often as a child. We would sometimes play together, although he is a few years older.”
“Were you friends?”
“Acquaintances, perhaps,” Allora explained. “He was older, as I said, and once I joined the academy at seven high suns, there was not much time for playing with the other children. We would see each other sometimes at palace functions. More so when I was old enough to start guard duty rotations.”
“Is he likely to recognize you?”
Allora made a face.
“Almost certainly,” Allora said and glanced to Lethelin. “As you are so fond of pointing out, I am the most wanted woman in Awenor.”
Lethelin shrugged and looked apologetic. “Sorry.”
“What can you tell me about him? Anything useful?”
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Allora firmed her lips and Mitchell could see her trying to get her head back into the game. Behind him, someone coughed and made sounds of impatience. Mitchell ignored it.
“His father was well thought of in his role, but I remember hearing that he was a very particular man. Believed strongly in rules and propriety. He was an elf and Falen’s mother was human, but their bond didn’t last and Falen grew up with his father. He liked to claim direct Waivian lineage, going all the way back to before our people came from Manaal.”
“Sounds like someone I would have liked picking the pockets of,” Lethelin mumbled.
“So, dad was uptight, strict, and prided himself on his formality. Now his son is an Edrokin.”
“Edrokii,” Lethelin corrected.
“Edrokii,” Mitchell said. “Think he rebelled?”
Allora shrugged. “I do not know how he could have ended up here and in this position.”
“Is he a threat?” Mitchell asked, at last.
“Everyone is potentially a threat, Mitchell,” Allora said, her voice tinged with sorrow. “We can trust no one.”
“Okay. Let’s go see what he wants.”
The girls looked at him, he nodded, and then they turned to face the crime lord and his crew.
Edrokii Sereg was glaring by the time they returned to their spot.
“I dislike being kept waiting,” he said in a level voice.
“I dislike my companions and I being held,” Mitchell said, matching his tone.
“I was told I had gifts. I came to see what they were.”
From the corner of Mitchell’s eye, he saw Lethelin’s hands begin an intricate set of movements that looked like sign language. The movements were jerky and emphatic and she exhaled forcefully through her nose more than once as her fingers danced. Sereg caught it too, and arched an eyebrow.
“I don’t care if it was a pretense,” he snapped, his ice-chip eyes narrowing.
The hand signs were new, Mitchell thought to himself. But then Sereg –or Felan – continued and Mitchell’s heart seized.
“Now, Allora De Annen,” Felan said slowly peering into the darkness behind Mitchell’s left shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing back in Lorivin and who you’ve brought with you.”
No one spoke. Slowly, Mitchell turned and looked back at Allora, her face flat and hard, her violet eyes panicked. Then she stepped out from behind Mitchell and came up equal to him.
“Hello, Falen. It has been many years.”
Allora’s voice was as flat as her face but Mitchell could read the tension in every line of her body. His own stomach was twisting itself in knots as well and he was fighting the instinct to simply attack and take their chances. There were only four of them and Vras was still on overwatch. If it came to violence, Mitchell liked their chances. His fingers itched to grab his sword and start swinging but he held back. He had asked Lethelin for her council and this was her area of expertise. His gut told him he needed to trust her, no matter how much he wanted to go on the offensive.
“I’d heard rumors you’d been spotted to the south in the Shadow Glen.”
“You have good ears,” she replied.
Falen shrugged.
“Then, I hear that an elf is trying to sneak into the city. ‘Who could that be?’ I asked myself.”
Allora said nothing so Falen continued.
“And here you are,” he said, his long fingers tapping on the hilt of his sword once more. “You must have been moving quickly. Why the rush, I wonder? Why come back?”
“I have business in the city. And what of you? How does a minister’s son come to be an edrokii?”
“Oh, not that interesting, really. Growing up around my father and his work, I was privy to all sorts of information. I started making inroads into the guild as soon as I could find a reliable contact. The hard part was hiding my background. There were many who would have sought to use that to their advantage, maybe even with a ransom. That first year was like trying to tiptoe through bevik territory.
“But with information stolen from my father’s things, I was able to make fast friends with some of the previous Edrokii’s lieutenants. I expected it to take several years before I could claim the title myself, but…”
“But,” Allora finished for him, “When Milandris came, you saw your chance.”
“Something like that. Chaos also brings opportunity if one is bold enough to seize it. When the dust settled, Edrokii Red Fang was dead, as well as some of his most loyal lieutenants, and I claimed his territory.”
“I don’t imagine that sat well with the other edrokii,” Lethelin said.
Falen glanced at her and a corner of his mouth quirked into a little half grin.
“No, it did not. But I’ve managed to hang on to his territory thus far.”
“Well, now that we’ve all caught up, I think we’ll be on our way,” Mitchell interjected. “As Allora said, we’ve business.”
Falen turned his alien eyes on Mitchell then and he got the impression the man was sizing him up, from the tips of his unwashed hair to the bottom of his travel-worn boots. Mitchell saw his eyes take in the sevith and count the stones, and also the sword at his side.
“That accent again. I’ve not heard its like before, and I’ve spoken to those from most of the seven kingdoms. Where are you from, human?”
“Jamaica. Right near the beach,” Mitchell told him, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm. The sense of warning was growing in his gut. Something about the way his retinue were glancing around, acting shifty. He could see sweat on the brows of more than one and caught them glancing at Allora’s blade. He had seen well enough what kind of fear an Onyx Knight could put into people, and this group were definitely afraid. If there were elite special forces on Tewadunn, they were it.
“You’re right, I’ve never heard of it.”
It was Mitchell’s turn to shrug.
“Maybe you should get out of the city more. Big, bold world out there. I appreciate your man getting us behind the walls, but it’s time for us to be on our way. As Allora said, we’ve business in the city.”
“Business in the city,” Falen repeated, his fingers tapping again on his sword hilt. Then, his strange gaze fell back on Allora. “You didn’t really think you could get into the city unnoticed, did you? The last Onyx Knight? You should have stayed away, Allora.”
“Falen…” Allora said, the warning clear in her voice. “Do not do this. You know whom I serve. You know I would not be back unless it was vital to Awen and our people. Your father served with distinction for many years. You know better than most what could happen if you stand in my way.”
His too-perfect face split into a wry grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You’re right, I do. And there was a part of me that considered letting you go on your way once I confirmed it was you.
Mitchell felt his blood go cold at the use of the past tense. Falen flicked his eyes to the halfling and gave a slight nod. Immediately one of the stones on his sevith flashed and Mitchell jerked, ready for an attack, but none came.
“But,” Falen said with a regretful sigh that Mitchell almost believed, “There is a substantial reward for your capture, as well as the capture of any you travel with. And that is coin I need.”
Before he had finished speaking, the door that they had entered through opened again on ancient hinges, the screech echoing in the large room, and more of Falen’s people began to file in. Eight men, Mitchell counted, as the last one closed the door behind him. Mitchell saw a mix of races. Then, from the steps leading down into the basement, more men emerged. Another five of his people came jogging up the steps. Nineteen in total, all of them armed with weapons and several with krisas or seviths. In just seconds they were completely surrounded. Even with Vras, Mitchell knew they couldn’t fight their way out of this.
The silence was thick in the room and the tension was palpable. Mitchell thought he could actually smell the stress and the fear coming off of some of them. Even with their superior numbers, all of them knew they were within striking distance of an Onyx Knight and, if Lethelin was correct, they were risking the wrath of other edrokii by their actions.
“You limp-dicked half-breed son of a toothless dock whore!” Lethelin snarled. “You think word won’t get out about this?” Then she turned her attention to the men and women surrounding them. “I am Lethelin Ne Forlia of Varset. I was apprenticed to Alvi De Demarin and I am the Black Hand of Edrokii Gijak. You’d all better pray to Denass and the moons that word does not travel back to him about this night. Because he will come for you. Denass might show mercy, but Edrokii Gijak will not. This will start a war.”
At the mention of Edrokii Gijak, the two orcs in the group flinched and, although he couldn’t read their expressions very well, they appeared to look uncertain. He saw them glance at each other, then at Lethelin and then at Falen. And the title Black Hand also got the attention of the entire group.
“My soldiers are loyal, Ms. Forlia,” Sereg told her smoothly. “And with the money your bounty will fetch, they know they will be paid handsomely.”
“What in the nine hells was that?” one of the men stationed up behind them suddenly cried out.
“What?” Falen demanded.
“There’s something on the second level. I saw a flash of eyes. Large. Green.”
“Probably just an animal,” someone else said, “with large, green eyes.”
Mitchell gave a low chuckle before answering. That he was laughing in the situation seemed to further upset the group.
“He wanted you to see him, then. He likes it when you’re afraid. It makes you taste better.”
“Who did?” the same man said.
Mitchell turned and found the man who had spoken. An elf wearing light leather armor and holding two daggers in his hand.
“Not a who,” Mitchell told him slowly. “A what.” Then he gave the man a wink.
Falen looked to his right and selected three of his men.
“You three, get up there and bring down whomever is up there. Capture if you can, but if they won’t come quietly, do what you have to do.”
“Not a who,” Mitchell said again, “A what. You really don’t want to do that.”
Such was the conviction in Mitchell’s voice that the three men sent to go after Vras actually hesitated.
“I don’t want your men to die, Falen,” Mitchell told him somberly. “Because they won’t die quietly, I promise you. Anyone you send up there will be killed and their screams will haunt you.”
This was spiraling out of control, Mitchell knew. If those men went up to the second level, there would be no saving them. In the dark, with Vras seeing them coming, Mitchell knew the shadow cat would have no trouble at all. And once the bloodshed started, it wouldn’t stop until he and the girls were either dead or in chains. He had to think and he had to think fast.
What could he do? How could he get them out of this? He had no back up, he had no resources. He was vastly outnumbered and had only the barest hint of what was going on. He could see that the men, despite apparently being loyal to their edrokii, were not thrilled about what was about to go down. Lethelin’s words had struck a nerve. There had to be a way to salvage this.
Mitchell looked to Allora and he could see by the set of her shoulders that she expected violence.
“Think!” he screamed to himself. “There’s always a way out! Think, gods damn it!”
Mitchell started reviewing everything Falen had said. Everything Lethelin and Allora had said. He was missing something, and he knew it. He had to find it if they were going to get out of here. This was a potentially dangerous or deadly situation for him. He wouldn’t be risking it without something driving him. Risking war with other edrokii, with the guild from Varset. Why would he be so stupid? Just for the reward money? It wouldn’t mean much if he wasn’t alive to spend it.
Mitchell’s brain was churning so hard he was actually sweating. Falen must have a knife at his back to be risking so much. All Mitchell had to do was find something he wanted more. But what did he have? Nothing substantial he could offer, that was for sure. All he had was the hope of success. Would it be enough? Then he remembered Allora’s words, that his family claimed Waivian heritage going back thousands of years. He’d chosen a Waivian word as his edrokii title. Maybe that meant he still put stock in the old ways. Then there was the knowledge that fey love to make deals.
“Fuck it,” Mitchell said to himself. “What would Harvey Spector do?”
The men Falen had selected to go up to the second floor were on their way to the broke stairway to find a way to get up there and Mitchell knew they would be dead soon if he didn’t stop them. Then, they all might end up dead.
“I claim protection by the Laws of Hospitality,” Mitchell blurted out into the heavy silence.