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"The Assassin's Apprentice" is told in first person present tense and has been heavily edited.
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Chapter Fourteen
I push aside an elegant curtain made from heavy black velvet. A roaring fire lights the tavern beyond from a stone fireplace occupying the very center of the room.
I see so many wonderful people here that they literally hang from the rafters. The thick scent of an herb called hashish "mingles" with the bitterness of a sailor's hairy armpit, and I blink my eyes because they sting. But it's only for a few seconds.
Once I adjust, the atmosphere doesn't seem half bad.
My nose detects other scents out there too: fresh ale sweetened with honey has me salivating. I think about the last time I got proper pissed. It seems long ago...years in fact.
The idea makes me thirsty.
Talen tugs on my hand, and I negotiate the crowd with ease following his tight bum through the mesmerized mass. My eyes fall upon a young couple in the center of the room. Swathed in colorful robes, the man throws balls of colored flame to the girl, and she snatches them out of the air like a cat batting at a toy mouse on a string. And just when I think it can't get any better, she juggles the sizzling spheres as if they were oranges. To end the act, the lass tosses each into the fireplace. There's an explosion and a bright flash, and a flaming bird comes shooting out of the coals; it flies about the room chirping a musical song.
I love magic.
"Illusionists," Talen whispers into my ear. "It's not real. The old man there," he gestures with a slender finger, "is performing the trickery. These two are just working the crowd."
I look at the old man who is stern and somewhat frightening.
His gray hair hangs in limp wisps about his neck, and his skin is as colorless and papery as ash. The shadows and highlights created by the room's only light are by no means complimentary. I size him up as I do all those who may have conflict with me. This "wizard" as Talen would have it, is wearing an antiquated smock, trousers, and a pair of mismatched boots.
At one point he meets my gaze and try as I might, he unnerves me. I do look away, but not before I feel he's taken an interest in my activities. It's the first time I've jerked my gaze away from anyone out of fright. It leaves me feeling nervous, as if he's somehow gotten to see a little portion of my soul and stolen away with a part of it.
Talen grips me by the arm and pulls me along. I think we're almost through when someone gropes me between the legs. Curiously, I look back but see only an overweight man with a beard; he does wink at me. Not knowing what else to do, I wink back, and I think it makes his day.
We cross one side of the room and head toward the northeast corner, which is shrouded in shadow. Many sailors sit tight as sardines on wooden benches. Half a dozen times, I bump or kick over mead cups lying about on the floor. Just a few feet further, Logren stands on the left. We close with him, and he reaches out, clasping my shoulder. I steel myself more out of nervous habit than out of fear when I'm suddenly aware I've almost walked into someone.
It's a very short someone. In fact, he only barely reaches my waistline.
"As pey stod it is in more soiour that we be waitin ere fer 'out fer I's olyround b'called Wriln," he says.
I'm beside myself in disbelief and staring at the incredulous expression on the furling's small face. As if mocking me, he's wearing a non-descript gray cloak and boots but has no visible weapons of any kind. "What?" I ask. "What in Tethyr's Teeth did you just say?"
Talen rolls his eyes. "This is Wriln," he translates. "He's just told us that he goes by that name often."
"How do you know that's what he said?"
Talen shrugs, and then taps his skull with the point of his left hand. "I don't know exactly. I just understand him. Maybe I'm just gifted." He leans next to me and whispers as coyly as possible, "How do I know what you like?" He gently grips my codpiece, and I can feel his strength through my armor. "We could ask 'how' all day, right chum?"
"You think you're so clever," I whisper back and let the heat of my breath tease his earlobe. I know he's curling his toes in his boots and trying to stay professional. "Two can play at that game." I wink and Talen scowls; it's just the reaction I want.
I turn my attention to Wriln who's looking at me with a startled and curious expression. "Is there a place where we can speak privately?" I ask.
He nods. "Certez, lordynges."
He pushes past Logren, and I follow making certain that Talen is behind me. Logren stays put, and Talen wiggles his fingers at me. He explains with the cant that Logren intends to watch for Swift.
Fine. Let the giant man keep watch while we figure out the important stuff.
I follow our mole to a door which he opens with his right hand, or maybe it's a paw.
Fuck if I know to be honest.
Behind the door's a small hallway with a polished oaken floor. I count six other doors which I presume lead to attached rooms for private dinners and other "more colorful" receptions. The hall's dark too, lit by one torch whose smoke marches a black trail across the roof. A tiny window ajar at the far end allows air in and out.
He directs us into a room featuring two chairs and a table. It's a dirty place, and Wriln clambers onto one of the seats and reaches across the table to a candle. He murmurs something equally unintelligible and the candle lights all by itself. The flame sputters and coughs up little bits of white fire. It tosses off a few sparks before it finally decides to behave itself, dancing like a little performer on a wax stage for the entire world to see.
I close the door and marvel quietly to myself. I'm always humbled by the slightest bit of magic though Talen, on the other hand, seems hardly impressed. My boyfriend looks over at me to see if I intend to stand by the door. I signal that I do, so Talen takes the seat across from Wriln and interlaces his fingers while waiting for me to speak.
"We've come from Clothol," I begin to say. "I need information on a precious shipment of jewels... everything you can give me is appreciated. And, my guild promises to pay you as well or better for your services as they've done in the past. The "better" depends on the quality of your information."
Wriln shakes his head. "Yt is a fowll lesynge! Of Clothol schuld to yt wende and quick for withe sette jewels art fer the iustes take of ebon wyzards."
I look to Talen as the dwarf continues to speak and shrug helplessly. "He's not getting shit if he keeps that up."
Talen shakes his head. "He says that what we heard was a half-truth. A lie designed to lure us here. The jewels are real but they're for the ebony wizards." Talen pauses to clarify, "That's the Night Wizard's Guild. Sorry...my translation isn't perfect."
I bite my lower lip. "Sorcerers?"
Talen nods, "And not the amateurs that we saw entertaining the crowd out there. These are the Israfil of Zanda. They're rare in the north. Have you ever seen one?"
"No."
"Imagine a sect of female wizards who've oily black skin and the ability to age a person just by looking at him. They have a cyst inside of them that's filled with worms. Something about stealing another's youth allows them to live a long time. Some of them are centuries old."
Horrified, I imagine my skin drying into nothingness...my youth vanishing in the blink of an eye. "Still," I whisper, "if they don't have the jewels in their possession now, we've time. Ask him where they're being held and see if he knows how long they'll be there."
Talen turns to Wriln and speaks to him at great length.
"'Ey dyd them lyt abowt a greet rowte all pe of Karlyoun. Pe numbre y not how fale." Wrill finishes.
Talen nods. "They're in the museum of Karlyoun, which is on the Street of Obscene Statues. He says that they're guarded by the Slayers of Vas and he doesn't know how many. He knows of a route though that'll take us there unseen. The jewels will be moved by morning," Talen pauses. "If we're going to do this, Kian, our time is running out."
I nod, agreeing with him. "We'll wait another half hour for Swift. If he doesn't show, we're on our own."
Talen turns to Wriln. "Is Lyran planning to strike tonight?"
The mole nods. "Ys. Hyt wyll buskkez with boss and intent to quelle."
By Talen's sober expression I judge that the news is not good. One thing nags at my thoughts, however. Wriln has said that the jewels are meant to lure us here. I can only think that someone in Ladika wants very much to lure Constantine here. So much so that they've put themselves in quite a compromising position just to accomplish their goal. But Constantine isn't here, and that's my ace in my hole, because no one's expecting me.
"You say he knows a secret route to this museum."
Talen nods, "Yes."
"Tell him to take us there; I've changed my mind about waiting. I'll go out and check on Logren. If Swift hasn't shown his face yet, then he'll have to play catch-up."
I shall post Chapter Fifteen soon