The Tomni'Tai Scroll (Book 1) (28 page)

Kai grinned. “So, what is my first job?” he asked.

“Well, you will have to work with me for a while. My trust is not easily earned, nor should you mistake this as a sign that you have it. You only have a trial offer on the table now. Screw up or backstab me in any way, and I will let Horkin work his magic on you.”

Kai nodded solemnly, his smile gone from his face. “Understood.”

“Since you are just starting with me, I will put you into an entry level position, just long enough for me to test your abilities and your work ethic.”

“I can respect that,” Kai said.

“I run a small outfit. I have only nine other men under my control.” Boots cocked his head to the side and threw his right hand out to the side. “Well, eight now that Calhoun has been retired from service.” Boots reached out for his glass and pulled a bottle of brandy from a drawer behind the desk. He poured half a glass, took a sip, and then continued to fill the glass. “While I do have a couple of protection rackets, I mostly deal in personal protective services. As such, I am sure I could use your talents efficiently.”

Kai leaned back in his chair and waited for the full proposition to be offered to him.

“You see, merchants come through quite often, some of them require protection from thieves and other rogues.”

“So it’s basically temporary protection rackets?” Kai concluded.

Boots shook his head and took another sip of his brandy. “Not exactly,” he said. “While it is true we control the area where Honan’s tavern is and the other businesses that pay us protection money, the merchants that hire us generally do need protection. There are other factions in this city that control various districts. The problem is the city guard doesn’t have a good enough hold on the city to protect our customers’ interests, so they turn to us. Whether it’s a rogue thief, a group of thugs, or a rival faction it falls to us to protect our clients to the full extent possible. Sometimes this involves slitting a few throats or other means of ‘convincing’ the others to leave our clients alone.”

Kai nodded. “Sounds straight forward enough. Protect the client and their goods by any means necessary, and make sure to avoid a run-in with the blundering city guard while dodging rival factions.”

Boots grinned. “Shouldn’t be a problem for a guy like you, right?”

Kai smiled. “Just let me know when you have a job for me. I’ll handle the rest.” Kai clasped his hands and leaned forward on the desk. “What’s my take?”

Boots shrugged. “If you manage to keep our clients happy and elude the city guard I will cut you in for fifteen percent of our profit. You can also use Calhoun’s old bed upstairs for free if you should choose to room with us.”

“Sounds fair,” Kai agreed.

“One thing,” Boots said with a finger raised to the air as he drained the brandy. “I expect you to fix the misunderstanding at Honan’s tavern. You see, if word gets out that we can’t keep one tavern under our control, we won’t be able to keep the others paying protection money. Twenty gold pieces a month may not sound like a large sum to an organization, but when there are nearly one hundred payments made to us for protection each month by various clients….” Boots trailed off and set his glass down with a shrug and an innocent, helpless expression on his face.

Kai nodded. “I’ll fix it,” he promised.

“See that you do,” Boots said. “I’ll throw in ten percent of the protection contracts you collect.”

“Contracts?” Kai repeated.

Boots scoffed. “I assumed you would be taking Calhoun’s old route as part of your regular duties now that you have replaced him.”

Kai sighed, but was quick to respond. “Whatever it takes,” he said. “I just want to move up the chain.”

“That’s a good boy, Brass,” Boots said in a condescending tone. “Also, if you happen to dabble in a bit of thievery on the side, I will not inquire as to the details of your personal dealings so long as you pay a tribute tax to me of ten percent and keep your side business out of my districts. This ten percent will keep you in good standing with my group and will buy you the services of my guild should you run into trouble.”

“I appreciate that,” Kai said. “But, I think I will stick with the jobs you give me for now, at least until I get a better feel for the city.” Kai extended his right hand across the table to seal the deal with a handshake. Boots smiled wide, revealing a mouth full of yellowed teeth.

“Well then, fix Honan’s tavern and then I will give you your first assignment. I have a client arriving in a couple days who has prepaid for our services. Do this right, and you’ll be on your way to meeting Gurn soon enough. Then you can pitch your idea.”

Kai grinned. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

Talon stopped for a moment to drink from the waterskin he had taken from the Scholar’s Tower. Despite having walked in the muggy, humid forest for the better part of the day, the water still felt like freshly melted snow as it ran down his throat and into his stomach. He replaced the stopper and tightened the cap.

He looked around and found a sturdy, tall tree to his left that he could use as a vantage point. He scaled up like a squirrel, jumping from limb to limb quickly and accurately. Once at the top he balanced his weight on a branch while his left hand held firmly around the top of the tree. From this height he could easily see the towering walls and structures ahead. Medlas, the golden city as some called it back on the mainland, glinted and sparkled in the sun. Talon judged it was only another couple of hours away if he maintained a steady walking pace.

He descended from his perch and walked off the road for about fifty yards until he found a sizeable, yet movable, boulder. He grabbed the stone and started to roll it toward a fallen tree. He used a long knife to pry and poke until he found an area of the tree that had rotted away enough for him to carve a hole out of its side. The tree was not hollow, like many other fallen trees, but the wood at this spot was soft enough that once he removed the husky bark he could almost dig out the underlying decayed wood with his hands. After a few minutes of work he wiped his brow and dusted himself free of the orange wood particles. He removed his sword and all other weapons except for his long knife and placed them inside the tree.

Medlas had been declared a weapon-free city after Lemork had been defeated centuries before. Even with his skills, Talon knew that this particular city was locked down tight from the outside. If he had any hope of gaining access to it, or to Jahre, he would have to forfeit all of his weapons. The only reason he carried his long knife was just in case he encountered any trouble on the road, but he knew that once he arrived at Medlas’ gate he would be required to surrender it as well.

After he stuffed his weapons inside he set the bark back in place as best he could and then rolled the boulder to fit snug against it. “That will have to do,” Talon said.

He jogged back out to the road and decided to keep up the quickened pace to Medlas. He was close now. The anticipation coursed through his veins, quickening his feet and sharpening his focus. Jahre was not much longer for the world of the living. In some ways, Talon almost felt as though he owed the elf thanks for shaping him into what he was. Almost. Jahre’s sins definitely outweighed anything else in Talon’s judgment.

As he ran through the woods, his thoughts drifted back to his home. Before his mother had been murdered, and before the village had been razed to the ground, Jahre had come. Talon had been seven then, old enough to remember most of the details. Talon’s father had been angry that Jahre was there. Jahre had been banned from setting foot on the mainland after the Mage Wars. The two of them had argued.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Talon’s father had said.

The old elf had looked Talon right in the eye with those golden, eerie orbs and had the audacity to smile warmly to him, as if they were friends. Even then, Talon knew something was amiss. His father and Jahre argued for almost an hour, though Talon could only recall the tones and volume instead of the actual words the two of them shouted at each other. Talon’s father gave in after a while and agreed to go somewhere with Jahre. Talon’s mother rushed in and sat with Talon on the bed, stroking his hair and telling him everything would be alright. Talon didn’t understand why his mother was so upset. His mother started to cry and when Talon looked up to her that is when he saw his father’s sword still hanging on the hook on the wall.

Talon wriggled free from his mother and yanked the sword down from its hook and ran for the door.

“Where are you going?” his mother shouted.

“Papa needs his sword!” Talon shouted.

“No, Talon come back!” his mother screamed.

“No, he is the captain. He can’t go outside without his sword! If the orcs come again he will need it!”

Talon was out the door and chasing his father down the path leading toward the meadow near their house. He could only faintly make out his father’s outline as the sun was beginning to drop below the horizon.

“Talon!” his mother called from behind.

Talon shook his head. “Orcs attack at night,” Talon said, repeating his father’s oft-given warning. Talon sprinted as fast as he could, but it was not fast enough.

Talon’s father stopped suddenly and dropped to his knees. Jahre pulled a wicked, curved knife from his belt and plunged the blade deep into Talon’s father’s back. Then the elf pulled his hair back in one hand and raised his knife to Talon’s father’s throat.

“NO!” Talon had screamed. He pushed harder and faster, but his feet could not close the distance in time. His father arched back to look at him and held a hand out for him. Then Jahre opened his throat with the knife.

A vine appeared out of the ground and wrapped around Talon’s ankle, thrusting him to the ground. Talon fumbled his father’s sword and struggled against the vine as it coiled multiple times around his leg like a massive, wooden snake. He could only watch in horror as Jahre plunged the knife into his father’s heart. Jahre chanted an incantation, summoning forth a god from the underworld.

Talon watched in horror as a black hole ripped through the air above his father. Through the hole stepped an immensely large figure. His feet were shawed with burning coals. Ash fell from his feet as he walked, but the being felt no pain. His legs were massive, muscular limbs that were each larger than Jahre’s entire body. Next the being grabbed onto the edge of the hole with a decaying left hand with skin that hung loosely from the exposed finger bones. The arm itself was still encased in skin, though it appeared pale and dead. A hooded vest covered the being’s torso and head.

“Khefir,” Jahre said respectfully. “I herewith present my offering, as we agreed.”

Talon opened his mouth to scream, but a vine wrapped over it like a gag and silenced him. He wrestled against it, but several more green vines enveloped him before he could escape.

Khefir reached up with his rotting hand and pulled back his hood. Talon froze instantly when he saw Khefir’s yellow skull. Black orbs looked down to Jahre and then to Talon’s father. Long, coarse white hair rustled in the evening wind behind Khefir’s skull. Khefir’s jaw bone freely moved and clicked as he spoke. “I accept your offering,” Khefir declared. He stretched forth his hand and pointed to Jahre’s knife. A black spark leapt from Khefir’s exposed index finger bone to the knife and the blood thereon began to glow. “See that you do not disturb me again, wicked elf,” Khefir threatened.

A group of massive, black tendrils burst through the ground, heaving dirt and grass through the air as they reached up and wrapped around Talon’s father. Then, they pulled him into the dirt as easily as if he had been made of water. Afterward, Khefir returned through his portal and the black hole resealed.

Jahre looked to the ground where Talon’s father had been and then he turned to face Talon. “Go home, boy,” Jahre said. The elf stretched his hand out and the green vines released their hold. Talon remained on the ground, petrified. Jahre approached and picked up the sword Talon had dropped. He pulled the blade from its sheath and examined it for a moment.

Talon felt numb, as though he were in a terrible dream. He couldn’t bring his body to move, nor his mouth to scream. All he could do was stare up at the wicked, wrinkled elf examining his father’s sword. “I once told my son something, and now I will tell you the same thing,” Jahre hissed. He looked down and locked eyes with Talon, but this time there was no pretense, no warm smile. There was only bitterness and hatred. “If you want to protect those you love, you will need to be faster, stronger, and smarter than your enemy.”

Jahre flipped the sword over and plunged the point into the dirt next to Talon’s face. The blade sliced over Talon’s cheekbone. The pain ignited Talon’s instinct and he recoiled away quickly. He leapt to his feet and charged forward, hands outstretched for his father’s sword.

“Faster, stronger, and smarter,” Jahre hissed again. Then he was gone.

Talon ripped the sword free and hacked away at the air. He had swung furiously until he had exhausted himself. His heart had pounded so hard that his vision started to blur. His lungs had burned badly before he had finally stopped, much like they were burning now.

As Talon’s thoughts returned to the present he realized that he was sprinting at full capacity. His feet pounded the road below. His chest heaved as he sucked in each breath and it burned as he forced the air out quickly only to pull in another. He slowed his pace back to a moderate jog and held his head up straighter, aligning his neck and spine to allow for maximum air flow.

Several yards later he slowed again to a brisk walk and turned to look behind him. He silently berated himself for allowing his emotions to take over. He couldn’t remember anything about the road from the point he had started jogging. He wasn’t aware of when he had started sprinting, let alone how long he had been doing it or what animals may have been in the forests. Even looking back at the road he had already travelled over was not enough to jog his memory. It was as if he had completely relived his memory, and the only running he had done was to that forsaken meadow.

He reached for his waterskin and took another drink. The icy water cooled his body and calmed his spirit. He knew he had to maintain complete focus until after he succeeded. He replaced the stopper and managed to slow his breathing to normal, and within a few moments he was able to suppress the memories again and control his focus. “It’s bigger than that now,” Talon reminded himself. “There is a prize bigger than the elf.” Talon centered his thoughts on the Tomni’Tai Scroll. Fulfilling his oath to his father was going to be satisfying, there was no denying it, but the scroll offered something even greater. Immortality and power beyond measure.

Simply because the goal was so marvelous, Talon knew he had to make sure he was in control. He had a special exercise for just this kind of occasion.

Talon pulled his long knife from its sheath and looked around. He spotted a birch tree about thirty yards away. Its bark peeled away from the trunk in patches, and there were several knots from branches that had sprouted but either fallen away or had been pulled from the tree by wildlife. Talon spied a small knot in the tree about six feet above the ground. The knot was roughly three inches in diameter. Talon flipped the knife over to grip it by the blade and let it fly. He watched as the blade twirled effortlessly through the air to sink dead center into the knot. Pleased with the result, he nodded to himself and walked to retrieve his blade.

After pulling the blade from the tree he walked back to where he had thrown from. This time, however, he walked another ten paces farther from the tree. Then, keeping his back to the tree he centered his breathing and half closed his eyes for just a moment. In his mind he called forth a foe. He pictured a man clothed in black garb approaching him from behind through the trees. The man was readying a bow. He pulled back on the string and stepped into position, raising his bow to take aim at Talon’s back.

Talon whirled and hurled his knife at his shadow foe. The blade whistled briefly and then thunked into the tree. “Center again,” Talon remarked. His eyes saw the knife’s handle protruding from the knot in the tree, but his mind’s eye pictured the blade in his shadow foe’s skull.

When he retrieved the blade this time he sheathed it and continued on his journey. The exercise was brief, but it had fulfilled its purpose. He kept his senses alert throughout the rest of the walk to Medlas, but aside from two rabbits, an osprey, and the occasional snail climbing a tree trunk there were no other signs of life along the road. It gave him plenty of time to rehearse his plans in his head.

He didn’t know where Jahre would be, so he devised many strategies and methods to hunt him down. In the end he settled on none of them, preferring to decide only after arriving in the city and discovering the lay of the land. However, creating multiple strategies was another type of exercise he performed often to keep his mind sharp. There were two things he had learned in his life to be absolutely true. The first was there is no such thing as a perfect plan, so there was always a need for a contingency plan. The second truth was that most plans do not survive the heat of action. Victory goes to the strategist who executes the best plan, with two great plans in reserve, and is still able to think on his feet during battle when all plans prove fatally flawed.

Talon was probably on his three-hundredth scenario by the time he arrived at Medlas. The pink granite wall sparkled in the diminishing sunlight as the golden orb sunk below the forest behind him. Two rounded towers protruded from the wall, each topped with freshly polished brass and copper shingles. A couple of Svetli’Tai Kruks walked along the wall behind the parapets with their long bows slung across their backs. Another pair of Svetli’Tai Kruks stood at the base of the great, golden gate. The door itself was rectangular, reaching well above thirty feet in the gatehouse. An iron portcullis was secured into the ceiling in front of the golden entryway. Talon knew that there was an identical portcullis behind the gate as well, though he could not see it.

One of the elf guards approached. “We are going to close the gate soon. Do you wish to come in for the night?” he asked.