Marc thought for a moment, “We will fight if we have to, but
we are not actively seeking them out. The crystals are the most important thing
here, and reaching the Oracle, not bounty hunting. If we end up fighting, and
killing the dragons, then so be it, we can claim a reward, but that is not our
goal. We go with what we have and travel to Terga to resupply. Let’s take a
break for the rest of the day, have a goodnight’s rest, and head out early
tomorrow at sunrise.”
Marc felt confident in his instructions, even surprised at
himself at his taking charge. He felt good, not just about himself, but about
the plan.
“Well,” Marc said, rolling up the map, “that’s it for now.”
Zildjin found himself alone at one
of Fairlake’s cobbler shops.
Eleanor had done excellent work with his boots but he had
cut a large portion of the leather on his right boot sword fighting with
Sesuadra the other night and was finally glad to get the chance to get it
fixed. Marc had come with him. They reminisced about Eleanor and Kolima.
Zildjin knew his friend wished they could go back, that exchanging letters was
just not the same as saying goodbye in person. He noticed how much of an effect
Eleanor had had on Marc, and knew just how he felt. Eleanor had played a
substantial part in his own life as well. He always thought back to the cold
and dreary day he had been left at the Kolima port as a child. Sometimes he
imagined that his parents had simply accidently forgotten him, and even now
were searching desperately for him. But he knew the truth. When he had come of
age Eleanor had told him that his parents ship never reached its intended port,
forever lost at sea, most likely attacked and sunk by pirates.
Destiny.
Zildjin thought the name bitterly. It was the name of the
ship his parents had sailed on.
He did not believe in destiny.
He thought it was lucky Eleanor had found him a fortnight
later, starving and dying, not destiny. She had taken him in and nursed him
back to help. He was the son she could never have, and then Sesuadra came along
too.
Luck,
he said to himself,
pure and simple.
He missed Eleanor too, but, with the way things appeared,
going back to Kolima would be bad news. Sure the matter would probably resolve
itself, what with Eleanor’s good standing in the Magic District, and Zildjin
and Sesuadra’s good work with Soren, but, then again, Marc was not their
cousin, despite what Soren had said. That might end up being a difficult thing
explaining away.
Why no, Overseer, Marcus does not, in fact, have a home
in Lyrridia. You see, two magical beings who I believe can be none other than
Exalted Spirits themselves, brought him here. Also, he has the Sword of the
Phoenix, and yeah, he’s my friend, so you and all your little Hands and guards
here, just better not mess with us.
Zildjin smiled at himself as his imagination played out a
very gruesome and thrilling scene of swashbuckling and magical explosions as he
cut and stabbed his way through hundreds of protectors to face off against the
Overseer himself. Marc, meanwhile, wielded the fire of the phoenix against the
Overseer’s hands, countering their magic, which was weak in comparison.
Sesuadra, of course, jumped in ever so silently, his curved blade swinging
wildly, to help fight the now giant and heavily armored leader of Kolima.
“Your boot, sir,”
“Huh?” Zildjin was pulled from his day dream, “Ah, yes, of
course.”
Zildjin took the now perfectly mended boot from the cobbler.
The man held out his hand, expecting payment in the full and
correct amount.
“Right,” Zildjin said, understanding the action. He fished
in his knapsack for his coin bag.
He brought it out and emptied it into the man’s open palm.
The man exchanged a small number of coins back for the
remainder and thanked Zildjin for the payment.
“Very fine job sir!” Zildjin said, hoping that the praise
would be enough to warrant an extra return of coins.
The man nodded but made no move to give out additional
coins. The man turned back to his work table and picked up another project that
required his attention, bidding Zildjin a good day.
“Rats,” Zildjin mumbled quietly after he put on his newly
mended boot, and left.
The sun was low in the sky, nearing dusk. They had all
agreed to return to the Inn for last meal at dark so he figured he should head
back.
He shook his coin bag, it barely jingled. He was almost
broke, but so were the others.
Not much coin in this line of work
.
Zildjin thought, meaning gathering the crystals together and saving everyone
from an early gruesome death, or a prolonged agonizing life under the tyrannical
rule of a dark and powerful mage who indeed must have changed his thinker with
that of a mudlunk.
Marcus is right
, he continued to himself,
if we do
meet dragons in Terga, we should try and take them out. We would not only be
doing the town a favor, but getting a little coin for the effort too, a good
deal, all in all. And the ladies, well, they might just have a mind to thank us
for saving them too, in whatever way they could.
He smiled, imagining
courting several beautiful young women all who swooned easily over him.
He was brought out of his daydream when he slightly bumped
into a man.
“Watch it!”
“Sorry,” Zildjin replied, giving a short bow.
The man quickly seemed to forget about Zildjin, his
attention focused back on what he was doing before Zildjin had walked by.
Several men, some older, some young, were gathered around a
barrel which had been overturned to act as a sort of table. Zildjin quickly
recognized what it was. It was a popular game of chance that many workers
played on their off time, sailors at the docks in Kolima, Protectors in guard
houses, and general laborers on street corners played variations of the same
type of game. Eleanor disapproved of such things, as did Soren, so Zildjin had
never actually participated, but he had watched several, some with Sesuadra,
and one or two since Marc had arrived. Eleanor said that most of those in
charge of the game, called Caretakers, had the game fixed, and so playing none
of them was the safest course of action. But Zildjin thought it only took a
good use of judgment to size up which Caretakers were cheaters and which were
not.
Zildjin particularly loved when the dice were rolled. That
perfect moment, when the chance of winning or losing was in the air, all were
equal in that brief second or two. Sesuadra said that some of the games could
be decided by careful application of skill but Zildjin did not think that was
the case. It was all in the luck of the roll.
Zildjin watched, fascinated, and finally, with nothing
better to do, asked.
“Hey, could I join in this round?”
“Show us your coin there, laddie-o”
Zildjin sighed, realizing that of course he would have to
match the lowest bet to join a round.
He withdrew his coin bag slowly.
Then emptied it onto a portion of the barrel that was empty.
Three small coins fell out.
The group laughed and Zildjin bent over, carefully
retrieving his three coins, embarrassed.
“You might be able to get a Lady of the Eve for a night,”
One of the older men said.
“Yeah,” Another chimed in, “If she were a gimp with one bad
eye.”
The rest burst into laughter.
Zildjin wasn’t taking kindly to the jesting.
For some reason, he suddenly felt the weight of his
medallion in the inner pocket of his shirt. He withdrew it and placed it on the
barrel.
It shined brilliantly, brighter than any of the other coins
on the barrel, almost as if it had its own source of glowing light.
“Will this do?”
“Where is he?”
Marc was standing outside of the Inn with Sesuadra and
Cydas. Night had already fallen for a while now. Torches hanging from shops and
from street poles illuminated the cobblestones with an orange glowing light.
Inside the Inn was mostly quiet, the windows were shuttered but a few people
could be heard singing drunken tunes in the common room. A few late nighters
walked the nearby streets, heading home after a long day. But it was mostly
empty.
“I said return here for dinner, I mean, last meal, right?”
The other two nodded.
“I hope—” Marc began.
But a figure came walking at a quick pace down the street
towards them.
It was Zildjin.
“I am sorry,” He said as he approached, “sorry,” he seemed a
little out of breath.
He held two large bags in his hands, and a third slung
around his shoulders.
“Sorry,” he added, “I know it is late, but I just lost track
of time, and anyway, I am here now. Did I miss last meal?”
The other three looked at him silently.
“What?” He said.
“What indeed,” Cydas said, “What have you got there?”
“Oh, these?” He said.
He lifted the bags and shook them slightly. They were full
to the brim with coins.
“I won them! Violetwitch, Swift Roll, Hide em Show em, you
name it! I won it!”
“You have been street gambling?” Cydas asked.
Zildjin nodded, “I did not realize how much time had gone by
until I looked up from the table and saw how dark it had gotten. I was on a
streak, just kept winning! One by one people started to leave and finally the
Caretaker called it quits and wrapped up his stoop. I do not know, I just got
on a roll, it was amazing!”
“Foolish thing to do, what if you had lost?” Sesuadra said,
“We have little coin as it is.”
Zildjin was slightly put off, “But I did not lose, I won,
and I won big.”
Marc could feel a slight tension in the air.
“I thought you guys would be happy, I solved our supply
problem, we can resupply anywhere we want now.” Zildjin said.
Marc thought for a moment, wanting to handle the situation.
He decided to smile and wrap his arm around Zildjin’s neck.
“You took a chance for the better of the group, and it paid
off, that’s what matters!”
Zildjin smiled, regaining his composure, “Just wanted to
help,” he said.
“But,” Marc continued, “Let’s discuss it as a group first
next time. Thanks for thinking of us, again, though.”
Zildjin nodded, “Of course, of course.”
“Well, let’s head back inside, maybe the cook is still up
and willing to make something for us to eat, now that we have the money for
it.”
They turned to enter the Inn.
“Not so fast!”
A deep gravelly voice made them stop and turn back around.
Seven large men stood in the street, illuminated in soft
orange light of the nearby hanging street lamps. They looked tough, some armed
with swords, others with long knives. The foremost man stood forward from the
other six. He was one of the larger of the crowd. He had long dirty black hair,
a roughly cut beard to match, and prominent cheek bones. He was probably about
thirty five or forty, though a haggard drunk look in his face made him seem
older, and scarier. He had eyes as black as night.
“You there, the one with the coin bags,” the man in front
said again.
“Me?” Zildjin said. He held the bags behind him, as if doing
so would suddenly solve whatever problem was about to unfold.
“Yeah, today’s lucky winner.”
Marc could already see where things were going.
He felt a strength rise within him.
“We got word from Dumos, the Caretaker, that you just would
not seem to lose at all,” The man continued, “He said it was impossible, that
you had to lose sometime, but you just kept on winning. He said he thinks that
maybe you had a little help, that maybe you helped yourself, that maybe you are
a
cheat
.”
Sesuadra seemed to have felt the strength gathering in Marc,
and, being a longtime friend of Zildjin’s, longer than Marc, stepped forward
first.
“My friend is not a cheat,” He said quietly, but
confidently, “And by the sound of it, if Dumos was expecting my friend to lose
that would imply that Dumos had some of the games rigged.”
The man was at a loss for words.
Sesuadra could sense the very low level of intelligence of
the crowd, but did not store such knowledge as a factor to underestimate the
severity of threat or harm they could inflict on Sesuadra and his friends.
A few people had come to the Inn windows, opening the
shutters at the voices outside. One or two people peeked over from nearby
streets but it was dark and hard to see exactly what was going on.
“Well?” Marc said, also taking a step forward.
The man took the sign as a threat and slowly inched his hand
towards the sword at his side.
“Do not talk back to us, whelplings,” He looked at Zildjin,
“You won far too much coin in a single night to be anything but a cheat, now
return what you have stolen and we will all go away quietly, otherwise things
will get ugly.”
“I am not a cheat!” Zildjin said defensively, “I won this
fair as Itherin’s freedom!”
“Liar, cheat, and a thief!” The man said. He drew his sword
and the others behind him followed suit.
Marc and the others drew their weapons as well.
Oh Zildjin, what have you gotten us into
, Marc
thought briefly. But Zildjin was his friend, and from what he knew, he did not
see Zildjin as the cheating type. For whatever reason his friend had simply
been on a lucky streak this night. It had just happened to be with the wrong
sort of crowd, at the wrong time, in the wrong place.
Marc thought back to Kolima and the death of the wizard who
was trying to kill them. Cydas had saved them, Marc was not holding that
against Cydas, but because of the death of the wizard they had been forced to
evacuate Kolima. Marc was unsure of what would happen here in Fairlake if more
deaths were to occur, even if it was in self defense, and he did not want to
repeat the events in Kolima.