Jeff Inlo - Chain of Bargains

Enin knew Ryson and Holli would remain careful and their unique abilities would serve them well under such conditions. Still, he would keep his attention focused on the lands to the east. While he would not risk disturbing Holli's concentration, he would hold a silent vigil until he was certain no harm would befall them.

Ryson could hardly bear the uncomfortable heat that hung in the tavern. It felt as if there were roaring fires burning in every corner. The only two fireplaces within the room, however, were dark. Only the flames from small lamps and candles lit the inn, and any stoves for cooking were far removed from the main room of the pub.

Tugging at his shirt collar in an effort to ease the grip of warm cloth sticking to his skin, Ryson decided to leave. Nothing else could be gained from questioning the remaining patrons. The humans kept to themselves, avoiding eye contact and caring little for the presence of strangers. The goblins that remained at their back table had retrieved their coins and returned to their game of rolling shag eyes, though they played with much greater restraint.

He rose from his seat at the table where the woman merchant had left him. With casual ease but growing discomfort, he moved slowly to the door. No one watched him. The humans wished to avoid any attention-that was clear from the start-and the goblins cared only for their game. He could leave without notice. Despite the lack of interest by those around him, he could not bring himself to open the front door, even as he stood within arm's length of the door handle.

It was more than a premonition or some vague sense of foreboding that brought him to a halt. A heaviness hung over him that emphasized the uncomfortable warmth. His chest grew tight, and he struggled to breathe normally. His focus forward remained clear, but it felt almost as if he was looking through horse blinders. His peripheral vision picked up the movements of those around him, but they seemed to swim in a light mist.

Sweat started to form heavily on his forehead. The room was so oppressively hot it began to make him more than simply uncomfortable. His stomach twisted into knots and he felt everything closing in on him, as if there was no space to move.

Trying to brush away the sensation as nothing more than tension built up from his investigations, Ryson wiped his brow and then his hand on his shirt. His palm remained wet as his clothes were damp from his own sweat even as his mouth went dry. He felt as if he was standing in front of a steam furnace which threatened to boil the skin off his bones. He reached for the door handle with a growing desire to break free from the heat, to dash out into the streets and find some place of cool refuge.

Ryson's hand grasped the lever. The metal was hot, almost burning, but he kept his fingers around the handle. The heat forced him to once again reconsider his decision to leave. He did not press down on the lever or make any attempt to shove the door open. He simply felt the heat pass from the metal and flow up his arm.

He began to stare at the flame of a lamp by the side of the door. He watched it flicker and dance. The movement mesmerized him, but it also accentuated the heat that seemed to fall upon him like a heavy wool cloak draped over his entire body.

"This is not right," he said to himself, and he yanked his hand free from the door handle.

He broke his gaze from the lamp and turned to some of the other patrons. He inspected a few of those closest to him. They were dressed lightly, but none were sweating… none appeared to be suffering from the oppressive heat that Ryson felt. Letting out a heavy breath, he turned quickly away from the front door and moved almost too swiftly toward the small hallway that led to a side exit.

To his relief, moving seemed to cool both his body and mind. The edges of his vision cleared and the tightness left his chest. Thankful for the apparent reprieve, he dashed down the hall.

Most of the humans ignored him, but his deft movements caught the attention of more than just a few. Though they did not wish to stare, they could not help but gaze at the fluid quickness of the delver.

Disregarding the attention, Ryson bolted down the hallway and pushed open the side door in one massive burst. With his head clearing, all of his senses came to life. He could hear movement in front of him, and he knew something waited for him outside the door. Just as he broke into the alley, he spotted two inferns moving to block his path. He never gave them the opportunity.

Already moving at a quickened pace, it was that much easier for the delver to break into a sprint and dodge the grasp of both inferns. He took in the entire scene at once and identified each threat. He became a flash of movement as he crossed the alley and placed a safe distance between himself and the two half-demons.

He did not, however, maintain his quickened pace. He came to a abrupt halt as his eyes scanned a brick wall before him. He spied a drain pipe that snaked down from the roof. That was all he needed to see as he spun about and placed his back to the side wall of the neighboring building. Facing the inferns, the delver placed his hands near the war blades at his hips and addressed the half-demons with fierce determination. He believed their purpose was to capture him and he wanted to know why.

"What do you want?" Ryson demanded.

Neither infern answered, but they did not close on their quarry, either. Stepping away from the side entrance of the tavern, they attempted to block both ends of the alley. They spread apart and widened their distance from each other while keeping the delver between them. They each held lightly to their burning hot javelins, and they positioned the weapons horizontally across their chests as they backed away from the delver. Stepping lightly with a grace that reminded Ryson of the elves, the half-demons took strategic positions in the middle of the passage. Effectively blocking the alley at both ends, they isolated the delver and offered no route of escape.

Disregarding their obvious intention to corral him, Ryson looked carefully over both armor-clad monsters. He recognized one as the infern that had earlier grabbed a goblin and then stopped at the door. At the time, he wondered if the infern had noticed him. Now, he was certain of it.

"So what gave me away in the tavern?" Ryson asked. "I saw you pause at the door. Were you able to smell me?"

"Not smell… taste," came an answer, but not from either of the two inferns that blocked Ryson's way.

A third infern rounded a corner and announced its presence with the same cold voice it used when it previously addressed the goblins inside the tavern. Despite the chilled tone, steam rose from its breath.

"We can taste things in the air," the infern continued. It stepped further into the alley, just past the half-demon closest to the front street, and then stopped to assess the situation. "Most creatures give off scents, but they also leave a trail beyond the smell. A stray hair, a flake of skin, the smallest droplet of spittle, even the dust that once clung to you but falls away; all of it contains a taste of what you are. And you are a delver."

Ryson wondered if the explanation of infern power was meant to impress him… or even scare him. He wanted to make certain the half-demon knew it did neither.

"You could have guessed that by how I moved just now. I didn't try to hide it."

"But you have hid, until now. You are a stranger in town, a strange delver."

"So I'm a stranger. There are other delvers in town. Why are you so interested in me?"

"All delvers are to be registered with the authorities. You are not registered. Your taste is new."

"So that's what this is all about?"

"This is about you."