Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

Black curls shook as the woman emerged from the pile of pillows to catch the gold. Her shivering seemed to have vanished. She gave Slanya a flirty smile. “Yes, this’ll do.”

“You’ll be so kind as to leave me alone with him for a while,” Slanya said.

“He’ll be angry when he wakes,” said the woman, slipping into a silk robe and gliding across to the door.

“No doubt, but I can handle him.”

The woman nodded. “I’ll leave you two alone then.”

“Thank you.”

The woman closed the door behind her.

Duvan stirred slightly as Slanya lifted him to the bed. The room smelled a stifling and pungent mix of odors that Slanya found distracting. She used the bed linens to secure Duvan’s wrists and ankles to the bed posts.

He was thin and wiry with compact muscles. She could admire his fitness while at the same time marvel at how poorly he seemed to treat himself. The numerous scars that traced light strokes on his chest, arms, and legs told of a hard life. Slanya made a quick count as she appraised his dark skin: twelve that she could see, and she guessed there were more on his back.

Duvan’s dark, unbraided hair grew straight and long, and his face bore only the faintest hint of the scars on the remainder of his body. He had no tattoos that she could see, nor any piercings. And no visible spellscar either. Slanya was surprised to find that as long as he was lying unconscious and quiet, he was handsome, in a rugged, unshaven way.

Slanya sighed. She’d prefer an ugly but polite guide any day.

Duvan came fully awake a few minutes later, his forehead wrinkling from the pain in his head. Slanya watched as he took careful stock of his situation. His demeanor was wary, and she was glad that she’d restrained him. This was a much more dangerous man than the anger-driven brute earlier.

“I will release you after we have spoken,” she said. “After you have listened to my proposal.”

She could see him weighing the options. He could undoubtedly escape from the bonds she’d tied. He’d likely done that sort of thing numerous times. But he was trying to figure out if he could do it before she knocked him out again.

“It’s not worth it,” she said. “You are quite vulnerable, as you can see.” She gestured at his exposed privates with her staff.

Duvan grimaced, then nodded.

“One of the leaders of the monastery of Ormpetarr has developed an elixir that prevents people who are exposed to the spellplague from dying.”

“Sure he has,” Duvan said with a snicker.

“But,” Slanya continued, “he has run out of a crucial component. And he needs more, much more, before the Festival of Blue Fire begins.”

“So?”

“He has given me the task of heading into the Plague-wrought Land and bringing some back.”

Duvan let out a harsh laugh. “Well, you’re not nearly as smart as you look.”

Slanya ignored the insult. “It’s important.”

“More important than not being killed by spellplague?”

Slanya narrowed her gaze. “Do you know how many pilgrims die of spellplague sickness every day? Nine in ten just burn up instantly, and as for the rest … Well, have you seen the tents full of the dying? The funeral fires?”

Duvan asked, “Why should I care?”

“If you’ve ever been with someone sick from spellplague exposure, you’d have more sympathy.”

He started to retort but stopped and glared at her. What had she said, she wondered, to break his shell?

After a moment he said, “These people come here by choice. They do not deserve my sympathy or yours.”

“What if we could help everyone who’s exposed? Prevent suffering far and wide?”

“A fantasy,” he said. “I’ve seen what the changelands can do. I’ve seen it. You and your elixirs can do nothing to stop it. It’s too late.”

Slanya wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “Too late for what?”

A pained expression flashed across his face, and he turned away. “Nothing,” he said. “Don’t talk anymore about it. In fact, don’t talk to me anymore.”

“Believe me,” she continued, “if there was anyone else who could help us, I’d have never come. But Tyrangal told me that you were the only one who can safely guide me into the changelands.”

“Tyrangal sent you?” Duvan’s tone drained of animosity.

“She’s serving as a broker for your services,” Slanya admitted.

“You should’ve just said so.” He relaxed into the bed. “We could’ve saved all this bickering.”

Slanya cautiously stood upright, still wary. Duvan’s body language and temperament had changed completely with the mention of Tyrangal.

Duvan held his free hand out to her, empty. “You seem to know who I am. May I ask your name?”

Slanya stared at the man’s hand. It was clearly a conciliatory gesture, but she could hardly trust him now. “My name is Slanya,” she said.

“Well, Slanya, could you untie me? I can get free on my own, but you seem like you’re in a hurry.”

Duvan sized up his companion as he dressed and walked out of the room. The human cleric could hold her own; he had to give her that. She’d had some good combat training, and he found himself respecting her. Still, he wasn’t sure he believed her story. He wouldn’t trust her until he had Tyrangal’s word.

He led Slanya out into the thoroughfare. “Let’s go this way,” he said. “Short cut.”

Slanya’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “Of course it is.” But despite her wry tone, she followed.

Duvan angled away from the Changing House building so as to lower the chances of running into any members of the Order of Blue Fire who might be looking for him. Still, there was no place in Ormpetarr truly hidden from Order eyes.

As he and Slanya made their way through the crowd, Duvan avoided eye contact with anyone. They passed the inn-operated by a member of the Order-and then skirted around the counting house-owned and run by Tyrangal and the Copper Guard. There was no law in Ormpetarr, and normally Duvan liked it that way, but the Order had started mounting patrols to persuade the darker elements to vacate the town.

Problem was that it was the Order who decided what elements were good and which were unacceptable. As soon as they decided that Tyrangal and her Copper Guard were in the dark faction, then the delicate balance would erupt into open conflict.

Many townsfolk had joined the Order and paid their tithe just to avoid being hassled. Duvan didn’t have contempt for those who did. It was the cost of business in Ormpetarr. Still, he hated bullies.

No sign of Beaugrat. Duvan surreptitiously patted his chest to reassure himself that his daggers were ready for action if need be.

Gliding beside him, Slanya remained quiet. She held herself with a ready confidence, wary and alert. Which was good-if Slanya were telling the truth, Tyrangal would have his skin for supper if he let something happen to her.

Slanya seemed content to walk in a wary silence as they passed out of the city and up the hill. They passed the ruined gates which marked the entrance into the ‘burn zone,’ as Tyrangal called it, a wide swath of destruction that surrounded the mansion.

Duvan suspected that Tyrangal purposefully kept this burn zone area around her mansion devoid of other new structures, making it more imposing and difficult for people to come visit her. No one just happened along here.

Duvan knew that Tyrangal had guards and sentries posted among the remnants of ancient masonry and sculpture that had once been part of a broad garden. Duvan knew where the hidden posts were, most of them, and he knew many of the Copper Guard too, but not all of them.

He led Slanya along the old flagstone path across the burn zone, until finally the two of them came to Tyrangal’s ornate door.