T Lain - The Bloody Eye

“And does Pergue always show such hospitality?” responded Alhandra. “Perhaps your ill-manners are the cause of your heartbreak!”

Obviously fearing an unnecessary battle, Jozan interposed his timing influence once more. “Please pardon my companion,” he pleaded, “I fear she sees all of life in light and darkness without a place for dawn or dusk. Your threat appears to her as rudeness and she cannot sense the pain beneath your hostility. I assure you that we will not add to your misery.”

“You had best not,” he countered firmly. Turning to Jozan, the hunter uttered his first civil remark. “You are right about the arrows, good brother” he said, replacing the arrow in his quiver. “They are my own work and they fetch the highest price in the kingdom. Even a mediocre shot rarely misses with these.” So speaking, he melted into the woods as quickly as he had emerged from them.

Alhandra turned to the cleric and scowled at him with annoyance. “Dusk and dawn, indeed! Where do you get such drivel?”

“Observation, Alhandra,” replied the cleric, “observation.”

“I still say it’s drivel,” responded Alhandra with only a bit of the annoyance leaving her voice. “But at least you were right about one thing. It was too quiet.”

She hid her amusement and turned to follow Jozan into Pergue.

The cleric led the way and surely heard her muttering behind him, “It’s hard to believe you have difficulty with language. You certainly weren’t at a loss for words back there.”

Jozan celebrated in his inner feelings. He didn’t know why he felt that what this woman thought about him was so important, but he knew it mattered to him and he knew he felt much better knowing that for one short moment, she had begrudgingly admired him. He hadn’t felt so good about himself since the Master General sent him on this mission.

The warriors walked their horses slowly, never knowing when another ambush might appear. The late afternoon gave way to the peculiar shadows of dusk and the odd isolation of the road continued until they found themselves in full view of the center of Pergue. Yet, oddity continued. The blacksmith had an eye patch over his left eye. Every woman on the street was covered with a veil or a cowl. A merchant covered the left side of his face with his hand and ducked down a side street away from the newcomers and many of the men wore hoods that shaded their faces. It had every appearance, Jozan thought, of what he imagined would be the attire at an assassin’s convocation. He was beginning to wonder what they were riding into.

The weary travelers dismounted at the Boar’s Tusk Tavern, a building that looked like it might be the busiest place in town. It was also one of the few two-story buildings in town, something that usually indicated an inn. Alhandra breathed deeply as they walked through the door and realized that everyone in the tavern was hooded. Everyone wore a hood, that was, except for a bartender with a patch over his eye, a serving girl with an emerald dangling in front of her empty left eye socket, and a large, gray-skinned half-orc who had no deformity beyond the savage appearance of such a half-breed.

Jozan motioned for Alhandra to take a seat at the one empty table in the tavern and stood at the bar to order wine. The serving girl took his order and poured the crimson liquid into two goblets, all the while offering her right profile to the cleric. Even so, it was hard not to notice the emptiness behind the emerald.

Turning to approach their table, Jozan got a better look at the half-orc. The barbarian slurped the last of his shepherd’s pie with the enthusiasm expected from one of the tavern’s namesakes at a feeding trough. The tavern crowd gave wide birth to this savage. That is, everyone in the tavern gave him plenty of room except for the serving girl and Alhandra, who sat near him as though she’d known him forever. The girl, who moved among the customers, kept glancing at the barbarian with such a nurturing, concerned look in her eye that Jozan wondered if she might not be in love with the monstrosity, or perhaps had been paid in advance for her company.

Jozan stepped back to the bar to ask the bartender about procuring two rooms for the night. Even while he waited for an answer, Jozan couldn’t help but stare at the woman with the emerald hiding her disfigurement. At times, when the light caught the gem just right, it sparkled like the woman’s remaining eye.

The bartender was laughing at something the old man in front of him said, so he barely acknowledged Jozan. He simply cleared his throat and flashed five fingers in front of the cleric. Jozan clawed five silver pieces out of his bag and placed them on the counter.

Having finished his hearty laugh, the bartender looked at the coins and grunted, “Five per room!”

It took Jozan a moment to realize what the tavern owner was saying because he had been staring at the serving girl again.

As Jozan hastily counted five more silver pieces onto the counter, the woman spoke, her voice sharp with hurt. “We wear the prizes from the Black Carnival, not the badges of choice!”

Before any other questions could be addressed to her, she ran crying from the room.

Jozan heard a stool scrape the floor, the unmistakable sound of the half-orc rising behind him. He started to turn, ready to defend himself, when he heard Alhandra speak in friendly but mocking tones.

“So, the dour Krusk is in love. How the mighty have fallen!”

Jozan turned to see Alhandra facing the half-orc with that wicked smile she wore when baiting the cleric. Krusk ignored her and pointed a menacing finger at Jozan.

“Not hurt one eye!” he growled.

“Look around you, Krusk!” commanded Alhandra. “Who are you trying to intimidate with that northern orc speech? Do you get better service pretending to be the big, bad barbarian?” She glanced in the direction of the back room and turned back to the half-orc. “Yes,” she answered her own question, “I see you do!”

The barbarian flashed one more stern look at the cleric before turning back to the paladin. “It never hurts to keep them guessing. Captain Tahrain taught me that.”

Alhandra introduced Krusk to Jozan and Jozan to Krusk. The cleric apologized for his bumbling approach toward Yddith and then suddenly realized that the entire crowd was listening to their conversation. Turning to the room, the cleric offered an olive branch.

“I beg Pelor’s forgiveness,” said the cleric soothingly, “and I beg forgiveness of all in hearing. My companion and I come in the names of our gods. We have a holy quest and do not wish to add to your suffering. In penance, I offer a drink to everyone here and pledge to tame my curious eye.”

The round on the house did much to allay any ill feelings within the tavern. Certainly, the additional coinage in trade loosened the bartender’s tongue. He told the story of how the Black Carnival had appeared in the middle of the night and announced the performance of the banned play. He shared how he and some other men tried to destroy the wagons on the day of the play, but how the wagons had shimmered as though they were an illusion or might have been winking back and forth from one plane to another. With the talent of a trained bard, this amateur raconteur told of the valiant fight led by the priests of Pelor. As tears from his one remaining eye threatened his proud visage, he explained how an enchanted priest had killed his own leader and how their own guardsman had returned as a zombie. He turned toward the doorway through which Yddith had disappeared and told of her courage as they walked in the slave caravan. He recounted the chain trick with relish and pointed to Krusk as their liberator.

Finally, his tale winding down, the tavern owner stared at the sun disk of Pelor around Jozan’s neck. “Have you come to staff the monastery of Pelor?” he asked, taking Jozan off-guard.