Richard Knaak - The Citadel

“Depends.”

“Care for a drink?”

“I’m off duty.”

A few minutes’ hurried walk, hastened by an increase in the intensity of the rain, found them at the entrance to the Sea Maiden’s Lament, an inn the army officer frequented. The place was dank and smelled of fish, but Tyros suspected that any other inn nearby would be the same. Over the course of the next hour, the captain drank three flagons of strong ale without any visible effect, while Tyros still nursed his first. The contents stung the mage’s throat each time he tried to swallow.

With a little ale under his belt, Bakal grew more open with the wizard. For the most part, the graying warrior spoke of his war experiences. Tyros let him talk, only half listening. His gaze drifted around the tavern area, but the mage found little of interest there. The folk were mostly fishermen, sailors, and several unsavory characters who seemed more a part of the scenery than customers. The decor of the tavern itself consisted mainly of nets, spears, fish, and other seafaring items nailed to the walls in what he supposed was the owner’s misinformed idea of taste.

While Bakal talked about battles, Tyros contemplated what he would do once he had the dragons to aid him. From what he had gleaned from his companion, the military command believed that the invaders had fled to the southeast, possibly even to the New Sea. The spellcaster wondered at such a choice by the enemy commander. Most of the populated areas of the New Sea were either better fortified than Gwynned or had already been decimated during the war. Farther east, the land consisted of wilderness, hardly worth the effort for any army, yet, perhaps …

The door opened. Tyros glanced at the latest newcomer. His gaze froze, for the newcomer was not another grimy dockworker, but rather a young woman who would have been more in place in the finer courts of the city. Even the rain could not suppress her beauty. While others might have looked bedraggled from the downpour, she fairly blossomed. The thick red hair that cascaded down her back seemed nearly untouched by the rain. She had a proud, determined expression, her full lips set as if she found herself on a task of utmost importance. Somewhat obscured by her bangs, bright jade eyes took in everything. She sniffed a little, as if not pleased by her surroundings.

Belatedly he noticed the gleaming yellow robe she wore, simple in design, with only green trim. The combination struck a chord with the mage. A cleric of some kind. The robe couldn’t conceal her feminine shape, slim yet curved. Tyros’s interests in flying citadels faded as he admired her graceful movements. She nearly floated across the floor.

“Now, what have we here?” Captain Bakal muttered, suddenly all business.

The woman approached the innkeeper, who stood as fascinated as the rest. She leaned forward, whispering. The stout man shook his head, then, grinning, mumbled something back. Whatever he said must have offended her, for her head snapped back and she gave him a fiery glare. The cleric muttered a few sharp words. To Tyros’s surprise, the innkeeper blanched and mouthed an apology. Tyros, who had already seen the owner handle two drunks this very evening, found new admiration for the woman.

She turned, and as she did, a small object slipped from a pouch attached to her belt. The clatter echoed through the tavern. The object rolled toward the table next to Tyros. The mage quickly stuck out his staff and steered it to him.

Picking it up, he noticed that it was a ring, a beautifully shaped ring of platinum with tiny markings, an inscription in a tongue he did not recognize.

“I would like my ring back.”

Their eyes met, and in that moment, the red-robed spellcaster felt as if his entire life lay out for her to see. Jade orbs snared him, pulled him to his feet. He reached out like a boy with his first crush as he dropped the ring in her hand.

“Your eyes are the color of earth,” she whispered, seeming disappointed. “His were the color of the sky.”

She floated past him, departing the tavern. Tyros might have simply stood there if not for the low chuckle behind him. He glanced down and saw Captain Bakal studying him with amusement.

“First time I’ve seen the suave Tyros smitten like a school-child! Couldn’t think of even one line? Can’t really blame you; that one’s got enough fire to singe anyone.”

Chagrined, Tyros pulled himself together. He noted that none of the other men had dared approach her. Tyros, though, would not so readily give up. So fascinating a woman needed the proper company, and he, having been through so much, needed a diversion, something to take his mind off his failures of late. She obviously sought something; perhaps the mage could offer to help.

Ignoring Bakal’s look, Tyros hurried to the door. He pulled his hood up, then, bracing himself, stepped out into the storm. The wind tried to rip his hood away, but he held it tight with one hand. Wiping moisture from his eyes, Tyros peered around.

He spotted her some distance away, heading toward the business district of Gwynned. Tyros strode purposefully after her, his long steps cutting the distance quickly. The woman walked as if on some quest but did not rush, seeming content to take in everything as she went. Tyros allowed himself a slight smile; he would catch up to her soon.

Part of him knew that he sought the diversion to escape the deep guilt he felt for Leot’s disappearance, but Tyros tried to ignore that fact. He had done what little he could for his friend, and until Bakal arranged his meeting with the dragons, the mage could do nothing more. Surely Tyros deserved a little time for his own needs.

Fog drifted over much of the area. Tyros wished that he still had his wizard’s staff; a little more light would have been helpful. The woman seemed to see well enough without any aid, moving through the mists and shadows with ease.

He began to formulate bits of conversation that would assure her not only that he could be trusted, but also that it would be in her interest to get to know him. Who or what did she seek? Could he direct her to some place in particular? She was clad as a cleric. Could he direct her to her local temple? Tyros couldn’t identify her god, but he knew where most of the major temples were.

The sound of fluttering wings made him pause, but then he noticed the pigeons in his path. Tyros grimaced. Bad enough that Captain Bakal had laughed at him, but he wouldn’t embarrass himself in the eyes of this fiery-tressed beauty.

A shadow formed in the fog ahead, a shadow descending from the air.

Tyros swallowed, his eyes widening in utter disbelief.

A gargoyle nearly identical to the creature in the tower landed in the street, its back to the human. Stunned, Tyros lost his grip on the staff, which fell to the ground with a clatter.

The beast turned, glaring at him with red, soulless eyes and hissing in obvious anger at having been discovered.

Fear stirred Tyros to action. In his mind, he relived the horror in the tower. Pointing at the gargoyle, the crimson wizard cast his spell even as the winged fury started toward him, talons out and beaked maw open.

A ring of fire circled the monster, momentarily holding it at bay. The leathery attacker pulled in its singed wings and hissed. Then the gargoyle reached out with one paw, snatching at the flames and snuffing them out.

No one had told Tyros that gargoyles possessed magic.

The creature lunged at him. Tyros retrieved his staff, barely bringing it up in time to jam it hard into the torso of his attacker. Unfortunately, while he managed to knock some of the air from the gargoyle’s lungs, the staff cracked in two, leaving Tyros with nothing to protect himself. More furious than injured, the gargoyle reached out toward him.