Dryad Eyes, part 31.
This entry comes in at 1,879 words. :D
Haron, red faced and clutching his cloak tightly about himself, cursed softly his own stupidity as he hurried down the cobbled central street of Keeper's Gateway. He had little time. Such had been his rush that he had forgotten to gather the hooded, bearskin jacket that he had purchased earlier in the day. In less than an hour, he was expected to join the night watchmen atop the first wall of Keeper's Gateway. Because of his foolishness, he would have to make do with only his cloak and, if he could borrow one, a skullcap to keep his freshly shaven head warm. Had the last minute summons he had received come from anyone other than Bawo, and had the bulk of that message not been a single line that read simply, 'Its about Thanik,' he would have likely spent his remaining time making a mad dash back to his rooms and offered an apology to the person that had been expecting him on the morrow. As it was, however, he would simply have to suffer through one more grievously cold night. It would not be the first such night in recent memory, since his demotion. Perhaps this one would be worth it.
Spying the sign that marked his destination, with the words 'Big Thom's Tavern!' etched across it in loudly painted letters, Haron gathered himself and jogged the remaining distance. The warmth that washed over him as he slipped through the front door was a welcome, if bittersweet, relief. Too soon, he knew, he would have to steel himself before returning to the terrible, biting cold. It was not something that anyone should look forward to, he thought, though he knew that at least one of the men he would be standing alongside had and would again claim to enjoy these nights.
It took him no time at all to spot Bawo, and a lump threatened to form in his throat. His friend was sitting at the table that their friend, the recently departed Thanik, had always favored. Though they never drank together in this particular place, for fear of blowing the former actor's cover as a traveling storyteller, he had seen him there on several occasions. Enjoying the fruits of his labors, the man had often had several newly acquired friends sitting alongside him, and the lovely, raven-haired tavern wench on his knee. Haron enjoyed the memory of seeing his friend happy, though the memory inevitably lead into why he had been there in the first place, and, naturally, to the grisly end of the man's life.
Two steps beyond the door, as he shrugged his way past a pair of men that had each tossed an arm about the other and joined themselves in a loud and off-key song, the officer-turned-soldier-again noticed something odd taking place. With every inch of the old, wooden, beer-and-vomit stained floor he crossed, the rest of the room slowed down a little further. What devilry was this? he wondered, and scanned the crowded bar for the faces of either Kimera or Ganatal. Neither of them, nor the witch woman with whom he had had recent dealings, were immediately visible. That did not mean that they were not there, of course.
Every shadow in the room began to deepen, darken, becoming more clearly defined, and creating an odd, harshly contrasted appearance that threatened his eyes with an ugly migraine. Haron was beginning to grow nervous, his hand creeping to his sword hilt. Had he not had sight of Bawo already, he would have left the tavern at speed. It would not do, however, to leave his friend in such a situation. So it was, that with his eyes locked on his long time brother-in-arms, he trudged forward, ever further into the increasingly hellish tavern. At any moment, he was certain, flames were going to billow up along the walls, and the smell of brimstone would reach his nostrils.
It was not until he was nearly upon the table at which Bawo sat that Haron realized that his friend was not alone. A man, as naked as the day he was born, sat close beside the squat, shaven warrior, and rested a clawed hand on the back of his thick neck. A series of figures and symbols had been carved into the strange man's flesh, marring his otherwise fair skin, and blackness, like frostbite, lined the edges of those carvings. His eyes were blacker still. Then, as he took in the rest of the man's (creature's?) face, its shape, and the blonde hair that topped it, Haron realized that he recognized the person before him. It took a moment, several moments actually, before he could place a name to it.
"Erek? But you..."
The former mercenary, killed by an assassin several days before, shared with Haron a fanged grin. "Rumors of my demise... well, they were entirely true. Please, sit."
The soldier did as he was bidden, keeping a wary eye on the thing beside his friend. Certainly, this thing either looked like or had been Erek once. Whatever it was now, though, he could not say, other than that it was vile. The mere sight of it made his skin crawl. Once again, Haron knew, that if it were not for his friend, slack faced and staring off into space while sitting comfortably within the monster's grasp, he would have fled the scene as quickly as his powerful legs would have carried him. Different than some folk within Keeper's Gateway would believe, however, he knew a thing or two about loyalty. One did not abandon one's friend to the hands of what, essentially, appeared to be a particularly nasty demon.
"What do you want?" He queried.
The thing that had been Erek pushed against Bawo's neck with the hand that rested on it. Guided by it, and whatever unseen force the demon applied, the powerfully built warrior leaned forward and rested his head, facedown, against the table. The thing left him there, his attention never having left Haron. "To make you an offer. You see, when you were in a position of power and I was not, you found it prudent to enlist my aid in dealing with a problem that you could not personally touch. The tables have turned. You have fallen, I have risen, and I find myself in need of a similar service. I thought I might extend the courtesy to you."
"Why me?"
"Because I like you." Another fanged grin touched Erek's face. Haron was not sure just how he felt about that statement.
"I see." The soldier responded amiably. "So, I guess that brings me back to my first question. What could a dead man need from me?"
"Heh. A mutual friend of ours raised me from the dead. While, on one hand, I find myself more powerful, more free than I ever was in life, the limits that she imposed upon me chafe, like harsh, steel manacles that are just a bit too tight." The demon leaned forward on its elbows, dropping its voice as if there were any actual concern about the crowd of people in the tavern, all of whom appeared to be frozen in time, overhearing what he said. "To tell you the simple truth, I do not like being told what to do."
"Who is this acquaintance, then?"
"Mistress Alga." Erek sat back again, and flicked a long tongue across his lips. "Mmm, I can taste your disdain for her. Is that a yes?"
"I... you expect me to kill her?"
"Yes. I would recommend a weapon with a bit of range. I'm sure you are capable enough as a soldier, but you are not good enough to get close to her without her becoming aware of you."
"What I want to know is, is there any particular reason why I should do this thing for you?"
Erek stared at Haron for a moment, dumbfounded. Then, beginning with a sick sounding chuckle in his chest, he began to laugh. Long and loud, he expressed his mirth. It was more than a bit unnerving. "Bold, Haron! Bold! I like that about you. You are very bold."
"That... doesn't answer my question."
"Well, I could force you. That would be an entirely unpleasant experience, from your end of it anyway. " The demon mused, tapping the tip of one of his black claws against his lower lip. "I would not even have to try to find your petty fears and hatreds, you wear them so close to the surface. Heh. But, no. I told you, I wish to acquire your services. I will pay you, Haron, and I will pay you well. But not in gold."
Out of sheer, morbid curiosity, and the knowledge that there was little else he could do but continue the conversation at this point, the soldier asked his next question. "How, then?"
"I offer you two women." Erek held up two fingers to symbolize the prizes he was offering. "First, I will deliver to you the Dryad bitch who still bears Thanik's blood on her hands. You do remember Thanik, don't you? He was a bit of a mess, last I saw of him."
Hammering his fists against the table, Haron rose and leaned forward. Anger had burned away in the very instant the creature before him had spoken the name of his dearly departed friend. "Dryad? Was it Treyp?!"
"No. Sit down. Now." The demon stared at the soldier until, finally, his good sense overrode his angry outburst and he complied. A toothy smile spread across his face again, and he lowered one of the two fingers he had held aloft. "Second, I will give you your heart's desire. Charis can be yours again. Already, I have driven a mighty wedge between her and Geran. And, before you speak rashly, out of the hurt that still pours off you, bear this in mind. Geran is going to die. If you do not take her, then she goes to hell alongside him. It makes no difference to me, so long as that son of a Dryad whore suffers in the process."
Unable to continue holding Erek's black gaze, Haron dropped his own to his hands. They were still clenched into fists upon the table. He forced them to relax. "I... see."
"Well?"
"Might I... have some time, to consider your offer?"
"No." The demon growled, a new level of malevolence entering its tone. "This is a one time offer, and it is on the table now. Not tomorrow. Not in an hour. Give me your answer, coward."
"Then... yes. I will do it."
"Good." Erek was smiling again, that fanged grin, and leaned forward. He extended one of his black taloned hands. "Then let us shake on it."
For several long moments, Haron stared at that hand like the viper he knew that it was. Deals with demons, and he was becoming increasingly certain that that was the proper term for it, never went smoothly. He had a feeling, very clear and full of certainty, that he was going to regret having ever answered Bawo's summons. Taking a long, deep breath, he steeled himself for what he was about to do.
"Fuck it," the soldier said, and took Erek's hand.
Haron, red faced and clutching his cloak tightly about himself, cursed softly his own stupidity as he hurried down the cobbled central street of Keeper's Gateway. He had little time. Such had been his rush that he had forgotten to gather the hooded, bearskin jacket that he had purchased earlier in the day. In less than an hour, he was expected to join the night watchmen atop the first wall of Keeper's Gateway. Because of his foolishness, he would have to make do with only his cloak and, if he could borrow one, a skullcap to keep his freshly shaven head warm. Had the last minute summons he had received come from anyone other than Bawo, and had the bulk of that message not been a single line that read simply, 'Its about Thanik,' he would have likely spent his remaining time making a mad dash back to his rooms and offered an apology to the person that had been expecting him on the morrow. As it was, however, he would simply have to suffer through one more grievously cold night. It would not be the first such night in recent memory, since his demotion. Perhaps this one would be worth it.
Spying the sign that marked his destination, with the words 'Big Thom's Tavern!' etched across it in loudly painted letters, Haron gathered himself and jogged the remaining distance. The warmth that washed over him as he slipped through the front door was a welcome, if bittersweet, relief. Too soon, he knew, he would have to steel himself before returning to the terrible, biting cold. It was not something that anyone should look forward to, he thought, though he knew that at least one of the men he would be standing alongside had and would again claim to enjoy these nights.
It took him no time at all to spot Bawo, and a lump threatened to form in his throat. His friend was sitting at the table that their friend, the recently departed Thanik, had always favored. Though they never drank together in this particular place, for fear of blowing the former actor's cover as a traveling storyteller, he had seen him there on several occasions. Enjoying the fruits of his labors, the man had often had several newly acquired friends sitting alongside him, and the lovely, raven-haired tavern wench on his knee. Haron enjoyed the memory of seeing his friend happy, though the memory inevitably lead into why he had been there in the first place, and, naturally, to the grisly end of the man's life.
Two steps beyond the door, as he shrugged his way past a pair of men that had each tossed an arm about the other and joined themselves in a loud and off-key song, the officer-turned-soldier-again noticed something odd taking place. With every inch of the old, wooden, beer-and-vomit stained floor he crossed, the rest of the room slowed down a little further. What devilry was this? he wondered, and scanned the crowded bar for the faces of either Kimera or Ganatal. Neither of them, nor the witch woman with whom he had had recent dealings, were immediately visible. That did not mean that they were not there, of course.
Every shadow in the room began to deepen, darken, becoming more clearly defined, and creating an odd, harshly contrasted appearance that threatened his eyes with an ugly migraine. Haron was beginning to grow nervous, his hand creeping to his sword hilt. Had he not had sight of Bawo already, he would have left the tavern at speed. It would not do, however, to leave his friend in such a situation. So it was, that with his eyes locked on his long time brother-in-arms, he trudged forward, ever further into the increasingly hellish tavern. At any moment, he was certain, flames were going to billow up along the walls, and the smell of brimstone would reach his nostrils.
It was not until he was nearly upon the table at which Bawo sat that Haron realized that his friend was not alone. A man, as naked as the day he was born, sat close beside the squat, shaven warrior, and rested a clawed hand on the back of his thick neck. A series of figures and symbols had been carved into the strange man's flesh, marring his otherwise fair skin, and blackness, like frostbite, lined the edges of those carvings. His eyes were blacker still. Then, as he took in the rest of the man's (creature's?) face, its shape, and the blonde hair that topped it, Haron realized that he recognized the person before him. It took a moment, several moments actually, before he could place a name to it.
"Erek? But you..."
The former mercenary, killed by an assassin several days before, shared with Haron a fanged grin. "Rumors of my demise... well, they were entirely true. Please, sit."
The soldier did as he was bidden, keeping a wary eye on the thing beside his friend. Certainly, this thing either looked like or had been Erek once. Whatever it was now, though, he could not say, other than that it was vile. The mere sight of it made his skin crawl. Once again, Haron knew, that if it were not for his friend, slack faced and staring off into space while sitting comfortably within the monster's grasp, he would have fled the scene as quickly as his powerful legs would have carried him. Different than some folk within Keeper's Gateway would believe, however, he knew a thing or two about loyalty. One did not abandon one's friend to the hands of what, essentially, appeared to be a particularly nasty demon.
"What do you want?" He queried.
The thing that had been Erek pushed against Bawo's neck with the hand that rested on it. Guided by it, and whatever unseen force the demon applied, the powerfully built warrior leaned forward and rested his head, facedown, against the table. The thing left him there, his attention never having left Haron. "To make you an offer. You see, when you were in a position of power and I was not, you found it prudent to enlist my aid in dealing with a problem that you could not personally touch. The tables have turned. You have fallen, I have risen, and I find myself in need of a similar service. I thought I might extend the courtesy to you."
"Why me?"
"Because I like you." Another fanged grin touched Erek's face. Haron was not sure just how he felt about that statement.
"I see." The soldier responded amiably. "So, I guess that brings me back to my first question. What could a dead man need from me?"
"Heh. A mutual friend of ours raised me from the dead. While, on one hand, I find myself more powerful, more free than I ever was in life, the limits that she imposed upon me chafe, like harsh, steel manacles that are just a bit too tight." The demon leaned forward on its elbows, dropping its voice as if there were any actual concern about the crowd of people in the tavern, all of whom appeared to be frozen in time, overhearing what he said. "To tell you the simple truth, I do not like being told what to do."
"Who is this acquaintance, then?"
"Mistress Alga." Erek sat back again, and flicked a long tongue across his lips. "Mmm, I can taste your disdain for her. Is that a yes?"
"I... you expect me to kill her?"
"Yes. I would recommend a weapon with a bit of range. I'm sure you are capable enough as a soldier, but you are not good enough to get close to her without her becoming aware of you."
"What I want to know is, is there any particular reason why I should do this thing for you?"
Erek stared at Haron for a moment, dumbfounded. Then, beginning with a sick sounding chuckle in his chest, he began to laugh. Long and loud, he expressed his mirth. It was more than a bit unnerving. "Bold, Haron! Bold! I like that about you. You are very bold."
"That... doesn't answer my question."
"Well, I could force you. That would be an entirely unpleasant experience, from your end of it anyway. " The demon mused, tapping the tip of one of his black claws against his lower lip. "I would not even have to try to find your petty fears and hatreds, you wear them so close to the surface. Heh. But, no. I told you, I wish to acquire your services. I will pay you, Haron, and I will pay you well. But not in gold."
Out of sheer, morbid curiosity, and the knowledge that there was little else he could do but continue the conversation at this point, the soldier asked his next question. "How, then?"
"I offer you two women." Erek held up two fingers to symbolize the prizes he was offering. "First, I will deliver to you the Dryad bitch who still bears Thanik's blood on her hands. You do remember Thanik, don't you? He was a bit of a mess, last I saw of him."
Hammering his fists against the table, Haron rose and leaned forward. Anger had burned away in the very instant the creature before him had spoken the name of his dearly departed friend. "Dryad? Was it Treyp?!"
"No. Sit down. Now." The demon stared at the soldier until, finally, his good sense overrode his angry outburst and he complied. A toothy smile spread across his face again, and he lowered one of the two fingers he had held aloft. "Second, I will give you your heart's desire. Charis can be yours again. Already, I have driven a mighty wedge between her and Geran. And, before you speak rashly, out of the hurt that still pours off you, bear this in mind. Geran is going to die. If you do not take her, then she goes to hell alongside him. It makes no difference to me, so long as that son of a Dryad whore suffers in the process."
Unable to continue holding Erek's black gaze, Haron dropped his own to his hands. They were still clenched into fists upon the table. He forced them to relax. "I... see."
"Well?"
"Might I... have some time, to consider your offer?"
"No." The demon growled, a new level of malevolence entering its tone. "This is a one time offer, and it is on the table now. Not tomorrow. Not in an hour. Give me your answer, coward."
"Then... yes. I will do it."
"Good." Erek was smiling again, that fanged grin, and leaned forward. He extended one of his black taloned hands. "Then let us shake on it."
For several long moments, Haron stared at that hand like the viper he knew that it was. Deals with demons, and he was becoming increasingly certain that that was the proper term for it, never went smoothly. He had a feeling, very clear and full of certainty, that he was going to regret having ever answered Bawo's summons. Taking a long, deep breath, he steeled himself for what he was about to do.
"Fuck it," the soldier said, and took Erek's hand.