by J. J. Newman
Elias actually chuckled at that. Finally they arrived at a large three story structure, its outer walls made of red brick as opposed to the usual darker brown. The doorway was actually painted white, as were the window sills. Tsaeris thought it looked silly, and would never have thought that this place could be a tavern.
A door man greeted the two, and recognized Elias. He greeted Elias warmly and asked after his health. After an exchange of pleasantries, the man opened the door. As Tsaeris was passing the man, he noticed that he seemed to be staring at Tsaeris’ coat with a look of disgust and horror.
“You like it? Before I leave I’ll tell you where you can get your own. You’d be surprised at what people just throw away.” Tsaeris almost laughed at the expression of outrage on the man’s face, then followed Elias inside.
Another man greeted them when they entered the door. He was standing behind a small podium, and asked Elias if he could help him. Tsaeris decided he liked cheaper taverns better. At least there you could go from door to bar without being stopped and greeted every five feet. The path from door to bar here seemed like a gauntlet of annoying, well-dressed greeters.
“My name’s Elias Sydarin. I’m here to meet with Manoch,” Elias told the man.
“Yes, Mr. Sydarin. Mr. Manoch is expecting you. Follow me.”
The annoying greeter led Tsaeris and Elias through the common room. This place was nothing like the taverns he knew. Chandeliers with every candle lit hung from different spots in the ceiling. The floor was polished dark wood and the walls were painted white. Tables were arranged around the room, and they were nicely cut and round with comfortable looking chairs. Nothing like the hard wooden chairs and splintery tables he was used to.
The man led them to a private room on the second floor balcony above the common room. The room was the only one on this side of the balcony, allowing greater privacy. The room had no door, only a large red velvet curtain. It was open. Inside was a large table surrounded by four comfortable chairs, the cushions also lined in red velvet.
Inside the room there were two men. One was well dressed in an opulent black suit, and was drinking red wine from a crystal goblet. He was bald and had no facial hair. Like most of the rich people Tsaeris had seen, this man was more than a little overweight.
The other man stood silently behind the one at the table. He wore hard black leather armor and a long sword at his hip. Tsaeris guessed that this man was filling the same role as he.
“Elias, welcome. Have a seat,” The bald man greeted.
“Hello, Manoch,” Elias said, sitting across from the man.
The man behind Manoch was staring at Tsaeris. Tsaeris met his gaze. The two men stood there, eye locked on eyes. He wondered if they would have to stand this way the entire meeting.
“Would you like some wine?” Manoch offered. Elias nodded, and Manoch filled a goblet from a decanter on the table.
“So, how are things going, Elias?” Manoch asked.
“Fine, Manoch. Yourself?”
“I’m well, my friend. It’s been too long since...” Manoch said.
“I’m a busy man, Manoch. So you’ll forgive me if I skip the small talk and get right to business,” Elias said, taking a sip of his wine.
“Of course, my friend. So what can I help you with?”
“Several things, actually. First off, the Dwarven Arms Fair is coming soon. More business for you, I imagine,” Elias started.
“Aye. Which means more money for you as well, my friend,” Manoch replied. He opened a small metal case and produced a tobacco stick. Tobacco sticks were a new fad in the city. It was essentially small amounts of tobacco wrapped in a thin white paper. The dwarves had invented them, and they had become quite popular. It was less work than cleaning and maintaining a pipe. He offered one to Elias, who accepted. The men used a candle on the table to light the ends. Manoch lit a second one, and held it out to Tsaeris.
“One for your man as well,” Manoch said, and Tsaeris accepted it graciously. He smoked it slowly, all the while staring at his opposite across the room. This was the first time he had smoked one. He decided that he liked it.
“Listen, Manoch. Opium sales are going up in The City, and we’ve decided to increase the cost of operating in Market,” Elias said. Manoch started fidgeting.
“This is getting ridiculous, Elias,” Manoch’s demeanor changed instantly. “Your people put some many conditions on anyone operating the underground. You do none of the work, and constantly demand more money. You tell us who we can and can’t sell to. We have to clear every single den and expansion with you. When is it enough?” Manoch was clearly angry.
“It’s enough when we say it’s enough, Manoch. I’m not here to discuss it. I’m here to tell you how it is.”
“How much?” Manoch asked after a moment of angry glaring.
“One thousand gold every other month for each den. Two hundred for each dealer, and five hundred for every production facility. We also require another five percent from the overall profit during the arms fair.”
“That is outrageous!” Manoch yelled. “I won’t pay it!”
“Then you’ll leave. Or die. I don’t really care which.”
“You speak bold for a man sitting in my establishment,” Manoch said coldly.
“I’ll ignore that threat this time. But only once. Next one earns you a cut throat,” Elias’ voice didn’t change with his threat. It was even and calm.
“Is that so?” Manoch said. “And if you were to disappear right now, who would even know what happened?”
“I think it’s time to shatter a few illusions you have about your power, Manoch,” Elias said. Then Elias clapped his hands sharply.
Tsaeris almost fell over in shock as three masked men dropped from the ceiling above them. One came down sword first on top of Manoch’s man, burying a sword down through the back of his neck, piercing down into his chest. The other two pointed small crossbows at Manoch. Tsaeris shook his head, impressed.
“You think that those thugs you have working for you makes you powerful? You’re nothing to us, Manoch. Just another number on the books. If we decide that we want you gone, you will disappear. I promise you that.”
“Please. I’m sorry. I’ll pay. I didn’t mean to offend. Don’t kill me...” Manoch no longer sounded as confident as he had few short seconds ago. His fall from big-shot drug lord to a begging victim had been a fast one indeed.
“Next time, you remember this. I don’t come to negotiate, Manoch. I come with demands. You meet them or you die. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Elias. I understand,” Manoch said, trembling.
“Good. And keep your books honest, Manoch. I’ll be auditing you regularly,” Elias picked up the decanter of wine, and took a long pull. He walked out of the room with it in his hand, drinking it casually. “This really is excellent wine.”
***
“So, we deal in drugs too?” Tsaeris asked Elias as they walked through the streets.
“Look. The Initiative isn’t funded by the palace, Tsaeris, and the businesses we own don’t bring in enough money. Drug dealers, assassins, and thieves are inevitable. There is no getting rid of them. But we’re big enough and powerful enough that they answer to us, and we make a tidy profit. We also keep them from being worse than what they are. It’s impossible to stop the corruption, Tsaeris. But you can control it.”
“I guess that makes a perverse kind of sense,” Tsaeris replied. “So what now?”
“We’re going to meet with one of the bigger thieves’ guild for much the same reason. Figured I’d get all of these meetings out of the way today, so I don’t have to wear this stupid outfit again for a while.”
Tsaeris nodded happily. The other meetings went smoother than the first. The other men they met agreed to the new terms reluctantly, but they dared not challenge Elias. Tsaeris decided that this was the most fun he had ever had as a novice. He had never seen Elias in this light. The man seemed so powerful. Large criminal e
nterprises quaked in their boots at the mere sight of him. Suddenly a thought struck Tsaeris.
“You’re the leader of the Initiative. I bloody knew it,” Tsaeris said suddenly. He couldn’t believe he said that. But as soon as it had left his mouth, he was suddenly so sure. Night had fallen, and the streets were empty as the men walked. He had always suspected it, but now it seemed all but certain. He was being mentored by the leader of the Initiative. What did that mean for him?
“I’m just a man, Tsaeris,” Elias replied.
“But the way those men feared you... and they were powerful men. I think you really are the leader. It all makes sense.”
“Do you, now?” Elias replied cryptically.
“You might as well admit it. It’s obvious to me now. I know it’s true,” Tsaeris pressed.
“One day when you’re older, you’ll look back on everything you knew and realize that you didn’t know shit,” Elias said.
“You’re not denying it,” Tsaeris accused. “You are the leader. Did you create the Initiative?”
“I’m not denying it because it’s pointless. You’ve already made up your mind, and nothing I say is going to change it.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Tsaeris felt like he was on top of the world. He was being mentored by the leader of the Third Eye Initiative, a man who was most likely the most powerful person in the city. Tsaeris wondered if that meant that big things were planned for him. Of all the possible mentors, his was the leader. It must mean something
Life was suddenly very interesting.
Chapter Twenty Five
In the Wrong Hands
It was so cold. Colder than it had ever felt before. His fur lined clothing seemed laughable in the face of such a furious and biting wind. Tents and fires burned nearby, yet he was no longer welcome among them. The empty frozen wasteland was all that was offered him now.
The woman was crying. He begged her to let him stay. She told him that he was not one of them, and they would never accept him. He cried and tried to run closer to the warm fires and the tents that had always signified safety and warmth. The woman tried to stop him, but he rushed quickly past her reaching grasp.
A man intercepted him just a few feet from the life giving fire. With contempt and a complete lack of sympathy, he carried the boy by the scruff of his cloak and tossed him face first into the snow at the woman’s feet.
A boy ran at the man as if to attack him, but he was small and ineffective. He was quickly dragged from view, yelling the entire time.
He got to his feet again, and the woman was now kneeling to face him. She was wiping the snow and tears from his face. He told her that he would die out there in the cold. He was too young and small to survive. She put a finger on his lips to silence him.
She told him that if he was strong, he would survive. He heard men snickering at the absurd idea, commenting on how he would die and would be better off. The woman leaned forward and whispered in his ear, a private message for him alone.
She told him that she could give him no food, for it was forbidden. She said that if he were strong and if he listened carefully, she would give him a chance at life instead. She asked him if he still remembered how to tell direction from the sun. He told her that he did.
She told him to go south, and to not waver from that course. That if he remained on course and if he was strong enough to survive, he would find him. He had no idea what she meant, but he promised her that he would. He cried ever harder as she turned away from him. He was only a few paces from her now, but he felt so alone.
He walked. It was so cold, and he was so hungry. He thought a pack of wolves were following him. He knew he would die, but he continued south as he was told. He fell constantly, his feet not as sure as his elders. His clothing quickly began to tear, and the cold became even more unbearable.
He was not sure how long he had walked. He had vague memories of nights and sleep, but they were fragmented. He had trouble remembering anything beyond the last few moments. Somehow he had ended up in a forest; the leaves had long since fallen under the crushing weight of winter. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. He didn’t even remember what eating was like.
Finally, he fell. He knew this was it. He would never find the strength to stand again. He wondered what it would be like to die. Then the world began to fade away as he finally began to succumb to the cold. When he felt the hand grab his tattered shirt he thought he must be dreaming. Then he was suddenly looking down at the snow from above. He was moving.
Sleep claimed him for a time, but it wasn’t the sleep of death, and he awoke to the warmth of a glowing fire. A man sat opposite him and was roasting something on a spit. He pretended to still be sleeping while he tried to make out the man’s face. But sleep was not yet ready to release him, and his eyes grew heavy and closed once again.
***
Tsaeris awoke. He rolled into a sitting position, his legs hanging off of the side of the bed. He buried his face in trembling hands. He could still feel the cold. Tsaeris stood up and walked across the room he usually stayed in at the tavern, and added wood to the hearth to try and chase the cold away.
Tsaeris had dreamed this dream before, but never had there been so many details. He only ever remembered walking in the snowy forest and the hand lifting him from the snow. This was the first time he had seen the woman or the man.
Tsaeris remembered the walk vaguely, and it wasn’t just from the dream. It was a memory. He wondered if these new details were also memories, or just a creation of his mind. Tyrier had once told him that the mind liked to add details to memories in order to fill in the gaps. He assumed that this must have been the case.
Tsaeris was still bothered. Usually his dreams were senseless and incoherent images. Never were they realistic in any fashion, except for the dream of his walk in the snow. These new details were realistic as well. He shook his head. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. He had more important things to do than worry over dreams.
Tsaeris got dressed. He put his baldric on top of his green tunic, and then put on his coat. The hilt of his short sword poked out of the top left corner of his coat, just over his shoulder. He put on his boots, and headed to the common room of the tavern.
He walked to the bar and sat down beside Blorick, who was in his usual stool and was already quite drunk. Tsaeris was a night person, so even though he had just awakened it was well past noon. Still, the dwarf had clearly been drinking for some time.
The tavern was empty for all but Blorick, Tsaeris and Richard, who manned the bar. Afternoon was always a slow period for the tavern, as the patronage were either sleeping or off preparing for their nightly missions.
“What are you having, Tsaeris?” Richard asked.
“Food. I don’t really care what. And some small beer,” Tsaeris ordered. Small beer contained almost no alcohol, but tasted better than water. It was a bit early for Tsaeris to drink anything stronger.
Richard returned shortly with a plate of cold bread, warm ham and some hard orange cheese. Tsaeris ate the meal with little interest, and washed it down with the small beer.
“How’s it going, Blorick?” Tsaeris asked the dwarf, who had been silent.
“How’s it going? Like hell,” Blorick replied, ordering another mug of whiskey.
“I was just asking,” Tsaeris said. “No need to get snappy.”
“Ye ain't give a damn about how I’m doin’, lad.” Blorick sometimes seemed to slip into his dwarven accent when he was drunk.
“What makes you say that?” Tsaeris asked, and then removed a tobacco stick from a wooden case in his pocket. He lit it from a candle on the bar. Tsaeris decided to buy some after he had tried it from Manoch. It was expensive, but he decided he liked it better than pipes. Laziness was a factor.
“Ye and yer pal pretend to give a shit. I come to him and he tell me he’s gonna stop Dormic. Well where is Dormic now? Ain't here drinkin’ his life away. Nah, he’s right where he w
anted to be. And I’m here.” The dwarf looked like a broken mess, and was barely even a reflection of his past self. Gone was the polished armor. Now he wore stained linen tunic and trousers. His hair was dirty and knotted, as was his beard.
“Hey, if you want to live the rest of your life as a drunken wreck, that’s fine. But don’t blame us for Dormic.”
“Eh? And who do I blame?” Blorick growled.
“You know, we let you stay here. We let you drink here for free. Maybe you show some respect.”
“Bah. What do ye know? Yer just a little puppy trying to play with the big dogs,” Blorick said contemptuously.
“Maybe I am. But you know what I’m not?” Tsaeris asked. Blorick grunted. “I’m not whiny drunk who sits around feeling sorry for himself.”
“What did ye just say?” Blorick said angrily.
“You know, I used to hear stories of a dwarf. A strong dwarf who didn’t let anything get in his way. Who stood up and fought and would never lie down.” Tsaeris said, standing up to leave. “You should really have a talk with him. His name’s Blorick. If you happen to run into him, tell him I’ve been dying to meet him.” Tsaeris was pleased with the speech, and felt that it had been very deep.
Tsaeris walked out of the tavern, not waiting for a response. The instant he stepped into the city street, Blorick disappeared from his mind. The sun was shining for once, the rain finally deciding to take a day off.
Tsaeris was planning on visiting the book store where Cyra worked, but he saw two familiar faces walking towards him. It was Raina and Jarod. He waved, and walked to meet them.
“Hey guys. Where you headed?” Tsaeris asked them after shaking Jarod’s hand and giving Raina and friendly hug.
“We were coming to see you, Tsaeris,” Jarod replied.
“I’m surprised you two moles can even see out here in the sunlight,” Tsaeris said, with a small smile.
“That was hilarious,” Raina said sarcastically.
“Give me a break. I just gave a dwarf a very inspirational speech. My wit needs time to rest and gather its strength back.”