The Shadow of Bristork

by Wayne O'Brien

  The Shadow of Bristork

  Wayne O'Brien

  Part of a series

  Although The Shadow of Bristork is part three to the series War of the Dragons, it is a standalone story and need not be accompanied with the others.

  The series War of the Dragons is also part of a much larger book series entitled Lore, which follows the full history of the planet Ashra.

  The Shadow of Bristork

  he room was black as pitch save for the small flame that moved silently through the air. The flame, nestling in the palm of a thin-fingered hand, moved over a dimly lit table. On the table rested a large book bound by three locked metal rings. The shadowy figure opened the book and began quickly reading its contents.

  Page after page the figure turned, searching for a missing piece of information. And, suddenly, there it was, near the bottom in the ledger of sales and debt. “Graegor, three hundred bags, return: one hundred gold, payment: five gold.” The figure closed the book, picked up the small kerosene lamp and turned to the walls of the darkened room. The shelves were filled with glass vessels containing cooking herbs and spices. Tucked behind some jars the figure found a wooden box. In the darkness, the thin-fingered hands took the box and opened it. The bitter stench of Oprianal, one of the worst narcotics in the realm of men, floated up from the chest. The grayish purple buds of the flower lay on an old cloth in the box.

  A rumbling noise sounded from below, emanating from somewhere under the room, like a heavy door closing. It was followed by the creaking of footsteps climbing the old stairs that led up from the cellar. The figure closed the box quickly and put it back, knocking over a small jar of oregano. The bony hands picked up the jar and brushed the spilt seasoning onto the wooden floor. The tiny flame was extinguished as the figure opened a door on the far side of the room. A light shone through the opening door opposite where the figure exited, the door closing silently behind it.

  The red sun rose silently in the west. The dull sky began to glow, testing each color in the palette before settling on the usual greenish hue for the day. A beautiful, fiery-haired woman walked through the door of The Lotus tavern and inn. The man behind the counter looked at her, surveying her buxom stature.

  "What 'an I do for ye, pre'ty lady," the barrel-chested man asked, his smile half hidden by the long hair sprouting abundantly from his face.

  "Name's Syndael," she said. Her lilting voice made the man lick his lips, "I hear ye ‘ave some work for me."

  "Aye, I'm Helmeck," the man said, bowing as he awkwardly kissed her hand. "When I was told to expect a beau’y, I ne'er thought she would be a daugh'er of Agste."

  Syndael felt her face go hot and turn red at the compliment. Her green eyes studied the dining room through the luxuriant curtain of red hair. Each hair seemed to be in wild rebellion, refusing to play with its neighbors.

  "I hear ye are from the west," Helmeck said as he gestured for her to come around the counter. "The coast?"

  "Aye, Tamerra."

  "Lookin’ for a bad guy?" He said, looking her over. Syndael felt his stare, and leaned into it.

  "Aye, ye know any?" She smiled, flirting. Helmeck laughed heartily.

  "Ye'r not a shy one," he said. "Ye shall be fine here. Jaques'll want t’speak t’ye."

  "Who's Jaques?"

  "He’s…" Helmeck hesitated as he sliced vegetables to be stewed for midday and that evening, searching for the right words. "The investor behind t'is fine establishment."

  "I see." Syndael leaned against the counter, her hip pushed out a bit.

  "He's in the back." Helmeck pointed to a door behind her. She went to the door and knocked.

  "What?" a rough voice cried.

  "Tis Syndael," she said through the door. "Ye'r new tavern maid."

  There was a moment's pause before she was allowed to enter. The backroom was furnished with shelves and a table with two chairs. A young man, wearing a short-cut beard, turned to look at her. A thin man sat opposite, older, his face leathery and worn.

  "The gods have smiled upon me," the older man said.

  "Ye must be Jaques," Syndael said curtseying flirtatiously. Jaques began coughing hard, his hand on his chest, fighting the terminal disease in his lungs.

  "Aye," Jaques said. His bloodshot eyes looked her over. "Take that off.” He gestured at her dress.

  Syndael untied her blouse and let it fall to the floor, her underskirt still around her waist. She looked at the brown-haired man, who was still facing her, and smiled. Her breasts drooped slightly under their own weight, gently pulling on the skin of her chest.

  "All of it," Jaques said. She untied her under-skirt and stood naked for the men to see. A chill came over her as Jaques stared at her, smiling. "That's better, Agste's favor," he said, "even below. How's that for payment from the Shadow?"

  The short-haired man looked at her. He seemed almost saddened by the fact that Syndael was forced to present her naked body to them. A wave of excitement from being so exposed suddenly washed over her. The feeling was quickly followed by embarrassment and then fear.

  "A fine prize," the man said dismissively and turned back to Jaques. "As for the business at hand…"

  Jaques grunted disdainfully as he drew on his pipe. His hard eyes never left Syndael's body. "There is a shipment that shall be harvested on the morrow," he said through the billowing smoke of the oprianal. "The Nameless have been at my heels for a while now. You are to make sure things go as planned."

  "And her?" The young man asked, jerking his head at Syndael.

  Syndael shivered a little in the cool air as Jaques smiled evilly at her. "She 'ill learn to be silent. I'll show her tonight. Leave now woman." Syndael bent to pick up her clothes. "No!" Jaques said sharply. "As you are." He smiled unpleasantly, his bloodshot eyes half closing as he pointed to the door.

  Syndael's hands shook; anxiety began to build in her. She really didn’t want to be paraded around the tavern naked, but she knew she must obey if she was going to get closer to Jaques.

  "Well, what are ye waiting for?" Jaques asked, anger growing rapidly in his voice. She turned and walked through the door through which she had entered the room.

  She closed the door behind her, her face hot with embarrassment. A solitary voice called out, asking how much she would cost for the night. She looked at Helmeck as he turned to see what the fuss was about.

  "Prophet's head!" Helmeck cursed. He crossed to her with a large blanket in his hands. "Mus' be in one o' his moods," he said as he covered her. "She is not on t' morn's menu. Barbarae shall be here shortly," Helmeck said to the guest. "Head on home and get new clothes. Be back at noon."

  "Aye," Syndael said. She left the tavern and walked out into the street, still clad in only the blanket.

  She walked along Bristork Highway, heading south, until she reached Crocien's Street, a block north from the Temple of Agste. There, at the corner, she stepped up to the door of a large house. She was aware of the city people gawking at her, some even asked for a price for the evening. Syndael ignored them all. She knocked on the door twice, waited a second then knocked twice more. A moment later she heard the sound of a bolt sliding from its cradle. The door opened.

  "What in the name of Avenste happened?" A young clean-shaven man asked.

  "I felt like walkin' through the streets naked," she responded with a sarcastic smile. The man opened the door wider for her to enter.

  "Quickly, before you are seen."

  Syndael entered the house and nodded to the other man who was sitting at a bare table.

  "Met Jaques?" a golden-haired man sitting at the table asked.

  "Aye, contact has been made," Syndael said. She went into another room to get dressed.

  "There's
no need to keep your accent with us," the man who had opened the door said.

  "Aye, 'tis true," Syndael yelled from the other room. "Yet t'is easier to keep it goin'. Goin' back and forth may cause confusion, an' in turn may cause me to be discovered." Syndael walked back into the room as she finished tying her blouse over her chest.

  The golden-haired man smiled as he watched her twist and knot the strings. "When will you let me taste your fires of Agste?" He asked flirtatiously as he moved across the room towards her.

  "Ne'er, Shaene." She smiled. "Not 'til I turn Miche!"

  The long-haired man guffawed briefly and looked up at Syndael, who was walking around the table to where he sat. "I appreciate the offer,” Shaene said, “but I must decline."

  "Oye," Syndael said. She pressed her chest against the back of his neck and reached down his pants. "Just ‘cause ye like sausage doesn't mean ye can't have fish." He squirmed under her touch as she grabbed his crotch. A small sultry smile spread across her face.

  "Report!" A deep, crackling voice said from the room next to the one she had changed in. Syndael stood quickly, removing her hands from Miche.

  "Aye, sire. A large shipment was given to a man named Graegor."

  "Have you located where he keeps his ledger?" The deep-voiced man asked. He stood at the head of the table, his broad shoulders drooping under the weight of the years.

  "Nay, not as yet anyway." There was a sharp rap on the door followed by another, the same pattern Syndael had used, and Miche opened the door. The short-bearded man from earlier entered.

  "Syndael," he said. "I must say, you do not leave much to the imagination!"

  "Burn!" Syndael cursed with a mocking smile causing the man to laugh to himself in his annoying high-pitched "hehehe" laugh.

  "Report," the older man said.

  "Jaques is preparing for another harvest," the man said. "I think he suspects something is amiss."

  The broad-shouldered man's upper lip twitched uncontrollably where a deep scar disfigured it. "Take your time; we have not progressed as far as we have by taking unnecessary risks." The man bowed shallowly in acknowledgement. "Syndael?"

  "Aye, sire," she responded.

  "We need you in close to Jaques. Bed him as soon as your cover allows. Happy men like to talk."

  "That's not going to be easy," the newcomer said. "Getting him to talk that is. Jaques is not very trusting, and the years of smoking oprianal have made him unstable and paranoid." He looked at Syndael with his big brown eyes under long lashes. "This will not be an easy assignment."

  "Aye, I figured that already."

  "Adom is correct, Syndael," their leader said. "I have been here for almost fifteen years, and this is the closest we have yet gotten. The ends of our assignments are nigh, yet do not let your guard down, too many of us have been killed by the Shadow Claw already." He paused to look at his subordinates. "No more from here on out."

  "Any word from Treg?" Shaene asked, brushing his long golden hair out of his freckled face.

  "Not yet, they have been keeping him on guard duty, and he has been staying in the castle barracks. Avenste be praised, he will report soon."

  "They want me back by noon," Syndael told them. "Bes' not keep ‘em waitin'."

  "Until your next report," the tall thin man said.

  "Aye." Syndael walked past the grey-haired man with the scar. She went out through the back door into a narrow alley and turned left. The route she took snaked through tiny alleys and busy streets, making sure she lost anyone that might have been following her.

  The sun reached its zenith, burning hot in the cool mountain air. Its red hue gave the midday city a murderous look. The bells from the Temple of Agste rang out as the devout prayed to the red sun.

  Syndael entered The Lotus Inn and was briefly told what her duties as a tavern maiden would be by Barbarae, a dirty looking, older woman, who also had fiery hair. Deliver food and ale, clean the tables and floors, and please any who have money to pay. Nothing as near as difficult as attempting to get Jaques to talk about his business. Once the sun began to disappear beyond the eastern peaks, customers started to file in for their evening meal and drink.

  As it should be on the first day of a new job, introductions were made and the customers were relatively patient - until they had a couple ales in them, and then the grabbing and sexual references started. They did nothing but grow as the night progressed.

  There was one guest, however, that stood out above the rest. He arrived late in the evening, paused a moment at the door, then took a seat in the far corner, away from the bard.

  He was tall and thin, the hood of his cloak up, casting a shadow over his face. His hands were a deep coppery tan from the sun, and he had long, thin fingers.

  Syndael walked up to his table. "Oye there, s'ranger. What ye be havin'?" she asked.

  "Ale and a plate of food," the stranger replied. "And a room for the night." His accent was strange, it was a slow drawl, yet was lilting and choppy, a mix of many human dialects.

  "Aye," she said, and waited for his coin.

  "I do not have any coin at the moment. Perhaps I could work it off?"

  She paused for a moment, noticing his coppery, pointed chin that jutted from the shadows of his hood. A customer, a dwarf, called for her and she turned to look briefly, then back to the stranger. "I'll ‘ave to ask Helmeck, sire," she said and left to tend to the calling guest.

  After refilling the dwarf’s mug, she went to the fire pit where Helmeck was serving that night's dinner.

  "Helmeck," Syndael said as she passed the counter, "there's a guest in the corner lookin' to work for food and a room."

  Helmeck groaned at the idea of negotiating with the traveler. "Aye, I'll speak to 'im in a minute." He handed two wooden plates of food to her and pointed to a barrel near the bard. “Barbarae is busy upstairs, take these to the board players.”

  "His bow was Elvish," she thought. “And he was tanned like an elf too.” She delivered the food to the old men playing backgammon. "Why would an elf come this far south?" She wondered. She stopped at the counter as a fearful thought entered her mind. A young boy, the reports she had read stated, had been doing small jobs, apparently for the Shadow Claw. Could this elf be here for that? or did he have another purpose?

  She brought two clay mugs of ale to the men she just taken the food to and was passing the counter again when Helmeck called her.

  "Aye," Syndael replied.

  "Get the s'ranger an ale and a plate. I need t' speak t' Jaques."

  "There's somethin' off 'bout that one," she said as the meal was put on a plate. "Did ye see 'is bow?"

  "Aye," Helmeck said thoughtfully. "Longface made. Put 'im in room two."

  Syndael brought the food and ale to the stranger. "Would ye require company t'night?" she asked the newcomer pulling at the strings holding her top together.

  "Not this evening, thank you," he said courteously.

  "As ye wish. Ye'rs is room two. Atop the stairs there." She pointed to his right and put the key on the table.

  "I thank you for your hospitality."

  She looked at him questioningly. “He is surely an elf,” she thought. “Does he not know the dangers of being here?”

  The night continued uneventfully. She saw many of the guests buying something from Barbarae after she returned from pleasing a guest in one of the rooms on the second floor. The crowd grew rambunctious the more they drank in the stifling air of the smoky tavern. Finally, Helmeck announced there would be no more food or drink served that night. Many of the patrons groaned at the ending of the night, while some even hurled hollow, drunken threats. Hanging in the air over it all was the strong bitter sweet smell of oprianal.

  Syndael and Barbrabrae, the aging, fire-haired woman, cleaned the tables as Helmeck doused the flames in the fire pit. Jaques spoke briefly of the income with Helmeck before calling for Syndael to join him upstairs.

  His room was across the hall from where the ranger now lay.
It was finely furnished, with a harness adorned with two karambits proudly displayed on the wall. On a desk against the wall stood two scales, one for money and a larger one for product. There was a ledger on the table, a quill and ink well nearby.

  Jaques, whose eyes were glazed and red, looked at Syndael. "Are you a mockingbird?" he asked. She looked at him curiously.

  "Nay, sire," she replied.

  Jaques sat at the desk, and removed a small box from a drawer. In it was a pouch with the narcotic flower oprianal, and another pipe.

  "Have some," he sneered.

  Syndael hesitated for split second before walking over to Jaques and watched him finish putting the pulverized flower in the pipe. She accepted it when he offered it to her. Jaques lit a small stick from a candle and held it to the pipe as she inhaled. The smoke was harsh and burned her throat and lungs. She coughed before filling her lungs half way.

  Jaques laughed hard, his eyes wide and distant, as if he was watching a theatrical comedy only he could see. His laughter quickly became a violent coughing spell, causing him to double over.

  Syndael took the burning twig from him and waited until he finished. He glared at her, demanding she smoke. She did, puffing gently, and filling her lungs.

  "Hold it," Jaques said. His voice was demanding and mean.

  As she held the smoke in her lungs, she felt her head swim. Her vision began to blacken, as though she was looking through a reed. She exhaled and her sight cleared again, except now she could see, feel and smell the most brilliant display of lights. Greens, reds, blues, like starbursts in her field of vision. The display faded into her surroundings. Nothing was alive, yet everything seemed to move. The candles swayed, desks and dressers breathed deeply. She felt empowered, strong, ready to take on any situation, yet all the while, the sensations she felt on her skin were dulled.

  "You are mine now," Jaques said with a lustful, yet vicious, tone. Syndael looked at him, unable to focus, her senses in overdrive yet somehow dulled.