by Nikolas Rex
“What happened?” Marc asked.
Sesuadra listened intently, but as usual, silently.
“Powerful creatures came upon the pass, threatening the town and all travelers passing through. Mayor Hartshor, of Terga, put a large bounty on the creatures’ heads, hoping to rid the place of their evil.”
“And no one has taken the job?”
“Quite the opposite, many have gone up, seeking fame and fortune, but most of them failed, losing their lives to the beasts. The few who returned spoke of terrible monsters with great wings.”
“Dragons?” Zildjin asked.
“Some say they be dragons, yes,” The barmaid picked up her tray, “I must be going now, enjoy your food.” She left quickly, returning to the kitchen near the back.
“Let’s fight the dragons!” Marc quickly spoke.
“What? Have you traded your thinker with a mudlunk?”
“Huh?” Marc didn’t get it.
“It is a saying,” Sesuadra spoke, “Mudlunk is a common term for an ackpol, it is a stupid creature whose home is made of mud.”
Marc punched Zildjin in the arm.
“Ow!” Zildjin pretended to be hurt, “I am serious though, no one in their right mind wants to fight a dragon.”
“Well what should we do then?” Zildjin said, steering the conversation back to the task at hand.
“We can’t delay any longer on reaching Whiteholt,” Marc said, “we should take the path up to Terga and through Rawson’s pass.”
“You are not suggesting such only to glimpse a peek at a dragon, are you?” Zildjin half-mocked half-joked.
Marc shrugged instead of answering immediately, “Think about it, even if we do meet a giant territorial flying dragon monster, we could kill it, and collect the bounty! Our coin problem would be solved!”
“Do not overestimate your powers,” Cydas said, “You are still young, and mostly untrained.”
“I wouldn’t fight it alone of course,” Marc said, “All of us, together, I’m sure we could do it!”
“Your enthusiasm is admirable,” Cydas admitted, “But I hesitate,”
“Why?”
“I received no such vision from the Oracle about us facing a dragon.”
“But even you said that the Oracle did not show you everything, that she wasn’t able to.” Marc continued.
Cydas shrugged, with no verbal answer to give.
“Well then, what should we do?” Cydas finally said.
They all turned to Marc.
It was in that moment that Marc realized the weight of his calling.
They all looked to him for guidance, even Cydas, who was older by several years.
Marc faltered for a moment, a small part of him wanting to crawl back into the furthest corner of the room, like he did at home, to hide, to disappear.
But that was not him anymore.
“We will go through Rawson’s pass. I don’t know why, but something just feels right about it,” Marc finally said.
“And the dragons, or whatever it is that may be there?” Zildjin asked.
Marc thought for a moment, “We will fight if we have to, but we are not actively seeking them out. The crystals are the most important thing here, and reaching the Oracle, not bounty hunting. If we end up fighting, and killing the dragons, then so be it, we can claim a reward, but that is not our goal. We go with what we have and travel to Terga to resupply. Let’s take a break for the rest of the day, have a goodnight’s rest, and head out early tomorrow at sunrise.”
Marc felt confident in his instructions, even surprised at himself at his taking charge. He felt good, not just about himself, but about the plan.
“Well,” Marc said, rolling up the map, “that’s it for now.”
***
Zildjin found himself alone at one of Fairlake’s cobbler shops.
Eleanor had done excellent work with his boots but he had cut a large portion of the leather on his right boot sword fighting with Sesuadra the other night and was finally glad to get the chance to get it fixed. Marc had come with him. They reminisced about Eleanor and Kolima. Zildjin knew his friend wished they could go back, that exchanging letters was just not the same as saying goodbye in person. He noticed how much of an effect Eleanor had had on Marc, and knew just how he felt. Eleanor had played a substantial part in his own life as well. He always thought back to the cold and dreary day he had been left at the Kolima port as a child. Sometimes he imagined that his parents had simply accidently forgotten him, and even now were searching desperately for him. But he knew the truth. When he had come of age Eleanor had told him that his parents ship never reached its intended port, forever lost at sea, most likely attacked and sunk by pirates.
Destiny.
Zildjin thought the name bitterly. It was the name of the ship his parents had sailed on.
He did not believe in destiny.
He thought it was lucky Eleanor had found him a fortnight later, starving and dying, not destiny. She had taken him in and nursed him back to help. He was the son she could never have, and then Sesuadra came along too.
Luck, he said to himself, pure and simple.
He missed Eleanor too, but, with the way things appeared, going back to Kolima would be bad news. Sure the matter would probably resolve itself, what with Eleanor’s good standing in the Magic District, and Zildjin and Sesuadra’s good work with Soren, but, then again, Marc was not their cousin, despite what Soren had said. That might end up being a difficult thing explaining away.
Why no, Overseer, Marcus does not, in fact, have a home in Lyrridia. You see, two magical beings who I believe can be none other than Exalted Spirits themselves, brought him here. Also, he has the Sword of the Phoenix, and yeah, he’s my friend, so you and all your little Hands and guards here, just better not mess with us.
Zildjin smiled at himself as his imagination played out a very gruesome and thrilling scene of swashbuckling and magical explosions as he cut and stabbed his way through hundreds of protectors to face off against the Overseer himself. Marc, meanwhile, wielded the fire of the phoenix against the Overseer’s hands, countering their magic, which was weak in comparison. Sesuadra, of course, jumped in ever so silently, his curved blade swinging wildly, to help fight the now giant and heavily armored leader of Kolima.
“Your boot, sir,”
“Huh?” Zildjin was pulled from his day dream, “Ah, yes, of course.”
Zildjin took the now perfectly mended boot from the cobbler.
The man held out his hand, expecting payment in the full and correct amount.
“Right,” Zildjin said, understanding the action. He fished in his knapsack for his coin bag.
He brought it out and emptied it into the man’s open palm.
The man exchanged a small number of coins back for the remainder and thanked Zildjin for the payment.
“Very fine job sir!” Zildjin said, hoping that the praise would be enough to warrant an extra return of coins.
The man nodded but made no move to give out additional coins. The man turned back to his work table and picked up another project that required his attention, bidding Zildjin a good day.
“Rats,” Zildjin mumbled quietly after he put on his newly mended boot, and left.
The sun was low in the sky, nearing dusk. They had all agreed to return to the Inn for last meal at dark so he figured he should head back.
He shook his coin bag, it barely jingled. He was almost broke, but so were the others. Not much coin in this line of work. Zildjin thought, meaning gathering the crystals together and saving everyone from an early gruesome death, or a prolonged agonizing life under the tyrannical rule of a dark and powerful mage who indeed must have changed his thinker with that of a mudlunk. Marcus is right, he continued to himself, if we do meet dragons in Terga, we should try and take them out. We would not only be doing the town a favor, but getting a little coin for the effort too, a good deal, all in all. And the ladies, well, they might just have a mind to thank us fo
r saving them too, in whatever way they could. He smiled, imagining courting several beautiful young women all who swooned easily over him.
He was brought out of his daydream when he slightly bumped into a man.
“Watch it!”
“Sorry,” Zildjin replied, giving a short bow.
The man quickly seemed to forget about Zildjin, his attention focused back on what he was doing before Zildjin had walked by.
Several men, some older, some young, were gathered around a barrel which had been overturned to act as a sort of table. Zildjin quickly recognized what it was. It was a popular game of chance that many workers played on their off time, sailors at the docks in Kolima, Protectors in guard houses, and general laborers on street corners played variations of the same type of game. Eleanor disapproved of such things, as did Soren, so Zildjin had never actually participated, but he had watched several, some with Sesuadra, and one or two since Marc had arrived. Eleanor said that most of those in charge of the game, called Caretakers, had the game fixed, and so playing none of them was the safest course of action. But Zildjin thought it only took a good use of judgment to size up which Caretakers were cheaters and which were not.
Zildjin particularly loved when the dice were rolled. That perfect moment, when the chance of winning or losing was in the air, all were equal in that brief second or two. Sesuadra said that some of the games could be decided by careful application of skill but Zildjin did not think that was the case. It was all in the luck of the roll.
Zildjin watched, fascinated, and finally, with nothing better to do, asked.
“Hey, could I join in this round?”
“Show us your coin there, laddie-o”
Zildjin sighed, realizing that of course he would have to match the lowest bet to join a round.
He withdrew his coin bag slowly.
Then emptied it onto a portion of the barrel that was empty.
Three small coins fell out.
The group laughed and Zildjin bent over, carefully retrieving his three coins, embarrassed.
“You might be able to get a Lady of the Eve for a night,” One of the older men said.
“Yeah,” Another chimed in, “If she were a gimp with one bad eye.”
The rest burst into laughter.
Zildjin wasn’t taking kindly to the jesting.
For some reason, he suddenly felt the weight of his medallion in the inner pocket of his shirt. He withdrew it and placed it on the barrel.
It shined brilliantly, brighter than any of the other coins on the barrel, almost as if it had its own source of glowing light.
“Will this do?”
***
“Where is he?”
Marc was standing outside of the Inn with Sesuadra and Cydas. Night had already fallen for a while now. Torches hanging from shops and from street poles illuminated the cobblestones with an orange glowing light. Inside the Inn was mostly quiet, the windows were shuttered but a few people could be heard singing drunken tunes in the common room. A few late nighters walked the nearby streets, heading home after a long day. But it was mostly empty.
“I said return here for dinner, I mean, last meal, right?”
The other two nodded.
“I hope—” Marc began.
But a figure came walking at a quick pace down the street towards them.
It was Zildjin.
“I am sorry,” He said as he approached, “sorry,” he seemed a little out of breath.
He held two large bags in his hands, and a third slung around his shoulders.
“Sorry,” he added, “I know it is late, but I just lost track of time, and anyway, I am here now. Did I miss last meal?”
The other three looked at him silently.
“What?” He said.
“What indeed,” Cydas said, “What have you got there?”
“Oh, these?” He said.
He lifted the bags and shook them slightly. They were full to the brim with coins.
“I won them! Violetwitch, Swift Roll, Hide em Show em, you name it! I won it!”
“You have been street gambling?” Cydas asked.
Zildjin nodded, “I did not realize how much time had gone by until I looked up from the table and saw how dark it had gotten. I was on a streak, just kept winning! One by one people started to leave and finally the Caretaker called it quits and wrapped up his stoop. I do not know, I just got on a roll, it was amazing!”
“Foolish thing to do, what if you had lost?” Sesuadra said, “We have little coin as it is.”
Zildjin was slightly put off, “But I did not lose, I won, and I won big.”
Marc could feel a slight tension in the air.
“I thought you guys would be happy, I solved our supply problem, we can resupply anywhere we want now.” Zildjin said.
Marc thought for a moment, wanting to handle the situation.
He decided to smile and wrap his arm around Zildjin’s neck.
“You took a chance for the better of the group, and it paid off, that’s what matters!”
Zildjin smiled, regaining his composure, “Just wanted to help,” he said.
“But,” Marc continued, “Let’s discuss it as a group first next time. Thanks for thinking of us, again, though.”
Zildjin nodded, “Of course, of course.”
“Well, let’s head back inside, maybe the cook is still up and willing to make something for us to eat, now that we have the money for it.”
They turned to enter the Inn.
“Not so fast!”
A deep gravelly voice made them stop and turn back around.
Seven large men stood in the street, illuminated in soft orange light of the nearby hanging street lamps. They looked tough, some armed with swords, others with long knives. The foremost man stood forward from the other six. He was one of the larger of the crowd. He had long dirty black hair, a roughly cut beard to match, and prominent cheek bones. He was probably about thirty five or forty, though a haggard drunk look in his face made him seem older, and scarier. He had eyes as black as night.
“You there, the one with the coin bags,” the man in front said again.
“Me?” Zildjin said. He held the bags behind him, as if doing so would suddenly solve whatever problem was about to unfold.
“Yeah, today’s lucky winner.”
Marc could already see where things were going.
He felt a strength rise within him.
“We got word from Dumos, the Caretaker, that you just would not seem to lose at all,” The man continued, “He said it was impossible, that you had to lose sometime, but you just kept on winning. He said he thinks that maybe you had a little help, that maybe you helped yourself, that maybe you are a cheat.”
Sesuadra seemed to have felt the strength gathering in Marc, and, being a longtime friend of Zildjin’s, longer than Marc, stepped forward first.
“My friend is not a cheat,” He said quietly, but confidently, “And by the sound of it, if Dumos was expecting my friend to lose that would imply that Dumos had some of the games rigged.”
The man was at a loss for words.
Sesuadra could sense the very low level of intelligence of the crowd, but did not store such knowledge as a factor to underestimate the severity of threat or harm they could inflict on Sesuadra and his friends.
A few people had come to the Inn windows, opening the shutters at the voices outside. One or two people peeked over from nearby streets but it was dark and hard to see exactly what was going on.
“Well?” Marc said, also taking a step forward.
The man took the sign as a threat and slowly inched his hand towards the sword at his side.
“Do not talk back to us, whelplings,” He looked at Zildjin, “You won far too much coin in a single night to be anything but a cheat, now return what you have stolen and we will all go away quietly, otherwise things will get ugly.”
“I am not a cheat!” Zildjin said defensively, “I won this fair as Itherin’s free
dom!”
“Liar, cheat, and a thief!” The man said. He drew his sword and the others behind him followed suit.
Marc and the others drew their weapons as well.
Oh Zildjin, what have you gotten us into, Marc thought briefly. But Zildjin was his friend, and from what he knew, he did not see Zildjin as the cheating type. For whatever reason his friend had simply been on a lucky streak this night. It had just happened to be with the wrong sort of crowd, at the wrong time, in the wrong place.
Marc thought back to Kolima and the death of the wizard who was trying to kill them. Cydas had saved them, Marc was not holding that against Cydas, but because of the death of the wizard they had been forced to evacuate Kolima. Marc was unsure of what would happen here in Fairlake if more deaths were to occur, even if it was in self defense, and he did not want to repeat the events in Kolima.
Marc took another step forward. He thought he should be afraid, as the odds were clearly against him, but whatever fear he had was little enough to be conquered by his courage.
“You don’t know who you are dealing with. We are good, upstanding individuals. My friend is no thief. We will return a majority of the wealth, but we will keep at least one full bag. I think that is more than fair enough and both parties can depart here now in peace.”
“Bite your tongue wyrm filth, your friend cheated his way to all our coin and we mean to have every bit back, down to the last koon.”
“I mean it,” Marc said, “This is your last warning,”
“That is it men,” The leader of the group addressed his comrades without turning his head, “Seems we got ourselves some playtime before bed, KILL THEM!”
The man raised his sword and rushed forward to fight Marc.
Marc lifted the Sword of the Phoenix high and let its fire erupt forth.
There was a brilliant flash of golden fiery light as the magic burst from the blade.
The leading man fell back in surprise and the others stopped in their tracks behind him.
The golden light surrounded Marc as well.
“My name is Marcus, Wielder of the Flame! Now leave, before I strike you down with my power!”