The Gems of Raga-Tor (Elemental Legends Book 1) Read online

  Eris let out his breath with hardly a sound and glanced behind. It was close, too close. The quarrel caught and pinned a portion of his cloak to the wooden plank door behind him. His eyes quickly scanned the darkness. He saw no one. He reached up to untie the garment and escape before the bow was reset.

  “Don’t move,” a voice growled out of the red-tinged darkness. Eris paused. “Or the next shot goes right between your eyes.”

  “Step away from those crates and show yourself, coward,” Eris demanded. He despised cowardice, especially when it was directed at him.

  “Now, calm down, my boy. I was only trying to get your attention.”

  Eris was taken aback. The voice was almost…friendly.

  “You’ve got it. What do you want?”

  “I want a few words with you.”

  “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. If you’re a friend of that rotting flesh yonder, let’s be at it. I’m not interested in conversation.”

  “I’m not selling anything. And I certainly have no wish to fight you.” The voice had a slow, rambling tone. “I just want you to hear me out. Give me a few moments of your time.”

  Eliciting no response from Eris, the speaker continued.

  “Now, I realize my request will seem odd as we have never met, but I want to speak with you about forming…shall we say…a working partnership. An alliance, if you will.”

  “Save your breath. I’m not interested especially if this is your idea of an introduction. I’ll direct you to a tavern where you’ll find the sort of idiot you want.”

  “On another occasion, perhaps, but I’m not looking for a half-witted fool—not this time anyway. You’re just the one I’ve been looking for.”

  “Then I’ll give you the name of my agent and he’ll make the arrangements. My services are not cheap,” Eris said.

  “You certainly have a very fine opinion of yourself.”

  “What I think doesn’t matter. My services to certain members of this city haven’t gone unnoticed.”

  “No, I guess they haven’t. Perhaps, that’s part of your appeal.”

  “Don’t flatter me. I’d just as soon see you hung. Do I make myself clear?” Eris wondered if he should try untying his cloak again.

  “Perfectly. However, what I have in mind doesn’t involve contracts or money. You know, I really dislike this “agent” system this city seems to thrive on. Makes for a very slow way to get anything done.”

  “Much like your dragging conversation,” Eris commented, irritated. “What do you want?”

  “I’m trying to make this as appealing to you as possible. Let’s just say I need a partnership…more or less like two friends working for each other’s mutual benefit.”

  “Really? And you find it amusing to pin your wanted friend to a door with a quarrel?” His temper rose as did his left hand toward the cloak’s cording.

  “I really have no intention of harming you. And what I'm proposing, if you’ll just listen, will benefit us both in the end,” the hidden voice assured.

  “Good. Then see my agent if you want my services. I’m leaving. The air grows chill.”

  Eris had almost reached the cord at his throat, when the air whistled and another quarrel plunked itself into the plank between his feet. He looked down at the quivering wooden shaft between his legs, then into the darkness trying to see his tormentor.

  “Verin’s manhood!” he exclaimed, feeling more shocked than angry. His patience was gone.

  “You almost lost yours,” the stranger chuckled.

  “Damn you! Get out here and tell me what you want. I’ve no time for these insulting games.” No hiding coward was going to make a fool out of him.

  “That’s more like it, Eris.”

  Instantly Eris heeded the warning voice screaming in his head as a stack of crates began to move. The stranger knew his name. He wondered if this man had followed him from the tavern, or chanced upon him here. Slott had managed to learn his name and wasn’t afraid to use it. It was possible this new menace had witnessed that encounter and learned it that way. In any case, he needed to choose his path cautiously lest the morning sun shine on his bloated corpse floating in the briny bay.

  It was only by the faintest light that Eris saw the man, a big man. As the stranger moved away from the shadows, Eris saw he was bigger than Slott, but with a face and head thick with burnished red hair. His shoulders were broad and he had the appearance of needing both feet flat on the ground to support his mighty girth. He stood nearly a head taller than Eris, who himself towered over the general populace by at least the same amount. Though travel-worn and stained, his clothing was well made. He wore a curved blade on his hip and the polished hilt of a knife stood up from one sturdy, brown boot top. In addition to the crossbow, spanned and once again aimed at him, Eris saw a longbow hanging slack-stringed across his chest and back.

  After quickly sizing up the man, Eris realized this was no one to cross. The man could span a crossbow faster than anyone he’d ever met. He tried hard to bury his swaggering arrogance.

  “Well?” Eris prompted, warily, yet impatiently.

  “That gem you acquired this eve belongs to me,” the stranger said.

  Eris regarded the man with a furrowed brow. His hand tightened and untightened around the sword’s hilt. With every passing word the stranger became more dangerous.

  “And what gem would that be?”

  “Now who’s playing games, eh, my boy? I tell you, the gem is mine. I can prove it, but the story is long. Perhaps we should go back to your lodgings?” the red-faced man suggested, pleasantly.

  “The gem belongs to no man. It belongs—” Careful! “It’s really none of your business who it belongs to, and you’re not coming to my quarters. If you want the gem, you’ll have to kill me for it.”

  “As I told you before, I have no intention of killing you—at least not yet.” His shrug rocked the crossbow. “Now, making an assumption about your sudden loss for words, I’m going to assume that you know the story of Raga-Tor, Red Vale sorcerer, the one who had his three power gems stolen. They say he dreams in an enchanted sleep in some far off place. But, as I said, I think you know that. You know just as well that the green gem you have also belongs to him—belongs to me. I am Raga-Tor.”

  Eris remained silent. Of course he knew about the gem, and the powers he hoped to pry from it. He was also fairly certain the man was lying. If he was trying to assume the title of Raga-Tor, he was doing a poor job of it. A sorcerer of the reputed caliber and legend of Raga-Tor, a first-level elemental, would hardly stand before him and politely ask for his stone back. As Eris understood the ways of magic, it wasn't possible for the sorcerer to be ensconced in a magical sleep, and at the same time stand in front of him and make claim to the green stone.

  “Your silence convinces me I’m right. Yes, you are as shrewd and wary as I thought. I'm glad to know I haven’t misjudged you.”

  Eris was annoyed. His silence proved nothing, except that he considered the conversation a waste of time. His mind wandered and a thought came to him. He wondered if he was in the right alley. Wishing for a bit of luck, he assumed a bored demeanor as the red beard prattled on. He let his eyes wander over the expanse of planking around him. He nearly smiled, when he spotted a piece of wood no more than a hand-span across with large, brass nails pounded into each corner.

  It was the spring to a cleverly disguised trap door. Several times in the recent past he used the little convenience to rid himself of incriminating evidence by sending it into the sluggish water beneath the pier. Pretending to shift his weight from one foot to the other, he took half a step backward clearing himself of the door. The red beard stood right in the center. The fates had not abandoned him and he felt he had won a small triumph over the fate-twisted city.

  Eris listened with feigned interest as the red-bearded man continued his long-winded discussion outlining their proposed joint venture. A nod now and then kept him talking with enthusiasm. Slow
ly, Eris moved his left wrist back and forth until he felt the dagger he carried in the bracer slide into his palm. Careful not to drop it, he eased the point out of the sheath and balanced the weapon in his hand. If his aim was true, and usually it was, and the dagger thrown forcefully enough to spring the trap, then his escape would be successful. If not, the fates would have to sort it out.

  The air trembled and Riza chuckled in his fiery pit. Perhaps tonight he would add one more soul to his domain.

  “So, my boy, what do you think of my proposal?” the man asked.

  “Quite frankly,” Eris said, raising his arm at the elbow, “I really haven’t been listening.”

  The dagger shot out of his hand and landed solidly in the center of the square. The trap door fell open. The crossbow flew from the red-beard’s hands as he tried to grab the sides of the pier to stop his fall, but missed. The heavy stranger went down into the sea with a horrified gasp.

  Eris’ quick smile turned to a startled stare as the black water unexpectedly, inexplicably, began to roil and bubble. The trap door swung up and closed with a decisive click of its locking pin. A brilliant, fiery glow, brighter than any reflection of Azoreth, appeared beneath the planking and grew steadily bigger and brighter.

  Sorcery-induced terror rolled and knotted his gut. It was time to run. Reaching down to pull the quarrel that pinned his cloak, the glowing water exploded upward ripping planking from the dock. Barrels and crates flew high into the air and far out into the bay. Thin streaks of fire ran across the top of the dark water in spidery patterns. A fiery column shot skyward and ripped a wider swath of planking.

  Eris looked up and quickly closed his eyes. He turned his face away from the bright, burning fire, while his feet tried to balance on one strip of planking. His back pressed hard against the door, trying to break it open, as enormous heat roiled out from the brilliant, fiery, red-gold column. Verin’s mercy. He couldn’t breathe as terror seized him. Exposed skin on his face and hands felt hot and tight as the column flared out. The wood beneath his feet collapsed and dropped him into the cold sea.

  “Aacchhh!” he choked in horrified surprise as he traded one terror for another. The cloak's fabric failed to rip away. The silken cord tied at his throat abraded his skin, then tightened and dug into the flesh of his neck.

  He gasped as the cold swells, glowing with powerful magic, undulated around his waist. His heart pounded, panic flared, and he couldn’t escape the touch of drifting sorcery. He jerked down a little lower as the cord suddenly gave before it knotted again. His head pounded with rising pressure as blood continued to fill his skull. His breathing ragged, gasping, the cord squeezed deeper into his flesh, Eris struggled to push the point of his sword between neck and cord. Losing a little skin, even an ear, was better than dying this way.

  Sweat broke out on his face as the mucky, putrid smell of the water, and charred remains of unknown origin floating under the pier gagged the remaining breath from him. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth and pushed the blade upward. The cord unraveled and snapped apart.

  Eris slid with a raspy gasp beneath the sea’s scintillating surface. The salt water burned the abrasions around his neck and felt like ice against his heated flesh. His water-filled boots and heavy clothing pulled him down deeper and deeper into the dark water. He shoved his sword into its sheath then kicked and clawed his way to the surface.

  Each desperate stroke made his lungs feel that much closer to bursting. Bright lights flashed before his eyes. He struggled to fight the impulse to open his mouth and take a fatal, watery breath. He kicked upward and upward again not realizing how far he had sunk so quickly.

  His face broke the surface and he inhaled a ragged breath. Something soft and slimy brushed against his neck. With a silent oath, coughing and gasping, he kicked himself away from the floating mass glad he couldn't see what it was. The air, rotten and foul smelling, was welcome relief as it rushed into his starved lungs.

  Quickly he looked around and spat salty water. He panted for breath and struggled to stay afloat as the weight of his clothes, the heavy pouches of gold and the sword hanging from his belt became a liability.

  The water still flickered fiery red and gold here and there. He looked up and saw nothing but black sky tinged with Azoreth’s pink hue. The gentle, yellow moon, Minrah, had long since passed over the horizon.

  He shuddered and wondered if the red explosion would draw creatures of the deep to him. He wanted out of the sea faster than he had gotten in. Looking out across the bay, Azoreth’s sharply pointed crescent reflections shimmered like a thousand bloody knives dancing a pattern of malignant ritual on the dark water. He sensed evil in the air and shivered. He knew of no man who didn’t fear Azoreth’s evil.

  He paddled back to where his cloak hung down from its peg, and gripped it with trembling hands. He heard voices; quiet and cautious, but increasing in number. He couldn’t let them find him. There was no good way to explain Slott’s body, the amount of gold he carried, nor the incredible amount of destruction caused by the red beard going into the water.

  Eris shivered and thought of the man’s claim that he was Raga-Tor, first-level elemental of fire. If true, it wouldn’t be long until his life was forfeit. Legend told that none of the first-level elementals had any sense of humor, compassion or forgiveness whatsoever. He heard the wheel of fate squeak and begin its downward turn.

  Giving the cloak a firm tug, it seemed it would hold. Both fabric and bolt held as he pulled himself hand-over-hand from the sea and onto the pier.

  The voices were almost to his position. Water sloshed out of his boots making a sizable puddle. They would know someone was here, but Azoreth’s threat should prevent them from searching any further in the dark. A quick inspection of the odd destruction pattern told him this would give them plenty to wonder and worry about. With a firm, quick tug, he pulled the bolt and cloak from the door and disappeared into the shadows.

  Opening the door to the inn, the Black Mare by name, Eris tried to pass through the common room before any of his few acquaintances recognized him in his befouled condition.

  “There you are, Eris,” a bright-eyed girl said as she hurried across the half-empty room. He turned with a frown. “My!” she exclaimed and stepped back. “What happened? You’re soaked through, and you don’t smell very good either.”

  “Glad you noticed,” he said ungraciously. “Is my room prepared? Has the fire been started?”

  “Well, I — we’ve been real busy and I —”

  “Never mind your excuses. Go back to whatever you were doing,” he said annoyed, dismissing her.

  “But I could —”

  “I said never mind.” He gave her a look that sent shivers down her spine. “Blasted wench. What do I pay you for anyway? You can’t even warm a man’s bed without a whining fuss.”

  The girl flushed and rubbed her hands against her apron. Eris gave her no more thought and quickly ascended the stairs before anyone else stopped him. His wet boots creaked nearly as much as the wooden steps.

  Taking a key from his pouch, he thrust it into the lock and cursed as the rusty tumblers refused to slide back into their barrels. When the door finally opened, his room was dark, except for a slit of light filtering through a crack between the shutter and window frame.

  Beneath the window was an old, rusty-banded trunk, and opposite it was a bed that could hardly be called as such, but at least it wasn’t the floor. A rickety partition divided the room and a pair of equally old chairs sat next to it. Beyond the partition was an old, stained table that Eris never considered using, as it would likely collapse the moment it was touched. As far as accommodations went, it wasn’t much, but it was warm enough and the roof didn’t leak.

  Eris closed the door and slid the bolt into its slot. He let out a long sigh. Exhausted, more from fear than anything else, he slumped down on the edge of the bed and ran his hands through his damp hair.

  What a damnable night this has been.

&nb
sp; A bit of thieving to collect caravan pay illegally held from him and the other outriders would have required much less exertion than his supposedly pre-arranged and simple exchange. The next time he would consider letting his agent handle the transaction without him. Memories of the fiery explosion made him shiver and cold seeped deeper into him. At least his skin wasn’t burned and blistered as it easily could have been.

  After a while, he stood and stretched. He unbuckled his sword, tossed it onto the bed, and then knelt in front of the cold fireplace. He fumbled with flint and kindling. Sparks flashed in the blackness, but there was no hint of fire. He mumbled angrily to himself and was fast losing what little patience he had left. His stomach growled with an unhappy sound. He just wanted to be warm, dry and perhaps have a little wine to take the chill from his blood.

  “Fire is a useful tool don’t you think?” a voice said from somewhere in the dark room.

  Eris startled. His heart raced as a shaft of fear pierced him. Remaining crouched on the floor, he went for his sword, which lay on the bed, out of reach. With a whisper of movement, he spun around on all fours and faced the direction of the sound. His dark-violet eyes scoured the pink-tinged darkness for the source of the voice. The same damned voice as before. He was sure of it.

  He thought a shadow moved somewhere near the partition. He prepared to lunge across the room and tackle his assailant, when an enormous fire blazed into existence in the fireplace behind him.

  Agile as a mountain panther, fear twisting into terror in his gut, Eris sprang away from it and into the corner with his back pressed against the splintery walls. Daggers, one from each boot, were clutched in his hands. Fearful, tingling tension pulsed through him. Getting too careless, he scolded himself. He was taken by surprise perhaps once in the course of a year, not twice in one night.