Dismounting, she fumbled with the reins and tied them to a post next to the others. Although she didn't look, she could feel the eyes of the men on her back. Feeling nervous, she stumbled on a rotting step and had to catch herself on the rail.

  "Will our horses be gone when we return?" he asked.

  With her heart high in her chest, it took three attempts before she managed to see their immediate future. "Only if we delay."

  He frowned and opened the door. Ianna followed him in, and coughed at the fetid air inside. Men and a few women snapped to look at the newcomers, but the cowl Ianna wore kept them from seeing her race. Picking her way through the crowd, she followed Mazer towards the side of the room. Anxious about the way they looked at her she couldn't seem to avert her gaze from them.

  Dirt and smoke were prominent on the bar and its patrons, and the room reeked of smoke and sweat. Daggers, knifes, and other small weapons were in abundance, but she could see no larger weapons. The lack of swords failed to make her feel more comfortable. Rather it heightened her concern.

  There were several empty tables but they chose a booth on the side of the room. The maid that came for their order wore a greasy apron and a faded dress. Large in stature she smiled half-heartedly, lacking enough teeth to make it welcoming. If anything she appeared annoyed by their presence, as if she didn't want to be bothered by the effort required to serve them. Her eyes glinted with greed when Mazer slipped her a silver piece.

  "Bread, stew, and ale please."

  She nodded and departed, ignoring Ianna's cowl. They had decided before entering the city that she needed to remain anonymous, and she was not alone in her choice of apparel. Other faces in the tavern were hidden underneath hoods.

  "Be careful not to show your money pouch," Mazer said, his voice barely reaching her. "If they see how much we carry they will track and kill us. As it is we will have to watch our backs." He made a disapproving sound, and then added, "Some of the more skilled in here might already know what we have."

  Ianna complied with what he'd suggested, feeling out of place and awkward as she shuffled her cloak to further hide her money pouch. It felt like every eye in the inn was focused on her. She had never set foot in a place like this, but had heard countless stories about them. In her opinion none of the tales had quite captured the sense of suspicion, anger, and despair.

  "How long until they get here?" Mazer asked, his voice apprehensive.

  "Soon," she replied. I hope. "While we wait we should plan our next step."

  He gave a curt nod, his eyes still on the room. "Where are we going from here?"

  "Before we return to the list, we need to find something. It will be necessary for one of the later tasks."

  "Where is it?" he asked, his eyes returning to hers.

  "I don't know, but I have a guess," she replied. "And we can start there. The ruins of—"

  Mazer motioned her to silence as the maid appeared with a pair of mugs. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she placed the drinks on the table and departed. Mazer watched her leave, his brow furrowed in thought. Wary of the ale, Ianna took a cautious sip—and then wished she hadn't.

  Sour at first, it left a bitterness on her tongue that made her think longingly of the ales from her home. Imported from southern Talinor they were some of the finest in Lumineia. After the drink, she had little hope that the food would be decent.

  A faint stomping of feet distracted her from the lingering taste. Catching Mazer's eye, she swept a hand at the door as it opened. A dark-haired man entered first, followed by a wispy woman who looked like she would rather be anywhere else. The only distinguishing feature about the pair was the infant cradled in the mother's arms. Finding some empty chairs they sank into them with the air of people who have been on the road.

  A maid approached to take their order, but was clearly annoyed when they only requested a crust of bread for the mother. The man inquired about a room for the night, but frowned at the reply. Ignoring the protest from his wife, he handed the maid a few copper coins. As soon as she departed his wife hissed at him, loud enough for Ianna to hear.

  "You just gave her half of what we have! How are we supposed to survive after tomorrow?"

  The man was quieter, but Ianna caught snatches of the conversation.

  "You need to rest, and . . . some food."

  " . . . curse the bandits that . . ."

  They continued to argue until the maid brought a piece of stale bread to their table. Once she had left the mother reluctantly set about consuming the scrap of food. Mazer's eyebrow caught Ianna's attention and she gave a small nod.

  It's time.

  Mazer stood and walked to the couple. Leaning close to the man he pressed a silver coin into his palm and whispered into his ear. Even though she couldn't hear the words, she knew what he was saying.

  My companion is an elf that wishes to bless your child, will you join us for a meal?

  Ianna saw the man start at the exchange and swivel to stare at her. She raised her head in response, allowing the man to see that she was indeed an elf. Shushing his wife, he stood and indicated for her to follow suit. Together, they followed Mazer to Ianna, the woman appearing unhappy to be put out. Her expression cleared as she listened to the whispered words of her husband on the way over. As soon as they were seated the man addressed Ianna.

  "Used to be a great honor for a babe to be blessed by an elf."

  "Some elves still remember the old ways," she replied. "May I?"

  The woman threw a look at her husband, but obediently passed the sleeping child over to Ianna. As Mazer took over the conversation she began to sing softly. She knew he would distract the couple with his words and the food, which they had ordered for them—and she needed every second.

  Blessing a baby in the old ways was simple, but what she needed to do was far more difficult. Although the parents did not know it this child was a future mage, and a powerful one at that. The problem was the type of magic he would wield. Unstable and difficult to manage, lightning magic was just as likely to kill its young bearer as it was its target—unless it was bound.

  Binding magic had always been fashioned of love, for only with that emotion could you take something so precious from a defenseless child. Gazing into the serene face of the dark-haired baby, she felt her heart stir as she remembered holding Siarra for the first time. Armored with that love, she searched his undeveloped mind for the source of his magic. When she found it she placed a binding on it until he reached the age of ten.

  The binding would keep him safe until he was old enough to not inadvertently kill anyone. Unfortunately it wouldn't prevent all accidents, making his life hard until he gained control of his power—and by then he would be needed.

  She sighed as she finished, exhausted yet pleased with the result. Lifting her eyes she saw the babe's mother stare at her, suspicion evident in her look. She smiled in turn. "Your little one will grow up strong."

  The mother sniffed at her words, but the mistrust eased. "Of course he will. Now, can I have him back?"

  With a start Ianna realized that the food had already arrived and been consumed. She flashed a look at Mazer and saw that his expression was more forced than it should be. How long was I gone? Without hesitation she eased the baby back into his mother's arms.

  "As I said," Mazer spoke, rising to his feet. "I think you are right in seeking the aid of your brother. I believe he will help you."

  The father nodded and stood as well. "Perhaps I will. Thank you for the food and the blessing," he inclined his head to both of them, "but it is time we get some rest."

  The woman joined her husband, quieting the child when he whimpered at the movement. "Thank you," she murmured, "you have been most kind."

  Mazer caught the man's arm as he pulled away. "In all our talk I forgot to ask. What is the child's name?"

  The man smiled at Mazer, pride evident despite his circumstances. "We named him after my grandfather, Gaze"

  Chapter 7: The Dragon's Fire

  "The Dragon's fire," lieutenant Siron said, eyeing the worn sign. "Why would the Oracle come here?"

  The Hunter shrugged. The man they had spoken to had clearly indicated the Oracle's intention, but it seemed at odds with what the Hunter knew about her. Refined and raised in a cultured environment, what would cause Ianna to go to a tavern renowned as a den of thieves? It was an enigma that he hoped to find an answer to.

  As he took a step towards the door he heard his apprentices follow suit, causing him to pause. Like all Seekers his unit contained three elves. This time though, subtlety might yield more than force. He didn't want to spook anyone who might have answers.

  "The two of you should remain outside," he said, turning to address them. "And keep the area secure while you wait."

  Faelyn jerked her head in disagreement. "But Captain Riscian—

  "Don't enter unless I call for aid—regardless of what you hear, but stop any who try to leave."

  She frowned but obeyed the order, so the Hunter walked up the steps and opened the tilting door. Stepping into the tavern he automatically scanned the patrons for possible threats. Haggard men looked up at his arrival, but most of them shifted worn cloaks so their faces fell deeper into shadow. Despite the obvious efforts to hide them, everyone carried at least one weapon.

  Grateful he'd chosen to leave his ornate armor at home, the Hunter waited until the men returned to their quiet conversations. Sensing no danger he strolled to the bar, but stopped short of leaning against it. Marks from brawls marred the once-smooth wood. Many were caked in grime, but some were clean and fresh.

  What would drive the Oracle here? he thought, a frown creasing his features. She was on the run, and no doubt would seek establishments similar to this one, but why this one? Their informant had said that they'd asked for this bar by name.

  The Hunter had anticipated that she would stay in less expensive inns, the ones least likely to attract attention. He had not thought the Oracle would stop in one so cheap as to be a target for cutthroats. A chair shifted behind him and he tensed, listening for an approach. When none came he tried to relax.

  "What der yer want," that innkeeper grunted, wiping his dirty hands on an equally dirty apron.

  "Information," the Hunter replied, placing a single gold piece onto the counter. Careful not to touch the wood, he slid it halfway and stopped.

  The man blinked and licked his lips, his gaze on the coin. The sudden quiet in the room gave the Hunter the impression that gold was rarely used here. Should have used silver, he thought, but it was too late to switch now.

  "What der yer want to know?" the innkeeper said, his eyes flicking to others behind the Hunter, a possessive glint to his expression.

  "I believe an elf visited your inn less than a week ago. She would have had a human companion. What can you tell me about them?"

  The man twitched like he wanted to reach for the gold. "Aye, she did. A right quiet one she was."

  "Did they speak to anyone?" the Hunter asked, sliding the coin closer to the man.

  The proximity of the money caused the man to swallow. "Aye, a couple with a babe. They shared a meal. Then they left."

  "Where did they go?" the Hunter asked, inching the coin closer, causing the man to sweat and glance around the room again.

  "Don't know, they dinit talk much."

  The Hunter pulled the coin back towards himself, and the man flinched. "Wait, the wench said they mentioned somthin' about searchin' some ruins."

  The Hunter nodded in satisfaction and withdrew his finger, but as the man reached for it he placed a dagger’s tip on the coin. The sudden appearance of the weapon elicited a grunt, but the Hunter kept his tone mild. "Is there any chance you are lying to me?"

  Excess fat jiggled as the man shook his head. The Hunter held his gaze until he was satisfied he'd learned all he could. Withdrawing the blade he sheathed it—and then noticed his money pouch was missing. His eyes flicked back to the man, and caught the satisfied smirk sliding off his face.

  The Hunter chuckled at the skill involved in stealing from him, and the sound sent a spark of tension through the room. His response was clearly not what they had anticipated. Turning his back on the man behind the bar, he addressed the still room. "I require the return of my gold. It is necessary for an elven Seeker to complete his mission."

  At the mention of his rank several men shifted. Even in Talinor men knew what a Seeker was. When no one replied the Hunter shrugged and exploded into motion. A single blow sent the first thief to the floor. Then chaos erupted.

  The Hunter ducked a punch and launched the overzealous man over the bar. Bottles shattered as he struck the shelves, sending tinkling shards and dark liquid cascading with him to the floor.

  Side-stepping to avoid a fumbled knife thrust, the Hunter caught the extended wrist and twisted. The man screamed as the Hunter wrenched the small blade free, but the sound ended abruptly when he kicked the man to the floor. With a flick he sent the knife twirling towards the side of the room. It embedded into the back door with a thud. The two that had rushed towards the rear exit stumbled back at the sight of the quivering blade.

  The Hunter shifted and spun, dodging furious blows from numerous attackers. As each fist reached for him he sent sharp jabs in return. Ribs cracked, men howled, and bodies struck furniture, sending splinters of wood ricocheting around the room. Like water around the rocks of a stream the Hunter flowed between the slower men, eliciting cries of pain and rage at every step.

  As he reached the last knot, he grabbed a man and spun. Twisting in a tight circle, he launched the helpless form into the others. The thump of bodies striking the floor mingled with the crack of snapping wood and the curses of angry men. With most of the thieves holding their injuries, only five remained.

  All of them had gathered next to the front door, no doubt prepared to flee, but the one in the center held them in line. An irritated smile hovered on his features as he lifted the Hunter's purse. "You want it, you have to earn it." Returning it to his belt he drew a dagger.

  The man next to him spoke, his voice nervous, "Slyver, why don't we just—"

  Slyver sent him a withering glance. Recoiling at the look, the nervous one drew a pair of knives. The sound of three more blades clearing their scabbards filled the room. Facing five armed men, the Hunter sighed.

  "I really don't think this will end well, Slyver was it?"

  The thief smirked and beckoned with his dagger. "What did you expect, coming in here and flashing your gold? If someone begs to be robbed, you can't blame us for fulfilling their wish."

  The Hunter shrugged and reached to his back. Drawing the long-bladed katsana, he said, "If we must."

  —the click of a crossbow sounded behind him.

  Whirling on instinct, he raised his sword and deflected the bolt. The bartender blanched at his failure, and tried to rearm his weapon. Shaking his head, the Hunter picked up a stray knife from the table next to him. With a flick he sent it burrowing into bartenders hand. Bellowing in pain, he dropped his crossbow and ducked behind the bar. As he disappeared from view the Hunter turned back to the thieves.

  Striding towards the group, he sent the long blade out to the one that had tried to flank him. The anticipated block didn't connect, as the strike had been a ruse. The man's reflex sent his short sword up, but the Hunter had withdrawn his weapon long enough for the block to pass. Then he slapped the man in the face with the flat of his blade.

  The lightning blow punched his head sideways, and his body went with it. Thudding into the ground, he groaned as a red welt appeared on his cheek. The Hunter hadn't slowed, and he sent his sword out in a circle, catching the incoming blows. With practiced precision he blocked the blades with a speed only an elf could match.

  In seconds he found an opening and sliced into the sword arm of the left one. As the man cried out and clenched the wound, the Hunter took down the nervous one with a quick disarming technique, followed by a sharp elbow to his gut. Twirling to avoid the retaliating strikes, he caught a wrist as it reached past his stomach. Too close to use his sword he crushed his forehead into the man's face. As the man crumpled to the floor the Hunter attacked with a fury.

  Raining blows on Slyver, he drove him back until there was nowhere to go. As his opponent's shoulders bounced off the wall the Hunter hooked the thief's hilt with the end of his sword. With a twist he sent it sinking into a beam. Placing the tip of his katsana against the man's heaving chest, he said, "Slyver, my purse please."

  The thief frowned, more annoyed than afraid. Reaching to his belt he tossed it to him. "Next time be more careful where you flash your coin."

  "At least you are a guild trained thief," the Hunter said, inclining his head at the sincerity in the thief's tone.

  "One of the best," the man said with a smirk.

  The Hunter chuckled and removed his sword. "Perhaps you should be more careful if you wish to steal from an elf."

  Slyver's lips tightened but he nodded. "Good day, elf"

  "Good day, human," the Hunter replied, and sheathed his sword. Turning on his heel he picked his way through the debris and groaning men. Reaching the door he strode into the afternoon sun. As he rejoined his command his lieutenant addressed him with a wry grin.

  "Any trouble?"

  The Hunter shrugged at his tone. "No more than a normal questioning. We need to move on. It appears we are headed southeast."

  Siron bobbed his head and ordered Faelyn to bring the horses. Mounting, they turned their steeds towards the eastern gates of Herosian. Weaving through the crowd they received numerous curious glances, but nothing more. Elves were not common in Talinor, but not rare either. Reaching the gates, they wheeled their horses onto the road east. On the way the Hunter filled them in on what he had learned.

  "How are we going to track someone who can see us coming?" Faelyn asked when he was finished. "She can flee anytime we get close."

  "Who says they are fleeing?"

  His response puzzled Siron, but the Hunter waited for him to reach the truth on his own. A Seeker's responsibility was not solely to retrieve, but also to train his command. The moment reminded him of his many years as a master on Sri Rosen, the training ground of the elves.

 

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