I've had a chance to really play! But someone recently asked what I was working on these days, so I thought I'd post an exerpt of one of the novels I've got in progress. This is chapter five from one of the fantasy novels I'm currently writing. I hope you enjoy it!


Chapter Five

Crollos nested quietly in the lush greenery of terraced slopes, while the westering sun lingered over the open sea outside the harbor and threw long shadows against the white stuccoed walls of the city. The temple bells on the hill above the town rang the sunset, mellow chimes signaling the end of the day. People, released from their daily labor, could be seen moving down steep, winding streets toward the taverns of the harbor.

The noisy taproom at the Inn of the Green Jackal was smokey and crowded, as always by sunset. The proprietor's wife was a superb cook and ran a strict household, so customers could count on an excellent meal for two or three coppers in clean surroundings. Potboys were setting up trestle- tables for the evening meal, while barmaids gave their attention to thirsty customers: all under the watchful eyes of the landlord, a fat fellow in a dusty smock with an oily shine to his face. With several ships recently docked and rumors of war breeding in two nearby city-states, custom at the Green Jackal was plentiful.

Merchant seamen, uniformed soldiers, laborers from local workshops, and the casuals found in any port city, filled the place. The succulent smell of roasting meats, vegetables in tasty sauces, and freshly-baked bread perfumed the air. The barmaids and potboys had hard work to keep up with the demands made on them. To the man who had just entered, the scene before him was perfect for his purpose.

Jorad slipped unobtrusively into the crowded room. He had cut two purses and picked three pockets before the barmaid brought his mug of ale. He drank it quickly and slipped out the rear door before his victims could raise the hue and cry. He would return later on, after he had checked with his girls in the other waterfront bars. It was about five minutes after his departure when the cry of "Thief!" went up at the long bar, causing a commotion which didn't subside until the landlord had sent for the watch.

A tumultuous half-hour followed the advent of two stalwarts wearing the tabards and sashes of the city guard. There was little these bastions of the law could do, however, since the thief was gone and no one could remember who he was or what he looked like. The landlord gave the victims scant sympathy, stating his opinion that those who didn't pay heed to their money, deserved its loss. Muted growls from the crowd threatened, then gave way to welcoming cries as the potboys began placing platters of food upon the tables, and most of the customers converged around them.

During the ordinary, a man of some distinction, carrying a highly decorated leather case, entered the taproom and made his way towards the fireplace. Enthusiastic voices came from the crowd and the worthy proprietor uttered a sharp command to the nearest potboy, to help the bard with his harp. It had needed only this to remove the lingering discontent left by the thief, and to assure a profitable evening for the house. Morduki rubbed his hands together and positively glowed.

Couros was wearing a hooded woollen cape of dark green with gold bullion trimming it, over a lighter green linen tunic and leggings made of white doeskin. A collar intricately carved of red gold hung about his neck. He shed his cloak and uncovered his harp in front of the fireplace, exchanging witty comments with the crowd as he did so. Couros was a well-looking man of indeterminate age, widely known and admired in the cities at the eastern end of the Great Central Sea. Fat Morduki, a man of much common sense and even more common greed, called the barmaid Lissa and bade her bring the bard a full plate from the tables and a mug of fine wine. The bard's presence guaranteed that profits for the evening would be high.

Couros' unexplained absence for the past few weeks had made the worthy landlord wonder if he had been lured away by one Zakkary, proprietor of the Golden Ox, an inferior establishment at the opposite end of the harbor: a disturbing thought. Morduki lost his appetite for several days because of it. But Couros was here now, with a most apropos timing. He would have most of the news, and all of the gossip, from every city and court around the Great Central Sea. He always did. Morduki decided it behooved a careful landlord to stay on the spot, instead of retiring early as he had previously intended.

Couros wore his dark honey-colored hair long and loose, bound only with the gold fillet proclaiming his rank and calling. His eyes were as changeable as the sea: a pellucid hazel that varied from a clear pale green to a stormy slate gray, depending on his mood and changes in the weather. Set beneath slender, arching brows above high cheekbones and rimmed with thick lashes, those eyes provoked envy in some men and nearly all women. His clean-shaven face bespoke the priest; but the hard muscles rippling under his loose tunic and swelling within the leather leggings — not to mention, the scabbarded short sword on his belt — announced the warrior.

Crollos was famous for civic reverence for the honored dead. Thus, when Couros smoothly explained his absence as being due to his creation of a memorial shrine for a patron, his excuse was accepted unquestioned. His soft, thick cloak was new, and Morduki mentally valued it at 300 gold marks. Couros’ patron clearly was someone of wealth and rank. It wouldn't do to alienate a man with such connections. It might hurt business, and few things upset Morduki as much as possible threats to his profits.

Reading Morduki's thoughts was child's play, and a source of amusement, for Couros. He knew that, to keep him coming to the Jackal, Morduki would grant whatever he asked. A casual mention of how his voice benefitted when he drank a certain wine brought him a carafe of that wine. And when Morduki finally left him, it was after ordering Lissa to see to it Couros had whatever he wanted.

As the meal drew to a close, the crowd in the taproom began to change imperceptibly. An assortment of thieves, whores, pimps, gamblers, actors, and slumming aristocrats and gentry began to replace the late afternoon workmen. As a result, the noise level rose, and the manners of the crowd grew more free. The city guards, called in by the cries of theft, left regretfully as the trestles were being taken down. Two waterfront mercenaries, hired by the Merchants' Guild, unobtrusively took their places near the bar.

Grinning broadly at Couros, Morduki disappeared through the swinging doors behind the bar. His muffled voice could be heard as he harassed the kitchen staff for their profligate waste of his expensive supplies. No one paid any heed to a group of men entering through the leather curtains that covered the main entrance.

The four men casually wandered through the crowd and took up seats at a vacant table near the fireplace. Couros tuned his harp, and using it as cover, assessed them with a shrewd, observant gaze that went unremarked. Two of the men were obviously mercenary soldiers, tall and sharp-eyed, with the full beards of northern barbarians. They bore polished, razor-edged weapons that gleamed in the lamplight and fireshine of the darkening taproom. The other two puzzled Couros.

Those two were short, a little below average height; and although they were also armed, they lacked the ease with weapons of their companions. Indeed, one of them gave the impression of being on the shy side, hiding his face within a hooded cloak. The smaller of the two had pushed his hood away from a bald head and, like his barbarian cohorts, was looking about the busy taproom with a frank curiosity. All four had the look of weary, trail-worn travelers.

Lissa cast a practiced look at them and came over to take their order. She was a dark-haired, buxom girl with a wide knowledge of men and all of their appetites, as Couros well knew. He noticed, with amusement, that an intriguing view of her cleavage was presented to the travelers as she passed a cloth over the table and asked their preference.

Lissa was rewarded by the shorter of the two northerners — a fair, blue-eyed young man — with a knowing leer, and a stated choice for her well-endowed person. She dimpled in reply and winked at him. Matters might have come to the point right then; but a sharp command from the hooded cloak, in a language unknown to the barmaid, stopped the hand that had reached for her breast before it gained its target. Curt orders from the other tall man sent her flouncing off to bring food and drink, while the owner of said hand grinned and assumed a seat between the two shorter men.

A few minutes later, Lissa returned, bearing a full pitcher and four mugs, and accompanied by a potboy carrying a loaded tray. The four men conversed quietly as they ate and drank. Couros smiled to himself as he watched Lissa trying to eavesdrop. It did her no good at all that she had ears as sharp as any fox: the men spoke in the language she didn't recognize.

Couros nearly laughed aloud at the slut's frustration. Obviously, any extra money from the tall blond would have to be gotten when she could lure him away from his friends, into a more private setting. As he finished tuning his harp, Couros wondered how long it would take her. It afforded him great internal amusement to watch the by-play between the Lissa and the tall blond man as he began to sing the first lay.

The glint in the young man's eyes whenever Lissa passed their table on her rounds seemed to go unnoticed by his companions, who were giving flattering attention to the song. Lissa smiled at the young man each time she passed, and she contrived to brush her full bosom against his shoulder when she refilled their mugs. His hard swallow and the tightening of his jaw told her all she needed to know. Couros saw the melting look Lissa gave the young man from her long-lashed brown eyes, and didn't doubt for a minute that, in her mind, Lissa was calculating the price the young man would pay her for relieving the protruding bulge at the top of his thighs.

Couros also didn't doubt the more carefully concealed, smaller bulge at the young man's waist hadn't escaped Lissa's notice, either. He knew Jorad would be pleased, indeed, at her finding such a prize; and he wondered briefly if he should take a hand in her game. He decided not to interfere at this point. The young man was in need of a lesson in prudence, and Lissa would be a good teacher.

About half an hour later, during the loud applause and badinage after the song, Couros saw her quick whisper in the young man's ear. Jorad was in the taproom. Couros had seen him slip through the door during the song. ‘Really,’ reflected Couros to himself, ‘Who would have thought carrying out a commission for a lady could lead to such an entertaining evening?’ He watched as Lissa, with a quick glance at Jorad, left the taproom.

No one except Couros paid any attention to the tall blond with the easy smile of the slightly buzzed when he threaded his way through the crowd to the back door that led outside to the privy. Not even his friends thought it unusual; not after the amount of ale he had drunk. It also attracted no attention when Jorad, a man of medium height and totally forgettable appearance, followed him.

Couros sang twice more, and collected handsomely for it. His voice was a baritone, mellow and fine; he sang lays of war and fighting, love, and the bawdy humor so well-suited to the custom of the tavern. The strange travelers were a good audience, and so appreciative nearly an hour passed before they realized one of their number was missing. Couros had, by then, finished his third song. He was taking time to drink and rest his voice a bit before beginning the next lay.

"What happened to Frandor?" inquired the hooded man of the other two. "Surely it hasn't taken him this long to pee?"

"He's undoubtedly doing more than that, if I know Frandor," replied the remaining barbarian equitably. "The little trollop who waited on us seemed quite taken with him. He, no doubt, is now in the process of taking her!" The words were followed by a chuckle and a hiccup. "He'll be back when he's done with her. Or didn't you see the little game they were playing?"

"I see he has vanished and I know he was carrying all of our gold when he left," was the tart reply from within the hood. "You may find that a source of amusement. I do not."

Couros had little difficulty in overhearing them. They obviously believed no one in the taproom understood the language they were speaking; and the noise of the crowd, now that the singing had stopped for awhile, had risen to a level masking normal conversation.

A slight frown crossed the dark soldier's face. "He's not been gone that long. After all, we've been in the desert three months. For Frandor, that's a long time to go without a woman. He is only nineteen, remember."

"Hornas, I know how old he is! I also know we nearly died several times over for the gold marks he carries at his belt. I've no mind to lose what we worked so hard to gain, just because an easy wench offers him the dubious comfort of her well-used body. Go after him!"

Hornas heaved his six feet, four inches of height, and his two hundred, seventy pounds of lean muscle upright, weaving only slightly as he did so. "Alright, alright. I'll go and get him. But I think you're being a bit on the mother-hen side. After all, lads will be lads." He belched into his full black beard, and made his way across the tavern floor, through the crowd and toward the back door. The crowd parted before him with no dispute. One did not dispute the way with a man of Hornas' stamp.

Left behind him at the table, the bald man spoke in quiet tones to the man seated next to Hornas' now empty chair, who was so concerned about the missing Frandor. "What is troubling you, my Lord Karias? Is it only Frandor? Frandor is, as Hornas says, merely a randy young man. It isn't to be wondered at that he finds a woman enticing, is it?"

"No, Gorlon; it's to be expected. But I find it disturbing. A casual liaison with a tart has caused the downfall of stronger men than Frandor. These humans! I can never understand how they can see the results of such things in others' lives and still fail to apply the lesson to their own."

Karias pushed his hood back with a beautifully shaped hand. The face revealed to Couros' covert examination was one of ageless charm, devoid of hair, except for eyebrows which were slender and arched, and eyelashes which were black and silky. The eyes themselves were large and widely set, and of a black so deep as to make the pupil invisible.

Those eyes reminded Couros, as he began his next song, of the eyes of an intelligent animal: a sea-otter, maybe, or perhaps a seal. He smiled at the thought. Certainly, no animal on the face of the planet had such charisma. People in the crowd were smiling sympathetically at Karias. It was a good thing he had remained hooded during the earlier songs, Couros reflected. Otherwise, he might have stolen the audience.

A Lord? The shorter man had called him so. Karias’ reference to humans, as if they were an alien species, puzzled Couros. He concealed the fact that he understood their language with an ease born of long practice. The Lady Orillis had bade him be most discreet when she enlisted his aid in helping her find companions for a long and dangerous mission.

Couros had scanned the crowd throughout the evening while he was singing. Of all whom he observed, the four who sat by him seemed the best candidates. He liked their caution. Even blond Frandor seemed reasonably sensible for his age, despite his attraction to that slut Lissa. He had hoped one of them would buy him a drink, and so give him an opening for talk with them; but none of them had by the time he started his final song of the evening. Neither Frandor nor Hornas had yet returned. Perhaps it was concern over them, and the gold Frandor carried, that was responsible.

Couros finished his final song of the evening, received the accolade of his listeners with his usual urbanity, and began to pack up his harp. As the crowd began to disperse and the taproom to clear, he realized he would have to contrive a way to make their acquaintance. He was growing more certain by the minute these four men were the best ones available for Orillis. She had been quite clear in her requirements when she spoke to him at his cabin in the woods.

"I need companions who are dependable, skilled fighters with some experience of the world, Couros. They must be intelligent, able to obey without fawning, capable of self- discipline, and as loyal and incorruptible as possible. And I need them now."

Orillis was care-worn after a week of travel with little sleep. Her voice had the ragged sound of nervous exhaustion, and Couros wondered what was driving her to such extreme efforts. He had poured wine for her and resisted the impulse to pull her into his arms. She had looked so vulnerable, and he had loved her for so long.

He would find her the men she needed, Couros had said. She need only rest now. She had smiled her gratitude, and collapsed onto his austere bed. He was taller than she by an inch; his bed had fitted her well. "Your bed is comfortable, Couros," she murmured as she drifted into sleep. He had drawn the heavy quilt over her, and pulled the solid shutters over the window and bolted them. He placed her baggage on the floor at the foot of the bed, and left flint and steel next to the lamp on the bedside table.

When her soft snoring assured him she was deeply asleep, he had withdrawn to the main chamber of the cabin. He had closed and locked the bedroom door, sliding the key under it. She would rest safe there, his unknowing love, while he was gone about her business.

In the main room of his cabin, Couros had tidied the disorder Orillis’s unexpected arrival had caused, clearing up the remains of the meal he had made her share with him. He then donned the garments proclaiming his sacred state as a bard. He had picked up his small harp, the one he could hold in his lap, and he had set out for a place famous throughout the eastern end of the Great Central Sea as the gathering spot of mercenaries. He had set out for the Inn of the Green Jackal.

Couros’ musings over Orillis had caused a lapse in his attention to the table nearby. He was caught off-guard when a potboy brought him a handsome pouch of worked leather and a large tankard. "What is this?" His surprised voice and arched brow put a fleeting grin on the boy's face.

"A gift, Lord Couros, from that table." The boy nodded toward the men nearby. Thanks to the boy, along with a couple of coppers, took him off. Couros silently thanked his Muse for Her timely intervention, fastened the pouch to his belt, picked up the tankard, and made his way over to their table.

Reflex action resulting from three decades of study and experience gave him the ready address that soon had Karias and Gorlon chatting with him like long-lost friends. They sat back, relaxed and smiling as they listened to Couros' anecdotes. Even the potboys who were cleaning the place as the customers slowly left were chuckling. Like all bards, Couros had a wealth of stories to tell. Both Karias and Gorlon contributed their share, and the three men were at home with each other before more than twenty minutes had passed.

When a screaming Lissa ran into the nearly deserted taproom, it was the most natural thing in the world for Couros to draw his short sword from its scabbard and go with Gorlon and Karias to the back of the inn. When the city guard arrived, prepared to arrest the strangers for the murder of Jorad, it was Couros, with his knowledge of the city's watch and their habits, who saved them.

The guards were most amenable to Couros' suggestion that Jorad'’s death must be an accident, the result of an unfortunate fall against the stone wall of the inn. Jorad had been a nuisance to innkeepers and the watch for several years. Neither Morduki nor the guards were sorry he was dead. "It's good riddance to bad rubbish, if you ask me," muttered one of the guards as they put the body on a makeshift litter.

Couros let fall the information that the four men were known to him: friends who were merely passing through the city on their way to an unspecified destination in the north. That, with the coins discreetly passed from Couros' hand to the guards, conduced to a quiet, amiable disposition of the investigation. The sobbing, hysterical Lissa needed only a gentle compulsion to support Hornas' story: he found Jorad bending over the inert body of Frandor, and when he jerked Jorad to his feet, the man had stumbled against the wall and hit his head. A groggy and wounded Frandor, moaning and babbling in a language unknown to both Morduki and the guards, was obviously of no value as a witness. He had, after all, been unconscious throughout the encounter.

The sun was beginning its rise in a glory of rose and gold light over the hills when Couros led the thoroughly exhausted men through the eastern gate in the city wall. He took them by hidden trails through the thick forest covering the foothills outside the city walls, avoiding the main road that went toward Turonis. The horses were fresh, having spent the night comfortably housed in the stable behind the Inn. The men made good time despite their fatigue.

Weaving an obscurity shielding his cabin and its area from all intrusions, Couros took the group into the security of his hold. He saw them fed and bedded down in his guest-house, and their mounts relieved of saddles and baggage and securely pastured for the day, before he made his way to his private quarters.

Orillis would not wake for several hours yet. The mulled wine with hyssop Couros had given her the evening before, as well as her weariness, made that a certainty. He hung his cloak and his gold fillet on hooks by the altar, placed his pouches in a stone safe beneath the floor, and set his harp on the shelf by its big sister. He then stripped off tunic and leggings, wrapped himself in a wool blanket, and sword in hand, lay down on the floor in front of his bedroom door for a few hours of sleep.

Later on, sometime, Couros would have to deal with the problem of his feelings for the woman asleep in his bed, and with the results of his night's foray. For the time being, Orillis was safe, here with him in his house. That was enough for him for now. He was bone-tired from his exertions of the night, but not even his need for rest could prevent his mind from questing after the reason why the Commander of the Jannian Guard should require the services of mercenaries. One decision he made as he drifted into sleep: whether she liked it or not, he was going with her on this jaunt.

The low murmur of voices failed to wake him. It was the odor teasing at his nostrils that finally dragged him into consciousness. Couros opened his eyes and saw two people sitting at the table near the windows in the dazzling light of full day. For a moment, he was disoriented and thought he was still dreaming. Orillis sat smiling at a huge, hulking man with a dark beard, who seemed to be on excellent terms with her. What was this stranger doing in his dream? Once more the smell of food wafted, his stomach growled its response, and the last wisps of dream vanished. With a huge yawn, Couros sat up.

"You're awake, Couros. Are you hungry?" Orillis gave a smile to him as she started to rise from her chair.

"Don't get up. Yes, I'm hungry. Ravenous, as a matter of fact. But," with a rueful look at his person, "I seem to have mislaid my clothes. If you two will kindly turn your backs, I'll remedy the situation and rejoin you shortly."

Hornas and Orillis both chuckled as they complied with his request, not turning back to the room until after they heard the door behind them close. By the time Couros emerged from his bedroom, a fresh bowl filled with a porridge of stewed grains was on the table, along with a plate of hot biscuits and a mug of ale.

"I thought I smelled biscuits," Couros said happily. He pulled a stool forward and began to eat. "Where are the others?" he asked between mouthfuls. "And who made the biscuits?"

"I did," said Hornas, answering the last question first. "They're still asleep. Karias and Gorlon will probably wake in about two hours. Frondar may not wake until this afternoon. These youngsters just can't drink. I like the boy, mind you. But let him get a little sozzled and he folds like a wet sack."

"You seem to have handled the evening nicely, Hornas," said Orillis. "Is it maturity, training, experience, or did you just not drink as deeply as your friends?"

Hornas grinned, exposing teeth that were strong and even, with one gap. "I drank as much as Frondar, and Karias and Gorlon didn't really drink at all. I guess I just have a hard head."

"And a hard hand," interposed Couros. "Did you have to kill the little weasel? I thought for sure the four of you were headed for the city guardhouse last night."

Hornas looked sheepish. "All I did was tap him. I didn't realize these southerners have such soft skulls."

"What's this? Who was the weasel, Couros? Hornas?"

The two men looked as guilty as a pair of boys caught with their hands full of stolen honey-cakes. Orillis looked sternly at them. "Out with it. I don't need a patrol from Crollos following me."

"It was just some pimp from the waterfront. One of his whores, a barmaid named Lissa, tried to seduce and rob Frondar. Hornas interrupted them." Couros spoke soothingly. "I settled it all last night. There won't be a patrol following us."

Hornas smiled reminiscently. "She didn't just try to seduce him: she succeeded. A very talented wench, she is. I saw enough to know. Well, I didn't want to spoil the lad's fun. After all, he's had a rough time for the past three months and he needed a bit of relaxation."

"I'm sure he did," said Orillis tartly. "But I need absolute secrecy for this mission. I don't want any leaks and I don't want any unnecessary complications. Yes, I've explained to Hornas that I want to hire him and his companions to accompany me." This last remark was in response to a look from Couros.

"What, exactly, did you tell him?" asked Couros.

"She told me a friend of hers has been kidnapped and taken north across the mountains, and she needs help to pursue the kidnappers and get the woman back," said Hornas, "And that she's willing to pay us 500 gold marks each to help her." Hornas looked out the windows at the sheltering forest. His face was calm and thoughtful. Couros looked at Orillis and shook his head. "Of course," added Hornas ruminatively, "I can't help wondering why a Jannian Guard needs to hire help when she must have friends who would go with her for love.

"I saw your armor," Hornas said apologetically as Orillis's head snapped up. "And," he continued, looking at her directly, "I can't help wondering where an ordinary guardsman acquired 2000 gold marks to pay us; or what woman would be worth the outlay of such a sum, when a tenth of that amount would serve to ransom almost anyone."

"You should have left the negotiations to me, Orillis," said Couros. "Hornas would probably have agreed to go for much less money and he wouldn't have become suspicious so soon."

"Maybe," agreed Hornas. "But you didn't do the negotiating, Couros, and I really think I need to have some answers from the lady before we seal the bargain. How about it?" he asked, looking back at Orillis.

"I must confess that I also have been wondering why you need to hire help, Orillis," said Couros. "I trust you. You need not say anything you don't want to tell me. But, it would be nice if you trusted me with the truth."

"I seem to have bungled it all the way around," said Orillis bitterly, as she knocked over her stool and began pacing the room. "I either have to trust you both, or I have to kill you both. There's no other way now."

"Why would you want to kill us?" asked Hornas, with some amusement. Plainly, he didn't take the threat seriously. He was surprised when he looked at Couros to see alarm in that gentleman's face. A warning hand held up stilled his tongue.

"Why? Because I can't take the risk of your telling anyone I was here if you don't go with me. There's too much at stake." With a visible struggle Orillis calmed herself. "And if I tell you all of it, you may not want to go with me, and I can't leave you behind me knowing the truth."

Couros poured more ale into her mug and walked over to hand it to her. His eyes were a stormy gray as he looked into her face. "Here. Drink this. And take time to think before you decide what you want to do."

Orillis drank. After a few moments, she smiled ruefully at the two men, and spoke. "I am not an ordinary guardsman, my dear Hornas. I am the Commander of the Jannian Guard, and yes, I have at my disposal many who would have come with me freely had I asked them. You will understand why I did not ask them when I have finished speaking.

"The woman who was kidnapped is Queen Palladia and the men who took her are not ordinary pirates or cut-throats demanding a ransom for her return. They are highly skilled, trained fighters from a country north of the Barrier Mountains known to us only as the land of dragons. It took me nearly three weeks to determine who they are, and one of my best spies died to get the information to me. More important, Drinnian was able to find out the men who kidnapped Queen Palladia are not the only ones from that land to visit here. Apparently, their spies have had Narantis and the lands of the Great Central Sea's northern coast under virtually constant observation for a year at least, unknown to anyone here.

"I don't know what that tells you, but I know what it tells me: these people are planning invasion and conquest. I need not, I think, tell you that, without the Queen and the power she holds, we may not be able to withstand such an invasion. I do not want to see my city, or any city, sacked and destroyed.

"The only person who knows where I am or what I'm doing is my first officer. I don't want word getting back to these dragon-people that I am coming to rescue the Queen and to spy out, if I can, their plans. So you see, Hornas, if you now refuse to come with me, I have no choice but to kill you." She sat down after righting her stool and fixed implacable eyes on the stunned faces of Hornas and Couros.