First of all, thanks to everyone who took the time to read, rate and comment on the first chapter. I know it’s been ages, but I’ve finally knocked together another chapter, a little longer this time. I’m not sure if all the names, places, terminology etc will be overwhelming, but see what you all think. And don’t worry, Izak and the mystery girl will return next chapter. Enjoy!
Chapter 02: Burdens
The merchant city of Joraleth was the busiest place in the entire eastern kingdom. Located on the edges of the Piazzu desert, its vast white buildings were like bleached bones in the sand. The city was encircled by a great stone wall, with high towers arcing up into the sky that ensured the archers and sentries manning the defences could spot approaching danger from all sides. From above, the city of Joraleth looked like it was surrounded by a great white crown.
Joraleth attracted people from all over the world of Avalus, and had quickly become known as the capital of trade. Its markets were always bustling with traders, its taverns constantly overflowing and its streets teeming with activity.
Arryk Eldor loved it here.
He stood at the top of the steps overlooking Ila’s Square, Joraleth’s huge market district. Hundreds of hide tents were packed into the area and crowds of men, women and children of all species swarmed amongst them.
It had been a long time since Arryk had last visited the city, longer than he had ever spent away and far longer than he preferred. But in truth, Joraleth never really changed.
Arryk’s dark blue eyes surveyed his surroundings as he made his way down the steps towards the sea of people around the stalls. He clutched the shape of the leather satchel tightly under his arm as he entered the square.
Arryk slipped in amongst the crowds and became instantly assailed by the sights, sounds and smells that made Joraleth such an amazing place to be. It truly was a cross section of the society of Avalus; barring of course the denizens of the forbidden Black Regions in the south, one had the chance to see not only the varied cultures of the Eastern Kingdom of Man, but also individuals and groups from other species such as the winged Trivas or the mysterious Silans.
Market vendors and tradesmen bayed, squabbled and shouted as they bartered and advertised their goods. Children laughed and squealed as they chased each other through the jungle of adult legs. Arryk kept a casual air as he moved, but his gaze was constantly watching those who passed close by. There were pickpockets aplenty in Ila’s Square, and Arryk had too much at stake to have his plans ruined by the swift hands of a street urchin.
He took some time to examine the different stalls and tents as he made his way across the Square;you could find anything in Joraleth.
Arryk passed a trio of weapon smith tents that were displaying a variety of arms and armour. He spotted the strong, unyielding steel of longswords crafted in the Drell family armoury sat alongside exotic lances from the Mistonian Isles. Large round shields made from the sturdy trees of the Anrin forests hung next to a gigantic suit of spiked armour that looked dangerously similar to that worn by the demonic soldiers of nightmare.
Nearby, he saw an apothecary surrounded by tables of various potions, salves, ointments and other more questionable concoctions. The small, bespectacled figure was promising incomparable treatment of wounds and ailments, the top of his gleaming bald head glowing pink in the merciless sun.
A vividly garbed man and woman stalked through the teeming mass of people, proclaiming themselves as enchanters. They offered to bless his sword so he could smite his enemies with the force of the gods themselves. Arryk politely declined.
The smells of exotic fruits and other varied produce from faraway lands mixed with the aroma of sizzling meats in the area of the markets where the food vendors plied their trades. Now and then, the undeniable scent of blueweed smoke reached Arryk, the potent drug as popular as ever in the city.
At a number of intervals, he spotted skimpily clad whores from the Velvet Dagger. They moved smoothly through the crowds, working their sultry magic to entice those with enough coin to satisfy their fantasies. Joraleth had a great number of whorehouses, but the Velvet Dagger was by far the most renowned, if not infamous. Arryk flashed a brilliant grin at each of them as they sauntered past, vivid memories of his many visits filling his mind. He had spent enough time at the Dagger to know almost every one of the girls by name. Arryk made a mental note to drop by when he had some spare time, and see if there was any new talent on display.
Arryk marvelled at a place that openly accepted debauchery and the deeper pleasures of the flesh, among other generally unfavourable activities. The laws of the kingdom were slightly relaxed in comparison to places such as Tyrell’s Keep or Jannicksville. The merchant princes that ruled over Joraleth made sure that their monthly tithes to the king were nicely swollen with added bonuses, in exchange for a blind eye being turned on some of the more unsavoury business that occurred within their city.
No place had ever felt more like home.
Arryk spotted his destination just ahead, a generally unimpressive domed tent made from a filthy patchwork of materials that had perhaps been white at some point. People passed it by without a second glance, and paid no attention.
Arryk glanced briefly around him before pulling the hanging veil of the tent aside and ducking within.
It was dark inside, and surprisingly cool. The air within was thick with cloying smoke, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness Arryk managed to make out the shape of an incense burner on a nearby table.
He cleared his throat to speak, his eyes squinting into the shadows.
‘Hello?’
There was sudden movement either side of him, and Arryk froze as a pair of blades was suddenly at his throat. He looked to the left and then to the right at the wielders of the heavy swords, two dangerous looking figures in dark robes that stared at him with murderous eyes. They had emerged like phantoms from the smoky darkness, uttering not a sound.
Arryk swallowed hard and tried to remain perfectly still. A voice filtered to him from somewhere, a rasping whisper that set Arryk’s teeth on edge.
‘Eldor…do you have the artefact?’
Arryk squinted slightly, trying to penetrate the gloom. He could just discern the outline of someone sitting near the back of the tent.
‘I have it,’ he said, reaching for the satchel under his arm. One of the guards seized his arm and yanked the satchel from him, stepping away with the bundle held in one massive hand.
‘Come closer, Eldor,’ the voice uttered after a moment.
The sword at his throat was lowered and Arryk stepped forwards, glaring sidelong at the emotionless guard. His dusty boots sank slightly into the pile of furs covering the ground, and he crossed the space of the tent until he reached a separate section at the back. The guard who had taken the satchel from him adjusted a lamp hanging above, and a dull glow emanated around the small section.
A thin, narrow faced man was sat behind a long table, watching him through hooded grey eyes. His head was shaved bare, and he had a thin black goatee. A crossed scar was etched into one of his gaunt, sunken cheeks.
‘Malik.’ Arryk greeted him with a stiff nod, the very sight of the man making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
‘Eldor,’ Malik returned in his rasping tones. ‘Please, have a seat.’ He gestured with a pale, skeletal hand towards the chair before him.
