Excerpt from Chapter 1: The Alchemist’s Ranger, the prequel novella to The Seer of Grace and Fire
The rain poured down in sheets pounding the ground, leaving the streets near empty as the dark of night drew close. Timorn held the hood of his tunic close to his face, clutching the green tanned hide in his fingers as he darted down the road covering his head and keeping the rain out of his eyes. He had been running for twenty minutes since the deluge started. He traveled for two days trying to make it to Fallow from the Port of Bei at the coast in the human city of Ekhrine. He had entered the gate to Fallow about thirty minutes ago, the door guard letting him in as he pounded hard on the metal door with the knocker wanting to be heard through the wet beating down in the dirt. He was miserable as he rushed through the empty streets of the town. Mud sloshed on his boots, his foot planted solidly in a large puddle. He made straight for the Singing Harp pub to the right of the gate in the South area of the town. He grabbed the handle to the pub and yanked the solid mahogany door open onto the warmth inside.
He turned and faced the night as he closed the door gently. The wind wrestled the handle out of his hand like a vacuum as the door slammed shut. He looked down at his boots and picked up his right foot glancing at the sole as he stood in a puddle created by the wet from his clothes. “The boots are not too wet, that is a relief. Not totally soaked through. I can’t afford a new pair,” he joked to the room. He did not notice the patrons inside looking at him, roused by the door slamming. He stomped his feet releasing wet and mud. The room was silent as Timorn looked up stunned at the quiet. He raised his hands and motioned the crowd to remain calm. The patrons went back to their business as the noise once more filled the room. The pub was busy tonight.
Timorn pushed the hood back and shook his head, hair flying about his face releasing the damp that saturated his hair and his clothes. He pulled the bottom of his tunic and wrestled with the cloth, squeezing the rain free. It dripped a puddle on the floor making the current one under his feet larger as he stepped towards the bar. The bar keep moved over to him as Timorn put his elbow on the bar and leaned in blinking his eyes a few times as water dripped through his lashes. He raised his foot and placed it on the metal barrier underneath the bar and rested there. The bar keep came over with a glass mug in hand and wiped off the counter with a tan rag then dropped the glass in front of Timorn.
“Wet night? You look soaked through. You must have come from the Port of Bei or Narn. Where have you been, young Ranger on this very wet day? Would you like a drink? It is on the house seeing you are soaked. Spirits can make the day less miserable and warm you up inside,” said the bar keep and motioned to the back wall which was full of jugs of different types of ale and liquor.
“It was dry in the Port of Bei where I came from, no alcohol there after the sun went down. Been there the past three days just trying to find some work. It is nice to come to Fallow and be able to have my fill of spirits any time that I want. The Port was no luck for work this time, I hope I can find some work in Fallow. I am on my last purse,” said Timorn running his hand through his hair. It was starting to curl up at his forehead due to the wet.
“Yes, the Port of Bei has many surly merchants come off the large sailing ships with goods from far away places. Wouldn’t want one of them to run you through because they negotiated a bad deal and you insulted them because you were drunk.”
“Let me have some ale, your very best. Besides the rain, this has been a productive day of walking but I need to find work soon,” said Timorn.
“Coming right up,” said the bar keep and went to the back wall and took a large brown jug off the shelves and brought it over. He pulled out the cork and poured Timorn a full glass and then replaced it on the shelf and came back over. “Did you want me to start a tab for you or will one drink do you well this evening?”
“One will be all. How much do I owe you?”
“That will be 40 esquines.”
Timorn went into the pocket of his tunic where the fabric came together under the buckles down the front at his waist and pulled out a brown leather pouch tied with white cord. He placed it on the counter and untied the cords putting his hand in and gathering up some gold coins. He pulled out a handful of coins and placed them one by one on the counter with his thumb as he counted out eight coins then pushed the pile over to the bar keep.
“Enjoy your drink,” said the keep snatching up the coins and walking off to another patron.
Timorn put his money purse away and took the mug in hand. He turned around leaning against the bar scanning the room with his purple eyes trying to remain unnoticed. There were servers meandering through the crowd carrying mugs. One dropped two mugs on a table. The noise in the pub screamed in Timorn’s ears from the revelry of the guests. He caught a person staring his way in the back with a hood up and a short cloak around their shoulders. He could not tell if the person was male or female. He had seen that same outfit in the Port of Bei earlier in the week and Narn the week before. It seemed like the person was following him. He wondered how the person was able to predict his moves. He watched on for a moment and then the person took a sip from a glass and turned their head. He thought he saw short wisps of blonde hair peeking out from the person’s hood. Timorn dismissed it and went about trying to devise his strategy. The Singing Harp pub was a rich target. He could definitely find work here.
He stood at the bar for twenty minutes having his fill of the ale. It was warm and he noticed that as he drank more of it, the drink started to taste foul. He set the mug down leaving the glass a third full and went on his rounds. He took the left side first, as he scanned the room. There were more patrons on that side. He sauntered up to the first table with two men playing a game with small square white tiles with black dots on them, a pile of coins in the middle of the table.
“Nice night for a game. Any of you looking to hire a Ranger? Perhaps to take you to the next town.” asked Timorn.
The two at the table were engrossed in their game. One of them held a tile up between his index finger and thumb and set it down keeping his index finger on the tile as he slid it next to another tile set on the table in a design that looked like a rectangular wall around a white tile the shape of a castle seated in the center. There were four other tiles with intricate carvings of knights on horseback. The men ignored Timorn and continued their game as the man with the tile tapped it five times and then lifted his finger. Timorn put his hand on the table, the tip of his middle finger touching the side of the wall. His gesture got the table’s attention interrupting their game. The man who laid the tile grabbed it from the table and stood up stepping towards Timorn forcing him back. Timorn tensed his muscles ready for a fight.
The man shook the tile in Timorn’s face. “I have no need for kids. How old are you, eighteen? Even if I had need of a Ranger, I would not hire some kid wet behind the ears. Move along.”
Timorn nodded, not willing to start a fight. He moved to the next table as the man at the game table sat down glaring at him. Timorn continued watching making sure trouble did not follow him on his rounds as he moved along. He wandered through the bar inquiring for the next fifteen minutes with no luck. His patience was waning. He only had 300 esquines left in his purse. He would have to find work or end up going hungry in a day.
Timorn was seventeen. He had purple eyes which was strange for a human. He was thin and lithe with strong muscles. He had been raised on the outskirts of Ekrhine, the human city and set off as a Ranger when he turned sixteen. His poor parents had gifted him two daggers and a sword but he never figured out how they afforded such elegant weapons. The blades were the finest steel and lightweight with supple carvings down the blades that matched, making them a set. His parents had told him they were of Faerie make. Timorn put his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist after brushing his fingers over the two daggers couched at his belt secured through leather loops.
Timorn got to the last table on this side and started to cross the bar to the less populated tables. He glimpsed at the corner with the person staring at him he had seen earlier and started to walk over. As he got to the table, the person looked at his carefully. A hood was hiding their face. He couldn’t see the person’s eyes or their features for that matter. Timorn furrowed his brows hanging there annoyed at why this person seemed to be everywhere he went. The person lingered for a moment then got up and left the table rudely leaving Timorn to wonder. Timorn watched the person go and tried to size them up. For a second he though the person might be female but he could not tell, the thigh length cloak hiding their features. All he could see was the backs of the high leather boots that rose to the knee. The legs were slender and the feet small. He dismissed it, not wanting to delve too deep in case the person came back. He went about his rounds.
He walked up to a table with a man in a blue waistcoat drinking a small glass of spirits. The person was wearing a magenta troubadour hat with a white plume. The hat was large and seemed to over take the person’s entire head. Long wisps of dark blond hair draped down from the hat as if they were placed immaculately. The clothes were sumptuous compared to the rest of the people in the room. The shoulder length dark blonde and bright eyes made the person looked like a noble, eyebrows perfectly groomed and fingernails cut short with a shine as if they were painted with lacquer. The person’s skin was also light, a pale peach as if they had never seen a day out toiling in the sun. The person being in the Singing Harp pub struck Timorn as odd. The man was definitely out of place against the rougher clientele.
Timorn tried out his pitch. “Hello good sir, I am a Ranger looking for hire. I can track, guide and find you anything here in Fallow. Are you looking for something? You seem to have inquisitive eyes. They scan the room as if belittling all that linger here. I sensed you watching me do the rounds at the other side of the bar. Seems like you might have need of a good pair of strong hands.”
“You seem to be having a bad night. First, soaked to the bone when you came in, then no one here to hire you even with your immaculate sales pitch. I think I have sympathy for you, young Ranger. Sit down and join me.” The man motioned with his hand and touched the chair beside him. Timorn took the back of the chair and pulled it from the table then sat down slowly. His eyes lingered on the man a moment trying to determine if there was deception here. He sensed a slight arrogance in the man’s tone. It really did seem as if he was looking down on everyone in the bar.
Timorn put his elbow on the table and leaned in wanting to hear what the man was going to say against the boisterous noise. If this was potential work, he wanted to keep his attention directed. “So are you looking to hire? I want to ensure my expectations are properly set.” He raised his hand and ran it over his forehead, his nerves getting the better of him. The man’s stare as he glanced at him made him anxious as if he were being judged. His hair was still wet as water dripped into his eyes. He brushed it away and concentrated once more.
“You drive a hard bargain, Ranger. I am Imran, a traveling inquisitor of precious things. How much do you charge, young man?”
“Five hundred esquines for a day of work or you can hire me to take you somewhere, then it is based on the distance traveled. Anywhere in the human kingdom of Ekhrine or the faerie kingdom of Itheria. I can also travel to Kine. Akrisia, the elven city will cost you more but I will not travel to Amaralon or Eskar. I will not take anyone through the Haunted Forest. I hear death resides in those trees.” Timorn’s voice raised as he mentioned the Haunted Forest, as a shiver when down his spine.
“I see you are passionate about not wanting to travel through the Haunted Forest by your tone. In no way do I want to meet death this day or any day in the future until a designated time of my choosing. I will not ask you to take me through the Haunted Forest, you can keep yourself calm,” remarked Imran and went into his pocket. He pulled out two purses and put them on the table. “I think you are in luck. I am actually looking for something very precious. My understanding is that it is here in Fallow. I need a set of eyes to search out the object, bring it to me and ask no questions. Are you that man?”
“I think I am suited for that type of work. What is it exactly I would be looking for?”
The man went into the satchel he had hanging on the back of the chair. Timorn noticed the leather was embossed with knotwork patterns, a very expensive satchel indeed. Imran opened the flap on the bag and pulled out a piece of parchment setting it on the table. He placed the tips of his fingers on the yellow parchment and pushed it across the table.
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