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Quest, Book One: Azure Sunset
Chapter One
Something crashed in the opposite corner, followed quickly by a shout and a few colorful curses. The serving girl winced. “He’s having a go at Shin’zayn Krens.”
The six people at the table, three male and three female, exchanged emotionless glances before one of them stood and walked away, in the direction of the brawl. The serving girl followed behind her anxiously, nonsensical ‘thank you’s spilling from her lips. The first woman held up a hand and waved her back, and the girl quickly obliged, scurrying back behind the counter and far away from the mess.
The woman didn’t pause for a second before moving forward. The gathered crowd, seeing her approach, moved silently out of her way. She nodded her thanks to them and stepped clear of the people, straight into the middle of a raging fistfight.
“You bloody son of a whore, you only won that fight because you cheated!”
“Shut your ass, Sanas, you don’t know my mother!”
“Nothing less than a whore could have spawned you!” Crack.
The woman watched the scene before her with a slight glint of amusement in her eyes. Sanas was a brawny man, tough sinew and bulging muscle, where Krens was more the lithe, quick-moving type. Yet he packed one hell of a punch; Sanas went down, sprawling over a nearby stool and cracking it as he fell. But he was up in an instant, swinging, careless of the blood streaming from his nose.
Krens ducked below Sanas’ swing and hit him, a one-two punch, in the gut. Unaffected by this, Sanas brought a fist down upon Krens’ head, and there was a resounding thud. Krens brought his leg up and around, catching Sanas in the hip.
Both men went down, Sanas from the blow, Krens from Sanas’ weight. They rolled on the floor a bit, knocking over tables and stools in their earnest to pound each other into a bloody pulp. When Sanas was kneeling over Krens, one hand around the other’s throat, administering multiple punches to the other man’s nose, the woman stepped in.
“Enough.”
Neither one heard her as Krens brought his fist around the side of Sanas’ head, dazing his opponent long enough to roll him over and reverse positions – and tactics. Delivering blow after blow to the other man’s nose, Krens didn’t even bother trying to hold Sanas down by the throat; he used both fists in a furious blur.
Having had enough, the woman seized Krens by the collar and lifted him off the other man, flinging him away with a careless flick of the wrist. He was sent sprawling into a table, cracking it down the center and landing in a heap beneath the split pieces. A groan sounded from under the wood.
Sanas shook his head to get the blood out of his eyes and stared up at the woman looming over him. Even through a haze of red – half blood, half fury – he could see her well enough. Standing tall and regal, her long black hair flowing freely down her back, she glared down at him. Her black-green eyes narrowed in disgust as she shoved his hip with the heel of her boot.
“Get up, you wimp. He barely did any damage to you.”
He hastened to get to his feet, wobbling a little and feeling more than a bit ashamed when she snorted derisively. After a long moment, he stood in front of her. Though he was taller than she was by a few inches, under her piercing gaze he felt infinitely smaller. She said nothing, staring him down, and he glanced down at the floor.
He was beyond embarrassed to have been caught in a brawl with a fellow Shin’zayn – and by a Master, no less. Even though she didn’t look the part, the woman before him was one of the strongest warriors in all Saminien.
She dressed plainly, in black leggings tucked into knee-high black boots, the sleeves of her crimson tunic rolled to the elbows to expose countless white scars crossing over her tan skin. An assortment of knives hung from her belt.
Suddenly, she turned away from him, casting her gaze on the shifting pile of wood behind her. Krens struggled out of the mess, shaking his head dazedly and crawling to his knees before looking up. When he caught sight of the one who had thrown him into the table, he blanched. “Master A-”
“Care to tell me the meaning of this?”
“I….I…..”
“We….”
She moved her eyes from one to the other, scowling, hands planted firmly on her hips. “No? No answer? Shall I take you before the Anayo so that you can explain yourselves to him?”
“No!” Sanas shouted, and immediately flinched when her cold gaze landed on him. “I mean, no, that’s not necessary. We…I had a bit too much to drink, is all, and my temper…”
“You mean you lost control of yourself.”
“I….” When her gaze hardened, he swallowed and ducked his head. “Yes.”
“And you!” Here she whipped her head to glare at Krens, who had just regained his feet. “What is your pitiful excuse for losing control in the middle of a crowded tavern?”
“I…I have none.”
She snorted. “Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful.”
They said nothing, shame-faced, staring at the floor. With an exasperated roll of her eyes, the woman reached out and grabbed both of them by the collar. They moved at her direction, unwilling to invoke her wrath and cause her to send either of them flying across the room. She escorted them to the door and kicked it open, causing it to slam against the outer wall and stick there as it was prone to do.
“You’ll both go home and sleep this off. In the morning you will report to the Cinchoa Lyne promptly at sunrise, where you will meet myself and the keeper of this tavern. You will pay equal shares in the damage you caused here tonight. Afterwards, you will clean this mess, then report to the Blïse Da’lin. There I will indulge you in the battle you so obviously crave.”
“Master, our….our posts….”
“I will see to it that the Anayo knows of this by morning,” she replied, and Krens ducked his head again. Sanas swallowed. The Anayo would flay into them for their behavior.
Seeming to realize their fear – and only partially disgusted by their inability to control themselves, because she knew that the drink was part of the problem – the woman let go of them and in a gentler voice, said, “My punishment is the only one you will endure. The Anayo has nothing to do with this. It is between us.”
Both men sighed and turned to face her, relieved to see the scowl had lessened. There was a softer edge to her voice now, but one all the same. Sanas bowed; Krens quickly followed. “B’orisyd,” they intoned together, then turned to leave as quickly as honor would allow them to. The woman watched them go, hands once more resting on her hips, shaking her head and sighing.
“Next time take it outside,” she called out to their retreating backs, and was rewarded with a chuckle from both.
When they disappeared from sight, she reached out and pulled the door back, closing off the light from outside and drowning the tavern in smoky darkness. Everyone had returned to their seats and their mugs, chattering animatedly about the brawl they had just witnessed. The glint of amusement appeared once more in her eyes as she began to walk back to her table, preparing to do her best to avoid the serving girl’s energetic ‘thank you’s.
Behind her, the door slammed open again, sticking against the outer wall just as it had done moments ago. She whirled around, freeing a knife from her belt and automatically dropping into a crouch as the room went deathly silent.
A man stood there, silhouetted in the dying light pouring in from outside. One arm, braced against the doorframe, shook madly. Blood dripped slowly from his forearm to pool on the floor.
Carefully, the woman rose out of her crouch and approached the man, sizing up the threat. Though she couldn’t see his face, nor anything more detailed than his basic profile, it was obvious he was on the brink of exhaustion. When she was mere paces away from him, he cleared his throat and spoke in a voice raspy from screaming.
“Canto.”
“Gods protect us!” A woman cried from somewhere in the middle of the tavern and promptly fainted, collapsing onto the floor with a sickening thud. The rest of the room filled with panicked whispers and suddenly stank of fear.
The first woman finally reached the mysterious newcomer and, never relinquishing her grip on the knife, took his free arm in her hand to lead him out of the doorway. Shaky, he followed, stepping into the room. The woman kicked the inner wall to dislodge the door, and it swung shut as she steered the newcomer to a vacant table.
He was tattered and bloody, obviously injured. His clothes were shredded and almost non-existent; his skin was hardly better, bloodied and ripped as it was. The man favored his right leg, limping hard on every other step, and the reason was clear – he wore no boot on that foot, and behind him was a trail of bloody footprints.
The woman gently pushed him onto a stool and he leaned back against the table with a groan. She resheathed her knife, standing over him, watching carefully for any signs of danger. He offered none. She used the moment to study him more carefully, taking in the bloody blonde hair and weary blue eyes, the scratches covering the entire left side of his face and the mangled mess that was his right shoulder.
“Explain,” she ordered in a gentle but authoritative tone. He obliged.
“I was on my way here from Daeloyn – great city, Daeloyn – and the sun was ‘bout near setting. So I doubled my pace, thinking to be here by nightfall, and gods but if I wasn’t. I’m here, am I?”
“Yes.”
“Knew I wasn’t hallucinating. So I figure I got a bit of sun left to go, no danger here, carrying just my hunting knife and the clothes on my back and the coins in my pouch since I were kicked out of Andaisia, and I’m humming and whistling along on my way. These big eyes are watching me from the bushes by the road and it takes me a second to see them, by then they’re not eyes but fangs and there’s a Canto in my face pinning me to the ground.
“Kicked him in the leg hard as I could, didn’t do no good til he ripped half my face off with his front claws and I dislodged him. Were a blur of a fight after that, painful, barely able to keep my own. I killed him, slit his throat, but then there was another one on me, on my back. Damn near took my head off with his damned jaws, that one did. I managed to stick the knife in his belly and run.
“More of ‘em, or hell, maybe it was only the one, chased after me. Ripped half my leg off trying to take me down, chewed up the bottom of my foot til I kicked it in the nose and got up again to run. Flew over the fields fast as I could til I banged on the door and the man let me in. Canto didn’t follow me into the fields. Seemed he knew not to or something.
“Came to the closest place I could find that wasn’t a house. Thought to find a healer here or something. Maybe a Master.”
The woman nodded, kneeling down to inspect the wounds on his legs. After a close examination – and many high-pitched yelps from the man – she was content with her findings. With a wave of her hand she called the serving girl over, who approached with an overflowing mug that she gave to the man. He drank deeply from it as the woman and the serving girl spoke.
“Fetch Master Buurmiu.”
“Aye, but Master, he’ll be sleeping at this-”
“Tell him I sent for him, and he’ll come.” She fixed the girl with a stern gaze. “Your name, girl?”
“Syll.”
“Fetch him, Syll, and be quick about it.”
The serving girl, Syll, hurried off, practically running out of the tavern. The woman refocused her attention on the survivor sitting before her as she rose from her kneeling position. “And your name?”
“Drigando Briss. Call me Drig.”
She nodded. “Very well. Why were you kicked out of Andaisia?”
He winced slightly, muttering under his breath about “damned good memories”. “I were kicked out of Andaisia because my employer’s girlfriend accused me of sleeping with her.” He scowled. “Damn woman….no offense.”
“None taken. And why did you come to Saminien?”
“I been all over looking for work. Seems no one will hire me because of that damned woman. Word spreads, you know.”
“And you…”
“Oh, me, I’m a leatherworker.” Despite his injuries, he attempted to flex his muscles, and mostly succeeded. The effect was lost when he hissed out a breath. “Damn, that hurts.”
“I imagine so.” The woman looked up, scanning the crowd for a second to make sure no one was panicking before returning her attention to Drig. “There should be work enough here once you’re healed. If nothing else, your survival marks your strength.”
Drig grinned a little at the ego boost and nodded. “Good to hear. Hey, I never got your name.”
There was a long pause as the tavern held its breath. He didn’t know who she was, or how to address her….if she was in a bad enough mood, she could flay him for being so careless in his demands.
“Cypress Aliasania.”
He nodded, then paused, staring at her. “The Aliasania? The EndalaKrỵ? First female EndalaKrỵ to come out of Saminien since the beginning of the trade?”
“Yes.”
His eyes widened. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered, then seemed to remember his place. “Begging your pardon, Master, I didn’t know you by sight.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
The tavern door swung open again, admitting two people – Syll, and the man she had called for, Master Buurmiu. He strode over to them, looking more than a bit disheveled with his mussed brown hair and rumpled blue tunic, but his eyes – a blue very close to purple – were alert as he took in the other two.
“Cy.”
“Klioidas.”
“Syll said I was needed?” He looked directly at Drig during his question, taking in the man’s appearance without flinching.
Cy waved her hand. “If you would, tend to him. He fought off Canto.”
Klioidas lifted his eyebrows, returning his gaze to hers. His eyes were colored with a hint of incredulity, though his voice hid it well. “Is he an EndalaKrỵ?”
“A leatherworker,” she replied, her eyes matching his, her voice equally unrevealing. With a slight nod, she took a step back. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
He nodded at her. “Of course.”
She moved away while Klioidas knelt to tend to his patient, ignoring the man’s occasional hiss of pain and yelp of surprise as she made her way to her table in the back. Once seated, she locked gazes with each of her fellows individually. “Doubtless you heard that.”
“We did,” said another woman, nodding. “Damn interesting story. A mite unrealistic, though.”
“I thought the same,” Cy replied, before looking to the others. Each nodded his or her head in agreement. Cy shifted in her seat to gaze at the man who claimed to have survived a Canto attack. “A mite unrealistic, indeed.”
