V
The White Orchid is one of the most raucous, ribald locales in the city. The proprietor claims that it has been in the same family for more than seven generations of slavers and pimps, but it was more likely to have been seized by whatever enterprising criminal happened to murder the previous owner, judging by the various bloodstains in every darkened corner and the wide, frightened eyes of the 'workers'.
It also happened to be where one could find every piece of underground news that passed amongst the ears of the lowest, most observant citizens, and a fair number of city guardsmen who were 'off duty' at the time.
Normally, venturing into the White Orchid is only something I would do if I happened to be extremely drunk or desperate, and I was neither. The chances of getting a knife in the back were only slightly less than the ones of successfully getting the bartender to serve a drink that wouldn't make you blind. Somehow, it actually made me feel better that there was a tall, dark and dangerous man with a crystal sword only a few steps behind me.
The Arbiter stuck out like a wolf in a henhouse. His drab clothing in dark colors struck a high contrast against the fine, brightly-colored silks and lace that filled the common room of the brothel. The coarse laughter emanating from within could be heard from the street, along with the shrieks – some playful, more less so – from the girls in the various rooms, booths and nooks. The entire place stank of sweat, ale, blood and sex, and I nearly had to cover my nose with the collar of my robe to avoid choking on the stench.
He seemed unfazed by it all, taking it in with those impassive, glowing eyes of his. Though his voice was low, it somehow carried perfectly to my ears. "What useful information could possibly be obtained in a place like this?"
"You'd be surprised," I shot back, though my own words seemed drowned by the din. Trying to mask my distaste, I sidled across the common room and slid onto a rickety stool in front of the bar counter. The Arbiter's measured steps sounded behind me, but he did not take a seat.
"This place is disgusting," I heard him murmur.
Doing my best to ignore Tal's acid words, I turned my attention to the fat, greasy man who stood behind the bar counter, rubbing a filthy rag along the back counter as though it were supposed to be cleaning something. "Alcar," I said, in a low, urgent tone. "Get me something to drink, would you?"
The fat man turned and gave me something like a grin, though it could only have been thusly described under the most charitable circumstances. "You don' come by here much anymore, do ya, Edar?"
"Whenever I can avoid it," I agreed genially. "I'll have the black Mard."
He slammed a stoneware mug onto the bar counter and filled it with a thick, almost syrupy dark liquid before sliding it down to me. I licked my lips nervously; while I enjoyed the occasional black Mard, it was not exactly conducive to straight thinking and good judgment. Unfortunately, there was no other way to get Alcar to talk, and the black Mard was the one thing he served that I could choke down.
With a grimace, I took a long pull from the dirty mug, fighting off my gag reflex as the sweet-and-bitter syrup flowed into my mouth and down my gullet. It left a burning sensation behind as it vanished into my throat, and I knew that I would be feeling the effects of the powerful alcohol within minutes. Unfortunately, the other things served at the White Orchid would have been far more vile even than that, and I didn't even want to consider what might be lurking in the brothel's water supply.
"Did you know there was an Arbiter in town?" I asked.
Alcar snorted, looking past me at the dark-haired man standing a few paces away. "So there is."
"Not that one," I said, shaking my head. "Another one."
"Two Arbiters?" Alcar asked, surprise not registering on his face. "That's new to me."
I leaned in close, and I could smell the bartender's smoke-and-whisky-stained breath. It made me want to return the black Mard and deposit the syrupy liquid back onto the bar. "Somebody killed the other one."
Alcar's eyes flashed for an instant, but then went dull again. "Thought you couldn't kill an Arbiter."
Dammit, there was something there, but I had no idea what it was. If anything was happening in the city, Alcar Deimovan would be the man who would know about it. The White Orchid was not just the most popular brothel and bar in town, it was also the crossroads for every kind of underground scum you could think of. Any piece of information worth knowing passed through here, and Alcar was at the center of all of it.
I inclined my head toward the Arbiter behind me and met his glittering gaze. "My friend here isn't feeling very talkative. Maybe we should offer a little something to jog his memory."
Tal took two steps forward and slid onto the stool beside me. He placed his thick arms on the counter before him and leaned forward. Alcar took a tiny step backward as the Arbiter's blue gaze locked on him.
"My name is D'Arden Tal," the Arbiter said, his voice that same low tone that carried effortlessly to precisely the place he wanted it to go. "Someone has killed one of my brethren in this city, and I intend to find out whom. You can either tell me what you know, or I will rip your throat out through your neck and nail it to the wall."
The fat man took another quivering step backward. "You ain't got no power here…"
Like a flash of lightning, the Arbiter's hand shot across the bar and grabbed the front of the bartender's clothing, wrapping in it like an iron vise as he dragged the bloated swill-dispenser forward until their faces were mere inches apart. He bared his teeth in a snarl as he glared into the piggish eyes before him.
"What. Do. You. Know?" the words came out like daggers, each with their own perfectly-honed point that almost caused me physical pain, though they were not thrown in my direction.
Alcar's face had gone whiter than fresh mountain snow. His bulbous lips worked, but no sound could escape the clenched throat. The white sclera showed all around the dingy brown of his eyes, and a vein was visibly pulsing in his forehead. The cobalt light shining from the Arbiter's eyes actually reflected off the pale, fishy face, making the bartender look like he'd just crawled fresh from the grave. He'd probably pissed himself, not that I'd have been able to smell it over the omnipresent overripe stench.
"S… someone m… might have said s… something about…"
"About what?" growled the Arbiter.
It was then I noticed the subtle but definite movement around us. The coarse laughter and shrieks had gone silent, and it dawned on me that the entire common room was now staring directly at us. Though no definite sound issued from the crowd, I could have sworn I heard the sounds of fingers drumming against knife hilts. I swallowed hard. The temperature hadn't changed, but a chill ran down my spine.
My heart rate kicked up several notches, a rush of blood began in my ears and I felt cold sweat bead on my forehead. I didn't hear if Alcar answered the Arbiter or not, because the danger wards that I keep active in order to warn me of an impending threat suddenly began ringing like a klaxon in my head. Someone intended me harm, and they were about to act on it.
Sorcery is a slippery thing. It's like trying to catch and hold an eel with your bare hands – difficult, wriggly and often slimy as you try desperately to grasp it firmly as it tries to escape. Manipulating manna is about as easy as herding cats; but simple things like magical wards, minor charms and love potions are both rote and reliable, after one has invested the requisite hundreds of late-night hours of routine and practice. Unfortunately, they can only be used for the most general of purposes.
For example: I now knew that someone intended me harm, but I had no idea which of the several dozen people it might be. Hell, it might even have been Alcar, except that the fat bartender was too frightened to be thinking about anything but the azure-eyed Arbiter threatening to open him from nose to crotch with a crystal sword.
Instead of doing the rational thing – calming down and figuring out who it was that intended to stab me, for instance – I panicked.
Out of all my vast options, I
picked a parlor trick.
Then I amplified it about a thousandfold.
My hands flew into the air, and with my mind, I called out for the power that surrounds all living things… the power known as the manna. It flowed into my hands and I molded it like putty into the first thing that came into my head which might have possibly stood a remote chance of deflecting the imminent attack.
"Aelzar forendas!" I cried, turning to face the room.
A bright flash of white light leapt from my fingers – bright enough to cause several dozen simultaneous cries of agony to rise up from the common room. At the same instant, a loud crack, which rivaled the sound made by striking thunder, split the air.
The sudden aftermath of the spell left the entire room reeling. Except, of course, for the Arbiter, who simply turned to me with an implacable stare.
A knife, still quivering from the impact, jutted from the wall a few feet away. It had been thrown, clearly, but there was no good way to see where it had come from.
"We need to go, now," I urged the Arbiter.
He answered me with only a grunt, releasing his grip on Alcar and dropping the fat bartender unceremoniously to the splintered floorboards. I strode out of there with all haste, resisting the urge to pick up the front of my robes so I could scurry faster. It just wouldn't have made the impact I wanted. Tal was close on my heels.