gap between the two tents they were passing as he half expected her to do. Instead, she just strode along beside him as if they were long acquainted companions out enjoying the festival together.
He could smell the sweet flowery scent of her, and from the corner of his eye he could tell she was attractive. He turned to look at her curiously and was pleasantly surprised.
She was close to his height, and other than the long, straight raven black mane that hid most of her face from him, all he could see was the ample amount of cleavage that her studded leather vest revealed. Once he got past that, he saw that her entire body was beautifully curvy, and clad in tight fitting protective leather. He also noticed that she wore a long sword at her hip.
“You’re one of the hawkling sellers aren’t you?” she asked, as they walked along.
Gerard knew right away, by the way she spoke, that her accent was Dakaneese. He had heard that the Dakaneese were dangerous and violent people. “Sell swords, and slavers, mercenaries, and gamblers all!” Berda had said. Dakahn was one of the two great human kingdoms that bordered on the southern marshlands. They had to constantly defend themselves from wild swamp creatures and the like, and since the kingdom’s capital city, O’Dakahn, was located at the mouth of the Leif Greyn River, it was a horribly over-populated hub of river, land, and sea trade. This, of course, accounted for all the unsavory characters that were drawn there, and the bad reputations that followed them.
He glanced at her again. This time, he stopped in the middle of the Way and roughly turned her to face him. She didn’t resist or protest.
Her face was exotically beautiful, with huge, dark doe eyes, and a small, slightly upturned nose. From just below one eye, like a permanent tear drop, a pink knife scar trailed down her cheek. Her full lips were painted a faint strawberry color, and above her eyes, on her eye lids, was a sparkling, bluish green powder. Her mouth was set in a determined slant, but her eyes looked to be pleading for something.
“Yes I am,” he answered her question. His eyes had found her cleavage again, and he couldn’t seem to pull them away. He could feel himself blushing, but was helpless to do anything about it.
She didn’t seem to mind his exploring eyes at all. Her expression didn’t change and her eyes never left his.
“We need a climber.” Her tone was matter of fact, and conflicted strongly with her beauty. “The job should only take a few days. The rest of the time will be spent traveling, a long week at my best guess.”
Her lips spread into an inviting smile, and she suddenly resumed her stride leaving him gawking at thin air.
He hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. He quickly caught up to her and resumed his place at her side. He noticed that her skin-tight leather britches fit her rump perfectly, and that her sword’s hilt was modestly jeweled. He waited for her arm to hook into his again, but it never did. He found it disappointing. When she had touched him before, he had felt as if he were floating. He longed to feel that sensation again.
His mind was churning now, searching for reasons to go with this beautiful woman wherever she led him. A dozen reasons he shouldn’t go came flooding into his mind with the others. He had to find out more about this job, and there was no doubt that he wanted to find out more about her.
“Where would we be going?” he asked.
“Into the Southern Marshlands,” she answered, as casually as if she went there every day. Gerard began to wonder if the wild stories he had heard about the place, and the creatures that dwelled there, were only exaggerations. This woman wore a thick armored vest and carried a fancy sword with a jeweled hilt, not the type of things a person would wear if they were afraid of where they were going. She was only a girl really, no bigger than, and not much older looking, than he was. If the idea of going into the marshes frightened her, it didn’t show at all.
“What in the world would you need a climber in the marshes for?”
The idea of using his ring to have her spill the truth of it all crossed his mind, but he stopped himself. He wanted to see what she told him of her own will first.
“I cannot just blurt out the nature of my campaign,” she answered. A slight look of frustration crossed her face. She stopped and then hugged him to her. He couldn’t help but feel the softness of her breasts pressing against him, even through the thick leather vest.
“Some would try to take what we seek before we get it,” she whispered into his ear. Her breath was warm and sweet, and made his head swim. “Others would conspire against our efforts. I must be sure that you are trustworthy before I share the details with you. The fact that you are interested is enough for the moment.”
She backed away a step, and then hooked her arm in his again. She had to pull him along to get his feet moving.
“To answer your question though, out in the deep marshes there’s a place called the Dragon’s Tooth. Oh, don’t look so frightened. It’s only called that because of its shape. There’s a cavern in the side of it, up good and high. What we seek is in that cavern. We need a climber to go up and get it, or at least to make a rope way up for a few others to climb up.”
Gerard was satisfied with her answer, but the idea of using the ring was starting to consume him. He wanted to feel its power coursing through his body as much as he wanted the beautiful Dakaneese girl beside him. Without further thought, he used the ring, and told her in his mind to kiss him.
It was in that moment, when her warm soft lips met his, that Shaella knew she had him. She wasn’t sure where the urge to kiss him had come from, but it didn’t matter. The kiss had sealed his fate. The look of pleasure in his eyes told her that he was putty in her hands.
The burn of the magic in Gerard’s blood accompanied by her hot, wet, probing tongue was a feeling like none he had never known. It was ecstasy beyond reason, a sensation, that from that moment on, he wouldn’t be able to resist. He was addicted.
Over on the archery lanes, Hyden put three arrows deftly into the Wizard’s Eye, and the next two into the King’s Ring, from both fifty and one hundred paces. Two other men matched the feat. The sole elf that was participating in the preliminary culling didn’t bother to loose his arrows at fifty paces at all. Instead, he put four arrows into the Wizard’s Eye at one hundred paces. Then, with a contemptuous scowl at the awed group of human contenders, he backed fifty more paces away, and arced his last arrow into the edge of the King’s Ring as if it were nothing. It was amazing.
Hyden had only put four in the Wizard’s Eye twice in his life. It was hard to do, and the elf had made it look easy, but he tried not to get discouraged. Since he had done it before, he knew that he could do it again. If he wanted to win the competition, he would have to do it on the morrow. He’d have to do it in front of a great crowd of onlookers too. The few dozen spectators, who had watched the culling today, had made him fairly nervous. He would try his hardest though.
The elves’ smug confidence, and arrogant attitude towards the other competitors, gave Hyden a better understanding of his people’s desire to beat them. The yellow-eyed devil thought he was too good to even speak to the humans. After the hundred and fifty pace lob into the King’s Ring, Hyden had complimented the elf. The cocky bastard had smirked and walked away, as if annoyed by the respectful words.
The two other elves who had watched the culling take place seemed to share this contempt for the other archers. They watched, with narrowed brows on their skinny, pointed eared faces, and mocked and heckled each time a man’s arrow missed the center mark. It was no wonder that the Elders, and most of the giants, spoke of the elves return to the land as if they were a plague. At the moment, Hyden didn’t want to think of the morrow’s competition. He had made it through the culling, which had started with over thirty contenders. The field had been narrowed down to four. He decided to be pleased with that accomplishment and enjoy the night’s main event. He was ready for “The Brawl.”
All day people had been talking about it. The Western Lion Lord, whose name was already carved in the Spire for his victory of a few years ago, was to take on the Seaward Monster. The monster was a tattoo covered mountain of a man, who made his living toting and standing ships spars and mast poles. Hyden had never seen the sea, or a ship, much less a mast pole, but he had seen a riverboat, with a sail, and knew that that pole would have weighed as much as a shagmar beast, or a full grown bull moose. He had listened closely to the descriptions of the kind of ships that this Seawards man helped build, and knew that it was no typical occupation. The man was a
