A Warlock and the Two-Sided Coin
Chapter 2 of To Those Who Hear the Call
I’m Lydia Woodward and I write fantasy stories about redemption and forgiveness. To learn more, you can read my bio here or the about page here.
Recap
Prologue: There is a small girl who cannot dream, until she does. But is it really a dream or is there something else at work?
Chapter 1: Eraneshu Vaye is waiting for his court-assigned warden to show up at the tavern where he is staying. When Milpho Fanz arrives, he makes it clear that something is out of the ordinary and tells Eraneshu that this will be his final job if he can capture the last bounty alive. The name of the bounty is revealed and Eraneshu struggles to regain his composure, the person obviously meaning something to him. When he pushes for more info, he is surprised to learn that Milpho will be staying in town and has a side job he wants him to take care of: a warlock.
To Those Who Hear the Call is being posted here as a serialized novel, and as such needs to be read in order. If you haven’t read Chapter 1 yet, you can find it here:
The distant chime of a large clock in the tavern echoes throughout the empty building. Black shadows bleed into the darkness permeating the entirety of my view.
Hours have passed while I sit here, each moment seeming to trail by a little slower than the last. My every nerve seems taut with the tension of dreadful anticipation.
A dark one is here.
I can feel it in the air as the energy swirls around my senses, calling for the answering tug of my own powers from deep within my core. But I am not what I once was. Every natural advantage from my birth has either been stripped away or locked up tight. That mad goblin has sent me into a fight without the adequate weaponry.
Which is rather typical of the conniving creature.
Tonight is not the first time that Milpho Fanz has gleefully set me against an energy-wielder. The irony is that my prey is typically far more powerful than warlocks. The Ones of Void, or Oru'nrea, are well beyond anything even an advanced warlock could ever hope to attain, and yet, with their immense strength comes a seemingly infinite level of arrogant assurance in their own capabilities. This then, is where the dark ones find themselves at an advantage: a warlock is always on edge and highly suspicious. Catching one unawares is about as likely as Milpho having a charitable bone in his body.
Energy swirls coil throughout the tavern, thick and invisible as they reach out like tendrils, climbing over the walls and wiggling along the floorboards. What exactly they are searching for, I have no way of knowing for sure. It could just be a safety measure to ensure that curious minds with wandering feet are incapable of catching the warlock unawares.
I hold my breath as they slither along the top of the bar counter above my head, my senses heightened from the added tension of keeping every muscle still. The low rumble of a drawer gliding open alerts me to the man's presence before his own uneven breathing reaches my ears. He mutters something, rustling through the drawer's contents and closing it again with a definite thunk.
Now would be the perfect moment for you to vacate this little venture as a mental hitchhiker. No? Well then, you can't say that I didn't warn you.
The thick paneling of the bar splits apart with a thunderous rendering of wood from metal. Sharp projectiles fling from the wreckage as the energy tendrils rip it up from the floorboards, just missing my extremities when I lunge to the side. Much too close for comfort.
I roll to my feet and swing Vigilant from his long, black sheath beneath my cloak. His once-brilliant blade a dull gray from the layers of spells holding his innate abilities at bay. We'll be doing this the tedious way.
Dark, hungry energy whips all around, nearly suffocating me as its tendrils reach for me with greedy fingers. I won't have many openings in a fight with a warlock, and there is only one surprise I have in store for him. The timing will be everything.
Ducking and weaving, I dodge the tendrils in favor of a desperate, headlong charge. The warlock jerks backward in surprise, fingers sparking with electric energy that shoots up his arms. A sudden flash illuminates the tavern in blinding white before it vanishes, plunging the surrounding area into total blackness. The sparks proved to be just the warning I needed and the bright bolt of lightning deflects off Vigilant's edge with a smooth arc of his blade.
A throaty oomph escapes the warlock's lips, the whites of his eyes reflecting the counter flash of lightning from Vigilant's edge as the tip plunges deep into the man's gut. Convulsions wrack his body and force him to his knees.
BOOM!
An explosion throws me across the room shoving me through the interlocked webbing of electric energy. The tendrils wrap around me with a stifling stranglehold, searing into my arms like hot metal. Shrill ringing from the percussion renders my hearing useless. My eyes are watering, blinking rapidly as I strain to look for Vigilant. He's the only metal capable of cutting through pure energy and, without my powers, I will not survive this without him.
All at once, the energy dissipates, and the burning fatigue pulls me to my knees. The luminescent stones flare to life, overwhelming my senses with their warm glow. Stupefied, I fumble for Vigilant, nearly falling over at the shadow stretching at the edge of my vision.
Milpho Fanz is standing between me and the warlock, his throat fluctuating with what I can only imagine is yet another condescending chuckle. A short nudge with his boot against the man's side seems to satisfy whatever question I have yet to answer.
Slow, deliberate steps bring his port body into clear focus. His eyes are narrowed and he scans my face, his thin lips forming inaudible words.
Green wisps elongate from his fingertips, reaching between us and curling around my head. The world tilts and the daymare sits ominously at the corners of my eyes, waiting for me.
A loud POP! in both ears precedes a sudden influx of noise, the sound of crinkling prevalent still for the moment more it takes to adjust.
"Well, now, that ought to do it." Slender green fingers snap in front of my face, and my eyes meet the amused sheen in Milpho's. "Not your most adroit performance, my boy, now was it?"
A light gasp draws me away from his droll, only to see the operator of this information center wringing her hands at the rubble where the bar once was. "My imported countertop! The inlays - do you have any idea what this will cost me?!" Her sharp gaze narrows on Milpho's grinning face, both hands coming to rest firmly on her hips. "I thought you said you had this handled, Milpho. This -" one hand gestures widely about the various rubble "is not handled. This is a disaster. And an expensive one at that."
"My dear Eevo," he begins, but she cuts him off with another gesture.
"Don't 'dear' me. I happen to still remember the wild youngling you used to be. Seems to me you haven't changed a bit. I have a half a mind take you by the ear to your mother."
Milpho has the audacity to chuckle and wag a finger at her. "Now, now, Eevo, I have warned you about those concoctions you're always tampering with. I would so hate to find you had gotten into trouble over these moods they give you."
Sharp fangs elongate and she hisses at him, eyes flashing dangerous red. Her attention turns to me, the color bleeding back out of her irises. "Tsk, tsk." She shakes her head. "I imagine you've not done worse enough to be laden with the likes of that overstuffed plumage." A curt nod is all the acknowledgment she has left for him as she strides over to examine me. "Let's get you something to eat while I patch you up."
I'm pulled to my feet in one forceful tug, the slight hint of wrinkles creasing around her eyes when her face twists into an apologetic wince. "Sorry about that, my dear." She says, and I'm surprised to find no lie in her expression. "You're a great deal lighter than you look." One cold, calloused hand pats my arm while the other grips my shoulder. "You'll need to rest a while, I think."
Eevo, or Madam Eevo, as the tavern folk know her, is the opposite of Milpho Fanz in about every aspect. Her ears are small and rounded, her figure tall and deceptively petite. Not one creature who steps foot in her information center ever feels entirely at ease around her commanding presence. There is something too precise and agile in her fluid gait, her eyes too cunning to be reassuring. Eevo is not a woman to be underestimated, and yet, she is perhaps the first person in years who isn't afraid of me.
Milpho Fanz for all his arrogant swagger has always retained that shred of apprehension beneath all of his bluster, like I am forever one loosened spell away from massive carnage.
My ankle twists when a piece of rubble slips underneath my foot, my knee buckling while Eevo's arm pulls me upright. The damage to the tavern is more extensive than I had thought.
Perhaps he is right.
A sharp flick to my forehead causes me to jerk back in surprise. Eevo's face is much too close, her forehead creases deepening above her narrowed eyes. "You think too much. Focus on your feet."
We amble onward at an awkward gait. Several times I try to regain my footing or pull more of my own weight and am rewarded for my efforts by Eevo's sharp nail in my side. It seems that the wiry vampire has decided I am entirely incapable of managing the short walk to the kitchens. Which, considering I have yet to survey my own appearance or to investigate the odd tingling in my chest, might not be a bad assessment.
By the time we reach a surviving chair, I am much more winded than I care to admit. I manage to get out a thanks before Eevo is hurrying away, her deft movements almost a blur to my burning eyes.
"Well, my boy." Another chair scrapes angrily across the floorboards. Milpho's handkerchief is back out to wipe off the dusty seat before he settles down across from me. "There, we are. Not quite what I could call comfortable, but not too shabby given the state of this place, don't you say?" He laughs, a full-belly laugh that causes me to flinch back a bit in surprise. Dabbing at the corners of his eyes, he composes himself, a ridiculous grin still stretching across his face. "Quite the show, my boy, though not, indeed, what I had in mind." Clearing his throat, his expression at last turns more somber. "Not that our dear hostess is preoccupied with finding your victuals, it's time we had a proper conversation, hmm?"
"Let's." I straighten, my chest and arms complaining at the motion, and I bite back a grunt of discomfort.
"I think this, rather unorthodox, display of yours made an excellent point. You cannot continue on this way. Not, if you're to have any hope of succeeding with your final job, that is." He grins. "And I do so want to see you succeed, my boy."
With a flick of his fingers, a single coin flips over in the small space between us. I catch it on instinct, my curiosity getting the better of me. The small two-sided piece is made of cheap metal, the edges rough and uneven from years of misuse. Two hands cupped together are etched on one side. On the other is the impression of two half circles facing away from each other with their curved midpoints crisscrossing over each other: the mark of Onbba, or broken empty.
"What do you say, my boy? Up for a friendly wager?"
Shaking my head, I search for something to say, but all rationale seems to have evaded my recent interactions with Milpho.
"A game?" I finally manage, those two words sounding a bit too rough and bewildered. "You want to play a child's game?"
"What's the matter, Eraneshu? Surely a childlike wager is nothing to be afraid of. Besides," he winks at me, the gesture seeming a garish attempt at camaraderie, even from him, "I hear that Plights and Boons has evolved into quite the drinking game of late."
The light reflects off the small coin as I turn it over in my hand. Milpho Fanz is clearly up to something, and he isn't parading it about in his usual manner. It seems I'll have to risk a little more, so I meet his gaze. "And what exactly is so shocking about drinking games that Eevo couldn't hear?"
All mocking jest has dissipated in an instant, his eyes cold and calculated while they pin me in place. "That, my dear boy, would be the boon I'm willing to offer." He pulls up a sheet of iridescent paper, the fluctuating hues appearing to flicker like a multicolored flame. "It was rather hard to get this you see, but this pretty little thing is the master key, if you will. Just one complex spell and you would be yourself again. Powerful, resilient. The natural-born predator you were meant to be."
The air between us feels thick and charged with electricity. Hardly daring to breathe, I feel that raw, aching hunger surge to new life. Power thrums in my chest begging for the release it's been starved of for far too long. My fingernails dig into my palm as I clench my hand closed over the miserable chunk of metal. "What's the plight?"
Milpho chuckles and tucks the paper back into his vest pocket. "If you fail to return Wodahs to me in the timeframe of my choosing, then it will be your life that the council will forfeit." He holds up a hand, stopping my interjection. "Of course, the boon includes the removal of every inhibition on the blade, Vigilant, as well."
"You're asking me to vow my life in return for my power?" My mind races, trying to decipher what wiggle room the crafty goblin might work in his favor.
"My boy! That is only if you fail. I don't expect that you will disappoint me so." Another toothy grin contorts his expression and his long, green hand stretches toward me. "Do we have a deal?"
A horrible, rash impulse niggles at my brain. The ghost of an emotion long since buried lifts my hand to shake Milpho's in a tight grip. Perhaps, it whispers, perhaps this time we'll set things right.
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