***
A mist that had rolled in from the ocean thickened the evening air. It gave the worn timbers and grimy stone of Kir a glistening look, like the carapace of some giant insect.
Hunor and Jem strolled along the wharf side, navigating through the detritus of mankind that littered the cobbles in front of the taverns and bordellos. Gaudily painted harlots danced with sailors to pipe music. Yells and screams peppered the air as fistfights spilled from the ramshackle inns onto the street.
The pair may have presented a curious target to some ambitious bandit, yet despite their appearance they conveyed an aura of confident strength.
Hunor was the taller. His brown hair was shoulder length and his features carried a roguish charm. His dark travelling cloak covered a blue tunic that in turn covered black leather armour. On his back was strapped a sword of Shorvorian design and at his belt was hitched a slender dagger.
Jem was a sharp contrast to his companion. The mage had lighter hair trimmed precisely into a short greased crop. His tidy moustache added a dash of colour to his pale boyish face. Jem’s clothes were quality made and had loose sleeves tamed by tight cuffs in the style of the Mirioth tailors. He carried a slim sword that hung from his waist.
Jem had been sulking since the pair had left The Rose Tavern. Hunor kept attempting conversation but each initiation was met with a dismissive tut from his friend. The two came to the central pier, now wrapped in a cloak of mist and paused at the bottom of City Street.
Hunor hid a smile. He knew Jem could never sulk for long without talking.
The mage stroked his moustache. “Well that was a quiet game of cards, Hunor. We really must look up those new friends of yours again.”
The Thetorian thief held his hands out in mock exasperation.
“How was I to know that someone was going to beat me to cheating? And to do it so, so badly. What a crime!”
“Well we can add that baby assassin to our growing list of enemies. Maybe we’ll regret not finishing the business there.”
“The kid was courteous enough not to use blade venom, unlike his mentor. It should be a valuable lesson for him. They should pay me for these pearls of wisdom, I swear.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Jem said. “I’m certain when his arm has been replaced by a large hook so that he finds himself quite unable to relieve any itches in his britches without damaging the family jewels, he’ll no doubt be sure to look us up and say thank you.”
Hunor chuckled at the Goldorian’s dry wit and Jem couldn’t help but crack a smile. The pair turned and started ambling up City Street as it wound its way from the portside to the old city.
“Did you see that merchant scamper when it all kicked off?” Hunor asked. “I can’t say that I’ve ever seen so large a Mirioth move that quick! Well maybe for a carpet sale.”
Jem shook his head with a faint smile. “It transpired to be a rough deal for your drunken Feldorian acquaintance though.”
“Play with assassins and drink too much. That’s not a recipe for general well-being in this town. It’s a shame—I had thought he’d be a good recruit to join us. Expand the portfolio, so to speak.”
“Seriously? If we were to run scams involving contraband alcohol perhaps... but he was hardly competent as a swordsman, or a thief. You know I feel we’d be better trying to enlist another Wild-mage.”
“Well we’re unlikely to find someone that satisfies all our needs, mate—be realistic. Azagunta hasn’t exactly got the widest choice has it?”
The ramshackle timbers of the docks were gradually giving way to a row of better presented houses as the two ascended the hill towards the city walls.
“Remind me again why we’re in this place,” Jem said. “It’s filthy and it stinks. Even the old city smells of blasted dead fish and that’s half a mile away. It took me a morning of spells to clean my room.”
“Jem, nowhere is ever going to be clean enough for you,” Hunor said. “It’s hardly my fault if the shipment I’d heard about ended up ten fathoms under the Corinthian archipelago, is it? There’s probably a Subaquan thief at this very moment picking through those quality silver goblets. Say, do you reckon Subaquans have thieves? I mean fish are free to grab under the sea, aren’t they?”
Jem looked in exasperation. Hunor swiftly interjected, sensing that Jem was about to launch into one of his pedantic diatribes about other cultures.
“So we’re at a real loose end, old mate. What say we catch a ship around to Bomor? The Sea of Mists has to be warmer come winter than this dump.”
The pair had reached the city gate so Hunor’s question hung in the dank air.
Kir had grown from the ashes of an ancient port called Theles, a city built in the boom of Azagunta during the Era of Magic. Its archaic stones were now blackened and drab. The crumbling wall that once held carvings and frescos of beauty now only displayed vague shapes that hinted of a magical grandeur some twelve hundred years past.
It was as if the city was embarrassed at what it had become. The walls served to contain a memory of what once was. Yet even this had been tainted over the years by shabby restorations and tasteless modification, the hallmark of the island of Azagunta, the so-called Isle of Thieves.
Two city guards scowled as Jem and Hunor approached. Their only remit was to keep out thieves and lower life forms from the small walled city.
Hunor beamed a large smile. “Good day, kindest sirs. Imagine our dismay when we realised that all the beauty to see in finest Kir was behind these walls where our salubrious accommodation resides and not in the charnel pit that lies at its delicate feet. Can we trouble you to allow our return?”
Two coins glittered in Hunor’s agile fingers. The guards nodded gruffly and the pair passed the gates, slipping the money to them as they entered.
Jem resumed their conversation as they strolled through the Old City. The mist of the docks had left them halfway up the hill but the air remained chilly. Whale oil lamps gave the narrow streets a strange amber glow. Hunor could make out only two of the moons through the clouds above: the silver Eerian and the red Pyrian.
“Maybe Bomor’s not so bad an idea, Hunor. I do worry about going back to Bulia until that fiasco with Igred is sorted out. Mind you, I could do with attempting to retrieve some of the clocks that I was half way through making from the house.”
“Not really worth a knife in the back, mate. We’ll get back there soon enough,” Hunor said. His keen eyes scanned the busy street ahead. They were passing the guild houses near to where the city warden’s keep was located.
“How about contemplating a change? We could traverse the Sea of Mists and see what’s transpiring with the Mirioth legion and their lizardmen neighbours? Or how about the Emerald Mountains? Perhaps some worthy cause will appeal to us as we travel? You know, something different to illicit pursuits, for once?”
“Not enough profit and too much danger, Jem. We’ve been there and done that remember? I thought we’d discussed this to death? You’ll be signing us up for the Artorian Knights next and going out to hunt trolls in the Wastes.”
“Technically we wouldn’t be eligible for the Knights as they only recruit from old Artorian lines,” Jem said.
Hunor rolled his eyes as Jem began one of his lectures on the ancestry of the various orders of Knights in Nurolia. They were nearing the end of Gilder Road. Then out of the shadows of an alley he spotted a lean figure nodding towards him.
Hunor nudged his companion, letting his hand rest on his dagger. Jem stopped mid-conversation and peered towards the alley.
“Six in the alley. There are also two on the roof with crossbows.”
Hunor nodded. He could sense the mage preparing a defence and considering all the various escape options. Hunor prayed Jem wasn’t planning a fizzy wall; his stomach was griping enough after the food in the Rose Tavern.
The lean man crossed the street and stood before the pair. He was remarkably ugly. His lumpy face was crisscrossed with scar tissue. One ey
e was glass and clearly hadn’t been cleaned in a while.
“A good Leafstide to you both. My master was wondering if you’d be gracious enough to give him twenty minutes of your time?”
Certain that both crossbows were trained on his head Hunor produced his most charming grin.
“Kind yeoman of mighty Kir, you catch us at a slight disadvantage. I am afraid as mere traders and strangers in this ancient city we can’t think who would want to waste their valuable time with our exceptionally dull company.”
The lean man gave a lopsided leer, his mouth evidently restricted by his scars.
“Why Guildmaster Linkon invites you and he’s not a man who is readily refused, good trader.”
Jem sighed as he saw Hunor’s eyes twinkle.