Heirs of the Gods

Ch 8: Dark strangers and a guide on artfully efficient murder

TW: VIOLENCE AND BLOOD

It was well into the middle of the night when Ella arrived at Vale.

It was a poor excuse for a town, dilapidated and slummy. Drunk fae and creatures she couldn't recognize roamed the streets, screaming, urinating into a stream that bordered the street, fist fighting. The ramshackle houses had chipped paint, missing boards and shattered windows, and what had once been a cobbled street was now a dirt road with dispersed stones and potholes filled with murky water of unknown origins.

Lawless, it was the only way to describe it.

It was clear that anyone who crossed into this territory wasn't looking to sightsee. From what Ella gathered, it was a place where one came to look for illicit services of any kind; forbidden items, mercenaries, informants, the seediest brothels in all of the land, people trafficking, illicit drugs and banned weapons.

An ungodly black market of a town where gold could buy the most heinous, nefarious of items and services.

The Red Lantern loomed in front of her, a run-down shack in a total state of disrepair, with peeling paint and what had once been a wooden sign depicting its namesake, a crimson lantern.

It reeked of foul odours and had even fouler patrons outside. Ella willed her heart to stop beating wildly in her chest and discreetly wiped her clammy palms on her dress. These creatures could smell fear and she was wearing it like a cloying perfume.

With a last tug on her hood to secure it in place, she squared her shoulders, steeled her spine and stepped inside.

The tavern was poorly lit and filled with a hazy smoke that made her nose itch, but she resisted the urge to scratch it or cough. With a purposeful stride depicting confidence she was not feeling, she made her way to the bar at the back of the room and took a stool near the edge, as to avoid calling attention to herself.

She just had to stay there for a little bit, enough to get what she needed, she reminded herself, trying to calm the nerves in her body. All of her instincts were telling her to run like hell was on her heels, but she squashed them down with a metaphorical mallet.

"What'll it be?" The barman was a gruff, hulking man with ochre skin, a snout, tusks and two beady eyes.

"No, I'm just waiting for someone," Ella said, trying to keep her words to a minimum as she scanned the tables strewn about, looking for the thing she'd come here for. If she spoke too much, her accent would be a dead give away that she didn't belong here.

"Yeh either order somethin' or yeh get out, this isn' a park, girl."

"It's just a minute and I'll be out of here." Panic began rising in her chest. She had no faerie currency, she didn't even know how much she'd need to buy a drink.

The barman braced his thick arms on the counter and pointed a large finger, "Quit wastin' my time, buy somethin' or I toss yeh out on yer--"

He was cut off by a tinkling of coins on the wooden counter.

"My my Gorag, where are your manners? That's no way to treat a lady. I'll pay for her drink," a man said, dropping two silver coins onto the counter. The barman grunted but said nothing else, other than asking what Ella wanted to order. In turn, she asked for water. She didn't intend on drinking it either way.

"Thank you," she said quietly, not able to face the stranger yet.

Nothing was free, she wondered why this man had stepped in to help her.

"Interesting, a human woman. I haven't seen one of your kind in ages. Pray tell, how did you find yourself so far from home and in this shack of all places?" His voice was like a purr, a drawling accent that had a lazy, taunting grace to it. It was starkly different from the coarse voices of the rest of the patrons.