The Last Goddess, Ch 1

Chapter One

Haven’s grand bazaar smelled like wet gorillas. Nathan Rook had thought as much from the first moment he stepped into the city four years ago. It didn’t matter that he’d only seen a gorilla once, or that the hulking beast had been as dry as an Ebaran summer at the time. Rook just knew that the eclectic mix of imported animals, fabrics, and spices filling the bazaar always reminded him of damp primates, and he wouldn’t describe it any other way.

“Uh oh,” Van muttered, squinting off towards a moving caravan to their left.

“Trouble?” Rook asked as he pretended to inspect a ring from a jewelry stand.

“Maybe. I think those merchants are Sunoan.”

Rook frowned. “Damn. That probably means they have dresses.”

“And shoes,” Van added. “Don’t forget shoes.”

Rook did his best to keep a straight face while risking a furtive glance over at Rynne. To her credit, she hadn’t even dignified their taunts with an annoyed glare. She remained perfectly in character encased in her battered armor, the Vakari-style war paint around her cheeks and eyes glistening in the afternoon sun. Still, he knew they would hear about it later.

“No sign of Marek,” Van said after another minute. “You sure he’s—”

“He’ll be here,” Rook soothed, placing the ring back on the rack and eliciting a disappointed sigh from the shopkeeper. “Let’s go check out those Kimperan weapons.”

They made their way across the bustling street, his two bodyguards doing their best to intimidate people without actually touching them. At six and a half feet tall and bristling with muscle, Van didn’t need much help with that. Rynne, standing barely over five, required assistance from some impressively padded boots, but most of the people here understood the danger of messing with a Vakari mercenary—even a short one—and gave her a wide berth.

Rook nodded politely to the weapon merchant and glanced idly over the stock. As usual, Kimperan innovation didn’t disappoint, but he wasn’t really paying much attention to the new flintlock pistols or extended-cartridge crossbows. Instead he peered past them towards an unassuming blonde man descending the bazaar’s south ramp.

“That’s our guy,” Van murmured. “Same meeting spot?”

“No reason to change it,” Rook said.

He waited a full minute before stepping away from the merchant stand and angling off towards an open cantina on the west side. Marek and the two burly men flanking him arrived at about the same time, and the two groups wordlessly found a table.

“Mr. Rook,” Marek said with a half nod as he sat down. “Glad you could make it.”

“I told you I’d be here,” Rook replied coolly. “I just hope you have something worth my time.”

Van loomed just off to his left, crossing his burly arms over his chest and glaring down the opposing bodyguards. Rynne slid next to Rook’s right shoulder and not-so-subtly fingered the crossbow hanging on her hip.

Marek didn’t even flinch. “Oh, I do. Honestly, I’m more worried about you having the drakes to pay for it.”

Rook cocked an eyebrow despite himself. Confidence, feigned or otherwise, wasn’t typically the hallmark of a petty scavenger like Marek. He drifted meagerly from job to job, selling whatever he could find to collectors or other merchants. Rook had done business with him a handful of times and had never seen anything worth more than a hundred drakes. But this time…