A brief second of surprise—just a brief moment. The voice was low, melodious, and... personable? Strange, he thought, though he wasn’t dead yet. He wondered what did that mean.
"Yes?" Eldarion turned, weighing how to play this encounter. The man—clearly a man, and judging by the clean grey clothing he wore—appeared to be a big shot for the Guild. Great.
"My name is Blot," the man said straightforwardly. "Though, as you can guess, that isn’t my real name." Eldarion leaned back on the table, one hand casually resting protectively over Phin, who slumped nearby.
"Strange—what is the Guild doing in my pub?" Eldarion asked, his tone measured yet tinged with contrition and curiosity. Blot's eyes shone with suspicion as he regarded him.
"Well, there has been an attack on our church—of the Goddess Shanuk, patron of all those of us who slither in the dark. Several of our own lie dead or incapacitated, and the chief of the building has vanished." Eldarion listened without feigning interest; Blot was being open and forthright with this information. "What is he planning, and what does he know?" Eldarion mused silently.
"That is terrible, Blot, but I don’t see how it concerns me. More to the point, I still haven’t even heard of this incident—yet," Blot replied, as if clearing a mental check from his mind.
"Which is good to hear," Blot continued, "we’re keeping a lid on this until we can find some answers. We've checked most of our usual sources and contacts." Damn, they work fast, Eldarion thought. “Not a clue—problematic indeed. An entire group of our people taken out by a single attacker? Troublesome, damaging to our reputation—not to mention that he kidnapped one of us.” As he spoke, Blot wandered around the workshop, inspecting the containers Eldarion had used to produce the toxic fumes—fumes that still lingered. Eldarion hoped against hope that they were lost in the organized chaos of the place. He was nearing the spot where he had hidden the bloody arrowheads.
"Single attacker? He?" Eldarion asked.
"Indeed, a single solitary elf" Blot replied. "Quite embarrassing—and dangerous to have such a person loose in the city, don’t you think?" Blot moved closer to the cupboard where Eldarion had stashed the two arrowheads, uninvited and uncalled for, beginning to peer inside.
"I agree," Eldarion said, not turning to face him, "though I still don’t know what this has to do with me."
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"Well," Blot continued, "it so happens there was a contract on you. I must admit, you not being dead—nor having been reached if the assassin failed his mark—and that the assassin vanished into thin air… all of that is quite suspicious." Eldarion turned, his mind racing, then he nodded slowly.
"Yes, he came after me. He was sloppy—I knew he was here the second I entered the workshop and began mixing toxic compounds to, well, poison him," Eldarion admitted. "The corpse is inside that large vat—I haven’t used it in quite some time." Blot remained motionless, his hands hovering inches from the cupboard where the arrowheads were hidden. He paused, then, moving with slow, deliberate motions—the very sound of his movements unnerving—he ascended the stairs Eldarion used to access the top of the vats. Blot opened the hatch, only to recoil at the sight. Then, with calm determination, he descended from the vat and went to face Eldarion.
"I have heard of your reputation, Mr. Thorne—of your history that stretches back long before I was born. I salute you; you managed to take down one of the best I have ever known," Blot said, his tone a mixture of admiration and guarded skepticism.
Eldarion’s eyes narrowed slightly as he replied, "But he bore no markings—he was a free agent." He said it coolly, choosing not to back down now.
"Indeed," Blot continued, "not one soul in the Guild wanted to take this contract, and with good reason. You have proven yourself both capable and determined." His hand moved toward his dagger as he added, "Which begs the question: was it you who attacked one of our churches?" His voice, laced with a subtle magical undertone, seemed to search for the truth in Eldarion's eyes.
Eldarion's expression hardened, yet his voice remained even. "It wasn't I who attacked the church. For one, I am no young elf," he stated plainly, his tone carrying neither remorse nor anger. "And for two, remove that stinky, useless little spell from me," he added sharply, his irritation rising. Blot took a step back at the rebuke.
"I might have been able to take on a single man who got sloppy from inattention," Blot admitted, "but an entire building full of your people? Brother, you are giving me far more credit than I deserve."
Blot’s eyes flickered with doubt as he pressed further, "Uhm, where were you last night?" he asked, unconvinced.
"Here," Eldarion answered curtly, "finishing the last touches on my latest brew." He gestured toward the boxes he had yet to move. Blot stepped over to inspect the bottles, uncorked one, took a measured sniff, and carefully retained it.
"We will take this into consideration," Blot said finally, "but you should know that the Guild is taking harsh measures regarding this matte. Please, lay low, Mr. Thorne."
With that, he vanished through the doorway, leaving Eldarion standing alone, his mind awhirl with conflicting thoughts. His hands trembled—not just from the lingering effects of the night's chaos or the still lingering effects of the poison, but from how close he had been. Uncertainty and a simmering fury churned within him, as he wondered if Blot truly believed his words or was simply stalling for time for some other reason.
