The Jewel of Turmish - Mel Odom [3]
"We've killed nine of those wolves," one of the earlier speakers said. "I say we've done enough for the day-and the night-to warrant a rest."
Another man laughed. "You're just wanting to get next to that jug of elven wine, Tethys."
"And what of it?" Tethys snapped. "I'll drink the wine to replace the blood I've been donating to feed all these damned thirsty mosquitoes." He slapped at the back of his neck. "At least the bottle will numb some of the itching and put back some fluid into my body."
That's what you've got water for," the woman replied evenly, but her voice held steel. "I won't abide any drunken fools on this mission."
" "Mission,' she says," Forras said. He was the one with the limp. Even now as he stood in the glen, the man favored his weaker leg. "Spoken like she was a sellsword guarding the Assembly of Stars or Lord Herengar himself."
The woman met the man's gaze and he turned away.
"We were hired to kill wolves, Druz," Tethys said, "not to give our lives to some noble cause you might imagine up."
Haarn stared at the woman with interest. As solitary as his work and commitment was, he seldom saw others, and he saw women even less. He sometimes found them interesting, as his father had laughingly told him he would, but there was always the heartbroken side of his father that kept Haarn in check. Feelings between men and women, the elder Brightoak had pointed out during the time Haarn's education had touched upon the subject, were not as simple as the mating seasons that drew on animals. Liaisons between men and women were lasting things that Haarn had seen emulated between wolves, who tended to mate for life.
The woman was a few inches short of six feet, and her form was filled with womanly curves the leather armor she wore couldn't hide. Her red-gold hair was bound up behind her in an intricate knot, and the lantern light turned her beautiful features ruddy, though dirt and grime stained them. She carried a long bow slung over one shoulder, a long sword at her hip, knives in her knee-high, cracked leather boots, and a traveler's pack secured high on her back.
Trust me," Tethys said, "this is a lot quicker work and will pay more handsomely than guarding some fat merchant's caravan from Alaghфn bound for Baldur's Gate, Calimport, or even Waterdeep."
Haarn turned the names over in his mind as he listened.
Baldur's Gate, Calimport, and Waterdeep were all famous cities of the Sword Coast known to him through stories he'd heard as a boy growing up under his father's tutelage. Ettrian Brightoak had been more socially driven than Haarn had turned out to be. Though he had no desire to go see those cities, thinking of them still fired his imagination.
He had yet to see even Alaghфn, the so-called Jewel of Turmish, and it lay within three days' travel of Morning-star Hollows where he spent much of his time. The idea of being in a place that housed so many people was at once exciting and terrifying.
Still, his father's descriptions of the Throne of Turmish, as the city was also known, held fascination, especially when Ettrian Brightoak waxed eloquently-an art Haarn had never acquired-about the history of the city that included stories of Anaglathos, the blue dragon that had ruled the city for a time, or of the Time of Troubles when Malar himself-also called the Stalker and the Beast-lord-entered the Gulthmere Forest to destroy the Emerald Enclave.
"Gakhos, the shepherd," Tethys continued, "is a rich man, and he's drawn to vengeance. In my experience, a man drawn to avenge-even by proxy, which is what he hired us for-will pay until there is nothing left of his gold or his anger. We can kill a lot of wolves for the gold he's paying and not have to worry about taking one of those damned overland trips to the Sword Coast."
"Or maybe you're wanting to begin a new career as a sellsword aboard one of those new ships that are being outfitted for the Sea of Fallen Stars," another of the young hunters said. "Since the Serdsian War and the destruction of the Whamite Isles-not to mention the unleashing