Delver Magic I: Sanctum's Breach - Jeff Inlo (the best motivational books .txt) 📗

The head guard continued to size up the delver. He frowned, unsatisfied with Ryson’s response.

Ryson sensed his growing impatience. He spoke with as much detail as possible without alluding to one particular monster. “What I saw, I saw in the shadows. It did not appear human. It left me cold and I do not like to talk about it.” He felt that would suffice whether the town suffered at the hands of the goblins, the shags or any other dark creature. He then turned his attention to the guard with a brother in Pinesway. “I can assure you, however, that when I left Pinesway, it remained intact with the townspeople still in charge. There was no sign of any damage other than the quake, and I heard nothing of casualties to the town guard.”

The news appeared to settle all of the guards, but they still made no sign of allowing Ryson to pass. He decided to press the issue.

“I’ve told you all I know, even things I didn’t wish to. For now, I hope you will let me visit one of your fine taverns. I was hoping to obtain an ale and some food before returning to Connel. Surely, you would not deny me that. I only hope to add to the pockets of your own merchants; yours as well for keeping this town, and myself for that matter, safe while I’m here.” He carefully pulled coins from his right front pocket. He did so slowly, allowing the guards to watch his every move. He handed gold to the guard in his path, silver to those on his sides. He even flipped coppers to the guards in the back.

“Hopefully, you’ll see that as my thanks for keeping this town safe. I will eat easier and I’ll leave as soon as I have eaten.”

The guard in front of him looked at the coin in his hand. His face softened. “Stay the night. It’s not friends from Connel that worries us,” he said surprisingly. “If you wish to return to Connel, you can leave in the morning. That way you’ll reach it before night falls. No sense in traveling at night if you don’t have to.”

Ryson was about to reveal that he was a delver and his speed would allow him to reach Connel before this day ended. Before he muttered a single word, though, he changed his mind. He wasn’t certain how they would react. He had come across many humans that mistrusted delvers. The guards were somewhat friendly to him at this juncture. Right now, he was nothing more than a traveler from Connel, not a delver out poking around. No sense in changing that, and perhaps invoking a change of heart as well.

“Very well then, thank you. I need the rest.”

Ryson had no real intention of resting. Once he obtained entry into Burbon, he would look around with a curious eye, try and determine the problems which led to stationing guards on the roads and relieving the mayor of his duty. Before, he could take a step, however, the head guard addressed him with more than a hint of authority, as if a captain speaking to a private.

“I suggest you keep that handy.” The guard nodded to the jeweled handled sword at Ryson’s side. “The nights have gotten pretty strange around here. We’re doing the best we can, but we can always use extra help. If we call for you, we’ll expect you to lend a hand.”

“Certainly.” It now became clear why the guard was allowing Ryson to enter as well as stay the night. He was as anxious as the others, worried that their numbers were too small to handle whatever it was they faced. He saw Ryson as another man to be drafted into his army.

“Don’t disappoint us,” he said sternly. “And don’t go bothering the Captain about anything. He has enough to worry about. Remember, the mayor’s gone. If you had any business with him, it’s finished now.”

“Understood,” Ryson said plainly.

He stepped around the head guard, who did not move, and walked deliberately but slowly toward the collection of buildings and houses which made up the heart of Burbon. He felt their eyes on his back, but he did not turn. He stepped as if nothing more than the burdens of travel wore upon his shoulders. He heard one of the guards mutter, but could not make out the words. He sensed another following, but again he showed no concern or even acknowledgment. The guard would remain far behind, but within view to see which inn Ryson would select. It seemed obvious they were intent on knowing where he would be if and when they wanted him to lend a hand.

He forced the thought of the follower from his mind. He concentrated on the town itself. The roads formed neat rows of parallel and perpendicular lines. Some were comprised of stone, some of pitch, and some only of dirt. Everything was straight and organized, though, and he could find not a single curve in any of the streets or alleys.

The buildings matched the symmetry of the roads they lined. Whether private home or merchant shop, inn or church, every structure stood evenly spaced apart and an equal distance from the road. Signs were simple and to the point. Nothing lavish stood apart from the rest. Even the noisiest tavern appeared to conform to the building standards of every other surrounding structure. Stone walks and paths marked direct lanes to doors or to neighboring properties. Each corner was marked with a lamp post. Glass covered lamps remained dormant in the afternoon sun. Ryson bet they were lit at the same time by the same person every evening. He had seen these sights before during his first trip to Burbon, but never really noticed the regimented consistency, the hard-lined conformity.

“It’s no wonder the guard took over,” Ryson muttered to himself as he passed buildings which now all melded together. “They like things steady here. I wonder how they’re going to react to the return of the magic.”

“Excuse me?” A passerby overheard him and shot a questioning glance. He looked to be nothing more than a merchant carrying his receipts to the bank, but he now wore an expression of dissatisfaction.

Ryson nodded his head in acknowledgment of the newcomer. He spoke with calm assurance. “Good day, sir. I’m looking for a tavern or an inn. I’m hoping to find one with a show, music, magic, anything. It’s been a hard day. I could stand with a little humor. Anything, you can recommend?”

The look of dissatisfaction turned to confusion. The merchant thought he heard the stranger clearly speak of the return of magic, but now he was not so sure. He conceded he might have misunderstood, but made no apology. “The Borderline has a string quartet. Down the block.” He pointed then turned quickly. He obviously wanted nothing more to do with the stranger.

“Thank you,” Ryson said to the merchant’s back. When he was clear of being overheard, he again spoke only to himself, this time in a whisper. “I won’t allow that to happen again.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he picked up the guard which continued to follow him. “I might as well put an end to this, too.”

Ryson picked up his pace as if the merchant’s directions assisted him on his way. Brisk steps carried him quickly to the front of the Borderline Inn. Soft, but uplifting music wafted from the open front window. His ears tuned to it quickly.

“Two guitars, a cello, and a double bass,” he stated with confidence as he walked through the door.

The sight of the quartet in the far corner confirmed what his ears already told him. Four musicians worked effortlessly on the instruments Ryson named before entering. They played by memory, for no sheets of music appeared before them. Ryson guessed all but one of the guitar players had been together for many years. Their hands flowed over their instruments with nary a glance from one to another. Only the second guitar watched the others for cues in tempo. The other three played as if guided by the same hand, an ability which reminded the delver of the algors.

The current musical selection filled the room with comforting ease. It blessed the air with inspiration, no where near as gay as a march, but uplifting enough for all to feel they could face their troubles, or at least forget them. Such melodies would continue throughout the afternoon and into the evening. Not a single song of melancholy would escape these instruments on this day.

The tavern was about one third full. A whisper of conversation hung in the air, but for the most part, the patrons remained quiet. Their intention was clearly upon allowing the cheerful music to wash the anxiety from their minds.

Ryson moved to a small table roughly four steps from a long bar. A young female barkeep gave him a smile from behind it. He nodded and returned the smile. Rather than take the seat at the table, he moved to the bar.

She threw a towel over her arm as he placed himself upon a stool. When he carefully moved the end of the sheathed sword to keep it from striking the bar, she appeared even more grateful for his appearance. She stepped up to his place and quickly wiped the bar surface with the towel before replacing it over her arm.

“What would you like?” her eyes grabbed his. Medium length black hair hung freely about her shoulders. Bangs covered her forehead and kept attention on her hazel eyes.

“I’ll have an ale please.”

“Dark or light?”

“I think I’ll stick with light,” he grinned.

She bit her lip gently, still grinning, and nodded. She whisked about gracefully. With fluid movements, a tall glass was soon leaning under a flowing tap. With a rap of her elbow on the lever, the flow ceased just as the light golden liquid reached the rim. She placed it in front of him with another smile.

By then, Ryson had a gold coin in his hand. He slid it toward her. “That’s for you, not for the ale. I’d like to run a tab for that. I think I’m going to be here a while.”

“Certainly,” the barmaid was obviously happy with this news.

“Do you have any stew?”

“Vegetable. Potatoes, carrots, celery and onions.”

“That’ll be fine. I also need a room. Who would I see about that?”

“I can take care of that. There are plenty of them available. I’ll have a key and number for you before you’re done with your supper.”

“Great. Thank you … uh …” He paused, waiting for her to reveal her name without him having to ask. She did not hesitate.

“Linda.”

“Thank you Linda. I’m Ryson, Ryson Acumen.” He held out his hand which she took with a gentle shake.

“Nice to meet you.” She paused, seemed to hesitate. She wanted to speak but she held her tongue.

Ryson picked it up immediately. “What would you like to know?” His tone contained warmth and invited her to speak freely.

“I couldn’t help notice your sword. Are you here to help the guard?”

“Actually, I was here to see how you were all recovering from the quake. But it seems as if that’s old news and the least of all our problems.” His expression was a knowing one, one which indicated he was aware of the madness which was now creeping into this border town. “I spoke with the guards, though, and they mentioned they might need all the help they can get. I didn’t protest.”

The smile lingered on her lips. “So you will help?”

“I’ll help as long as I’m here.”

“How long might that be?” Her eyes widened