Chapter 15 No Mere Happenstance #2
She turned. The world seemed to still around them as their eyes met across the tavern’s hazy expanse.
The ambient noise of clinking tankards and boisterous conversation fell to a distant whisper.
Her expression transformed, the earlier sharp awareness melting into a look of recognition that shouldn’t have been possible.
Venrick felt the steady rhythm of his heart fracture into an erratic beat that sent waves of warmth through his chest. It was like sensing powerful magic on the air, only this feeling carried none of the usual warning signs of danger.
The lantern light emphasized the perfect arch of her brow, the subtle parting of her lips.
Even the shadows seemed to caress her face with a gentleness, suggesting nature itself acknowledged her beauty.
A connection between them seemed to buzz as he stared into her emerald eyes.
“Yeah,” the bard continued. “She said she was a fire wheat harvester, but I’ve never met a farmer who dressed as a Lady or looked like, well, I mean look at her. You see, it don’t you?”
“She is striking,” Venrick admitted, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from her. “You said she can’t remember anything, why is that?” he asked.
“Don’t know. Some horrific accident or something that she doesn’t want to talk about. Apparently, it happened before she left this village where she was supposedly harvesting fire wheat.”
As he spoke, Venrick watched Lark leave the building.
She must have something to do with the Hyalite. That stern, yet beautiful face had penetrated his dreams. He’d thought he’d conjured her in his mind somehow, but now that he’d seen her in the flesh… And the way the fire fae was following her… He pondered, mulling over the goblin’s riddle again.
Venrick’s gaze drifted toward the window to catch another glimpse of— Venrick flinched, his sweeping eyes interrupted by Ezra’s pointed stare.
The dwarf’s stoney glare held him captive for a moment.
Venrick forced himself to relax, shifting with the practiced nonchalance of a perfect stranger, hoping the dwarf wasn’t about to spark up a conversation with him.
The bard’s voice continued weaving through the noise of the crowd, washing over Venrick like a cascade. “Anyway, that’s why I’m headed to the Vermillion Keep. Need to try and find a Knight or Paragon to help me. You don’t happen to know of any do you?”
The last question pierced through Venrick’s thoughts. “Yes,” he replied.
“Really?”
“What was your name again?” Venrick asked.
“Hardin Morningstar.”
“Good to meet you, Hardin. Mine’s Venrick, just Venrick,” he said, reaching over the tabletop to shake Hardin’s hand.
“Do you really know a Knight or Paragon who might help me?”
Desperation wove through Hardin’s voice, his earlier tale of theft and a village in need coming into focus.
The specifics blurred at the edges of Venrick’s memory as he hadn’t been giving Hardin his undivided attention moments ago.
He had said something about stolen coin, and a girl, some orcs or something?
But what resonated, was that Hardin was in desperate need of a hero.
The opportunity presented to Venrick was his for the taking.
This was his way into the caravan. He could go with Hardin, keep a close watch on the woman and her fire fae companion.
The plan was still taking shape as his words spilled out, fully committing himself.
“Yes, as it so happens, I have gone on hundreds of quests for the Vermillion Keep. I can help you with yours,” Venrick said.
“Are you serious?” Hardin asked.
“Yes, even now I’m returning from having driven a goblin from his lair in the Astral Mountains.”
Hardin’s gaze narrowed to questioning slits.
“I can prove it,” Venrick added, lifting his sleeve to show the puncture wounds where Zorjan had bitten him. The marks were scabbed over enough that he no longer kept it wrapped.
“Wicked,” Hardin gasped, examining the wound. “You survived a goblin bite?”
“With the right spell, you can survive almost anything,” Venrick announced, repeating a phrase Tel Roan had said to him in his first year as his Squire.
“Like I was saying, I don’t know if I have enough to compete with the rates you’re used to receiving.”
“That’s fine. I’m between contracts now and am not bound to the Keep. I’ll even make you a deal; I’ll do it for half. I’ll help you and your friend, Lark,” Venrick said.
“Lark, too?” Hardin said, scratching his head.
“Why not?” Venrick replied, leaning back in his chair.
“Yeah, she might hear you out since you know more about the Vermillion Keep. Maybe you can answer her questions.”
“Sure, so I’ll join you and the caravan in the morning. We can resupply in Astral City and be on our way.” As he spoke, the waitress slipped him his meal on a warm plate and set down a tankard of mead with a clunk. Venrick smiled, quite pleased with himself.
“That sounds great,” Hardin agreed.
“Then it’s settled.” Venrick forked a mouthful of the pork, took a bite, and washed it down with the sweet mead.
A voice like boulders rolling down a mountainside crashed through Venrick’s moment of victory. “Hardin, introduce me to your friend,” Ezra said, suddenly appearing beside their table.
He pulled out the chair next to Venrick, spun it round, and settled in on it backwards. He draped his beard over the edge of the chair and glared at Venrick as he set his mug down on the table with force. It splashed, some of the ale sloshing out onto Venrick’s plate.
“This is Venrick,” Hardin said, sitting tall with his chest pushed forward.
“Why does that name sound so familiar, Venrick?” Ezra asked, pointing his meaty finger at Venrick. “You look familiar, too. Have we ever met before?”
“No,” Venrick lied.
“Ever attended Astral City Paragon Academy?”
“Venrick says he’s gone on countless missions for the Vermillion Keep,” Hardin said, folding his arms across his chest.
“Funny, I’ve helped train every Paragon that held a contract with the Vermillion Keep for the last fifty years, and I don’t remember seeing you.”
“It must’ve been after you retired, then,” Venrick said.
“I didn’t retire,” Ezra growled through clenched teeth. “I resigned; there’s a difference.”
“I didn’t realize it mattered,” Venrick shrugged.
“It does. What are you doing sniffing around Hardin and Lark?”
“I’m not sniffing. Just making conversation,” he said calmly.
“Venrick, why does that name ring a bell?” Ezra asked again, measuring Venrick with his stoney glare. After a moment, he snapped his fingers with the answer. “I know why. You had something to do with Tel Roan.”
“Yes, well, I was Tel Roan’s Squire for nearly eleven years,” Venrick said.
“That’s it, you’re Tel Roan’s Squire. I knew I recognized you,” Ezra said, satisfied. He took a swig of his drink. “Shouldn’t you be dead?”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”
“You were trained by Tel Roan himself?” Hardin gawked.
“I was,” Venrick said.
“Why does that seem to be so important to you?” Ezra asked, turning his scarred head toward Hardin.
“Because he’s agreed to help me with my problem. He might be able to help Lark, too,” he answered.
“Help? How exactly?” Ezra growled.
Venrick tried to wave the question away, but Hardin answered before he could reply.
“Because he’s a Knight of the Vermillion Keep.”
“Is that what he told you?” Ezra chuckled. He leaned in, facing Venrick squarely. “And how did you manage that while being Tel’s Squire up until last month? Training at the Academy alone takes four years, and you need to be accepted with previous experience.”
“I didn’t say I was a Knight, exactly,” Venrick said.
“You said you have gone on hundreds of quests for the Keep,” Hardin accused.
“All true,” Venrick said.
“He’s got a sword, some armor, and look at his arm. Recently survived a goblin bite while banishing it from a mountain lair,” Hardin said.
“Is that so? Which goblin was that and in what mountain range?” Ezra almost demanded.
Venrick cleared his throat. “Zorjan, in the Astral Range.”
Ezra barked a laugh. “Zorjan? That slippery eel of an informant? I don’t believe it for a second. Tel probably saved you after that green ash-stain bit you.”
“This was a few weeks ago, after Tel’s demise,” Venrick said. Although, it was Tel’s enchanted chest that saved me, he conceded to himself.
“Don’t buy what he’s selling, lad,” Ezra said.
“He’s not a real hero?”
“Looks can be deceiving. Plenty of silver-tongued swindlers lurk on the edges of the Keeps. We’ll come across more the closer we come to Astral City.
They’ll take your money faster than you can give it to them and run.
Better come over to our side of the tavern and let Venrick eat in peace before he heads back out onto the road. ”
Hardin scowled at Venrick, his somber demeanor returning.
“Hardin, I can help you. And I’ll do it for much less than what a Knight under contract will charge. I’m very highly trained. I fought alongside Tel Roan for over a decade,” Venrick pled.
Ezra stood, placing a calloused hand on Hardin’s shoulder. “Come on, lad, you can find better men to spend your money on.”
Hardin’s back rounded, his head stooped, shoulders sagging as he took his mead and joined Ezra with the rest of the caravanners.
Venrick finished his meal alone. Embarrassed, and having seen no more signs of the fire fae, Venrick left.
The tavern’s warmth fell away behind him as he stepped out into the night.
Hardin’s melodic voice weaved its captive spell over the crowd, fading as the cobblestones passed under Venrick’s feet.
If they won’t let me in, I guess I’ll just have to force my way in, he thought.
The signs were there, demanding his attention.
The dragon tracks, the Morsythians, the fire fae paired up with a human, it was too much of a coincidence.
This was no mere happenstance. Venrick couldn’t let them pass him by without knowing more.
Regardless of being bound by the curse, he was going to follow the fire fae.
He wasn’t going to give up his hunt for the Hyalite.