The Elder's Curse Andrew Walbrown (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📖

in the room. Regardless of the lessened volatility, Ulam remained vigilant beside Nilawen, knowing only a spark would reignite the situation. He hoped the moment of danger would pass quickly because he had no desire to hurt anyone, though he would if absolutely necessary. He also feared retaliation if he cracked open a few skulls because he knew a mob of terrified locals with torches and pitchforks would come searching for him with murder on their minds. The things we do for money.

“If she didn’t cheat,” one of the other men Nilawen had hoodwinked spoke, “then why doesn’t she show us what’s in her sleeves?”

“Because she’s a lady,” Amantius said with a condescending tone, “it’s the same reason your mother doesn’t raise her skirts as proof that you’re her son.”

Ulam sighed. So much for not starting a fight.

The insulted man dove across the table, aiming to wrap his fingers around Amantius’ throat. The other two joined him shortly thereafter, and within a matter of seconds the whole tavern erupted into bedlam. Ulam heard shouts, a few screams, and the sounds of wooden furniture splintering all around him. People staggered across the Sunrise Tavern as they were being pummeled while the occasional tooth rolled across the floor. Ulam used the butt of his axe shaft to bash people as he cleared a way towards the exit, forever fearful someone would put a knife in his back. It was the exact kind of situation he had hoped to avoid, one where he was not the master of his surroundings.

Among the sea of chaos, Ulam spotted Amantius by the front door, waving to him frantically. Somehow his foster-brother slipped through the plethora of right hooks and headbutts unscathed, despite having started at the epicenter of the brawl. Ulam then saw Nilawen slip past Amantius into the street, her bright tunic glittering like a beacon upon a rocky shore. With one last great push, Ulam lowered his shoulder and crashed through the unfortunate souls in his way, sending brawlers flying in every direction. He fell onto the dirt road as he exited the building, his massive size creating a dust cloud that lingered far past its welcome.

“If we are ever in need of a boulder for one of our plays I think I know who will win the part,” Nilawen said with a playful smile as she rubbed her eyes.

“We need to go,” Amantius said from the doorway, keeping an eye on the brawl. “It’s starting to taper off, and it won’t be long before someone comes looking for us.”

Ulam grunted.

They ran through the streets of Thornsgrave, drawing the attention of its inhabitants as they cut through markets and residential areas alike. Despite being weighed down by a sack of coins, Nilawen was far ahead of both Amantius and Ulam, using her swiftness to lead the trio back to the Crimson Owl lodgings. From time to time she stopped to allow the duo to catch up, only to berate them for their slowness, before darting down another street. Ulam might have taken offense to the verbal lashings had he not heard the same complaints during his entire childhood, but there was something inherently enjoyable to him watching Amantius be on the receiving end of the Elf’s quips.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, where their lodgings were located, Ulam had all but collapsed from exhaustion. He struggled to stand up; his lungs burned, his eyes watered, and his legs wobbled underneath him. As he gasped for air he stared at both Amantius and Nilawen, both of whom fought for breath as well, though the latter fared much better than the former. Ulam would have cursed them both if he could have formed the words, but his throat was so dry from the beer and dust that all he could do was cough.

“That was fun,” Amantius said as he wiped his forehead of sweat. “Do you think we lost them?”

“We?” Nilawen said as she fixed her hair, “I know I did, but you two left a trail wide enough a blind man could track you.”

Amantius glared; Ulam chuckled.

Nilawen then went her separate way, heading to her pavilion to prepare for that evening’s show. Ulam and Amantius returned to their lodgings, a shared tent located a dozen rows behind the main stage. It was not anything special, just a few poles and a canvas top, large enough for a crate of personal goods and just enough space for both to sleep. Practically everyone in the company resided in such a setup, the only exception being those who were part of the acting circle. They had their own higher quality pavilions erected closest to the stage, with enough space for their beds and wardrobes. After all, they needed to be closest to the stage so they could quickly change between scenes.

Amantius fell onto a bundle of blankets he had fashioned as a makeshift bed while Ulam began washing the dust and grime collected from their mad dash through Thornsgrave. He watched as the water tumbled over his arms and legs, leaving clean streaks that cut through the dirt. Though his muscles ached from the running, they began to relax as his skin prickled from the water’s cool temperature.

“Don’t know why you’re doing that,” Amantius said from the other side of the tent, “we have a show tonight; you’re just going to get dirty again.”

Ulam grunted. He felt a knot twist in his gut; every fiber of his being detesting the prospect of work. At first, the idea of being a stagehand had been somewhat appealing to Ulam, the pay had been modest enough and it provided ample opportunity to travel around the Emberi Empire. He figured he would have enough time to seek out Orc Sanctuaries, to explore their secrets and to find others of his race. Unfortunately, that had not been the case, as Ulam and Amantius were needed practically every day with some task around the camp or stage. With time, his