Jelan narrowed her eyes. "It's not as easy as that now, Jack." One hand slid down to rest on the hilt of the slender sword at her side.
The rogue tilted his head thoughtfully. "I beg to differ, dear lady," he said. He worked a spell of shadow-jumping that whisked him from Jelan's cabin in the blink of an eye, teleporting him to the lonely wharves a few hundred feet distant. It was perhaps the most difficult spell he knew how to work, but useful beyond compare when he needed to absent himself from tricky situations. He staggered then straightened again; the shadow-jump was strenuous.
Jack looked around, blinking to adjust his vision and regain his bearings. There was Jelan's ship, rocking softly by the pierside. No hue or cry sounded from its decks, but Jack hadn't expected any. Instead, he turned and hurried quickly back into the shadows of the alleyways and rambling streets.
At first Jack thought to bolt for his apartments and drop out of sight for a couple of days, in case Elana-Myrkyssa Jelan, he corrected himself-objected violently to his flight. But between the outcome of the mission he'd undertaken for her and the ugly turn in the Game of Masks, he discovered the need of a few stout ales. He briefly considered whether or not it was wise to choose the Tankard for his relaxation this evening, but he could detect a very tangible and nigh-irresistible pull gently tugging his feet into the familiar direction. He had a heavy purse full of coin, and the Cracked Tankard was just the place to make it a little lighter.
"Besides," he told himself, "Elana must realize that I am well aware of the fact that she has found me twice in the Cracked Tankard and cannot possibly regard it as a safe place to avoid her attention. Reasoning thus, she will not even trouble herself with looking for me here, so this is the perfect choice for my evening's entertainment. I'll exercise due caution, and no trouble will come of it."
He reached the corner of Red Wyrm and DeVillars, pausing to check for any followers. A coach trundled past in the warm night, wheels gleaming in the lamplight. Jack straightened his doublet and adjusted the fit of his cap. Then he strode boldly inside, instantly comforted in a small but familiar way by the press of bodies, the haze of smoke, the laughter and music and babble of a score of conversations all shouted over each other. With a small sigh of relief, Jack found his favored table and drew up a seat. Briesa worked the common room of the Tankard this evening; Jack offered her a wink and a leer that brought her over ahead of three other tables demanding service.
"Why, Jack! I've hardly seen you of late," the pretty barmaid laughed. "I was beginning to fear that you'd forgotten me!"
"How could I forget you, when my every waking moment is filled with longing, and my nights are immortalized by the passion we share in my dreams?" Jack replied. He pulled her onto his lap and held her there for a moment. "Would you be a fine lass and bring me a flagon of that Sembian wine you keep above the bar?"
Briesa disentangled herself from his grasp. "And how would you be paying for that?"
Jack dropped a small handful of gold crowns on the table. "I am lately come into a small inheritance. From this moment forward, I shall settle all my tabs and make good on all my previous promises. Perchance have you seen Anders tonight?"
"He's making use of one of the upstairs rooms," Briesa replied. "Shall I tell him you're here?"
"I'll wait. It won't be long."
Jack sent her on her way with a good-natured slap on her fanny. Briesa gathered up the coins in her apron and danced away toward the bar, slipping through the press with the expertise of experience.
He had time to pour and drink two goblets of the Sembian red before Anders Aricssen came thumping down the narrow staircase, his fair features flushed with drink and his swordbelt slung over one shoulder. The Northman spied him at once and pushed through the crowd straight toward him.
"Jack! I've been looking all over for you. Where in the world have you been tonight?"
"Concluding business with a beautiful, yet disappointing, lady," Jack said glumly. Briesa returned with the wine and two goblets. Jack poured a cup for himself and one for Anders as she moved off to look after dozens of shouting patrons. "It's a strange night, friend Anders, filled with veiled peril and dark deeds."
The Northman slumped into the seat across from him and drained his goblet at one mighty go, red rivulets streaming through his beard. "That does not tell me much," he observed. "Say, that wasn't half bad. Your business must have concluded reasonably well, Jack; I can gauge the success of your ventures by the quality of your drink.''
Jack nodded absently, still thinking about his encounter with Elana. She'd paid him well enough, he supposed, if not in the coin he'd hoped for. That was disappointing enough, but he found himself considering her words again. Something about obligations and responsibilities to those in her employ, and the commensurate degree of loyalty she expected in return… dangerous words indeed, especially to Jack's way of thinking. He'd made a career out of avoiding entanglements of that sort.
"Anders, did you perchance ever meet the Warlord Myrkyssa Jelan?" he asked suddenly.
His question was ill-timed, catching the Northman in the middle of a quaff of wine. Anders's eyes widened, and he choked comically, spewing a fine red spray of Sembian wine in Jack's general direction. Coughing and gagging, the Northman hunched low in his seat and seized Jack's arm with one hand.
"Curse it, Jack! Don't bring up that name anywhere near me!"
"No one's paying attention to us," Jack answered. "Besides, who cares what side you fought on in the Warlord's siege? I'm sure you fought well and valiantly, and deserve all the honor and respect accorded veterans of that fierce war."
"They lynched a fellow over in Pumpside just last month after they discovered he'd served under the Warlord's banner," Anders muttered. "He was a carpenter, with a wife and a family, a law-abiding citizen of Raven's Bluff ever since Jelan's army broke itself at the Battle of Fire River. Could you imagine what might befall me, given my lack of vocation? I'd be lucky to spend the rest of my days on the prison barges!"
"The sooner you answer my question, the sooner I'll stop pestering you about it," Jack observed. "Did you ever meet the Warlord during your time in her service? Do you have any idea of what she looks like?"
"I was only a footsoldier in a mercenary company, Jack. Captain Aeldar was called to the Warlord's council more than once, but he was the only one of our company who met with her." Anders chewed on his lip, thinking. "I saw her from a distance on several occasions, riding past with her commanders on whatever business she had at the moment. She wore armor of black, lacquered plate that gleamed like jet in the sunlight. Her helm covered her features." He laughed nervously. "She could be in this room, and I wouldn't know it."
"What do you know about her?"
Anders shrugged. "About as much as anyone in her service, I suppose. Captain Aeldar brought us to her army late in the campaign. We joined her banner only two months before Fire River, so we weren't with her from the beginning. According to the soldiers who'd served with her longer, she came out of the east three to four years ago at the head of a small band of mercenaries. They said that she recruited men in Narfell and Damara before shifting south to the Impilturan frontier and the Earthfast Mountains. She embarked on a campaign of conquest, hammering tribes of orcs and ogres and giants and other fell creatures into a restless horde under her command. It's said that she won their allegiance by defeating tribal champions in one-on-one combat and deposing chieftains at the point of her sword."