Chapter II: Minythrin at the Whispering Isles

“Have you ever wondered what would happen to you if I wasn’t around saving you all the time?” Torgrin leaned forward, his penetrating gaze pointed directly at him. “I can’t rescue you all the time, Min- “

“And I’m not asking you!” Minythrin rose from the stool. He could feel the anger building up inside him. Maybe he was old, but he still had his dignity. “Look, the only thing I’m asking for is a pinch of your bezoar powder,” He knew that Torgrin would rather jump into an active volcano than willingly hand over some of the precious cargo from the latest raid. But he had to try.

A smile shifted across The Pirate Lords face. The smile twisted his many scars and made him look like one of the monsters that resided in the Eastern mountains. “What’s so funny?”

Torgrin rose, bones cracking. His imposing stature and blood colored hair made him a formidable person to look upon.

“I miss those days where you and I would sail the four oceans without having that empress of yours to worry about,”

He placed a hand on Minythrins shoulder before he continued. “Listen, I shall try to get some of the powder, but I can’t promise anything,” Torgrin downed the last of the ale in front of him, before continuing: “And besides that, you seem to be in a far worse state than you tell me…”

At that moment the door to the chamber flung open. A stream of hot air engulfed the room. He felt a slight queasiness take hold of him. Even after decades in the Whispering Isles, Minythrin had still to accommodate to the humidity.

“Syr, the Sorcerer needs to leave,” the pirate had entered with an expression on his face. An expression that underlined Minythrins status. “The foreman of the harbor is on his trail,”

“Very well,” Torgrin walked around the table, before stopping close to Minythrin. “I promise you my friend, I will try to find what you need but I can’t guarantee it,”

Minythrin lowered his head. Tried to hide his disappointment.

“You said that yesterday,” As soon as he uttered the sentence, he felt like a useless child. “Don’t promise me something you can’t fulfill,”

He shook hands with The Pirate Lord, before he went out the backdoor, away from Torgrin, away from what had been his last hope of going home.

Outside he went straight for the tavern. Even with the small number of brass coins he had left from his last job, at least he could still get something to drink.

The moon had risen and covered the harbor in a silvery glow, almost draining the otherwise sprawling scenery of its vibrant colors. The Whispering Isles were a cacophony of cultures. The landscape, dusty from the southern climates’ harsh temperatures, had him close to fainting a couple of times before, and this time were no different. Through the blurry vision he could see Torgrins ship, a monumental monster fitted in iron plates and bloodred sails, docked up and ready to head out to sea in moment’s notice

He had arrived at The Whispering Isles a decade ago. The crossing had been rough and his accommodations on the vessel, were not what he was used to. After so many years at the court, this was what he got? A bed (if that was what one could call a piece of rugged fabric on the floor), one petty excuse for a pot in the corner of the cabin and a loaf of stale ryebread delivered through a slit in the door two times a day. That was what he got? Minythrin shuttered at the memory. One was inclined to think that all the good deeds he made for the court would outweigh the one bad thing he had done. But no. After what he did, he should be content with the fact that he was still alive. The Empress Delamera of Oxydia had shown him mercy, even though her child had been sent to the Damned Fields, because of his actions. Because of his goddamn stubbornness. He filled his lungs with air, attempting to stop the tears, but to no avail. He felt the salty stream of tears reach his mouth as he entered his preferred tavern at the harbor.

The dense air of the taverns main room made him feel a bit better. The discussions were vigorous, and it was clear to him that something was afoot. He loved a good discussion, but lately he had lost interest in most of the topics which occupied the practicing sorcerers in the village. Oh! How he longed for something more interesting than the folklore of The Whispering Isles, the farfetched ideas that ghosts still walked among us. He was fed up with that. What interested him the most, was the thoughts and prospects of The Afterlife. But it was heresy to even think about the topic.

“The usual?” He didn’t have to meet the barkeeps gaze to tell that the man behind the counter scorned him. Were it up to him, he could do that as much as he liked. He didn’t care anymore.

The barkeep placed a tall glass in front of him. Even in the sweat filled aroma he could smell the berrylike waft of Ashwine. It was in a matter of seconds that his hands had started trembling. His vision was blurry, not from the tears he’d shed before, but because of the time since the last drink. He gulped the red liquid in one go. The sweet, almost intoxicating taste of the wine send a relaxing feeling down his spine until he was almost completely indifferent to what went on around him.

In the corner of the main room, a couple of Whispermen, dressed in the delicate crimson robes of the highborn were in middle of a heated discussion when one of them eyed Minythrin. The man’s face was amicable, framed in long charcoal black hair and a pair of calming eyes made him look somewhat… handsome. A scar across his thin eyebrow added a hint of the grotesque to the otherwise goodlooking face, made him somewhat foreign.

The Whispering Isles had not been in any battles since The Supreme Being had been banished so many years ago. Furthermore, the highborn class were home to some of the most useless cowards Minythrin had ever known. One could almost say that this form of cowardice was known far across the land. But this scar, uneven and white, were a battle scar. This man was indeed foreign.

“What yer’ looking at!?” One of the man’s companions had caught him prying. Compared to the others, who were all as handsome as was common for inhabitants of the isles, were one big pile of misshapen limbs. The scars that covered this mans deformed face and forearms were barely healed and the green puss seeping from one particularly nasty one revealed the source. Wormplague. Before Minythrin could react, the man was at his face. Barely an inch between him and the troll-like man, wasn’t enough to keep the stench away. For the first time in his life Minythrin wished he hadn’t downed his wine.

“I ask again, what yer’ looking at yer damn foreigner!?” The stereotypical prejudice of the isles emanated from the man’s deep-set eyes. It was clear to Minythrin that talking sense into this oaf would be a sure way to the bottom of the sea.

“I was just interested in was you lot were talking about, that’s all,” For a moment he was certain he had chosen his words poorly.  A sour grimace covered the man’s face, twisting his scars and contorting his mouth. The bulbous fist clenched until Minythrin could hear the sharp sound of knuckles cracking. Before he could prepare himself for the incoming hit, the handsome man he had looked upon cut in.

“My apologies, Syr.” He said with a thin voice covered in a silky tone. Without looking at his friend he placed a scrawny hand on the man’s shoulder. “Ergoth here doesn’t know how to approach people of your status,” Even if Minythrin was a tad affected by the strong spirits he had drunk, he could still see the shiny teeth which made up the man’s charming smile. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he could help feeling flattered by the man’s insistence upon calling him Syr. Could it be that this man had some common sense?

“I’m Delirion,” He put the scrawny hand forward towards Minythrin. The dozens of rings sparkled in the light from the oil lamps. Many of them sported insignias from houses Minythrin hadn’t seen before.

“Minythrin,” His voice trembled, but he managed to calm himself. “Minythrin ul’Dehraa,” Delirion once again gave him the smile. He put out an arm towards the seats.

“Your reputation is well known. Me and my fellow travelers are well acquainted with what the famed sorcerer of Oxydia has accomplished”

Reluctantly Minythrin placed himself between a seat between two of Delirions companions.

“All that was a long time ago,” He bit his lip. That was the first time he’d admitted doing something wrong. “Here, I’m only a simple Auratender,” He added, swallowing the sour notes of humbleness.

The troll like man had joined them. His face contorted at the sound of Minythrins explaining. _Maybe this dimwitted buffoon knows how horrible this job is?_ He contemplated to himself. _Maybe there’s some hope in that thick skull of his after all?_

For a long time, Delirion looked at him. No words escaped the mans thin-lipped mouth. Around them, Minythrin noticed how the main room suddenly had emptied, and he was left with the foreigners.

“We need you to do something for us,” Delirion suddenly shifted. His calm demeanor was gone, leaving only a sinister man. “It is well known that you’re the only one who once came close to ending the Oxydian bloodline once and for all,” Delirion leaned in on him. “Do you think you can do that again?” It wasn’t just his demeanor that had shifted. His smile had also changed. Somehow the white teeth in his face didn’t seem to sparkle. Instead, they almost seem to rot in front of Minythrin.

“I promised myself not to dabble in those arts ever again, syr,” The answer soured every bit of his mouth. To be honest, he couldn’t remember anything he’d rather do than place his fingers on the ancient instruments he once had. Valuable barometers, shiny thermometers for measuring the amount of bile and blood in a person, intricate machinery with which he could indulge in observing the souls on the other side of the veil. All those were confiscated once his little mistake had been unearthed.

Delirion snapped his fingers. Before Minythrin could react, a bulging burlap sack were placed in front of him.

“Would a thousand gold coins change your mind?” He smiled once again. That slimy smile. Minythrin bid his lip. The sack contained an easy way for him to get back home. But to accept that gift, he also had to do something for Delirion, something he had made a sworn oath not to do again.

“I must disappoint you,” He stood up from where he sat, the stool scraping against the wooden floor. “I made a promise, and I intend to stay true to it”. He lifted his glass, downed the blue liquid before he bid the men farewell. If Delirion and his men were angry, they didn’t show it. Instead Delirion nodded coldly. The next thing came out of the blue. Before he had time to react, the troll-like man stood in front of him, blocking the exit. All around them the crowd had silenced, leaving the room in an eerie atmosphere.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a saying in this,” Delirion had risen from his chair. Threatening sparks flickered around his fingertips. The alcohol had compromised Minythrins ability to detect the magical race that hailed from the Amarald Kingdom.

“If I were you, Minythrin, I would consider doing exactly what we tell you to. You see,” he continued as the troll-like man stepped aside, making room for his master to stand in front of Minythrin. It was only at this moment, Minythrin realized how tall the man was. “The Empress lies at her deathbed desperately grasping at straws to stay alive. We, in the Kingdom can’t let this opportunity slip between our fingers. We have spies placed at the Oxydian Court but so far, they have been fruitless in killing the Empress,” He stepped closer to Minythrin until his breath reached him. “This concoction you once made to the heir, was the closest we ever got to wipe the stench of that damned bloodline out of Oxydia, so you better do it again,” The man smiled. The hideous smile with rotting teeth and foul breath.

At this moment, Minythrin were ready to give up. He was about to let the words slip out from behind his teeth, but before he could, the troll-like man fell to the floor, hard and with a scream that made the timber walls shake. Delirion jumped back, wild flare in his eyes.

“What’s going on!?” He screamed wildly. From his robes he had pulled out a curved dagger, encrusted with bloodred rubies on the dark hilt. “Show yourself!”

In the ensuing chaos that had erupted in the tavern, Minythrin managed to slip away from his captures. One by one, the company of Delirion seemed to fall like fireflies, all with the same fuming wound in the back of their bodies. Delirion himself stabbed wildly at smoke; his face contorted in fear.

The ruckus from the ordeal, lingered all the way out to the alleyway. Minythrin felt the insides of his stomach turn and tumble. Whatever had happened in there, surely had saved him from an almost certain death. He slumped towards the wall of the cobblers’ workshop next to the tavern, gasping for air. His fractured mind reeling.

_Why did they come for me? _He asked himself. Hadn’t he been punished enough for his crimes? He placed the palms of his wrinkled hands over his eyes, pressing until his vision turned black. It hadn’t been his intentions to kill the poor boy, yet it was what had happened that fateful day, 20 years ago…

“You need to be more careful,” The voice pierced through his thoughts and made him jump. There were no one around. It was like the voice echoed through the air. “I mean, I can’t be around to save you all the time, can I?” He got to his feet. Trembling and cold, but still alive. In the distance he could hear the noise from the tavern.

“I didn’t ask for your help Amma,” He dusted himself off. “Though I must say that you outdid yourself this time,” Even if he didn’t like it, the girl continued to impress him.

With a swooshing sound a small figure appeared in the alley. If he wasn’t used to the girl already, he would have been startled by her appearance alone. Where most of the inhabitants on the isles had smooth olive blushed skin, this lanky girl had scales across every part of her body. Her nose, flat almost nonexistent covered most of her round face and the eyes shone like small medallions in the sun. She wore what to him were the most ill-fitting garment he had ever seen. The rose-colored fabric dragged across the sandstone and the belt did nothing for her.

“Haven’t I told you to stay out of my business?” He went down on one knee, looking the girl in the eyes. Even though he felt a certain amount of irritation, he couldn’t help smiling. “Sooner or later you’re gonna end up like the rest of your kind,” He pinched the girls scaly cheek.

“A simple thank you would be nice, sir,” Amma scowled crossing her arms across her chest. Minythrin turned around. He needed to get home. He needed to get back to the work he still had to finish.

“Thank you,” he said dryly. He didn’t look the girl in the eye. He didn’t have to. He could feel how the girls face almost split open in a jolly smile.

She followed him home. Even if he paced along the streets and alleyways in a tempo only a grown man could keep up with, she somehow managed to keep up. _Damn those dragons _he thought to himself. If he hadn’t been so damn kindhearted that night when he arrived at the isles, he wouldn’t have to tolerate that girl.

“By the way,” She panted as she ran up beside him. “Who were those men back in the tavern?” She stared wide eyed at him as she tagged along down the narrow Ash-alley. “They seemed to know you?”

Minythrin inhaled the warm afternoon air before given her an answer.

“Just someone I knew from back home, nothing for you to be concerned ‘bout” He went down the last part of his way home, before he felt a joyful feeling when his modest home came into view. The house he had gotten when he arrived was indeed modest. The main building was placed atop a small hill facing out over the ocean. The roof, basic tin with a shimmering quality to it, were holed in places but he had covered them with weathered metal of suspicious quality.

“Well, they were indeed ‘very’ familiar,” Amma implied sarcastically, biting her lip before continuing. “But isn’t it normal for your species to greet each other with love when you have been apart for a long time?” Sometimes her ignorance bordered on the adorable. Dragons weren’t exactly known for their affection towards each other, it was more like _out of the nest, out on your own_.

“It’s not like that girl,” Minythrin sneered. The slope uphill was tough. Especially now that his age had begun to set in. “Where I come from, there are certain rules everyone has to follow, if they don’t it’s over for you,” They finally reached the top of the slope, facing towards the door. It was a door in need of repair, but it seemed like he never got around to doing it. He placed the key in the hole, twisting slowly before pushing. Amma followed him in, and before he could protest, she placed herself in the great armchair near the fireplace.

He immediately went to prepare dinner for himself. Amma could fend for herself, and anyway she didn’t look to be starving.

“I have another question,” Amma straightened herself in the chair. “I heard the men talk about the Empress of Oxydia, they wanted to kill her or something, and I wondered, is that something you did before you came to the islands?” Her excitement was palpable, so much so that Minythrin felt it across his heart. _Why does she have so many damn questions._