No One's Chosen by Randall Fitzgerald Read Free Book Online Page A

and so she sent the girl away with some strong
words. There was no money in her blood and it would complicate her
current work.
    Aile again descended the stairs from the second floor
of the alehouse. As if the gawking of the day weren't enough, now
she had some foolish little girl following her around and
attempting to rummage through her things. Aile hadn't taken her for
an enemy outright. If she had been one then at the very least the
child spy failed in whatever it was her task had been. No point
killing her when there was no gain in it.
    Arriving at the main floor landing she glanced
around, finding her table still and drink unmolested by the sweat
mob of the tavern. The untold benefits of being a living marvel in
a land full of morons, she supposed. Still, the once over of the
crowd revealed that her employer had still not made rendezvous and
she was becoming annoyed. It wasn't the atmosphere of the bar that
bothered her. The humid air hung thick in the place and with the
heat from this Goddess forsaken desert city, it actually reminded
her of the swamps of the Blackwood. It wasn't exactly comforting to
be reminded of home, but still it gave her a comfort she'd never be
like to admit to anyone.
    The Drow made her way to the small table she had
occupied before being drawn upstairs and sat down. A few stared,
they always did. A few watched her, unblinking as though she might
cast some darkling spell over them and steal their souls or cocks
or who knows what. "Over sized sots." she muttered to herself.
Still, the stairs were not worth ignoring. She poured the remnants
of her drink out on the floor and threw a hand up that the tavern
wench might bring a new drink.
    She had paid enough in gold and promised enough in
threats that she trusted they would not attempt anything untoward.
She would have been less convinced of this except when she
mentioned the name of her employer, their eyes widened. She figured
him for a man of some import based on the price he laid on the head
of the Warlord she'd felled, but now there was to be no doubt.
    The wench brought Aile another glass of the
piss-colored water that passed for drink in the south. She was
never much one for ale over wine, herself, but Goddess, there had
to be some measure of pride, surely. She took a drink, frowning, as
a thin, old elf sat down in front of her.
    "It's unbearable what southron elves allow to be
served as drink." His voice was nasal and tight. Well enunciated,
the voice of a highborn no doubt.
    "I find myself in agreement with you on that, elf."
She took another drink from the overused wooden mug and spoke. "My
work is done. I would be paid what I am owed."
    The noise of the place was such that she did not
concern herself with low voices or mixed words. None would notice
them save those that were apt to stare as it was.
    "Before I pay, I should like to discuss—"
    The look she gave was cold and filled with malice.
"Nothing comes before pay. The work is done. I would be paid."
    The old elf sat for a second, considering. Aile only
kept her gaze fixed on him, a hand on the dirk at her thigh.
Finally, he spoke. "Fine. Then might we adjourn to more private
quarters."
    The Drow shook her head wordlessly. She saw the
shoulders of the elf slump in resignation. "Fine. Have it your way,
darkling." The old man pulled a bag from his cloak and placed it
gently on her side of the table. The bag slumped as the coins
shifted into place. "There. You are paid. Now can we please
adjourn. Ignoring the private nature of this business, the smell
here is like to be the undoing of me."
    Aile lifted the bag and considered its heft. Finding
the weight acceptable, she stood and made for the stairs, the
highborn dragging behind.
    Once again she was ascending the stairs of the
alehouse. She wondered at the odds of elf blood staining the floor
of her accommodations before the end of the night. Certainly she'd
now had two more visitors than she expected and she almost trusted
the child