The Scourge of Gods

CHAPTER EIGHT

Eriden glided into the colorful crowds of Summoner's Circle, knocking elbows with fat-pursed patrons, merchants, and the occasional dirty vagabond. Boots and heels clacked against the floorboards of the winding transportation marina. It was the largest district in New Helena, an international crossroads of sorts, boasting hundreds of different pentacles leading to every major location in the hidden magi kingdom.

Cantankerous street urchins spilled out of the city's alleys, their fingers attracted to the generous pockets of foreign travelers. Traffickers hawked their pentacles, to Daroo's underwater colonies to Lon Monbasa's islet town. Commander Vardinon had told Eriden that one of the mercenaries would find him here. In such sprawling chaos, he didn't know how that would happen, but the men that hired him had their ways.

Because he was being watched.

Eriden always kept a certain spell on his person at all times. When someone stared at him long enough, he could actually feel their gaze through the threads of his battle robe. It was delicate and uncertain glyphwork. Lingering stares were uncommon, but passed by Eriden sooner or later. He's learned to distinguish such looks. However, his robe had been vibrating softly for several minutes now, sending an uneasy tingle up his spine.

He placed a casual hand on the hilt of his obsidian-edged saber, one of six attached to his belt, each inlaid with a certain special ability. The particular one Eriden gripped would give his victim uncontrollable retching at a single cut. A stray shoulder dug into his side.

He jumped. Half of his saber shot out of its sheathe. The fat man that jostled him sped away and the weapon slid back down. Eriden's robe continued to pulsate. He cursed. His stalker now knew he was anxious, maybe even suspected Eriden knew he was being watched. This was ridiculous. Why doesn't the mercenary reveal himself?

Eriden would just have to do all the work. He slipped out of the surge of bodies and stepped outside a beggar-ridden alleyway off the docks, out in the open so that his stalker could keep staring. Standing in litter and rotten fruit, the thrumming of his threads increased. Another gaze was locked onto him. A weak whistle dribbled into his ear and Eriden turned around.

A grizzled old cadger with a lazy eye was ogling him. "What a fine, handsome, young lad ye are," he said, giving Eriden a yellow smile. "Would ye fancy travelin' to Vedania? I can surely send ye there for two gold monarchs."

Eriden frowned. There definitely was a pentacle painted blue onto the pavement, but it was cracked and faded, resembling more of an oval than a circle. He shivered just thinking about stepping into that monstrosity. If the reverse-summoning pentacle wasn't made correctly, the traveler risked bodily harm, even death.

"I wouldn't stick my foot in there even if it was free, old man," said Eriden.

Before the beggar had a chance to curse him out, Eriden tossed him a bronze shekel, good enough to buy him bread, worthless enough so that another wouldn't slit his throat for it. He turned around, watching the crowds pass him by. He was still being watched. Two could play this game, and a blood ghoul would always win.

Eriden closed his eyes, releasing his mind into the masses.

The beat of hearts and a wind of thoughts pressed against his psyche as he wove his way, formless, into the heads of those around him. Sights flashed before him. A perfumed lady leered at a group of sweaty men haggling with a stubborn mage. A sub-aquatic farmer looked into the eyes of a foolish customer as he peddled his rotten oysters.

Eriden drifted further, following the trail, seeing what these people were seeing. If he saw a focused image of himself, he'd catch the culprit. He drifted through a good many men and women, seeing himself several times, but he was far away. That meant that they weren't actually staring at him. About to give up, his clear image appeared before him. His long, black locks. His crimson battle robe. His pale, dimpled face, up close.