The Unseen Hand

Ch 17: The Catch

Mir'kadi, Tenth of Sund'im, 445 A'A'diel

The silence of the cave had made it impossible to sleep. Jarle was used to the nighttime crowds that frequented The Stallion, the uproarious music of the bards, the stomping of the dancers, and Doshmaan's hollers for more spirits to be hauled up from the cellars. By the time dawn lit up the sky, Jarle had twice counted the roots that dipped into the pool and twice cursed his fate. Stealing from Tan'os Ensther was the worst idea he'd ever hatched.

It was near midday by the time Jarle eased himself into a seated position. His ribs ached, and his stomach felt like a bubbling cauldron. He dug his fingers into his thighs and massaged the tendons in his legs. Pins and needles assaulted his flesh. Sensation slowly returned.

Jarle wiggled his toes and circled his ankles. If he was lucky, the poison would work itself out of his body, and he would regain full mobility. If he was not, his days of prowling the streets would be over. He would be left hunched and trembling like Old Man Warrick after his wife had accidentally poisoned the stew.

Jarle unlaced the front of his breeches and pushed his pants down over his hips. The leather had stiffened in the salty water and clung uncomfortably to his legs. Every tug caused pain to rip through his chest, but despite his suffering, Jarle smiled. He hadn't seen the girl in almost a day, but the potion she had given him, had improved his condition considerably. He still felt queasy from having swallowed too much water, and his body ached, but at least, the crippling paralysis had ended.

Free of the waterlogged pants, Jarle leaned back on his hands and caught his breath. Above his head, clouds rolled, and the foliage that lined the opening of the cave rustled in the breeze. With the sun's arrival, the moonflowers, which had released their heady fragrance during the night, had begun to close. Somewhere in the distance, the roar of a beast joined the sounds of the waking jungle. Howls, chirps, and birdsong unlike any Jarle had ever heard, filled the silence.

Looking at his pants, Jarle frowned. The leather was caked with sea salt and coarse to the touch. Carelessly tossed in a pile, the rest of his gear had fared no better. His once-supple cuirass, gloves, and sleeves had dried in a crumpled, dirty heap. If he hoped to wear any of his armor again, he needed to find a way to rinse it in fresh water. But to do that, he needed to walk.

Jarle bit down the urge to scream as he rolled to his knees. He massaged his muscles until his legs felt like hollow logs crawling with wood mites. With blood flowing, he willed himself to stand. He had almost succeeded when he noticed a shadow gliding beneath the water.

Losing his balance, Jarle fell back on the pebbly shore. His stomach knotted as the arc of a black-scaled tail broke the surface of the pool. Visions of black tentacles and burning eyes; of desperate gulps of air, and the sea's unwelcoming coldness assaulted his thoughts. The girl, or sea monster, or whatever she was, could not be trusted.

Jarle reached for his dagger and stared in awe at the woman's transformation.

Avaren's contours wavered beneath the water as she glided to the water's edge. She emerged naked, her long hair streaming over her shoulders and buttocks. Powerful tails splashed in the shallows sending sparkling droplets scattering in all directions. When she rose, seeming more like a goddess than a flesh and blood woman, Jarle felt his jaw grow slack.

Rivulets of water trickled over Avaren's face, dripping down onto the full, firm globes of her breasts. Jarle stared, transfixed as droplets beaded at her nipples, before tracking over her taut belly. In one hand, she held a net filled with oysters, kelp and flopping fish, and in the other a dagger.

"You must be hungry," Avaren said.

Jarle's eyes caressed every inch of Avaren's flesh. He'd be thrice damned if he weren't dreaming. Standing before him was a woman so extraordinary that man might see her likeness but once in his lifetime. The desire he'd felt when he'd first caught sight of her returned in a wave of suffocating heat. He yearned to crush her breasts against his chest, spread her marble-smooth thighs and thrust into her with wild abandon. Instead, he crossed his arms over his privates, suddenly wishing he hadn't removed his breeches.