Viper's Creed (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) by Shreffler T. L

Author:Shreffler, T. L. [Shreffler, T. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Runaway Pen
Published: 2012-10-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Crash watched as Sora fell asleep. Her tiredness overcame her suddenly. He was surprised that it hadn't struck sooner—they had been traveling at a relentless pace since recovering the hilt.

She was beautiful when she slept, her face soft and open. He had the unexpected urge to touch her smooth skin, but he didn't let himself think of that. Instead, he changed his clothes, added a few daggers to his belt, and grabbed her satchel out of her room.

When he had recovered the bag from the bandits, he had found a letter inside it, along with the hilt. By the crispness of the paper, he knew the letter was recent, perhaps only a month old. It was a request for information. Three drawings of the sacred weapons, instructions on what to do if they were found... and a reward. It was sheer coincidence that the sword hilt had landed in the bandit's hands... but not so coincidental that the Shade were looking for it.

Speak to the owner of the Fine Pointe Tavern. He will give you further directions, the note read.

Crash could vaguely remember the Fine Pointe. Despite its highbrow name, it was a dirty little pub on the waterfront at the south end of town, or the “sunken end,” as the citygoers called it. He had lived in Delbar for several months, back when he first left the Hive. It was a good place to get lost, filled to the brim with criminals, lowlifes, and unknown faces from exotic lands. He had once entertained the thought of catching a ship overseas, perhaps to the distant kingdoms in the West, where they said the deserts stretched on endlessly and the jungles were deep and fierce.

But he had gone to Crowns instead, the King's city, where he had been contracted to kill Volcrian's brother, ultimately sealing his fate.

Crash slid out of the hotel room and down the hall, taking a separate staircase meant for hotel workers only. It led him down three flights, past the kitchen and out into the stable yard. None of the workers glanced in his direction. Dressed in smart blue uniforms, they ran back and forth, carrying buckets and tack or hay for the horses.

He stepped out onto the street and headed toward the “sunken end” of town. True to its name, the city of Delbar was built on a slight incline, with the streets wending at a vague, downward slant. Because of this, the debris and refuse would wash down to the “sunken end” with each rain. That included human scum, as well.

He walked until the ships by the dock became low and grungy, some withered by age or abandoned in disrepair. The further he went, the shabbier the houses became, until he passed hollow buildings with roofs built from reed mats. The people changed too. The bright colors became washed out, the clothes were rattier, older. Barefoot children ran along the street, carrying sticks and rope, shouting and playing. Eventually he found his way to a small tavern, propped up between a shipping yard and an abandoned warehouse.

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