Legends of Belariath
Jelt
Falling Down
The smoke hung in the air as the four sat around the card table. It was a poor tavern in a poor town. Gambling, liquor and whoring were the main sources of income. After that night, it would be all the poorer.
Of the four who sat, only two were truly playing. One a scruffy, burly dock-worker by the name of Ollithair who was known for walking home with the winnings one way or another. The other was a scrawny stranger who despite looking like a strong wind would knock him over, had most of the money in front of him. The other two, cut-throats in arms with Ollithair sat grumbling, neither able to afford the high-stakes the game had turned into.
"Well cripple, you in or out?" growled Ollithair. Calysto smirked, seeming to find his reflection in the wine he'd steadily been consuming to be of more interest than the game at hand. Before he could respond, a slender pair of arms slid over his shoulders and moved down his chest. The hauntingly beautiful visage of his slave came up over his shoulder and pressed tenderly close to his cheek.
The others at the table shifted slightly, gazing upon her with undisguised lust. She moved with a fluid grace that drew the eyes to her generous curves, which were barely covered by a translucent spider-silk robe. As soon as she'd entered the room, the tavern whores had been forgotten, which was just as well since one sharp look from her golden eyes had sent them scurrying away from the card game.
Her full, luscious red lips grazed over his ear and she whispered in a voice as soft as a night breeze, "Master... I'm bored..." Her tongue flicked out over his ear as her hair fell to conceal her face from prying eyes. That was when her voice dropped lower, "And that filthy worm haucker is bluffing..."
Calysto chuckled and nodded, "Quite right my dear, the hour is late and the road is long." With that he pushed half of his fortune into the center of the table and raised his gray eyes to Ollithair's. "Your move, sir.." Rather than even show his losing hand, the dock worker swore and surged up from the table, leveling a crossbow at Calysto. "Cheatin' son of a bitch!"
Neither Calysto nor his slave seemed overly impressed with the display of bravado. Calysto finished off the wine, then tilted his head back. "Why, whatever do you mean? I take it you're unhappy with the hands fate has dealt you?" "Fate nothing he scrawny little bastard! You're going straight to Hell... and if your slut doesn't want to follow you she'd best become more accommodating." Calysto glanced up at her, then laughed slightly and turned back to his empty glass. "A duel for her honor then? I accept."
A flash of light burst from underneath the table. Ollithair screamed and discharged the crossbow as he fell. The bolt sailed across the table to thud into the woman's chest. She merely shivered in delight as she gazed down at the shaft protruding from her pale flesh.
The man to Calysto's right lunged to his feet with a knife in hand, but was stopped by a hand to the cheek by the slave. Her eyes were no longer golden, but bright red. The smile she wore gripped at his heart like a fist, and even though Ollithair was still screaming like a banshee, her soft tones cut through the noise. "Why don't you be a good boy and sit down?" A soul-chilling cold spread over her hand and into his body, dropping him like a stone to the floor, where he lay shaking.
The Duessa slave, Jelt, glanced over to the remaining man, but he was staring in shock at the bolt which was still stuck in her chest. She grinned then skipped over to look at the blubbering Ollithair as her Master raked the coins into their travel bag.
"Ooooh!! Cally, you've struck him right in the balls!" Calysto raised a brow, then hobbled around the table on his bad leg to get a look. Sure enough, there was a smoldering crater where Ollithair's loins had been. "Oh, I apologize," Calysto said in a conversational tone as he eased himself down, "I was aiming for your knee."
He drew a dagger from his belt, then looked up at Jelt. Her eyes were wide and heated, her nipples hard under the thin lair of silk. A few weeks ago she had to encourage him to such acts, but upon discovering how it excited her he was all too willing to oblige her dark tastes.
The blade sunk deep into the dock worker's eye with a satisfying crunch, then the body went still. Jelt whimpered as her hips began to tremble. Without a word she grabbed her Master and all but carried him across the floor and out of the tavern.
With the ease at which they had won, the casual way Ollithair had been butchered... Nobody thought to peruse them.