The Grey Ring

A story told by Tad…

Tad peered nervously into the thick air of the Sel-kai night, cursing his own greed for agreeing to make a midnight run for Divad Taminger. The lazy Tavernkeep was probably snug in his bed with one of his many girlfriends even now, while poor Tad Kontran shivered alone in the clammy night. He scowled. No good feeling sorry for m’self, he admonished, and heaved hard on the wet pole, rounding the corner off the Blood Canal and onto Lavender Way, into the Old City. At least I dumped off those kegs for Div, now if I can jus’ get home before— But Tad was not get make it to his own bed without some adventure tonight. His body went stiff as he heard a great splash not thirty feet ahead along the western side, just around a slight turn of the canal. Someone had fallen—or been pushed—into the putrid water. Grim for the swimmer, as there were few landings on this stretch of the Lavender. Tad, not wanting to get entangled in case the victim had been helped into the cold water, let his skiff slow in the languid current. Fortunately, he was in relative dark while the area ahead was lit by a pool of dim lamplight. The splashing didn’t last long, but when Tad allowed his boat to round the curve he discovered that the incident was far from over.

Two men stood on a narrow landing about three feet above the water (it was late fall and the rains had been light the last few weeks; the Sharhya was running pretty low). Tad heard the bulkier of the two men begging for mercy, while the other held him by the collar. The other had long black hair, with a silver streak at the temple—and as the light flickered of the rippling water Tad could plainly see his ears. He was an Elf all right, a Loari he guessed. Then the Elf hefted that poor sot up off his feet with one hand like he weighed nothing and held him out over the canal.

“It’s a little late to ask for mercy from me, don’t you think?” The Elf’s beautiful voice held a razor edge.

“I-I’ll never kill again, sir!” The man fairly whimpered, wringing his gnarled hands.

“Unlikely. But I’ll leave you to the judgement of the Sharhya. Should you survive, I suggest you inform your bosses of my displeasure. Also know this: the Grey Ring will never forget your crime.”

“No—!” But the man’s last plea was cut off as he dropped into the cold waters. He cried and splashed for a few moments, but was clearly not a swimmer. He gulped canal water and soon there was nothing but ripples and black waves slapping against stone foundations. Tad remained riveted to the spot, his pole dug into the mud.

The Elf looked up, his bright glance going right to where the youth lurked. His lips curled into a humorless smile. “Better get home, boy; the canals are no place for you at night.” Then he vanished.

When he could control his trembling, Tad poled to his room above Bryon’s Wainwright shop in record time.