"Master, I am here," said the panther raggedly. "Did I do well?"
Dare's voice filtered through the sighing oak leaves. "You did well, Aga. You drove the human straight to me and played the stalking panther to perfection."
"You're most gracious, master."
"Pull out the broken blade, Aga, and I will heal you."
Paws were useless for the task, so the panther had to use his teeth. His wound burned fiercely, and he closed his jaw delicately on the ten-inch blade. With a single sideways wrench of his head, the panther warrior drew out the broken blade. His caterwaul carried far in the darkness, raising the hair on Edgur's neck as he hurried home.
Phreus left Edgur at the gates of Argivia. The young man was so excited by his night's adventure he couldn't sleep. He spent the time till dawn writing a passionate love letter to Riliana, predating it a day hence. By then Joren would be dead and Riliana his.
He knew his enemy's habits. Joren divided his evening hours among three taverns: Penkin's, the Acorn amp; Hammer, and the Midus Well. Joren and his cronies would be at Penkin's come sundown. Edgur managed to put in a full day's work at the coppersmithy, brushing off his colleagues' questions about the duel. All was well, he told Meckie and Artulle; the duel was over, and so was his love for Riliana.
He stayed late at the workshop, ostensibly to repair a double boiler sent over from Tanton's distillery. When the shop was dark and empty, he got out the emerald amulet and placed it on his worktable. Even by lamplight the gem was dazzling. Though the surface was smooth, the amulet was faceted internally like a star, each line cleaving from the center to the outside edge. The color was deep and dark, with gold highlights fracturing off the inner facets.
Edgur donned his good jacket and placed the amulet in the inside pocket. He slipped his letter to Riliana under a pile of guild correspondence going out in the morning. The city watch announced the hour. It was time to go.
Penkin's was at the bottom of a steep hill near the harbor. Argivia's harbor had steep, bowl-shaped sides. All the warehouses and businesses catering to the sea trade were sited down in the bowl, while the landlubber residents inhabited the high ground above the harbor. Penkin's was a typical waterfront dive, a gaming house as well as a tavern, much frequented by sea captains and foreign traders. Edgur trod down the steep cobblestone lane, the shore breeze blowing in his face as he went.
He thought about the first time he met Riliana, at the guildhall of the coppersmiths during the Feast of Fruits. He'd not wanted to go, but Meckie, Artulle, and the other journeymen chided and teased him for two weeks until he sullenly decided to attend. Normally he didn't like formal events. Graybeard guildmasters made windy speeches while he suffered in the stiff, uncomfortable guild uniforms. Edgur forgot all that when he beheld Riliana.
Her hair was black as onyx, and her enormous dark eyes spoke of wit, kindness, and passion. He was smitten, and he followed her around the hall like a marionette. She was good-natured about it and even consented to dance with him. Their one slow caper was the most wonderful six minutes of his life. The idyll ended when Joren showed up. Riliana introduced the big sap as her fiance. Joren monopolized Riliana for the rest of that night.
But Edgur didn't give up just because she was engaged. He contrived ways to return to his master's house and steal brief moments with her.
"What will you do if my father catches you loitering here?" Riliana once asked him.
"I'll tell him I love his daughter," Edgur replied simply.
She smiled. "Shouldn't you tell her first?"
Edgur ran straight into the broad back of a sailor idling at the red brick quayside. Muttering apologies, the youth got his bearings and realized he'd walked ten yards past Penkin's tavern. He quickly doubled back. It was still early, and the house was not yet full. Edgur skirted the patrons at the bar and took a dark booth in the corner, facing out so he could see whoever came in. Though he preferred Penregon beer, Argivia was a wine town, so Edgur nursed a flagon of muddy Korlisian burgundy and waited for his rival to appear.
He was in the dregs when Joren and four cronies entered, laughing and calling loudly for dice. The young blades cut a swath through the other gamblers clustered around the dice and card tables. Edgur watched Joren bet and lose more money in a single pass of the dice than he earned in a year.
Wastrel. Spendthrift. And he had the nerve to lay claim to Riliana's hand!
Quite unconsciously he found himself stalking toward Homdallson's heir, flagon hanging at his side, dribbling drops of blood-red wine on the holystoned floor. One of Joren's pals spotted Edgur and dug a warning elbow in his friend's ribs.
Joren straightened, dice poised in his hand. "What are you trying to do, jinx me?" he said. Conversation died when the rest of the gamblers spied Edgur. His grim countenance was plain evidence he'd not come to join the game.
"You?" Joren said breezily. "What do you want?"
"I want you to renounce Riliana."
Joren frowned. "Are you mad? Is that your problem?" To his friends he said, "Here, I beat the poor fool in a pitiful duel that would do shame to a street fair, and he has the gall to accost me in public and demand I give up my fiancee. Now, I ask you, is this man mad or what?"
"He looks distracted," said one of Joren's cronies, "or drunk."
"Give her up, you worthless filth, or the gods themselves will take vengeance on you!" Edgur cried.
"Five korls to anyone who removes this annoyance from my presence," Joren said, bored. A dozen sailors and stevedores rose from their benches, eager to comply.
One of Joren's friends, a dark-skinned Jamuraan, slapped another fellow on the arm and said, "Let's you and me do it, Varno. We'll save Joren five korls. "
Varno, a rugged-looking fellow who wore the emblem of the stonecutter's guild, stood up and replied, "Oh, no. If I do Joren's dirty work, I want the money!"
They advanced on Edgur, who swung his pottery flagon at the Jamuraan. He wore a gold-chased headband, and the cup shattered against it. Before Edgur could put up his hands to fight, Varno knocked him to the floor. There among the boots and slippers of the dice table patrons, he was kicked and hammered by Joren's friends. The beating abruptly ended when Penkin's bar-keep and some of the burly hired help intervened.
"Who started it?" snapped the barkeep, tapping a well-worn oak cudgel against the palm of his hand.
"He did, " said Joren, tossing the man a coin and pointing to Edgur. The coppersmith was curled up in a ball on the floor.
"Right!" With a nod, the barkeep signaled his boys to remove the offender. They grabbed Edgur by his heels and dragged him out the door behind the bar to the profane cheers of the customers.
In the alley out back, the Penkin bouncers beat Edgur with staves, even though he did not fight back or speak out. The barkeep finally ordered them to stop, saying, "Nobody makes trouble in my place. You come here again, you're a dead man. "
The back door slammed shut. Dazed, bleeding from a gash over his right eye, Edgur blazed with inner fury. He propped himself up against the rear wall of the alley and fumbled in his coat with aching fingers for the emerald. Before, he just wanted Joren out of the way. Now he was going to exact a less discriminating revenge.
He found the heavy stone and clasped it to his chest. He wasn't sure exactly how it worked, and he assumed when the time came the transformation would be automatic. For a long time nothing seemed to happen. Edgur clutched the stone so tightly the sharp edges cut into his fingers. One thought raced through his mind: Change. Change. Change!
Raucous laughter filtered through the dark brick walls. The beating and ejection of one poor journeyman didn't disturb Penkin's patrons. Edgur blinked through swollen eyelids at the rear door, four planks strapped with black iron. He struggled to his feet. The emerald slipped from his grip and fell to the dirty cobbles.