Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One by Travis I. Sivart

Kaht was ready to launch herself into the night and report back to Grenedal.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7: Dark Passages
     
    “Men’s heart can be harder than a stone, colder than the soil buried miles underground, or hotter and more passionate than molten lava.”
    Jonath, God of Honor and the Element of Earth
     
     
    5854 – Thon – Jordar – Lasin
     
    The fat man grinned at Rogen and Cite with a greasy smile. Sweat stained the man’s shirt under his rough vest, and his thinning hair was held down with too much pomade. His finger caressed the trigger of the crossbow like a lover and his other hand was below the table. Rogen’s shorter stature allowed him to see the small box with a button in the center that secured to the underside of the table. He glanced at the walls and his experience with construction showed him the seams of the hidden doorways that most would miss. Rogen sighed and took a step forward.
    “Uh uh,” said the man at the table, “state your name and your business.”
    “Jorjen, you know who I am and, considering all things, I think you know why I am here,” Rogen said, annoyed. The man at the table looked crestfallen.
    “Aw, come on! Say it, I don’t get much to do and it wouldn’t hurt you to say it,” Jorjen replied and Rogen heard a quiet snicker from behind one of the panels. The Rokairn sighed again.
    “Fine. I am Rogen the Plague, Master of the Great Desert Empire. I am here on official business and will rip your damned throat out if you do not quit fucking around and let me past to see Curls,” Rogen growled and watched the man tense and heard another snicker from behind the panel.
    “Ok, no need to get upset. I was going to let you by,” the fat man whined. “Did you bring Emerald? I would love to see her again if she has the time.”
    “No, I did not. Now signal the door so we can get on with our business,” Rogen demanded and stepped forward, followed by Cite. They passed the man and the table before Jorjen could say anything else.
    Cite thought Rogen would walk into the wall, but a panel opened to the right of the man and swung towards the two approaching men. Rogen pulled it open with one hand, and shoved Cite through, and mumbled, “Watch your step,” as Cite tripped on the ledge where the door did not come all the way to the floor. Rogen stepped over the ledge and into the room and slammed the panel shut while glaring back into the room at Jorjen.
    The room opened into a grand foyer, which looked like a storeroom blended with a gaudy whorehouse. Velvet divans sat at various angles in the room, some occupied by the room’s occupants. Golden candelabra guttered and oil lamps filled with incense lit the room and gave it a smoky heat that caused their eyes to water and their bodies to sweat in the closeness. Rolled canvases sat on the floor in stacks, or leaned against the wall in ornate frames. Beautifully carved tables stood against any wall that didn’t have stacks of boxes, portraits, or a couch. The tables had fine crystal decanters, glasses, and other various valuable goods scattered about them.
    A large bald man stood just inside the doorway and looked down on the two newcomers. He wore loose billowing pants, a leather waist cincher and wrist cuffs, and a frown. He nodded at Rogen and went back to watching the room. Three women were in the room, two sitting on couches and one standing at the bar that dominated the far wall. One thin man with rheumy eyes puffed gently on a hookah and sat between the two women. He wore a short silk robe, ornately embroidered with storks, which had fallen open to reveal his nudity. The women wore similar robes, leaned on the thin man, kissed his neck, and ran their bright fingernails down his body. The blonde one stood and sauntered to the bar, and poured brandy into a large snifter. Rogen noted two hallways, one on either side of the bar, which led down darkened hallways.
    “Curls,” Rogen said, nodding at the man