Citadel of Nightmares

At first glance, the magistrate’s drinking companions appeared to be trappers, but while their mismatched leathers and woolen tunics and vests supported that illusion, their eyes swept the hall, and they sat around the table in such a way as to keep the room under constant surveillance. Each had one hand under the table as well. One of the men, the only smooth-faced member of the group, watched Logan’s approach. You’re no trapper, Logan thought. The brutes paid him no mind, but Logan noted the slight shifting of position and tightening of muscle under their tunics. Logan stopped at the table and smiled cheerfully. “Good evening, gentlemen! I’ve traveled a long way to speak with a Magistrate Chudakat.” He waved his mug at Chudakat, spilling some of the drink on the table. “I’m guessing you be he?” The magistrate looked up at Logan with blank red eyes. Oh, great. He’s drunk to boot. The man closest to Logan pushed back his chair and stood, glaring down into his face. “He is, yes, but the magistrate is dealing with us. We’re going to claim the bounty, so you can just travel off someplace else, and that will be the end of that. Yes?” His breath stank of dark mead and peppered meat. Unlike the other men glaring at him, the smooth-faced “trapper” calmly enjoyed his drink. Clearly, this was the leader. The man next to him appeared ready to spring into action at the first word. No doubt there was a weapon in his hand under the table. This was not what Logan wanted. “I seek only a word with the magistrate and a night’s rest. Take whatever bounty you want. It’s no matter of mine. Your next rounds are on me,” he offered. Logan attempted to step around the bruiser, toward Chudakat, but the large man shoved him back, revealing a dagger in his hand. He pointed it at Logan’s face. “Don’t brush me aside, road rat! I’ve gutted bigger men for less.” The nearest tables quickly evacuated. All eyes in the hall were now on them. “Hey! Take it outside if you have a problem!” Nelamie called from the bar. “There’s no problem,” Logan responded over his shoulder. The bruiser waved the dagger. “Oh, you have a problem, road rat. You have two choices: out with you or out with me. Yes?” The diplomatic approach was clearly not working, and Logan’s rain-soaked undergarments were riding up his ass. Time for a more direct approach. He cleared his mind and felt a tingle build behind his eyes. He let it grow, concentrated on it, willed it to connect his consciousness with the energies flowing invisibly around them. A surge of power spread through his body, not too dissimilar to the sensation of the fire drink he had downed moments ago. “You want a fight?” Logan raised his right hand and focused on the fireplace. He mentally recited a spell, sensed how each step, each spark of thought, manipulated magical energies, like a skilled thief sensing the tripped tumblers of a lock. A mere moment passed, and the tumblers aligned. The spell was unleashed. A stream of fire shot from the fireplace. It streaked over the heads of shocked patrons; some even dived to the floor for cover. The fire smacked into Logan’s open palm and condensed into a fast-spinning ball. “Make your move. Yes?” Logan said, holding the fireball for all to see. Startled murmurs of “Mage!” filled the hall. The bruiser’s eyes remain fixed on Logan. “You don’t scare me, Magus scum. You still bleed like the rest of us. Let’s go!” “That’s it!” Nelamie bellowed from the bar. “Only I spill blood inside my place!” She hopped over the bar and landed with a thump on the hardwood floor. “Talons!” Savage cries rang from the shadows above the dragonhawk, and three sleek shapes leaped out. The velociraptors landed on the bar and paced the granite top. Their long, curved claws clicked and scratched the stone. Feathered crests ran from their heads along their sleek five-foot bodies to the ends of their tails. They snarled at the terrified, wide-eyed patrons. “All right, now I get the name,” Logan said. Nelamie smirked and leaned back against the bar. One of the velociraptors affectionately nuzzled her cheek with its snout. “What do you say, mage? You think you can take out my babies before they gut you and your friends?” Logan considered the situation. The raptors were behind him. They watched him, poised, ready to dash, while the bruiser waved his dagger in Logan’s face. “Yes,” Logan said. Nelamie’s smirk faltered. “But I came here to talk, not fight.” He waved his hand, and the fireball vanished in a puff of smoke.