Jaryd
This chapter introduces a new character, who I find very interesting, personally.
Also, there is a brief, explicit scene towards the end of this chapter. Just warning you now. I'm not breaking the pace to warn you later.
Such a beautiful night in Teirm. The moon was glowing, the thieves were stealing. The damned ex-soldiers trying desperately to ignite hatred for the new Queen in a populace that loved her. Angvard take them all.
Life had gotten better in Teirm since Galbatorix was killed. Over the past nine years, new trade had opened with cities across Alagaesia and beyond. Hell, some ships had even travelled to the west, mapping out entirely new parts of the world. Such had never been a focus under the Empire, but the Kingdom wanted to gain knowledge of the world previously thought pointless.
Ever since that Rider, Eragon, had described is discoveries to the Queen, she was fixated on the pursuit of knowledge. Apparently, the goddamned world was round. It made sense to Jaryd, but a lot of the "great thinkers" thought it ludicrous.
Then again, Jaryd was no "great thinker." Neither was the man whose skull was currently occupied by his dagger. He was a rapist and a murderer, the dead man. An ugly fellow with no name, but enough gold to last Jaryd a long time. Angvar was pleased, for Jaryd felt nothing for the man whose blood coated his knife. The god of death would force guilt upon the killer who ended the wrong life.
Yes, Jaryd was a servant of death, the one god he knew to be real. The only god he had seen and heard, albeit not voluntarily. He only believed in what he saw, and would never allow himself to unsee death. Every time he looked into the blood drawn from a man, he would see Angvar looking back at him, emotionless.
"Perhaps Jaryd must leave this place," said Jaryd. He promptly exited through the ajar window he had entered through. Perhaps a drink was warranted. The work of the black god made men thirsty for more than blood.
And so, the man made his way to the nearest tavern, the Thirsty Nïdhwal. An upbeat place full of singing men and bawdy women. It doubled as a whorehouse in all but name, but Jaryd had no interest in such pursuits. The whores of Teirm did not need his business; they received plenty of coin from lustful sailors. The objectification of women and exploitation of their cunts did not please Jaryd, besides.
He pushed open the doors, greeted by the warmth of hearty laughter, strong wine, and plenty of light to ward off the darkness of night. Walking to the bar, he was greeted by a jovial man of great girth.
"Welcome, my boy, to the Thirsty Nïdhwal, named for the beast that took my leg, and all the blood in it. And who might you- ah, Jaryd!" He had not been focusing on his employee, instead staring at the young women behind him.
"Orys, how many times must you tell Jaryd of the sea-snake? He has heard it so many times." The fat man laughed a booming laugh, slapping his belly in glee.
"My apologies, my boy. I am a simply man with simple desires, and those desires often get the better of me. Though, you wouldn't know of such things, would you?" Jaryd's eyes narrowed at the comment, and the smile faded from Orys's lips.
"Be careful where you tread, Orys. You may be a friend of Jaryd, but he has killed or such comments." A lie. The black god would not allow him to kill for such trivial matters.
"I am sorry, truly. I sometimes forget where the boundaries lie, and say things that should be left unsaid. Forgive me." Despite his many shortcomings, the man was good one. A good friend.
"Jaryd cannot hold a grudge when so sincere an apology is given. But, perhaps a free drink would ease the pain caused by your scalding words?" Orys laughed again, nodding.
"I'd figured it would come to this," he laughed. "I suppose I do owe you, boy. You've done right by me for years. I suppose a few bottles of red would be little in comparison. He reached below the counter, pulling our a sizable bottle of crimson wine and a fine glass. Likely alien to half of the rum-guzzling sailors here, and disgusting to the other.
"A fine gift, Orys. Jaryd will savor its taste." With a friendly smile, he took the bottle and the glass, leaving his large friend to tend to his bar. Retreating to an empty table at the far corner of the bar, he began to enjoy his drink. After a glass, he barely felt a change. Good. He did not enjoy being drunk as so many others did. It dulled the senses. If Angvar called on him in such a state, he would be unable to answer with ease.
"Ooh, what a handsome man," stated a breathy, feminine voice. "And one with such fine taste in drink. Jaryd did not look up from his glass, still swirling the fluid within it around. He did not like being approached by seductresses. At least this one was out for his coin, and not his cock.
"A quiet man, too. Silent and handsome. Two better than most of the men in here." She sat down next to him, pulling her chair close to his side. "What is his name, quiet man?" She had an accent that would be exotic to any other man, but in matched Jaryd's own. An accent from an obscure island to the west called Ternabis, marked by gratuitous accentuation of s's r's.
"This man's name is Jaryd, and he knows that the woman wishes for something." He finally looked at her. She matched him, in many ways. They both had long, black hair and skin darker than most in Alagaeisa. Her eyes were green while his were grey, however, and she had a scar running across her right cheekbone.
"They say that those born with a left sword-arm are doomed to an early death," he stated. "Jaryd hopes that the one who did that to the woman will be an example for such stories." He took another sip of his wine. The woman looked surprised.
"Jaryd is a smart one," she said, smiling. "The man who hurt this woman will be held up as a cautionary tale to left-handed children for many years, after the revenge this woman took." The smile that graced her lips told Jaryd that Angvar had wished for the revenge.
"And what is the woman's name?" asked Jaryd, suddenly interested in she who shared his birthplace. Any woman who could kill with the black god's blessing was worthy of any man's attention.
"This woman's mother called her Avia, though her father called her nothing." Tragic.
"And why does Avia approach Jaryd? He had assumed that she was after his coin or his cock, but the woman seems too smart for such pursuits. She sees that Jaryd could not give either if he wished." Her hand quickly reached forward, grabbing his crotch.
"Jaryd is an interesting man, though some would hesitate to call him one. When was he cut?" Jaryd grabbed her arm, pushing it away.
"When he was a boy," he answered. "He was cut by a man who wished for longer life. The man believed that sacrifice to the black god would grant his wish, but that death would not please he who embodied it. He caused Jaryd pain instead.
"But Angvar cannot be dissuaded. When he was being prepared for torture, Jaryd heard the black god's voice. He told the boy to slip his hand through the sloppily tightened strap, and he did. He took the man's knife, and gave his first life to the god who claims all." Avia was silent for some time, taking in the story.
"The man has a painful story," she said, at last. "Avia is sorry for asking of it."
"The woman must not be sorry. This man would not have revealed it if he did not wish to. He may have consumed more wine than he intended." Avia laughed at this.
"Perhaps he has," she agreed. "Though, with such a painful price, a man deserves as much wine as he can drink."
Killing was easy, when the black god permitted. Loving was hard, as Angvar had nothing to do with it. A year had passed, and the back god had received less and less over the course of it.
Jaryd stood from his bed, putting on a pair of old trousers and waking to the balcony. He looked over Teirm, watching as men and women began to exit their homes to begin their days under the sunrise.
He would normally be asleep at this hour, reliving the moments that gave him the many scars that covered his muscular body. He had shaved his head and grown a beard months ago when someone witnessed him fleeing from a kill gone wrong. He had underestimated the amount of guards his quarry had employed. He managed to put most of them to sleep with poison, but one remained awake, a lad whom Angvar did not demand the life of.
"You are troubled, my heart," came a voice from behind. Referring to others directly was something those of Ternabis only did if they were close friends. Referring to oneself in the first person, however, was only done in the presence of lovers, children, and parents.
The woman who spoke approached him, reaching her arms around him, hugging him from behind. She stood on her toes to place her chin on his shoulder, pressing her naked body against him. She was truly a beautiful woman, and Jaryd imagined he would find her irresistibly alluring, if such was a thing he could feel.
"I am changed, my love," he stated. "I have not done my duty to Angvar in months."
"You mustn't focus on the black god all the time. There is plenty of death in the world to satiate him." She kissed his neck, and he felt the wetness between her thighs press against the back of his leg. She was full of desire, even though he was not truly a man.
He turned, locking his lips with hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself as close as possible to him. Her breasts pushed up against his chest, making her moan into his mouth at the pressure. He had learned how to pleasure her, kissing and squeezing and rubbing in the perfect places.
He grabbed her thighs and lifted her up. She locked her legs around him, still holding him as tightly as possible. Once they were at the bed, Jaryd fell on top of his lover, ending their kiss. He slowly kissed down her body, briefly stopping at the breasts, and then proceeding downwards. Eventually, he reached his final destination, and kissed Avia in such a way that made her scream his name for all the city to hear.
"Perhaps the man is joking?" asked Jaryd. "What he suggests would be folly. The black god would not allow a man to live to gain immortality if he were to die so soon."
"I don't give a damn about your gods, islander. I demand the life of the Red Rider, for what he did to my family. Will you give it to me, or must I find another?"
"The man will find no other capable of such a task," informed the killer. "This man can do as is asked, but he does not know if Angvar will permit it."
"Who cares what Angvar wants? I have gold enough to buy a city, and you are an assassin."
"He is death, and will not allow a life to end if it must continue. This man will consider your request, but can promise no more."