Tides of Blood and Steel (15 page)

Bahr slid from the saddle. “Dorl, Nothol, secure a room. We’ll be back within an hour. I don’t want to spend the night here. It is best if we are away as soon as possible.”

The sun was already starting to set, transforming the drab sky into an explosion of colors. Reds and purples ripped through swaths of golden yellow and orange, all tinged with a building darkness. Bahr and Boen left the sell swords to their business. Only Rekka remained with the wagon. Her exotic looks attracted attention but the wickedly curved sword at her hip was enough to deter would-be robbers, which was fortunate for them because what she lacked in the zealous lust for battle, she made up for in skill. She had yet to meet anyone in the northern kingdoms that matched her skill in battle.

Nothol Coll edged the tavern door open with a boot, scanning the room before entering. Conversations died abruptly. Heads swung their way. Nothol felt uncomfortable, but that was nothing new. He had been in this type of situation before. Hardening his face, the sell sword brushed the door open and marched over to an empty table off in the corner. He subconsciously picked a spot that funneled potential enemies in from the front and gave him a secure backing. A plump barmaid missing half of her teeth came to take their orders. Her fingernails were broken and dirty.

“What will it be?” Her voice was the sound of steel being dragged over loose gravel and she smelled of rancid food and unclean bedding.

“Ale and whatever the meal is,” Nothol replied.

“Deer shank and boiled potatoes. That’ll be two gold pieces for you and your friends,” she said.

Nothol refrained from commenting. The girl was good. She’d raised her voice just enough so that everyone within a few tables could hear.

“If I had gold pieces I would not have stopped in Praeg.” He produced a handful of copper coins and a few silvers.

The barmaid shot him a look of disgust, but scooped up his money and disappeared.

“Quality establishment,” Dorl commented softly once they were all seated.

“We’ve been in worse.”

Dorl looked around. Smoke clung to the ceiling. The floors were stained with ale and who knew what else. What few windows there were around the walls were dim and covered with grime. A rat crept along the near wall in search of a free meal. “Not by much. I hope the others don’t take too long. This place is giving me a bad feeling.”

Their drinks came with the promise of food soon after. She had no problem sloshing a good bit of ale onto the table, as if in anger from being cheated. Ionascu struggled to grip his mug, but his broken hands made the task difficult. Finally he managed to bring the mug to his lips and he drank deeply. The ale was absolutely horrible. It burned on the way down and left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The only positive note was how it stole the early winter bite from the air. A few more drinks and the broken man wouldn’t be able to remember his name. He smiled at that.

“Take it easy with that,” Nothol growled at him, shaking his head disgustedly at the thick trickle running down Ionascu’s chin.

Ionascu glared back. “Or what?”

Lovely. This ignorant bastard wants to pick a fight
. Nothol frowned, “Just take it easy.”

Ionascu continued to glare indignantly, but kept his mouth shut. Not that it mattered. It was already too late. Between his ranting and the barmaid’s big mouth, every person in the tavern had a newfound interest in their group. Nothol and Dorl readied for the inevitable fight.

“This is going to get ugly fast,” Dorl warned his companions.

Anienam glanced up from the book. “Nonsense. We don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Says you. That man in the far left corner hasn’t stopped staring at us since we came in,” Dorl said.

“Same with the pair on the right,” Nothol added.

“Just relax. Do not expect trouble and we should be fine,” the wizard countered before returning to his book.

The barmaid returned, thumping plates of food in front of them and then stalked off. They looked down at their meals, each silently debating whether they should eat it. The meat was old and gray and the potatoes had a rubbery texture. The dirt was cooked into the skin. Still, it was hot and they were hungry so they ate.

“This tastes more like dog than deer,” Dorl said between fast mouthfuls.

Nothol nodded in agreement.

Skuld’s mouth fell open. “You’ve eaten a dog?”

“Who hasn’t? Dog actually tastes pretty good when you are hungry,” Dorl replied in mild shock.

Maleela pushed her plate away, face blanched and appetite gone. The sell swords chuckled in their private joke.

“Eat your food, both of you,” Nothol said. “We don’t know when the next time is that we’ll have a hot meal.”

Skuld reluctantly did, though he couldn’t help but wonder if the meat was dog or deer. It was an unsettling.

“Do we bother to get a room?” Maleela asked once her plate was empty. She took no interest in the ale and made the mistake of asking for water instead. The water was brown and had a brackish taste.

Nothol shook his head. “Bahr was explicit in his instructions. We’ll head back to the wagon as soon as we finish eating. Make sure we save some food for Rekka.”

Not much later a heavyset man ambled up and set a boot on one of their benches. He had greasy black hair and a broken nose. From the look in his eyes it was clear that he was looking for trouble. His eyes were filled with lust, never leaving Maleela.

“She’s a pretty one, she is,” he leered. Nothol Coll swirled a mouthful of ale around before smiling.

Dorl’s hand crept towards his sword. “What about her?”

The stranger took this as a good sign and pressed further. “How much do you want for her? I’d like to borrow her for a spell.”

Maleela began to rise. “How dare…”

Nothol’s rough hand pushed her down. “She’s not for sale.”

“Everything is for sale here in Praeg and I want her.”

“I said no.”

Nothol watched his opponent closely. The man was as drunk as he was nervous. His drunken caution suggested he might lose control at any given moment. His muscles bunched and tightened beneath his deerskin clothes. His face flushed with building rage. Nothol had been in enough bar fights to recognize the signs. This time was going to be different, though. This time the entire village was against them.

The man continued, “I said give her to me. Hand the wench over and we all walk away in one piece.”

“And I said no.”

That was the spark. He lunged towards Nothol. The sell sword ducked back and to the side. Dorl was quickly on his feet, sword in hand and facing the crowd. Maleela crowded closer to the wizard while Skuld drew his meager blade.

“I told you this was going to get ugly,” Dorl barked over his shoulder.

Despite his panicked tone, Dorl was as calm as possible. His heart beat only slightly faster. A handful of men stood before him, not the enchanted remains of those long dead, and he had beaten them. Odds were in his favor.

“Give me the bitch!” the man roared.

He charged again, taking a split second to jerk a cruel dagger from his belt. Nothol needed no further encouragement. Dodging sharply, he grabbed his attacker by the back of the neck and, using the man’s momentum against him, slammed him face first into the dirty wooden table. The aged oak plank was unforgiving. Bone and cartilage broke. Hot blood flew in ropes. Three teeth remained lodged in the wood after the man slithered to the ground. Both hands went to his ruined face as his screams drowned out all other noise. A second man leapt to his defense, but came up short as the tip of Dorl’s blade kissed his throat. A tiny trickle of blood ran down his shirt.

“Go back to your drinks,” Dorl warned.

The man snarled, his pupils widened at the sudden prospect of death. The screech of benches scraping back sent a chill down Skuld’s spine. Others had risen.

One hand on his broken face, the wounded man snarled, “He is mine!”

Nothol Coll passively waited. His sword was still sheathed. A sardonic smile lent him a more dangerous aspect. Most of the challenge the bigger man presented was gone, lost in the teeth and blood left on the floor. Nothol could easily kill him, but in doing so would condemn Dorl and the others.

“Don’t do it, Marq,” warned the man at the end of Dorl’s sword.

Marq was beyond reasoning. He moved back into attack position. Marq had learned his lesson, or at least he thought he had. He approached slowly, a big cat stalking its prey. Nothol tensed.

“I am going to kill you for this,” Marq said through a shower of blood. He waved the dagger tauntingly.

Nothol bit back a laugh. “Get it over with.”

His ploy worked. Marq attacked with every ounce of strength he had. Caution disappeared as he let revenge drive him. He wanted, needed, to make this stranger suffer after the humiliation he’d caused. Again, Nothol Coll was ready for him. He lashed out with a strong kick at Marq’s stomach. Marq grunted, threatening to double over in pain. Nothol caught him with a rigid hand to the wrist holding the dagger. A loud snap warned the others thinking of attacking. The dagger hit the floor.

Dorl looked at the wounded man with a smile of satisfaction. “See to your friend before he gets himself killed.”

Marq was in sad shape. His right forearm was broken. His nose and mouth were bloody ruins. Embarrassed and wounded, his rage refused to abate.

“Kill them!”

The tavern exploded into action. No one paid much attention to Anienam Keiss standing meekly in the back of the room. His lips soundlessly mouthed an old spell. Black flames burst from the floor and forced everyone back. Anienam hid a brief smile. He folded his thin arms across his chest and watched the darkfire disappear.

“I suggest we all sit back down and enjoy the rest of the night. My friends and I did not come here looking for trouble, but I have no problem burning you all to cinders,” he told them, using an old wizard’s trick to project his voice.

Most of the villagers slunk away, shoulders hunched and fear in their eyes. A few grabbed Marq and dragged him away with them. No one was in a rush to get killed. Dorl sheathed his sword once he was satisfied the threat was passed. He had a newfound respect for Anienam and wondered why the man had remained passive for so long. Up until now he had only been a crazy old man with a limited grasp of reality.

Anienam noticed them all staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Dorl answered as he sat back down.

The confrontation effectively dissolved their appetites so they decided to collect the leftovers for Rekka and left the tavern. All the fun had been had for one day and each was ready for a quiet night. Hopefully Bahr was having less trouble on his part.

Fight and Flight

“I haven’t been here in a long time,” Bahr admitted reluctantly.

Boen’s eyes never stopped scanning. “I can see why.”

“Badron tried to clean it up about two decades ago. He sent in a company of his best shock troops. They made the mistake of trying to arrest the villagers.”

“What happened?”

The Gaimosian didn’t particularly care. Delranan or scum, all of these people were the same. It didn’t matter who died or how. Boen figured Bahr would feel better talking right now. He’d been jittery since leaving the others at the tavern. Boen was indifferent. He supposed he might feel differently if his blood was involved. Having no family came in handy from time to time.

“Most of them were loaded into wagons in nice little bags. The villagers slaughtered the soldiers,” Bahr said.

“Huh,” Boen commented. “Badron should have hired Gaimosians. That way the job would have been done right.”

“He did want the village left intact.”

“Villages can be rebuilt,” Boen told him. “There is something familiar about this place though. I cannot place it.”

Bahr glanced over to his friend. “How do you mean?”

“It is the people. Almost as if I have dealt with them before. I wonder if this is where Harnin recruited his killers.”

“You’d have to ask Ionascu about that.”

Boen frowned. “I’d just as soon tie a boulder around his neck and toss him to the bottom of a deep river. The man is a poison. We should not have brought him.”

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“He is a liability, Bahr. I did not trust him before and I trust him even less now. We should leave him here and be done with that sad chapter.”

Bahr wasn’t sure why, but he felt Ionascu’s part had not yet been played. “He’s not an overly bad man. Ionascu just might be of some use yet.”

“He doesn’t have to be a bad man,” Boen argued. “He’s broken, twisted. He is going to get some of us killed.”

“He was forced to watch all of his men die. Forget about him for now. The people here would rip him apart before dawn if we left him.”

Boen’s mood darkened but he managed to keep those thoughts to himself. A sudden longing to be alone again sprang to life. The freedom to do as he pleased was consoling and incomparable to anything else. A stiff wind blowing through his hair and no particular place to go was what he needed. That was freedom. His Gaimosian blood called to him, urging him to return to the path. He couldn’t, of course. Honor demanded that he stay with Bahr and fulfill his bond.