Zellohar

by Chris A. Jackson

  They discovered nothing at the first three dealers they visited, their difficulties compounded by an early-morning snowfall. But in the corrals of the fourth, Avari spotted several of the horses she had raised from colts.

  "There they are!" she called to Shay as she hung over the fence of the corral.

  "I see you're interested in some of our new arrivals." The man beside her looked her over, as if trying to gauge how much gold he could weasel from her for a mount. But he soon realized that the tall woman was not in the market to buy.

  "Where did you get those horses?" she demanded. "Those are my horses, and I demand you give them back and tell me where the thieves are who stole them!"

  "I paid good money for those horses, and whoever they originally belonged to isn't my problem. So why don't you just get out of here and—"

  His suggestion was cut off as Avari grabbed him by the collar and lifted him to her level.

  "Those horses are mine!" she hissed between clenched teeth. "And if you know what's good for you—"

  "Avari!" Shay's sharp voice spoke from beside her. "Put him down! There are better ways to do this."

  Avari glared down at Shay but obliged, dropping the man. As he stumbled, trying to regain his footing on the slippery ground, he yelled to a troop of city guards marching past. The sergeant came over and scowled at the three of them.

  "Is there a problem?"

  "No, no, officer." Shay was the quickest to answer, as he shot a warning glance at Avari. "Just a misunderstanding between my friend and the dealer. Nothing we can't work out."

  The hostler was about to protest when he noticed the silver coin Shay held behind his back. He looked back to the guard and said, "Sorry to bother you, sir. Like the gentleman said, it was just a misunderstanding." He smiled at everyone. The sergeant snorted in disgust and strode back to his troops, and they continued on their way.

  Turning to Shay, the dealer hissed, "You better keep a tighter rein on her, or next time I won't be so lenient when the guard comes." He staggered back a step as Avari advanced on him, but Shay stepped between them.

  "Now, I know we can be civilized about this." Shay put his arm around the man's shoulder and led him toward the corral, motioning Avari to stay put. She glared and paced as the two men talked, Shay smiling and offering coins, the dealer smiling and pocketing them. Finally they broke apart, and the dealer gave Avari a parting look before turning away. Shay approached her with a satisfied smile, took her arm and started up the street.

  This was too much for her. She stopped, nearly jerking her companion from his feet.

  "Well?" she asked, crossing her arms. "What happened? Did you get any information? Where are we going? And what about my horses?"

  "Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do about the horses, Avari. He has a valid bill of sale, which the city guard will enforce. Your men are staying at the Swinging Pig, an inn on the east end of the city. There are four of them, and I have their descriptions. They have a habit of getting drunk at the tavern next door to the inn. They will be there this afternoon."

  "How did you get all that from him?" Avari was amazed.

  "My dear," Shay said as he took her arm and coaxed her into a walk, "brawn will not always get you the desired results. Sometimes one must rely on persuasion, guile and, of course," he jingled his money pouch, "an enticement. If you insist on continuing your quest in your own straightforward way, you will be dead or in the city dungeons by morning. So if you want your revenge, this is the way to do it..."

  CHAPTER 7

  The door to the tavern adjoining the Swinging Pig Inn squeaked as Shay entered and looked about with distaste. The Pig Pen was aptly named. The floorboards were stained and unswept, the tables wet with spilled ale. The barmaids' dresses and aprons were filthy, though they were also cut low and revealed a good deal of...

  Enough of that! Shay scolded himself. Do what you are here to do.

  After another look he nodded with satisfaction. Gouges in the walls, floor and furniture were evidence that the place was no stranger to brawls. He moved to the bar and chose a spot well away from any other patrons. Nodding to the bartender, he let his eyes make a slow circuit of the room. The clientele was about what he expected, several rough types and a few mercenaries, the sort who would take a job that required a blade and no questions.

  He almost smiled as he spotted the four men who fit the descriptions the hostler had given him. They sat at a table in a corner and were being so obnoxious that several tables around them stood empty. His ale arrived, the sour brew sloshing over the bar to wet his sleeve. One look at the cloudy liquid swirling around in the greasy cup quelled his thirst. He settled down to wait, but not for long.

  Avari squinted as she entered, scanning the gloom to locate Shay without appearing to do so. She spotted him without trouble and interpreted his casual nod toward the table in the corner. She strolled toward it, taking her time to pick out a seat. She ignored the bar's patrons, though several let their gazes linger on her. She gave the four men a long glance as she neared. Their eyes followed her as she sat with her profile toward them and ordered a cup of wine.

  This is ridiculous! she thought, smoothing the ruffled sleeve of the blouse Shay had bought. It was very pretty, white linen with frilly trim at collar and cuff. The sleeves came down to her elbows, the frills high at her throat. Shay had picked it out, and had ignored her suspicious stare when he handed it to her. Over the blouse she wore a leather bodice cut low and tight under her breasts. Avari felt like a cow ready for milking, but Shay had insisted.

  I feel like a fool! she thought with a sizzling glare at Shay. She had laughed in his face when he explained the premise behind his plan. She knew she wasn't particularly attractive; all this would accomplish was to embarrass her.

  "I'm not some trollop looking to be pawed by any scum on the street!" she'd exclaimed.

  "I know that," Shay explained patiently, "but they do not. You must get them to approach you first. You can't simply walk in there and start sticking them in the gut with your sword."

  "It'd be easier that way," Avari sulked. "Besides, how do you know they'll even look at me? I'm not your typical beauty."

  "They will look at you, Avari. Trust me."

  Avari had scowled at him, argued with him, and even begged him to think of something else, but to no avail. Now she was wondering if she hadn't been correct. If they did not approach her, not only would their plan not work, but she would be humiliated. She glanced over, catching the eye of the man closest to her, then looked away, all the while trying to look enticing as Shay had instructed. A burst of laughter from the table set her face aflame as she imagined them mocking her.

  This isn't working, she decided. I'm going to have to—

  "Good evenin', lass." The voice was right at her ear. She stifled a violent reflex, forcing herself to relax as his grimy hand encircled her forearm. "How'd you like to celebrate with me and my friends?" The man's breath left her gasping to keep from gagging, but the thief was encouraged, thinking her gasp was of anticipation. He grasped her arm tighter, working his filthy fingers under the loose sleeve of her blouse.

  Gods, if he goes much higher, he'll feel my chainmail! Avari thought, wondering how she could distract him.

  "Come on then." He had taken her silence for acceptance and tried to pull her to her feet, looking back at his friends and laughing. "You look like you're woman enough for all of us. And we've plenty of money. We just made a profitable sale."

  Avari stiffened, the hot ball of disgust in the pit of her stomach exploding into a meteor of rage. She quelled an impulse to act rashly. Instead, she turned and looked at the man, the fire in her eyes all too obviously not that of passion. His hold on her arm faltered, his smile fading, but his friends were urging him on.

  "Come on, wench," he said. "Show us a good time."

  The icy blaze of her eyes mesmerized him as she pulled a glove onto her hand and reached into a pouch at her waist. She drew forth a chai
n and medallion and raised it so it hung spinning between their faces, Pergamon's thorny chain plain on its burnished face.

  "I'll show you a good time," she said in a tone with all the warmth of a glacier. "The same one I showed the owner of this."

  The man looked puzzled. He held out his hand and she dropped the medallion into his palm. He stared at it a moment, then his eyes widened in shock.

  "This belonged to Marcus!" he hissed, reaching for his dagger with his free hand. "You're that farmer bitch!"

  The blade flashed at her throat, but she was watching for this and caught his wrist. Avari smashed the back of his hand against the corner of the table, and the blade clattered away. He cursed, grabbing for her hair, but she lurched up and snapped a knee into his stomach. As he doubled over, Avari pushed him into the table where his friends sat. He sprawled there, clutching at his midriff, already fumbling for his sword and yelling curses.

  "What in Pergamon's name are ye doin', Dirkin?" one of his friends exclaimed, wiping spilled ale from his lap.

  "That's the bitch that killed Marcus and Jerral!" he screeched, shaking the medallion for them to see. He finally succeeded in clearing his sword from its scabbard and whirled to glare at Avari, who still stood empty-handed. "You should've stayed on the farm, little girlie," he sneered.

  "And you should have picked a different farmer to murder," she replied through clenched teeth.

  The man lost all control and rushed her, sword raised, as his friends untangled themselves from the furniture.

  You can draw your sword now, Avari, Shay thought nervously. Perhaps he had overestimated the girl's prowess. She looked like she knew how to use that blade at her hip, but he had never actually seen her do so. Arcane words clicked into his mind and he reached into a pouch—as Avari snatched up a chair and flung it at the rushing man's legs.

  The stout chair sent him pitching forward, flailing to catch himself. As he fell, Avari sidestepped and lashed out with a kick. The blow landed just under the man's chin with a sickening crunch. He crumpled to the floor choking, his crushed larynx flooding his airway with blood.

  Shay relaxed a little.

  Patrons scurried away from the fighters like rats from a rabid wildcat, as much to get a better view as to avoid the flashing steel. The barkeep's screams of "NO FIGHTING!" from his position safely behind the bar could barely be heard over the riotous din of jeers and cat calls.

  The next thief rushed. His wild overhand slash met Avari's drawing stroke with such force that his hands were numbed with the shock. His momentum carried him past her before he could regain his grip, but she was not so hampered. She whirled and slashed low, severing his spine just below the ribs.

  Letting the weight of her stroke carry her around to face the other two, she raised her blade just in time to parry one downward slash, and dodged almost fast enough to avoid the other's lunge. The blade sliced through the bodice and the blouse, but skittered along the chainmail covering her ribs.

  Her dodge turned into a sprawl, but she tucked her shoulder and rolled to one knee in time to intercept another overhand swing. Taking advantage of her position she swept her blade through the man's knees with a powerful two-handed slash. Blood fountained as the man fell, flailing his severed legs.

  Avari tried to regain her feet to meet the last thief's attack, but slipped on the gore and fell back. Her opponent lunged in full extension, catching her off balance. She managed to parry the thrust, intercepting the tip of his sword with the flat of her blade, but the force of the blow sent her sprawling. She lashed out desperately with her foot as she fell, sweeping his forward leg out from under him. They both rolled and regained their feet, moving away from the treacherous footing.

  Avari took half a breath to study the last of her attackers, but was forced to concentrate on defending herself as the man launched a series of lightning-fast slashes and thrusts. He wielded a lighter sword, nearly as long as hers but much thinner, with a straight double-edged blade and ornate basket hilt.

  Avari was tiring from the ceaseless parrying, but he was so quick she had little time for attack. She tried to close with him, using her greater size to overpower, but he twisted away, slashing under her guard. The tip of his blade sliced through her leggings, leaving a half-inch deep gash in her thigh. Pain lanced through her and she almost stumbled, but the fire burning up her leg cleared her mind, sharpening everything to crystal clarity.

  The shouts and catcalls from the crowd rang in her ears as she studied her opponent. Sweat trickled down his brow, and more clung like dew on his shaven upper lip. He held his weapon in perfect on-guard position, his shoulders relaxed, his wrist firm. His stance was askew, his toe pointing to her right instead of straight ahead.

  A lesson from her father clicked into her mind: "When facing a lighter, quicker blade, find the weak side. Attack high-line on his strong side and watch for a stop thrust. If he complies, switch the blade to your left hand instead of parrying, and change stance. As the stop thrust extends past your shoulder, sweep across his wrist with a downward stroke."

  As her father's lesson ran through her mind like a visit from his ghost, Avari performed the series flawlessly. She stepped back, surveying the result.

  Her opponent looked dumbly down at his wrist, then at his hand where it lay on the floor, still clutching the hilt of his sword. The man sank to his knees, gripping his wrist to staunch the bleeding, a high-pitched squeak escaping his mouth. Avari rested the tip of her sword at the hollow of his throat, relishing the moment. But before she could thrust, a hand gripped her shoulder and a melodic voice restrained her.

  "Enough, Avari. He will murder no more farmers."

  Avari looked at Shay as if she did not know him, then dropped the point of her sword away from the man's throat.

  Shay pulled her away from the mutilated man. He glanced around, but no one seemed disposed to go to the thief's aid. Both he and Avari jumped as a squad of city guards burst in and took control. Two of them went to the wounded man, while another checked the bodies.

  "What in Oris' holy name happened here?" the corporal in charge demanded. His glare swept the room, but no one spoke up until the barkeep came sniveling over.

  "I tried to stop 'em, I did!" He wrung his hands in his apron, more upset at the thought of having to pay someone to clean up the mess than at the fact that three men had just died. "Those men have been causin' trouble in here fer days. They drink too much an' bother my barmaids an' the respectable customers."

  The corporal sneered at the thought of anyone respectable patronizing the place, then caught sight of Avari. Shay had led her to a chair and was cleaning the gash in her leg.

  "Were you involved in this fight?"

  Avari looked up at the corporal defiantly, but before she could justify her actions, Shay broke in.

  "Sir, I was nearby and observed the fracas. The lady was merely having a drink when one of the men started bothering her. I believe he may have made some inappropriate requests. When she refused, he pulled his dagger on her. When she fought back, his companions joined in. What did you expect her to do? It really was amazing that she was not killed."

  The corporal was silent, his eyes fixed upon Avari in scrutiny. Avari grew uncomfortable under his stare. She tried to look like an innocent victim then realized what had caught the corporal's eye—chainmail showed through the cut in her blouse and bodice. She pulled the material together and gathered her cloak around her.

  "And I suppose," the corporal asked, "that chainmail is the newest fashion in ladies' undergarments?"

  "Your natural charm and good looks don't seem to be working on him," Avari whispered to Shay.

  "I tell you, sir," Shay said, avoiding the soldier's question and shooting a glare at Avari, "that this fight was entirely uninstigated by the lady. Isn't that correct?"

  His hopeful tone met blank stares from the crowd. He was about to rephrase the question when the crowd shuddered, then parted. A mountain of leather-covered muscle pushed his w
ay to the front, scowling through a full beard. He swept his patchwork fur cloak over shoulders like cliffs of weather-beaten granite, crossed his tree-trunk arms and scowled at the nervous guardsmen. The crowd melted back from him, some looking worried, some eager as they anticipated another fight. They recognized him as one of the wild nomadic folk from the wilderness of the northern regions, and knew that these tribes held no love for city folk or imperial authority.

  The corporal tensed and the rest of his men came forward, their hands on the hilts of their swords. The tribesman smiled, his hands well clear of the sword and hooked hatchet at his belt. He focused his attention on their leader.

  "The woman was not at fault in this. She was only defending her honor. Isn't that right?" The tribesman's deep voice boomed throughout the tavern as he fixed his stare on the crowd behind him.

  A cacophony of voices erupted from the group, all claiming that "The men started it...", "...doesn't she just look devastated by this unfortunate tragedy..." and "...of course, of course, anything the big man says..."

  Finally, the corporal waved his arms and his men dispersed the crowds. Soon only he, Avari and Shay remained.

  "Now, I know you aren't the innocent victim you claim to be." He waved Shay to silence, and continued. "I don't have any witnesses to say otherwise, but I won't have any more massacres in my sector. I would advise you to leave Beriknor soon. If I see you during my patrol again, I'll not be so tolerant."

  With that, he turned and called his men together. As they marched out of the tavern, the corporal told the barkeep that the grave digger's wagon would come by to pick up the bodies, and that he could use any money in their pouches to pay the death tax and burial fee. The wounded thief was led away, condemned by the testimony of almost everyone in the tavern.

  Shay turned back to Avari and examined the wound. Now that the excitement was over, the pain had returned. The bleeding had slowed, but red still seeped from beneath Shay's bandage. She winced as he adjusted the cloth. "It's not so bad."