A Sellsword's Valor

by Jacob Peppers

  “Oh yeah?” the man said. “A drink is it?” He puffed out what little chest he had, looking Aaron up and down like he’d taken shits that were more impressive. “And what if I told you you ain’t gonna get one?”

  Aaron sighed. “Well, then I guess I’d find a different tavern. I wonder, though, if the man who hired you would be thrilled to know that you’re turning away customers.”

  The man’s pinched face twisted into an angry expression, and he jerked the blade from his belt, nearly fumbling it in his haste before pointing it at Aaron. “You threatening me, boy? I’ll cut your fucking heart out and make you watch while I eat it, you understand me?”

  Aaron rubbed at his temples, telling himself to keep his anger in check. “That’d be a hard thing to make me do, considering I’d be dead. Maybe you’d want to cut something else off—a toe, maybe. Maybe even an arm—shit, a man can live without an arm. I’ve seen men with no legs that are still living to bitch about it. The heart though …” He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

  The man stepped forward, bringing the knife closer to Aaron, and Aaron noted that the man couldn’t even keep his hand from shaking. “Think you’re a funny man, do you fella?” the thug hissed. “Think you’re a clever bastard? Well, I wonder how clever you’d be, if I cut out your fucking heart right now?”

  “Not very,” Aaron said dryly, “on account of I’d be dead.”

  “Ricky,” the other thug—a big, thickly muscled man—said, “put that sticker away, will ya? Alder ain’t gonna be happy he hears about you waving it at his customers and threatening ‘em. Not before they’ve bought any ale, anyhow.”

  Ricky, if that was his name, didn’t seem to hear his companion. “I could fuck you up right here, boy,” he said, eyeing Aaron with that dumb meanness that was so common in criminals, “cut your fucking heart out.”

  “Yeah,” Aaron said, the anger building in him as he stared at the knife point only a few inches from his nose, “you said that.”

  The man let out a growl, his arm going way behind him as if he was about to stab Aaron, and he wanted to make sure everybody in the city saw it coming. When he finally did lash out with the knife, Aaron pivoted, striking the inside of the man’s wrist with the palm of his hand. The small man cried out in surprised pain, and the knife clattered to the street between them. The man crouched as if he’d go for it, holding his hurt wrist, and Aaron only stood there, watching him. “Don’t. Your pride’s hurt a little, that’s all, but your day can get a whole lot worse, believe me. Now, all I want is a drink and a room—”

  He noticed the man eyeing the knife where it lay on the cobbled street. “Hey,” Aaron said, snapping his fingers, “look at me. I’m talking to you. Just leave it, and we can both be on with our nights. I’ll have my drink, and you can take comfort in the fact that you’ll be alive when the morning comes. Still an asshole but alive at least.”

  The man hesitated, knowing the wisdom in Aaron’s words, but his pride not letting him heed them. His face twisted in anger, and he lunged down, meaning to scoop the knife up off the cobbles. He was slow and obvious, but the way he was bent put him in perfect position, and Aaron grabbed both his shoulders, jerking him down further still as his knee came up and buried itself in the man’s gut.

  The thug’s breath exploded from him in a gasping wheeze, and he collapsed to the ground, rolling onto his back, his dirty hands pawing at his stomach and chest as if he could somehow force the breath back into them. Aaron stared down at him flopping there like a fish out of water, and he took a moment to gain control of his anger, the barrier he kept between him and it fraying dangerously. Once he thought he could control himself, he knelt down beside the gasping man. “Hey.” The man didn’t look at him quick enough, so Aaron reached out and slapped him in the face, hard. “Hey,” he said, “look at me.”

  The thin man whimpered in pain, continuing to gasp for breath, but he did turn his wide, frightened eyes to Aaron. “Good,” Aaron said, “now listen and listen closely because I’m particularly impatient just now, and at the best of times, I’m not a man known for his tolerance. I’m going to go into that tavern,” he said, nodding his head toward its entrance. The other thug stood there with a confused expression on his face as if he was unable to decide whether he should help or not. “I’m going to have my drink,” Aaron continued, “and I’m going to ask after a room. Do you have a problem with that?”

  The man grunted and wheezed, shaking his head furiously as tears leaked from his eyes. “Good,” Aaron said, “but here’s the thing. That choking, suffocating sensation you’re feeling is going to go away in a few minutes, and you’re going to be alright again. A little sore, a little battered, but mostly like the same asshole you woke up as this morning. Once that happens, you’re going to start to think that this could have gone a different way. That I was lucky or you were unlucky, that it was pure chance that allowed me to knock that pig sticker you got there out of your hands. You’ll tell yourself that you are one mean son of a bitch, that nobody, nobody disrespects you like this and lives. You’ll work yourself up to it, and I don’t think that tree stump son of a bitch over there is going to talk you out of whatever it is you mean to do. Now, you work here, so it wouldn’t be such a hard thing for you to figure out about the stranger that came in asking after a drink and a bed for the night, wouldn’t be particularly difficult for you to discover which room that stranger rented.”

  He knelt down further and grabbed the thin man’s throat in one hand, squeezing and ignoring the man’s ineffectual pawing as he fought to break free, “Just let me warn you now, that I’m a light sleeper—there’s dead men could tell you as much, if they had a voice to tell it with. I’ve no patience or mercy at all for some sneaky, conniving little bastard that thinks to break into a man’s room and kill him while he’s in bed. You getting me?”

  The man nodded as best he could with Aaron’s hand around his throat, hacking in what Aaron took for agreement. “Good,” Aaron said, letting the man go and rising to his feet. The thug gasped and brought his hands to his throat as he sucked in air. “And stop telling people you’re going to cut their hearts out. Do you have any idea how hard that is to do? If you’re going to kill a man, you don’t talk about it—you just do it. Though,” he said, glancing at the short, crude blade lying on the cobbles, “I’d probably get a better blade. Unless you intend to pick his teeth for him first.”

  The man was still wheezing in rattling breaths when Aaron walked toward the tavern’s entrance. “Sorry ‘bout that,” the big guard said, shaking his head, “Ricky’s an alright sort, but he always seems to be spoilin’ for a fight.”

  “If he was an alright sort,” Aaron said, pausing beside the man and turning to meet his gaze, “then he wouldn’t be flopping on the ground choking and lying in a puddle of his own piss. Now, you keep your fucking dog on a leash.” Before the man could respond, Aaron pushed the door open and stepped inside the tavern.

  The common room was crowded despite the fact that night was still a few hours; Aaron could feel himself getting sized up by the men and women inside as he made his way toward the dusty, dented bar, each of them trying to decide if he would be an easy mark. He met their eyes without fear as he walked, not because he cared about their games, but because it was the way it was done, that was all. Not meeting their eyes would have been worse, for the men and women inside the tavern were wolves—or at least thought they were—and if he appeared skittish or nervous, they’d be on him in moments, each of them trying to work their own particular brand of crime.

  Finally, he came to the bar and knocked his fist against it, drawing the attention of the tall, fat barkeep whose back was to him as he laughed at some joke a man further down the bar had told. The man glanced over at Aaron, studying him. The man was big, and Aaron suspected he’d been some sort of street fighter in his youth. Judging by the fact that he was still alive, he’d obviously had some skill, but whatever muscle he ha
d was now covered in a layer of fat. He apparently decided that Aaron was worth his attention, for he said something to the man he’d been speaking with then made his way over.

  “What’ll it be, stranger?”

  “You got anything to drink that isn’t going to taste like horse piss coming down and horse shit coming up?”

  “Got an ale that some folks say is the finest in all of Baresh. Why, I’ve even had some noblemen come down from their pretty little mansions just to have a drink of it.”

  Sure you have, Aaron thought. Any nobleman that was fool enough to step into this tavern wouldn’t ever be stepping out again, and that was certain. He tossed some coins on the counter. “I’ll have one then, and this is for a room, too.”

  The tavern keeper grunted, “Sure thing, stranger. So, you don’t mind me askin’, what’s brought you to Baresh?”

  Aaron met the man’s eyes, his anger still working on him from where the thin man had awoken it. “Actually, I do mind. An ale and a room is all I want. If I want to have a conversation, I’m pretty sure I can find a prettier face than yours to have it with.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed at that, but he scooped the coins up and went to get the drink. Aaron looked around the room as he waited. Several men sat with hired women draped on their shoulders, too drunk to notice as the women’s hands wondered into their tunics and trousers and robbed them of what little coin they possessed. Other men sat close together at several of the tables speaking in whispers, glancing from time to time around the room as if to make sure that no one was listening to what they were saying. Darrell sure can pick them, I’ll give him that, Aaron thought. The place felt just like home—in all the worst ways.

  Those in the tavern’s common room eyed each other as if looking for one among them who would be an easy mark, and though that was a bit unusual, it wasn’t exactly surprising. Wolves didn’t generally eat wolves, preferring the taste of softer, easier meat, but a starving wolf cared only about filling the empty, gnawing hunger in its stomach. And these people were starving—there was no question of that. Aaron saw the tavern keeper coming out of the corner of his eye and turned back to the bar just as the big man slammed the mug of ale down on it. Ale spilled from the sides of the mug onto wood that looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in years, and Aaron nodded, grabbing the drink and rising. “Thanks.”

  The bar keep only grunted in response, and Aaron made his way through the common room to an empty table in the corner to wait for his friends. He sat quietly, drinking his ale and doing his best to ignore the stares as he replayed what the guard at the gate had told him.

  He hadn’t been sitting there long when he heard a commotion from the other side of the tavern, back by the bar, and he looked up to see a blonde-haired woman in a simple dress trying her best to extricate herself from the hands of a drunken fat man who’d pulled her down into his lap. The woman had a tray in her hands upon which sat several mugs of ale, and as the man pulled her close against him, he and the other men at the table laughing, one of the mugs toppled, spilling ale all over the woman. She cried out in surprise and fear as the drink soaked through her dress.

  Her long mane of hair whipped around in her struggles, and Aaron was able to get a better look at her face. He frowned as he realized that the serving woman wasn’t a woman at all but a girl that appeared to be no more than sixteen summers. A lamb thrown in among wolves, he thought. He started to get up from the table but hesitated. It’s none of your concern, he told himself. Remember why you’re here. The last thing you need to do is attract attention.

  Still, he sat on the edge of his seat, his muscles tensed, until the girl finally managed to pull herself away from the man’s pawing hands. The fat man made one last grab for her, missing the girl herself but catching hold of the flimsy material of her white dress. He gave it a drunken pull, still laughing, and the girl stumbled and fell to her hands and knees, dropping the tray and spilling ale onto the floor and the feet of the surrounding patrons as her dress ripped. She cried out again, her hand catching the torn fabric before it could reveal little more than the skin of a smooth, pale white shoulder and went about grabbing up the spilled glasses and tray.

  You should help her, Co said in his mind, obviously angry at the girl’s treatment.

  Better if I don’t. I wouldn’t be doing her any favors, firefly, believe me. After all, it wasn’t as if he could sit in this tavern every day and look out for her—sooner or later, she would have to learn how to fend for herself, how to protect herself. Aaron frowned, glancing around the room. There was a thug standing near the bar, no doubt another bouncer for the tavern, but Aaron watched him turn to the fat bar keep only to have the big man shake his head slowly, a disgusted look on his face.

  No help from that quarter either, then. Don’t get involved, you damn fool, he told himself, clenching his teeth together, just leave it alone. The girl was still trying to gather the spilled mugs, had just gotten hold of one, when the man who’d grabbed her reached out again, pulling her toward him. She yelled for him to stop, but he ignored her, yanking harder, and her dress ripped further exposing more pale skin. The girl screamed again and spun, swinging the thick glass stein she was holding. It struck the fat man in the face, and he cried out, tumbling out of his chair and falling on the floor, his hands going to his bloody face.

  Good for you, girl, Aaron thought, but the men’s friends didn’t see it that way, and several of them rose and jerked the girl up. “You bitch,” one of them growled, and he brought his hand back and slapped her hard across the face.

  The girl cried out not just in fear but pain this time, and Aaron could see tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “Alder,” she screamed. “Help!”

  Everyone in the tavern turned to the bar keep including the thug who gave him a questioning glance. The fat man looked around the room, apparently enjoying his moment, then finally met the girl’s eyes. “Not my problem, lass. Those are paying customers, and you’ve no right to hit on ‘em so. You brought what’s comin’ on yourself.”

  By now, the man with the bloody face was up, and Aaron saw what he thought were pieces of glass sticking out of the man’s cheek. Even from where he sat in the corner of the common room, Aaron could feel the power of the man’s anger through his bond with Co. It was the kind of anger that wanted to hurt, the kind that wanted to kill. “You’ll pay for that, slut,” he growled, and two of his friends held the struggling girl while he brought his fist back and sank it into her stomach. The girl’s breath exploded in a wheeze, and she collapsed to her knees in a hacking, coughing fit, the sleeve of her torn dress hanging low.

  “Didn’t mean you no harm,” the man said, his chest heaving as he looked down at her, “but I think now maybe I’ll take what I want. I’ll teach you how to treat a man right.”

  Don’t get involved damnit, Aaron told himself, but he was already up and moving as the man fumbled with his trousers. He was still trying to get them down when Aaron’s sword came to a rest barely an inch away from his crotch. “Whatever comes out of there won’t be going back in, I can promise you that.”

  The man stared at the cold steel inches away from the place that did all of his thinking for him and swallowed hard, looking back at Aaron. “This ain’t no concern of yours, mister. The girl hit me with a fuckin’ ale mug—damn near shattered my face.”

  “I don’t see that its hurt your looks any,” Aaron said, “and as far as I’m concerned you had that coming—you’ve probably had it coming for a long time. Now,” he continued, telling himself that he was being a damned fool and wanting only to get away from all of those staring eyes in the tavern, “you’ve had your fun, and she’s had hers. How about we call it a day and maybe you find some different tavern to drink at?”

  “How about,” one of the man’s friends said from behind Aaron, “We kick the shit out of you and then do what we want to the girl anyw—”

  His words turned into a howl of pain as Aaron pivoted and brought his elbow back
. The man’s nose crunched under the force of the blow, and he stumbled backward. The fat man started forward but froze when Aaron turned and brought the blade back to its place once more. “Now then,” he said, standing sideways and doing his best to keep both the man and his friends in his vision at the same time, “I’ve had my fun, too. So why don’t you all leave before I start cutting?”

  Aaron felt the power of the bond awaken, and he knew what one of the men was going to do even before he moved, so when the man rushed him from behind, Aaron stepped smoothly out of the way, and the man tackled his bloody-faced companion instead. The two slammed up against the table but before they could right themselves, Aaron grabbed the greasy black hair of the one that had rushed him and slammed the man’s head down into the wooden table. The tables were built of thick, strong wood—why they were still standing after years of what had no doubt been significant punishment, judging by the tavern’s customers—and when it met the man’s face, the wood did not give. His face did, though, and the man rebounded off the hard wooden surface with a spray of blood, falling onto his back, unconscious.

  Aaron felt something behind him and turned in time to knock aside a knife that had been aimed for his back. Every instinct begged him to bring the sword down, but he fought the urge, knowing that while the city guard might not take much interest in a tavern brawl, they’d definitely be more apt to if people wound up dead. So instead of using his sword, he grabbed the back of the man’s head and jerked it down, bringing his knee up and driving it into the man’s face. The man staggered, and Aaron struck him in the temple with the handle of his sword.

  The man went down as if he’d been pole-axed and lay unmoving. Aaron’s instincts warned him of someone behind him, and he spun in time to see one of the men charging at him. In time to see it, but not to dodge it. The man slammed into him, knocking him back against the hard wooden side of a table, and the sword slipped loose from Aaron’s grip, clattering on the floor.