Two uXulu were inbound, and Jil was quaking, but he released her. She studied him for several moments, her Fear gradually fading to something less than terror. She hurried off, almost sprinting to the bar.
“You kept your Fear under control.”
She hesitated, then approached the counter. She handed the coin to the lad, who looked at it and frowned. He pushed through the swing doors into the kitchen. “I did?” she asked, looking at me.
“You were not trying?”
She shook her head.
“That skill is necessary while we are bound to each other.”
She scratched her neck with her good hand.
“You will answer me.”
“All right.”
“The appropriate response is ‘Yes, Master.’”
She turned around to look at me, confused.
“Say it now!” I snapped at her, and she flinched.
Covering her ear with her good hand, she said: “Yes, Master?”
If only clenching my jaw or fists would give some sort of satisfying physical feedback. “Yes. And from now on.”
She nodded.
“Every time I speak to you!”
“Yes, Master,” she squeaked.
Indigo laughed with scorn. You could not even tame an insect, Maal.
“Quiet!” I barked.
“Yes, Master!”
I nearly lost control.
oXellona arrived with twenty empty bowls in one arm and eight mugs in the other. “Jil?”
She stared up at me, afraid to move.
“Act as if I am not here.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered, turning back toward the bar.
“Jil, are you well?” oXellona asked.
Jil nodded. “Just waitin’ fer Jedd.” She dared not look into the Stonewalker’s worried face.
Jedd came through the swinging doors with Hotun in tow, carrying another large pot of stew and heaving it onto the bar. He was related to the lad somehow—by their tall stature, by the crooked nose they shared, or by their thick bottom lips. He was iron-thin, lean and hard. Jedd pulled out the gleaming gold coin and pushed it back at Jil. “Can’t take this,” he said. “Give it back to him and ask fer different coin.” His voice was deep and loud, unexpected from someone so thin. Yet it carried no conviction.
Are all humans so weak? asked Indigo.
Jil shook her head. “I don’t want ta talk to him.” Her Fear was an emphasis only I could feel.
He let out a huge sigh and rubbed his bald head. “All right.” He ladled the stew into several bowls for oXellona, then went to the far end of the bar and came to the front. He picked up a bowl and handed it to Jil. “Sure he’ll be wantin’ some of this here stew after he pays. He ate thirty bowls this bluerise.”
Jedd went to Tchurn’s table, and put the coin down. “Can’t take this kind o' coin.”
Tchurn had shoved his bare feet into the fire, and didn’t turn around. “You did yesterday.”
He shrugged, though Tchurn could not see him. “Looked at it more closely after bluefall. That there’s gold, ain’t it?”
“That is the human word for it.”
“That coin is only good fer one thing,” he said. “Tradin’ with tha Kemiss.”
Jil’s Fear rose at the mention of the word ‘Kemiss’, and she glanced at Jedd.
Tchurn pulled his feet out of the fire and set them on the wood floor beneath him. There was a loud hiss and trickles of smoke crawled around him from beneath the table. “You took my coin yesterday, Jedd,” he rasped. He coughed, and spat.
“Aye,” he said. He took a coin out of his pocket and put it down to the first one. “This here one coin is worth enough to buy a fortune of goods from tha Kemiss.” His eyes glanced sideways, toward the Goor. “But I don’t want it; them white beasts will kill me for it as soon as yew leave.”
“I have no other coin.”
Jedd wiped his hands nervously on his apron. His sleeves were rolled up on his worn tunic, the apron protecting it from the wet, brown stains it had been assaulted with. “Yew can keep yer ale, but yew need ta leave in tha mornin’.” He glanced away, toward the Goor.
Tchurn seemed to grasp Jedd’s insinuation, and looked over the room. Several of the Goor were watching this exchange. “They’ve been watchin’ yew close,” Jedd whispered loudly, “since yew take no care hidin’ yer treasure. Just one coin would make them kill, and yew have a huge sack full! They might be plannin’ ta kill yew as soon as this meal’s done!”
He turned back to Jedd. “I need food.” There was no desperation in his tone, only threat. His unwavering demands upon Jil—for amputation—and now Jedd, would always lead to conflict. Did the Tror not know that ultimatums only served when the opposition had no recourse? Or was he so confident in his capability to eliminate the Goor that he saw them as no threat?
Jil stepped forward to put her two bowls of stew on the table—one carefully balanced on her good forearm, the other gripped in her only useful hand—but Jedd held an arm to block her. “If I feed yew, they’ll think yew paid me with gold. Me family’s only alive because I keep them fed. They kilt the rest of me Clan, except poor Jil here.”
Tchurn glowered. “Feed me or die.”
“I can’t!”
In response, Tchurn shoved his bench back and it toppled over. He stood up, and Jedd retreated two steps. Jedd was tall, tall enough to touch the thick wooden timbers overhead with his fingertips. But Tchurn dwarfed him, ducking beneath the timber to stand at his full height, and his fur-covered shoulders were at least three times as wide. He even towered over the uXulu, whose heads could only come up to the Tror’s chin.
The room grew quiet. The wind snaked through the room, clawing at Goor fur and devouring the steam that hovered above mugs.
“If yew kill me,” Jedd cried, “tha Goor will gut yew over that fire yer so fond of.” Several Goor stood up, Rop among them. Tchurn stared at them, then back at the barkeep.
Yes, yes, kill them, Tchurn! shouted Viridian. Cut off their heads and make them burn!
Tchurn released his death-grip on his furs. They slid to the ground, revealing a chain mail coat the color of dull, red steel. In the firelight, it seemed as if the armor still glowed, not fully cooled. The hood dangled behind his back, the gloves hooked back along the forearms, and the skirt hung to mid-thigh, but the rest covered him from neck to foot in a single suit of unmarred, chain links. There was no bunching of the armor at any joint, which contradicted the new knowledge I had of such armor. Instead, it was tight enough to be a second skin, flexible in some mysterious way. Over the left breast a brand had melted some of the chains together to form a stout glyph that resembled an “L”.
“Lavalier!” Hotun whispered. I hovered just over his shoulder, easily catching his soft words. The word meant nothing to me.
“What?” Jil whispered to him.
Hotun blushed, but continued: “Me Da said they’re the Tror’s nigh-invincible warriors. Said his grandda was there at tha Siege o’ Ruin, where an army of ten thousand went ta capture tha volcano fortress they call Trorenok.”
“Why?”
“Tha Kemiss threw a bunch of money at some greedy Baron, told him they wanted Tror slaves and all their gold. After a bluemonth of tryin’ ta find a way through tha walls, a hunnerd Lavalier came out of their fortress ta break the siege. They killed over two thousand men before the rest of the army fled. Not a single Lavalier died.”
Jil looked back at Tchurn, eyes full of wonder. Very little Fear was left, leaving me with a respite from her emotions. I will not say I sighed in relief.
During the exchange, Tchurn had reached toward the stone cliff behind him, eyes on the room. Leaning against the stone wall over his shoulder was a huge sword with a handle longer than the length of his forearm. The blade—straight and double-edged—reached from toes to chest, almost as tall as Jedd, and nearly as wide as the barkeep as well. It had been polished so smooth that it was a perfect mirror.
I hope he uses it, said Indigo.
Not as terrifying as the axe you held in The Nail, Maal, said Cerulean.
“Food and drink,” Tchurn said, his eyes bright and unblinking, his fingers a hand-length from the sword.
“This be the place yew want ta die, then?” Jedd said, quailing. He gestured at the Goor. “These be mountain creatures, tough and hard. They work tha mine up yonder all day, then come here fer food after. Yew might think they’d go down easy, but yew'd be wrong about that. Yew won’t find tougher beasts than these.”
Rop stood up high, pounded his chest, and screeched. Several others joined him, and soon the whole tribe was screeching—a deafening noise. Jil covered her ear with her good hand, her Fear surging. Perhaps these beasts were stronger than they appeared; they could certainly intimidate.
Tchurn was wracked by coughs, bending over from the strength of them. His fur cap fell to the ground, revealing a mass of messy, black curls, soaked with sweat. When at last he recovered and stood up again, his bronze face had taken on a ruddy hue. He picked up a coin with his right hand and shoved it into Jedd’s chest, pushing the man back a step. “Food.”
Most of the Goor took a single step closer, swinging their bodies over their knuckles.
Anticipation built within me—an eagerness for violence.
Stab them, slice them, kill them all, cried Viridian. Fight them, kill them, before you fall!
“I could not agree more.”
Jil looked at me strangely, as if I had answered her. Then her eyes went wide. “Yes, Master,” she said, looking at the ground. Hotun was baffled by her display, and took a step back.
As the Goor moved closer, Tchurn’s fingers wrapped around the grip of his massive weapon. He lifted the sword one-handed off the ground to plant the point by his foot, and reached behind his neck to pull up the attached chain coif and settle it on his head. Jedd and Hotun retreated back toward the bar, bringing Jil with them. I found myself surrounded by the uXulu—I had not noticed them gather by the bar.
There was no opportunity to enjoy the vision of huge, nude breasts on all sides. Jil’s Fear surged out of her, snuffing out my emotions like tiny candles in a strong wind. I fought to resist, striking out in a futile attempt to ward off her assault.
“No!” I yelled, losing control. “Desist!” I shouted.
Loud pounding distracted everyone, enough to stop the advance of the Goor and halt Jil’s rising terror. We all turned to the wooden door at the base of the vertical tree trunks. After a few moments of scraping and swearing, the door was shoved open and it swung against the trunks with a loud bang.
O
In poured the wind, a tidal wave of biting cold that made the Goor squint, and pinch their lips. Fires fluttered and waved their red arms in distress. Mugs shook in terror and empty bowls escaped off the tables, so viciously did the wind invade the room. The women covered their eyes and turned away from its ferocity.
A person covered in furs and snow hurried in. He struggled to close the door, the wind seeming to chuckle as it rattled the wood planks he pushed against. Proving it was merely toying with him, the wind abruptly stopped, and he fell against the door as it slammed back into place. He stepped to move a large log back into place, to brace the door against the wind, but tripped backward over his snowshoes and landed on his butt with a curse. He attempted to rise twice, a huge backpack and his snowshoes causing comical failures, which set some of the Goor to chuffing. The Goor know humor?
Stuck against the floor by the heavy backpack, he tried to remove his mitts—which also took several tries—followed by untying the leather straps and ties that held his backpack in place. Finally, he rolled off his backpack, brought his snowshoes under him, and stood. A loud groan accompanied him kneeling to remove his pair of sturdy snowshoes, and grunts joined his efforts to heave the tree stump against the door. His ineptitude was incredible.
“What a fool.” Jil jumped at my words, with matching Fear. I considered turning to slice at her with loud, Hateful words, but wisdom prevailed. She would simply respond with Fear I could not resist, and would force upon me another display of utter weakness.
Finally, he stepped away and slapped himself vigorously, knocking off a few remaining white clumps off his furs. He then disrobed, removing one fur cloak after another, and several more, tossing them to the ground in a heap. I could hear him humming a tune, a waste of breath for someone already panting from exertion.
Curly, red hair appeared beneath the mass of furs, with a matching beard. Sweat had matted both, turning the the red portions dark, while accenting several streaks of white. A huge set of antlers came out from underneath an armpit and he balanced them carefully against the wall of trunks. Despite the waist-high pile of furs next to him, he removed yet more layers of fur around his chest, legs, and feet.
He turned to look at the crowd, and then hesitated atop the platform. Realizing he had the attention of the entire bar, his demeanor shifted. His deep blue eyes crinkled in humor as he put fists on his hips
“I don’t think a man has ever been happier ta be in Jedd’s Inn!” he declared. “That blizzard outside be mean and grumpy!” he said, and laughed. It was a huge, contagious laugh, and drawing a grin out of a few of the Goor.
I looked around. Tchurn had ceased his confrontation with Jedd to allow for the man’s theatrical display to proceed. Jedd had used the distraction to step further away from the Lavalier, while Rop had backed across the walkway to watch the man and Tchurn. Most importantly, the uXulu stayed by the bar. It would have been a delightful vision to dwell upon, yet this annoying, unquiet man could not be ignored.
He picked up his antlers and tucked them under his right arm, gripping one of the points for a handle. Despite their awkward curve, they provided a sturdy crutch, which he leaned upon heavily as he limped down the steps to the center walkway. Even though the entire room waited for this stranger to upset or fortify the delicate tension, he took the time to dunk his head in a trough and drink deeply, followed by a loud, satisfied “Ahhhh,” which brought forth my own heavy desire for water. Now, I Hated this fool.
His right leg did not bend at the knee as he knelt by the trough, and it hampered him as he thock-thock-thocked down the walkway, Goor parting to allow him passage after Rop waved them off.
The man—he appeared to be human—wore a tan-colored tunic with a low v-cut collar, revealing a mass of red chest hair, sprinkled with white curls. A leather thong around his neck supported a sharp, curved tooth as long as a finger, and another thong dangled low, its weight hidden. The tunic was also sleeveless, leaving his hefty biceps and thick forearms for all to see, along with scars that marked them in several places—the rewards of a sloppy craftsman, or an inept warrior. His hands were rough: a collage of raised veins, thick fingers and dry knuckles. The waistline of his brown, cloth pants hinted at a stocky midriff, but no accompanying bulge at the belly. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, but without coppery skin beneath: his was pale, like Jil’s. No name came forth for him out of my new knowledge, but it was not necessary to label him.
He has no small amount of Courage to walk into the midst of these Goor, said Cerulean.
Or no small amount of stupidity, said Carmine.
Dark glares and curious stares followed him until Jil’s chain blocked his way, the only chain with enough slack to drop straight down from the bar. The uXulu chains were all off the ground, nearly taut.
He studied the uXulu with eyebrows high, along with their collars, then followed the chains to the iron bars overhead. He put on a confused face, then awkwardly stepped around the chains to stand between the barkeep and Tchurn. He was shorter than both, but he only had to look up slightly at Jedd. Oddly, he ignored Tchurn.
If you had even a fraction of his confidence, said Indigo.
He has the intelligence to observe before speaking, said Cerulean. Your opinion of him is incorrect.
I ignored
them. “Do you know him?” I asked Jil. She shook her head, but then quickly added:
“No, Master,” with a whisper.
“Better.”
“Well met, Jedd,” said the red-haired man, smiling. His nose was bulbous, but not overly large. A scraggly beard obscured his lips, tiny pimples scattered about his forehead, but those, too, did not detract from his otherwise handsome face. His eyes were a pale blue, almost white, striking against his weathered face. He ruffled his damp, red hair with his free hand, revealing a notch of missing skin from the top of one ear, and a pair of simple earrings dangling from the lobe: small fangs.
“If yew say so, Erigg,” the barkeep replied dourly.
“Them chains is new,” said Erigg.
“Aye,” was all Jedd offered.
“New patrons too, seems like?”
“Aye.”
“New help?” Erigg nodded at the uXulu, who stared at him openly, whispering to each other. His eyes roamed, if only for an instant.
Roaming eyes for such delightful curves, said Magenta.
And he has hands to explore them with, said Carmine.
“Silence,” I replied, irritated. She knew how desperate I was to feel them!
Perhaps we will get to watch him fondle them, said Magenta.
“No!” I shouted, startling Jil. The voices laughed.
“Not my help,” Jedd said.
Silence. I could not suppress a snicker.
“Who’re yew, lass?” Erigg said, pointing at Jil with his antlers. She had stood up on her tiptoes to peek at him. “Come out and say greetings.” He smiled at her. Jil looked up at eXia, who shook her head.
“That’s Jilii,” Jedd replied.
“No!” Erigg said. He turned to look at her again, and she covered her breasts, turning away to bury her head in a Stonewalkers arm, leaving me with a blast of Shame. “She...” His face turned red and he looked away, and a crease formed between his eyebrows. “Why is she...?” Erigg began to move toward her, but Jedd grabbed his arm, a quick and iron grip. Erigg straightened, his mouth opening to ask another question. He stopped, seeing the look on Jedd’s face.
Maal The First Skull- Shadows of the Mind Page 8