by Troy Reaves
Boremac was moved to make a final attempt to open her to him in some way before they left the stream bank. “Jasmine, I want to make a simple request of you before we part. You allowed me the pleasure of your lips once by this stream. Would you allow me to return the kindness?”
Jasmine smiled at Boremac once more, obviously admiring his tenacity. “I suppose there is no harm in that.” She extended her hand as if they were a lady and a lord at court instead of two low born individuals near a stream. Boremac returned her grin and bowed gracefully to kiss her hand. He was not sure he would ever see her again but he knew he would pursue her as long as he lived.
25
DoNut Meeting
Boremac had no real idea how to look for ‘The Cannibal’ when he left Verson. He was pleased when one came to him of its own free will as he passed through the woods on his second day out. It was an uncomplicated thing that was brought by a memory of gathering food with an uncomplicated man, Harse. The two of them had been out gathering berries and tubers one morning when he had lived with the Gang. These items provided a large part of the group’s diet alongside the fish and game they were able to catch. These particular berries that Boremac was reminded of lately were called “do nut” berries. Boremac could not help smiling when he recalled Harse’s introduction to the fruit.
“Do nut touch those, Dead Man!” The seriousness of Harse’s tone had made Boremac jump back as if avoiding a dagger when he shouted at him. “Do nut eat them to be sure. Make you sick. Harse knows too good. Lemme show you some things about the plant. See the root webs all at the bottom? See the dead bugs? Watch me close.” Harse stuck his finger over the top of the thin root mesh that spread in a wide circle around the bottom of the plant. Tendrils shot up immediately, grasping at his finger and enveloping it to the second knuckle. “Damn it, this one is faster than the last one I saw.” Boremac noted the roots were trying to draw Harse’s finger with them as they settled back into the root system on the surface of the ground. He withdrew one of his daggers and prepared to cut Harse free when the big man put his free hand up to him. “Do nut hurt, Dead Man. The plant jus’ doin’ what it do. It’il let go in a minute or so. No thorns in it so do nut hurt. Shame berries are poison. They taste good but then you sleep for a long time.’Specially if you eat a hand of them. Everyone think it funny but Harse. Harse like the plant though and gotta respect it like the spiders do. Look.” Harse gestured to the roots and Boremac noticed all the spiders that were crawling through the root web without being entangled by the plant. It was as if it did not even know they were there. The dead spiders appeared to have been consumed over time like the bugs and worms that burrowed into the berries of the plant, but it seemed like a symbiotic relationship. The spiders fed on the small insects they could get from inside the roots and, at the end, gave their bodies to the plant. Boremac found himself admiring the economy of it.
The root tendrils had begun to withdraw a short time later. Harse smiled and forgot his warning to Boremac as he stared at the tip of the finger that had been trapped. The fingertip glistened in the afternoon sun and Harse was entranced just a moment before he popped the finger into his mouth. “Juice good,” was all he had time to say before he tipped backward. Boremac had just enough time and speed to direct the big man’s fall, guiding him to an open patch of the forest floor. Boremac thought Harse might be hurt until he drew in a deep breath and let loose a snore that was uniquely Harse’s sign of contented sleep, much to the Gang’s dismay most nights. Harse woke up as the sun began to finish its trip across the sky for the day, slowly dipping behind the trees. He looked embarrassed but rested, and the pair had gone back to the cave without further incident, not mentioning their encounter with the plant.
Boremac had been able to find one of the Do Nut berry plants relatively easily once he remembered them. He cut a piece out of his water skin and crushed a handful of the berries into the leather cup he made, glad he had two pairs of gloves with him since he would not be wearing these again. He took a length of leather line he used to repair his armor when needed and threaded it through the thick metal needle that he kept for the same purpose. When he felt he had enclosed the top of the small poison sac as best he could, he wrapped the remaining leather line tightly around the spot just below the cinching line for the opening at the top. “It is a wonder what one recalls just when one needs it the most,” Boremac said as he tucked the little sac into his sleeve where he usually kept Death for Dead Man’s Hand. He felt the pouch would be infinitely safer, and more useful, than the card that made its home there.
‘The Cannibal’ had been easy to track, too easy in Boremac’s estimation. He attributed this to the fact that once one had a death mark on their head, they might become somewhat less cautious, or this at least appeared to be the case with’The Cannibal’. He had left a path of destruction behind him, burning farms and stampeding animals from the look of things, and tying out the bodies of his pursuers as if to ward off others that followed. The bodies Boremac found did have gnawed places on them, even whole chunks missing on some, but to his untrained eyes he did not think they were made by a man, not even a half orc. The deepest cuts were clearly the work of large bladed axes but not always the same one. Boremac thought that the cleave marks indicated one of two things, either’The Cannibal’ was much stronger than anyone thought, wielding two battle axes at once, or he had help. Boremac did not care for either option but he would have preferred two axes. Multiple partners with ‘The Cannibal’ would complicate his simple plan a great deal. Boremac was disappointed, though not surprised, when he caught up with his quarry.
‘The Cannibal’ had found a vacated ranger’s cabin in the woods well outside most of the surrounding towns. He did not see any indication that the ranger had been killed and assumed, judging by the lack of upkeep, the ranger had either died or left some time ago. The door hung from one hinge at the top and there were layers of dead flowers at the base of the place, giving off a sickly smell. The brush seemed to happily have moved into one of the few open spots in the forested canopy and thorny vines had grown thick over the outer walls and roof.
Boremac saw at least three different individuals come and go from the cabin while he scouted it. Two full blood orcs and one somewhat smaller half orc, ‘The Cannibal’, Boremac surmised, came out of the place to relieve themselves or gather firewood over the day and night that Boremac watched silently. His assumption was confirmed about the weapons of choice the marauders carried, each letting a heavy axe hang from their belt as they went about their business outside. Boremac thought he might be able to kill them individually but he did not want to unless he had no choice. He was a pickpocket, a burglar, and now a bounty hunter, but there was still something that rebelled against him becoming a killer, probably some bit George had instilled in him in his lessons. A conscience was such an irritation. He listened to the group berate one another the first night and thought he had a way to insinuate himself into the group. The same way that’The Cannibal’ had become a wanted bounty would be his way in, Dead Man’s Hand. It was as good a way as any, and Boremac simply could not think of anything else. He knew he had to get close to the marauders to make his plan work with three and, even then, he doubted it would be as easy as he hoped. He would find out soon enough but for now he rested until the next night.
Boremac ached from the branches where he had perched himself overnight. The squirrels had not appreciated it but at least they did not form an assault while he slept, appearing to have chosen to move to another nest temporarily. Boremac remained in the tree throughout the day, watching the movements of his adversaries, noting “The Cannibal” sent his orc minions out but did not come out himself to do the daily chores as he had previously. He even had the orcs emptying a chamber pot for him. This caused a great deal of arguing between the two orcs as neither wanted to be responsible for the duty. Boremac could sympathize with the pair, but that did not make their fights any less hilarious. The two did everything but draw their
axes, even going so far as clubbing each other with firewood, to decide the abused party. Boremac noted the pot itself was always kept well away from the struggling orcs, a precaution he had no trouble understanding. He was well away from the cabin and could smell the thing from his roost. The deciding factor for the end of the orcs melee appeared when ‘The Cannibal’ roused inside, probably awakened by the stench. He called out something in a guttural language that Boremac assumed to be orcish and whichever orc was down at the time rose to get the pot, spitting at the other as they did so. The unlucky orc carried the pot well away from the cabin, usually not returning for a significant length of time. The receptacle did not smell when the orc returned. Boremac took this to indicate there was a stream or lake nearby with a bunch of tortured fish.
“Well, as interesting as this has been, I should probably be about capturing him.” Boremac thought as he dropped from branch to branch until he made ground fall. The landing would have been envied by the squirrels, as quiet as it was. He had decided the direct approach would be his best option. If he could take the trio off guard, he would buy himself the valuable seconds he would need to pull off his first stunt.
He waited briefly at the door, listening for an opportunity to make his entrance as the group argued amongst themselves. It was almost painful for him to listen to the guttural orc tongue that seemed to involve the grinding of teeth and clacking of their jaws as much as any words or phrases, all of it brutal, which did not help him understand at all. Boremac knew nothing of the orc language, so he was forced to wait for other cues to guide him. An appropriate signal came soon enough. Three mugs hit the table inside, telling him approximately where everyone was, two with backs toward the door facing one across the table, somewhat off center in order to allow the two orcs to guard against intrusion. The parties inside were even kind enough to drag their wooden chairs and belch almost in unison to cover his entrance. It seemed they had been practicing this routine for quite some time, and Boremac almost hated to break the trio up.
Boremac kicked the cabin door open with just enough force to leave room for him to slide behind the two orcs seated at the wooden table, with’The Cannibal’ seated across from him. Boremac found it telling that the half orc gambler had his own axe lying on the table near him. He obviously did not trust the security provided by his companions and reflexively took hold of the handle as he rose. Boremac had to enact his plan quickly or he was certain he would not be standing much longer, let alone breathing. Fast talking was crucial to his plan, so it was time to do something before he got hurt. He grabbed hold of each of the back of the orcs’ chairs at the same time, blessing Alchendia for having them both leaning back in their chairs when he struck, and yanked the orcs backward. He used just enough force to let momentum carry them to the floor, landing neatly with their feet in the air and their backs firmly planted in the chairs, keeping them temporarily from being able to rise. Boremac dipped into a crouch, not even sparing time to check his targets as his daggers practically leapt into his hands. He barely needed to raise his weapons before he drove them into the necks of the two orcs. The pair just twitched by way of reply and they did not do that for long. Boremac replaced the two fighting daggers into their sheathes before drawing two other objects into his hands. The whole exercise took only seconds, but’The Cannibal’ had been in motion as well. He needed no more time than that to raise his axe and prepare to cleave Boremac.
Boremac dodged backward as the axe swept through the spot where he had been standing. Boremac reacted in what he hoped would be a very unexpected manner, tossing a heavy coin purse to the table between them and burying one of his throwing daggers in the wall behind’The Cannibal’. Both the jiggling of coins and jewels and the humming of the dagger vibrating in the wood at the half orc’s back had their desired effect. Boremac said one word to make certain the adversary took his meaning. “Hold!” Boremac was pleased to note it took no more demonstration to have’The Cannibal’ drop his axe from a ready position. Things had gone ugly enough and, though Boremac could easily justify killing the two orcs, he did not wish to execute his quarry. The contract did not call for him to be the executioner, just the one who brought him to Verson.
Boremac was surprised when the half orc addressed him for the first time. “Hold, and?” ‘The Cannibal’s’ tone was light, almost mocking, and did not suit the size and hard features of the one who spoke. “I assume you are not going to kill me. You could have done that already if that was your intention, judging from my partners’ conditions.” Boremac noticed he spat the last words more than said them. “You probably saved me the trouble. They were getting less controllable with every raid. The pair might have actually lived up to my new moniker given time, and not much more time, the way I see it.”
“No need for me to kill you,’Cannibal’. You are worth much more to me alive. I represent a collector of interesting weapons, among other things, who has contracted me to acquire your axe to add to his special collection.” Boremac could not help a wry grin appearing upon his lips. The expression did not appear to hurt his cause as he delved deeper into his game. “He offers a fair price, enough in coin and gems to let you go anywhere you like, and he would prefer you are alive to do so. It greatly increases the value of your axe if you die of old age, a permanent wrinkle on the face of justice. A brutal killer that no one could catch, but still willing to gamble losing your axe to gain your freedom. It makes for a great engraving where your axe will hang. I hope you agree.”
“Huh.” The snorted reply was much what Boremac had anticipated, in fact he had been betting on it. “A gentleman thief sent to purchase my singular weapon. I would hate to lose it. You are presuming to wager for it? Sounds like a very interesting game, but what do you wager?”
“The bag of coins between us is yours whether I win or lose. If I win, I take my payment from the bag and you hand over your axe. If I lose, you keep the axe and the coin bag. Seem fair?” Boremac smiled fully this time, baring just a few teeth.
‘The Cannibal returned his smile with one of his own, baring long sets of fangs in his upper and lower jaw, before he replied. “I have a better game. Best of five hands to make things interesting. I win, you die and I keep everything. You win, you live and I give you the axe, nothing more. If you think you can take me, now would be the time. Call it, thief.” The half orc pulled a coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air. “King or Fool.”
Boremac watched the coin spin in the air for a moment before making his choice. “Fool.”
“Yes, I think you are correct, thief.” ‘The Cannibal’ slammed the coin down as it hit the table. “Let’s see if Alchendia favors the thief or the gambler.” He raised his hand slowly, exposing the grinning face of a court jester carved into the gold coin. The half orc frowned and looked at Boremac. “Looks like you may not be staying for dinner after all. What is your favor, deal or receive.”
“You deal the first hand.” Boremac placed his fighting daggers on the table on his right side, then his throwing daggers still in their belt lying over them. His opponent nodded and did the same with his axe. “No need for unnecessary distractions between gentle card players,” continued Boremac. “Glad to see you agree.”
“Thank you, but let me assure you the axe rests, as it always has, at my side and ready for trouble. If those orcs had ever been a real threat, I could have parted their heads from their shoulders in one motion. You would see the strike coming, and maybe even have time to appreciate the speed of my blade, but little else. Keep that in mind. Ale?” ‘The Cannibal’ rose up out of his chair and stared at Boremac, waiting for an answer. Boremac noticed that he did not bother picking up the axe.
“Yes, thank you.” Boremac replied in a tone meant to hide his fear. He said a few brief prayers to Alchendia and hoped that if everything went wrong, she would see her way clear to save him, or at least give him a plan for getting the soporific into his opponent. When his host returned with the mugs, he placed one before Boremac firs
t and bid him toast. Boremac pulled an appropriate response from his troubled mind and even managed a smile before tipping the mug to his lips. “We drink to the cards and Alchendia, no matter whether she favors the gambler or the thief, for she has favored us both I think in this meeting.” The bitter ale soured in his belly, much to his dismay.
His host’s reply was simple and direct, much like the man. “Well said.”
Boremac, finding himself in no hurry to turn the cards, asked his opponent what he knew of the hunt for him. He answered simply. “I know they are calling me ‘The Cannibal’ which is just silly. I would rather eat a scrawny rat than serve up one of my fellows. You can call me Vascetur, or Vas if you like. How are you named?”
Boremac thought there was no harm in offering his real name. One of the two men would be the other’s undoing anyway. “Boremac, by my father and mother, though I rarely use the name. Just safer that way.”
“I understand. I am certain there are sometime people looking for you with a bit of a grudge. I like being known as a card player, not so much as a killer. Cuts down on the available games.” He stated, shaking his head.
“I can only imagine. I make it a point to never kill anyone who is not a danger to me. Tricky sometimes to figure that out but I have learned from my mistakes, giving some too much rope where I am concerned. You never can tell when someone is going to boot you off something with a noose around your neck.” Boremac noted the furrow that dug its way deep into Vas’s brow with the last of his words, but chose not to comment or apologize. He was glad Vas kept his silence as well.