The King's Henchmen: The Henchmen Chronicles - Book 1

by Craig Halloran

  57

  Inside the tavern, all the local fisherman had scattered. The quavering floor of the tavern became a battle royale, with the men with skin against the men with fins.

  Horace had the myrmidon who had flirted with Iris hoisted over his head and pinned to the ceiling.

  Tark punched a fish man in the face. Cudgel had a chair shattered on his back.

  Bearclaw wrestled across the floor with two myrmidons at once.

  Sticks ran down the length of the bar and kicked a myrmidon in the face.

  A wine bottle sailed over Abraham’s ducking head. “We need to break it up,” he said as he prowled into the tavern. No weapons were drawn. It was skin and brawn locked up against muscles and scales. Fists collided with teeth. Sharp talons dug into flesh.

  Horace let out an eardrum-shattering yelp. He dropped the myrmidon and backed into the wall. Black quills were stuck in his face, as if he’d been attacked by a porcupine. His sausage fingers started to pluck them out.

  Iris rushed up to Horace and shouted, “Leave them alone!” She swung her metal goblet into an attacking myrmidon’s chin. He hopped away from her.

  Abraham battled into the fray with his fists flying. He landed an uppercut in a myrmidon’s gut, which doubled the fish man over. From out of nowhere, a table crashed down on top of his back and drove him to his knees. He scurried out from underneath it and saw Flexor. The tallest myrmidon’s talons had extended on all fingers, jutting out over a foot long. He clacked his sharp little piranha teeth together. Abraham started to draw.

  “No blades, Captain!” Bearclaw said. He straddled a fish man and punched him in the face. “Let these little guppies fight with their fingernails if they want to.” He grabbed the man by his seaweed collar, yanked him up, and headbutted him.

  Abraham locked his sword back inside its sheath. He had no idea how good he was at hand-to-hand fighting, but he was about to find out. He rose and faced off against Flexor, lifting his fists. “All right, creature from the smelly lagoon, come on over, and I’ll make clam chowder out of you.”

  Flexor spread his arms out and grinned. His arms looked impossibly long with the super-long fingernails. He slowly walked forward, saying, “I will peel you out of that armor and serve you to my sharks for dinner.” He lunged in and swiped.

  Abraham ducked, stepped into Flexor, wrapped the man in a bear hug, and slammed him down on the floor. The myrmidon tried to claw his way out of his grip. He rabbit punched the myrmidon in the back of the head.

  The myrmidon thrashed on the floor and screamed with a high-pitched sound. “Reeeeeeeeeeee! Reeeeeeeeee! Reeeeeeeeeee!”

  “Gah!” Abraham rolled off Flexor’s back and stuck his fingers in his ears. “Geez, what is that?” He kicked Flexor.

  The lanky myrmidon leader scrambled to his feet as the earsplitting screeching continued to gush from his lips. He waved his arm, and the myrmidons, one and all, slipped out of the tavern and over the porch rails and dashed down toward the sea. Flexor and his woman were the last to go. They vanished over the railing and disappeared. The screeching stopped.

  The Henchmen slowly made their way back to their feet, shaking their heads.

  “By the Elders, I didn’t know that they could do that,” Horace said. He was sitting on a barstool, letting Iris pluck the quills out of his face. “Dirty fighters. Cowardly. All of them.”

  Abraham and Sticks turned a table over and put it back on its legs. Then he pulled up a chair and rolled his jaw, trying to shake the ringing from his ears.

  He sat down. “What happened?”

  “Horace started it,” Vern said. “He saw Iris getting cozy with that smooth-talking myrmidon and charged over there like a maddened bull.”

  “I did not!” Horace said.

  “You did too,” Iris said with a smile. She plucked a needle out from under his eye.

  Horace’s voice softened. “All I did was march over to have a word. That’s when another one of those fish-eyed fools tripped me.”

  “Then Dominga slung her goblet at the fish-face hooked on Iris’s arm,” Vern added as he rubbed his swollen jaw. “Ol’ Fish Eyes’s scales turned red. That’s when Horace drug his arse up off the floor and plowed into him.”

  “You didn’t miss a beat, did you?” Abraham said to Vern.

  Vern shrugged. “It was going to be a brawl. Everyone knew it the moment that they walked in, except you.”

  The Henchmen helped the waitresses set up the toppled chairs and tables. Prospero and Apollo lay on the floor, knocked out or passed out, snoring. Cudgel and Tark dragged them across the floor and leaned them in a corner. Within minutes, the deteriorating tavern was back under normal operation. The fishermen who had scattered returned. The place looked as if nothing had happened, aside from some scrapes, bruises, and the dark black heads that dotted Horace’s puffy face.

  Iris rubbed salve into Horace’s meaty jaws. “You didn’t have to go to such extremes for me.”

  “Well… I do.”

  She smiled warmly.

  The Henchmen carried on for a couple more hours until Cudgel blurted out, “I’ve been pilfered!”

  Cudgel’s purse wasn’t the only one missing. So was Bearclaw’s, Vern’s, Prospero’s, Apollo’s and Dominga’s. Even Abraham’s was missing.

  “I think we’ve been duped,” Sticks said.

  The young Red Tunic, Twila, burst through the tavern doors. Drenched in sweat, her panicked stare searched the room until she found Ruger. “The horses! The wagon! They’re gone!”

  58

  On foot, the Henchmen took off after the thieves who had stolen their horses and wagons. It took coercion, but the tavern keeper and the waitresses had finally spilled their guts. As it turned out, they were in cahoots with the myrmidons, and not just them, either. They were part of a larger local network of brigands that operated on the shores of Titanuus’s Crotch, called the Shell. The brawl was just a part of the bigger play. The Henchmen had been duped by thugs and thieves.

  Abraham ground his teeth as they walked. Losing their gear was one thing. It was another to lose Jake’s backpack. That was the only thing keeping him attached to home. Now, it was gone, and with that gone, he feared losing the lone connection that was a reminder of his greater purpose.

  Vern walked up beside him and asked, “So, we can still speak freely?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well done, Captain. We are off to the same lousy start as always.” Vern shook his head and marched on.

  According to the taverner, the Shell’s hideout wasn’t a secret. It was a small stone fort in the rocks that overlooked the sea line. It had been built centuries before, during the Coastal Wars, where Hancha and Tiotan fought for the territory. Seeing the land was barren and futile, both kingdoms abandoned the quest and left it to rot.

  They walked all night, following the wagon-wheel tracks and hoofprints. They could do without the wagon, but the horses were another matter. They needed them, not to mention their rations. After a few hours of walking, Dominga and Tark, who’d been scouting ahead, returned.

  Dominga shone with sweat in the moonlight. She said, “We’ve spotted the Shell.”

  The Shell was bigger than Ruger’s stronghold, but not by much. It was nothing more than a rectangular fort with a three-story-high outer wall with battlements. A jetty of huge rocks made a natural dock that ran up to the portcullis entrance to the fort. Several small craft and barges were docked against the strand of land. No flags or banners flapped in the wind above the fort walls. The lonely-looking place was dim and quiet.

  With the others, Abraham spied the fort from their position on the beach. The portcullis door was open. Several rogues sauntered in and out. Many of them stood along the dock and smoked.

  “Huh,” Gabe said.

  “They don’t appear to be worried about any pursuers,” Sticks said. “Either the Shell has guts, or they are really stupid.”

  Horace grunted. “Look at their location. Tucked in those rocks,
they could hold off an entire army for weeks if they needed to.”

  “Well, we aren’t an army, and we don’t have weeks,” Abraham said. “But we have to get our gear back. The question is, how do we do that?”

  “We kill ’em,” Horace said.

  “Yes, we kill them,” Cudgel added.

  “If they weren’t smart enough to steal our blades, I agree, we kill them,” Vern added.

  “Aye, and they are thieves. They deserve death as punishment,” Bearclaw stated.

  “Well, we aren’t here to start a war with the Shell,” Abraham said.

  “It’s not uncommon for the rogues to sell goods back to the ones they were stolen from,” Dominga offered.

  All eyes turned to her.

  “What? I know about these things. The same things happen in Kingsland. I used to be the eyes for a guild house before I got caught up doing this.”

  “Listen, darlin’, we can’t buy back something that was stolen from us with money we don’t have,” Vern said, “though I like the way you are thinking.”

  Abraham rubbed the scruff building on his face. “This sucks. But I think, talking to them, we’ll fare better than fighting them. If Dominga’s right and they have open doors for desperate customers, perhaps we can strike a deal with them.”

  “Let’s just kill them,” Apollo suggested. Prospero nodded and yawned. “Their ilk has it coming.”

  “We don’t even know how many they have in there. And if we charge in there, they’ll tuck their head back inside their shell.” He stood. “I’m going in… alone.”

  “What about us, Captain?” Horace said.

  “Just wait outside. If I don’t come back out within a few hours, well, feel free to come looking for me. My guess is that in the worst case, I’ll return with my tail tucked between my legs.”

  Iris looked at his behind. “But you don’t have a tail. Does he have a tail, Sticks?”

  “No, that’s not what he means. It’s an expression,” Sticks said. “But he does have a tail on the front end.”

  Iris giggled.

  “I would like to come with you,” Sticks said. “You shouldn’t go in there alone. I have some experience with people like this.”

  Abraham gave it some thought. “Fine. Just us. The rest of you, keep a hundred yards back. And keep your swords in place. I don’t want to agitate them. Let’s see what Flexor, or whoever is in charge, has to say. I mean it.”

  “We’ll wait, but not forever, Captain,” Horace said.

  “Good.” He looked at Sticks. “Come on.”

  Together, they made the trek to the Shell’s fort. A handful of guards in plain clothing stood between the battlements, pointing crossbows at them. A handful of myrmidons and regular men met them outside the portcullis. Abraham was surprised to see Flexor’s woman approach from the inside.

  In her bubbling accent, the striking myrmidon looked him up and down and said, “Interesting. You may enter, but you must surrender your weapons.”

  Abraham unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it to the ground. “As you wish.”

  Sticks mimicked him.

  “I am Kawnee,” the lady myrmidon said. She picked up their weapons belts and slung them over her shoulder. “Follow me.” She led them inside the fort.

  The iron portcullis lowered, making loud squeaks and rattles. It came to a rest on the threshold, sealing them all inside.

  59

  Inside the fort was a wooden building that ran from the front to the back. The bottom of the structure was an open-faced barn, with two levels of apartments above it. The apartments had a walkway and railing on the outside. Windows and doors were behind the railing, as on a motel. Surly men and women, in common garb, were spread out on the walkways, casting heavy stares at Ruger and Sticks. All of them were human.

  The other side of the fort’s courtyard was made up of storehouses residing beneath the parapets. Some had open bays, while others had closed doors. The air smelled of manure and hay. Kawnee led them straight down the middle. On the wall opposite the portcullis, another smaller portcullis waited. A pair of guards, holding spears, blocked the double-door entrance. They were brutes wearing leather armor, with heavy eyebrows, wide faces, and thick lips.

  Kawnee waved her hand.

  The lazy-eyed brutes stepped aside.

  Ruger and Sticks followed Kawnee through the open gate into a smaller fort hidden behind the larger one. Unlike the outer fort, this fort was more of a grand hall with a pitched roof held up by stone archways. Six stone cauldrons of fire burned along the wall and corners. The smoke seeped up through small holes in the corner of the ceilings. The heavy doors closed behind them.

  Six rogues, man and myrmidon, were posted on the right and left, armed with swords. At the end of the room were three empty wooden thronelike chairs sitting side by side, ascending from smallest to largest up a dais. Flexor sat tall in the chair in the middle, hands on his knees. But he barely caught Abraham’s attention. Instead, the man sitting in the top chair caught his eyes. The man appeared to be in his forties, with short blond hair and a receding hairline. The round-faced man’s penetrating eyes were as blue as the sky. He wore a black leather vest with a scarlet red long-sleeved shirt underneath. The buttons on the high-collared shirt were pearl white. The man leaned back with the bottom of one foot propped up in the seat of his chair. He didn’t appear to be armed.

  In a rich and welcoming voice, the blond man asked, “Who have you brought to me, Kawnee?”

  Kawnee bowed her chin and said, “Lord Hawk, these travelers have made an inquiry about some of their belongings that they have lost.”

  “Interesting. What is that you carry, Kawnee?” Lord Hawk asked. He tilted his head. “Bring it to me.”

  Kawnee approached the wooden throne and laid Ruger’s and Sticks’s weapons at Lord Hawk’s feet.

  “Hand me that sword and take your seat,” Lord Hawk said.

  Ruger and Sticks exchanged a nervous glance. Lord Hawk slid Black Bane out of the sheath. The blackened steel glimmered in the dim light.

  Lord Hawk’s piercing eyes slowly ran over the blade from top to bottom. He twisted the blade over and again. His eyes slid over and met Abraham’s. “This sword is unique. I like it. Who are you that brings me a gift like this?”

  “Gift? Uh, no, my sword is not a gift. It’s mine and mine alone,” Abraham responded.

  “Who are you?” Lord Hawk said in a more menacing tone.

  “I am Ruger. This is Sticks.”

  “I didn’t ask who she was. Nevertheless, it is good to meet the both of you. Now, tell me in your own words what brings you to the Shell?”

  “Lord Hawk, your men stole a wagonload of our supplies, our purses, and over a dozen horses from us. I want them back.”

  Lord Hawk sat up suddenly in his chair. He turned to Flexor the myrmidon and asked, “Is this true? Did you rob these weary travelers of their goods?”

  Flexor shrugged and said, “They lost them in a wager.”

  “That’s a lie!” Sticks blurted out.

  “Whoa, lady, you don’t come into my fortress and make accusations,” Lord Hawk said. He rested Black Bane on his shoulder. “That could be fatal. And before your tongues slip again, let me remind you that I am the judge and the jury around here.” He narrowed his bright eyes at Sticks. “Now, let’s back up a moment. You lost a bet with Flexor and his men. Perhaps you were drunk and careless. Believe me, I’ve lived in this part of the world a long time and met many that have made similar mistakes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. So you wish to buy back your gear? Right?”

  Sticks’s hands balled up into fists. Her mouth opened wide.

  Abraham clamped his hands around her mouth, held her tight, and said, “Something like that, Lord Hawk.”

  “Ah. A man of reason. A very fit warrior of a man, at that.” Lord Hawk sheathed the sword, tossed it onto the ground, and stood. “Tell me, Ruger, what did you have in mind?” he asked, patting a strange object on his right hi
p. “Make me a deal.”

  Abraham’s eyes dropped. Lord Hawk carried a pistol on his hip.

  60

  To say that Abraham was a little freaked out was an understatement. He lifted his eyes and found Lord Hawk’s stare on his. He made a straight face and let go of Sticks. She stepped away from him.

  Sonuvagun. Keep it together.

  He’d gotten only a glimpse of the pistol and gun belt. It wasn’t an ideal rig, but rather like one would see in the Old West. Lord Hawk wore a black leather belt, and the pistol, which appeared to be a six-shooter, was holstered in leather.

  “Well, Ruger,” Lord Hawk said as he stepped down from the dais, his hand remaining on the pistol’s grip, “are you going to make an offer for your gear or not?”

  “I think it would be a lot easier if you would tell me what you want, and we can negotiate from there.”

  Lord Hawk nodded. He looked back at Flexor and Kawnee and said, “You see, this is a good businessman. He doesn’t come into the Shell and insult us. He wants to make a straight deal.” He turned back to Ruger and Sticks. “I like that.” He scratched the side of his clean-shaven face. “I’ll sell you the wagon, horses, and all of the contents, for one thousand shards of gold.”

  “I don’t have one thousand shards. Let me have your purse,” he told Sticks.

  With a deepening frown, she handed him her cloth purse.

  He dumped the contents into his hand and counted. It’s not real. Have some fun. “I can offer you five gold shards, fifteen silver, and thirteen copper. But I’ll pay the rest back when we return from Alderaan.”

  “Where is Alderaan?” Lord Hawk said.

  “Never mind. Do we have a deal, Lord Hawk?” Abraham said.

  Lord Hawk leaned forward on one knee, and from several feet away, he said, “I think you are making light with me by offering a pittance.” He rested his hand on the handle of his gun. “I made you a serious offer. You offer me a baron’s tithe, and now, I’m insulted.”