by Wil Ogden
“Could you take a message to the manor district for me?” The skinny man asked. “Could you tell Lord Dane that we got waylaid and won't be able to make his daughter's party?”
“Sure, we could,” Pantros said. “It's the least...”
Bryan put his hand on Pantros’ chest, interrupting him. “I have a better idea.”
“No, Bryan,” Pantros said. “We already decided that we are not going to rob the poor clowns.”
“No, but we could be clowns.” Bryan suggested.
“Okay, you might be funny looking,” Pantros mused, “But that’s where your capability for entertaining humor ends. Not everyone thinks it’s funny to throw scuppers through walls.”
“Everyone at Therl’s laughed.” Bryan said.
“Everyone at Therl’s had just spent half the year at sea.” Pantros said. “They’d laugh at a horse sneezing.”
“Are we going to do this clown thing or not?”
“We’re going to deliver their regrets.” Pantros declared firmly. “That’s all we are going to do.”
“Pan,” Bryan leaned in close to whisper, “We have a pass into a noble’s party. Think about it.”
Pantros thought about it, cocking his head. He couldn’t believe Bryan had arrived at the idea first. “Bryan, remember what I said about you thinking?”
“It’s bad?” Bryan said.
“Yeah, remember that,” Pantros said. “But, if you accidentally stumble upon a great idea once in a while, I won’t hold it against you.”
“Does this mean I’m back on full shares?” Bryan asked.
“For now,” said Pantros.
“Because I thought up a great idea?” Bryan asked.
“No, because I haven’t given you any money, yet,” Pantros said plainly.
§
The two men walked along the streets in the red mist. The larger of the two wore a belled four-pointed hat and a purple, orange and pale green tunic that didn't quite look long enough.
The smaller man wore a red and white-checkered tabard and a long pointed hat that nearly hung to the ground behind him. A plume of pink and purple tassels erupted from the point of the hat. “I’ve reconsidered; this is the dumbest idea you have ever had,” muttered Pantros, his voice seething.
“Did you really want to tell some poor little girl that her clowns wouldn't be there for her birthday?” Bryan asked.
“No,” Pantros shrugged. “I always thought of you as the one who didn't care about other people feelings. I figured you would tell her. I’ve got to say, I liked you better when you didn't show your caring side.” Tugging the point of his hat over his shoulder, he wiggled the bell before his eyes. “At least this isn’t the dumbest thing we’ve done this year.” Pantros tried to sound sarcastic.
“Pummeling sailors is one thing,” Bryan said seriously. “Breaking children's hearts is just mean.”
“Ah,” Pantros rolled his eyes, but he nodded in agreement. “You sure you don’t want to just go get the gold and buy that sword?”
“Nah, the sword will still be there tomorrow,” Bryan spoke through one of those smiles that made Pantros believe they would somehow find more trouble than they could handle. “Besides, from the look of that crowd, I may not need to break your stash after my half cut tonight.”
“Let’s hope,” Pantros threatened lightly. “If it’s not then this silly stuff won’t have been worth it.”
§
Most days, the wind blew from the west across Ignea, keeping the fumes from the volcano away from the city. Every few years a freak weather pattern will bring the ash of the volcano down on the city. Anywhere in the city, there would be a buildup of ash along the corners and crevices; anywhere in the city but the neighborhood they stood in. Polished white marble streets wound between the large manses of Ignea's nobles. Supposedly, there were a hundred houses that jointly made up the city's ruling council but Pantros had never heard of them meeting. He occasionally heard of fighting between the guards of one house and a rival or the sailors who worked for a house start a nasty bar brawl with sailors from another house. A given block in this neighborhood would hold from one to four manses with walled grounds and guards patrolling the perimeters. The nobles, with their money and influence, lived in a different world than the dockside Pantros usually knew.
“I think this is it,” Bryan pointed to a brightly lit manse with gentle harp music drifting from the courtyard. A line of richly dressed nobles were queued by guards at the gate who checked the invitations. The guards wore puff-and-slash doublets in black and red. The guests wore gowns and doublets of their own houses colors. Each guest also wore a mask or carried a small mask on a stick. The masks were as ornate and colorful as the garb.
“Fine,” Pantros gave up protesting. “So, we are going to go in, and dance around and stick our tongues out?”
“I hadn't thought that far ahead,” Bryan admitted. “I guess people won’t laugh long at the outfits alone. Hey, don't blame me; you’re the brains. I just punch people.”
“Yeah, right,” Pantros sighed. Covering his face with both hands he let out a long slow breath. “This is what we are going to do: A mock sword fight. I'm sure we can make it silly.”
“Can't you just juggle and flop around?” Bryan asked. “Neither of us has a sword.”
“But we know how to use them,” Pantros mentioned. “We practice a few times a week with those old spits out behind the inn. Dale told me we are pretty amazing to watch. Making it a little silly shouldn't be hard. I can jump over some of your swings and bounce around you and make you look like an oafish ogre.”
“So I get to be the butt of the jokes?” Bryan looked at Pantros skeptically.
“This was your idea,” Pantros said. “And I never learned to juggle.”
“I bet they would like to watch us throw daggers back and forth,” Bryan suggested. It was something they did when they helped out with the dishes at the inn: throw breakables to each other, daring them to miss. It had evolved to sharp objects in the previous two years.
“We can do that,” Pantros agreed. “Okay, here's the show plan. We start by tossing stuff to each other through the crowd. Involve the audience, Sheillene, one of the regular bards at the inn, taught me that. We can even play keep away with some of their accessories, like ornamental walking sticks and large jewelry, but we have to give it all back. Then we can move on to food and finish with knives and then when we get to swords we can move into the mock fight. For that we should probably clear a space.”
“Yeah, got it,” Bryan said. “This might be fun.”
“I doubt it,” Pantros shook his head as he walked up to the guards.
The Guards sent them to a small area behind the manse where they waited with the other entertainers for the night. Six acrobats were practicing a standing human pyramid while an animal trainer was brushing the mane of heavily chained lion.
The table set for them to pick at looked lavish compared to what Pantros usually considered food. Various shellfish, sliced meat and cheeses were piled on platters. Pitchers of beer and at least three varieties of fruit juice were also available. Pantros did what any sixteen-year-old would do: he ate lots of everything. Bryan ate more.
After all the other entertainers had been out for their shows, Pantros and Bryan were summoned.
“One last thing before we start,” Pantros said. “Neither of us should speak.”
Bryan nodded.
The host brought them to the front courtyard where magically glowing glass balls which hovered a few yards above had altered the glow to a very celebratory violet. An Abvi woman with golden blonde hair and dark ruby-like eyes sat in a chair at the center of a raised table. Gifts, some opened to reveal silken garments or semi-precious jewelry, covered the table.
“What are you waiting for?” the Abvi's voice glided across the table. “Show me something fun for my hundredth birthday.”
Pantros smiled and elbowed Bryan in the kidney. Reaching out, he grabbed the cap
of a nearby servant and tossed it into the air. Bryan caught the felt cap and momentarily plopped it on top of his cap until the servant lunged after him. Given the difference in height, the lunge looked more like a hop and brought a chuckle from some members of the crowd. Just as the servant got close, Bryan flicked the hat to Pantros, who had moved into the crowd. They tossed the cap back and forth, playing keep away until the servant started to look frustrated. Pantros then plopped the cap on top of the nearest noble's head and gracefully whirled around the noble, ending up behind the noble and wearing the noble's cape. The noble laughed and reached for the cape but Pantros cartwheeled away, disappearing into the crowd.
A moment later a drink servant walked through the party wearing the noble's cape. Bryan had, meanwhile, procured an ornamental mirrored glass ball from the banquet table and was lobbing it from hand to hand. He stumbled and the orb went flying into the crowd where Pantros caught it and immediately tossed it back. Terse gasps told Pantros that crowd was on edge, watching the fragile glass fly above the flagstones of the courtyard. At one time Pantros nearly dropped it only to kick it back to Bryan just before it would have shattered on the stones. The ball was soon exchanged for whipped-icing filled pastries, which sent the nobles scurrying off to the edges, not wanting to get the delicious cream on their silk gowns. Bryan caught one toss of a pastry on the end of a decorative skewer, and the food tossing had progressed to sharp implements. The crowd was rapt as they tossed a carving knife and fork back and forth.
Bryan carefully edged near a pair of guards and as Pantros tossed the knife a last time, Bryan quickly drew one of the guards’ swords and knocked the airborne knife aside where it stuck into the leg of the banquet table. Bryan dropped the fork from his other hand onto the table and tossed the sword, end over end at Pantros. Pantros stepped aside, reaching out just to catch the hilt of the weapon as it flew by. He spun around to face his friend who had now drawn the other guard’s sword and was moving towards him rapidly. Pantros ran forward meeting the charge. They exchanged swings and parries for only a few seconds before Pantros rolled under a swing to come to his feet and smack Bryan's rear with the flat of the blade. He quickly parried Bryan's clumsy return shot as the larger man spun back to face his friend. Bryan threw a series of wide horizontal swings. Pantros ducked the first, jumped over the second, ducked the fourth then leapt into an airborne summersault over the fourth. Pantros retaliated with an overhead swing that Bryan caught at his hilt. Pantros pressed his blade down, but the larger man laughed and threw Pantros back, where he fell sprawled to the flagstones. Hopping to his feet, Pantros beckoned Bryan to come at him. Bryan charged wildly, sword high in the air. Pantros stepped aside at the last minute spinning his leg back and sweeping Bryan off his feet. Bryan flipped forward, rolling in the air, but landing on his rear. The audience broke into applause. Pantros helped Bryan to his feet then bowed along with his friend.
An Abvi in a black and red silk doublet stepped out of the crowd. “Well done,” The Abvi praised. “I have seen staged swordplay before and that was not the same.”
Bryan and Pantros looked at each other and shrugged.
“I mean, in plays and such when there is swordplay, each move is planned, the entire fight is a step by step reenactment,” the Abvi explained. “The way you moved was not choreographed. The way your eyes watched each other, you were looking for hints as to what would your opponent do next.”
“Well, this is our first time,” Bryan admitted.
“Indeed,” The Abvi nodded, looking impressed. “And I could also tell that the larger one is the better swordsman, though your show would outwardly imply otherwise. Where did you learn the art of swordplay?”
“My father taught me,” Bryan told the Abvi, “before mother left and he crawled into a barrel of rum.”
“Your father must have been very good when he was sober,” the Abvi commented.
“My father is Captain Aaron,” Bryan mentioned. “He is very good when he is drunk. When he is sober, he is the best.”
“I know him,” the Abvi said. “I am Lord Gliyn Dane, Lord of the House of Dane. He sailed for Uytlin, did he not?”
“Yes,” Bryan nodded.
“Captain Aaron Piratesbane,” Dane pondered. “He taught me a good bit about cutlass fighting. It was from him that I learned that sailors prefer a curved blade because it will cut through ropes easier. The curve forces a rope to run along the edge as the blade passes through, giving a cutting more than a chopping effect.”
“He told me that, too,” Bryan recalled. “I understand they work in a similar fashion against flesh.”
“I would like to see how good you really are.” Dane smiled. “Would you duel me? Just to first blood, and I will have an excellent healer nearby. The danger will be minimal.”
“I don't see why not,” Bryan agreed. “Is there a wager?”
Dane laughed. “No, no wager. I won't take the four silver coins you earned tonight.”
“You are that good?” Bryan asked.
Slipping a violet trimmed black glove onto his sword hand, the Abvi just smiled at Bryan. “Go into the front hall, to the right is my library there are several swords displayed on the walls. Pick one that you are most comfortable with and meet me out here.
Bryan nodded and walked into the manse, emerging a moment later with a huge seven-foot long greatsword over his shoulder. The blade was wide and heavy and made of polished steel and the hilt seemed made of silvery metal, which had a little too much luster. It looked like silver under the thinnest layer of glass.
“I should have guessed.” Dane chuckled as he drew his own sword from his hip. His was a slender Abvi bastard sword of dark steel but a highly polished golden hilt and pommel. “Begin when you are ready.”
“Okay.” Bryan swung his blade, forcing Dane to step back, but the Abvi lord quickly bounced forward again with a thrust towards Bryans chest. Bryan flipped the heavy blade around with one hand, knocking the thrust aside and riposted with a slash towards Dane's thigh. In seconds they were locked in a frenzy of slashes and parries, leaving a screaming constant ring of steel in the air. Periodically the blades would lock and Dane would throw himself back or be thrown by Bryan and they would charge each other and the ring would start again.
As everyone at the party clamored for a better view of the fight, Pantros resisted the urge to increase his collection of jewelry as the fight continued. Bryan had used his father’s name, which made them traceable if anything went missing.
“Blood, milord!” A servant who had been watching the combat shouted. “The giant bleeds!”
Bryan stepped back and looked down at his tunic. A small tear had appeared near his shoulder on the left side of his chest. The fabric near the tear showed a tiny trickle of blood. Bryan laughed.
“Well fought, son of Aaron.” Dane spoke between heavy breaths.
“Fun,” Bryan smiled, breathing just as heavily as they both collapsed to their knees in exhaustion. “My name is Bryan.”
“Well met, Bryan Aaronson,” Dane managed, “if you need better work than clowning around, I could use a good sword at my side.”
“Sure,” Bryan accepted the offer.
“Wait until you hear me out, my large friend,” Dane said. “I am going to Novarra and I need several skilled swords at my side. For reasons that I’d rather not discuss here, I need to travel by land. What I need are men stout enough to ensure that I survive the land journey.”
“No one has survived a land journey west for centuries,” Bryan countered. Pantros knew that at least a few people did, including his sister’s bard friend, but he also knew the roads were indeed dangerous.
“Does that mean that you are not accepting my offer?” Dane asked.
§
Pantros stumbled into the Inn of the Haughty Hedgehog, dressed as he had left four hours earlier. The jester’s costume lay in the street somewhere between Dane’s house and the dock district.
“What's wrong boy?” James inquired.
“It’s not even midnight and you are home. How much did you take in that you are calling it in so early?
Pantros didn’t answer; instead he went straight up to his room. He locked the door and lay on his bed staring into the blackness above him. Bryan had taken the offer and would be leaving the next morning. His partner was gone, most likely soon to be dead. Pantros enjoyed adventure, but not the kind Bryan chose to face. From that moment forward, Pantros would be finding and facing his own trouble—alone.
CHAPTER 1: JULIVEL
In the immense city of Fork, there may be thousands of dark, seedy taverns. Julivel had arranged to meet his potential client in the darkest and seediest of those.
The velvet covered walls and plush cushioned chairs of Jesh’s Grotto gave a misleading air of sophistication to the place. Julivel rarely met anyone here. He always found himself tempted to kill the proprietor, Jesh, for the way he treated his women. The women were, at least in Jesh’s eyes, his.
Slavery was not legal in the city of Fork or anywhere else in the country of Relarch. Jesh just had the money to keep anyone from caring what went on in his establishment. One of the things that went on was customers getting charged far too much for mediocre wine. Julivel resisted the urge to slap the crystal goblet off the carved table onto the plush carpet. Such actions wouldn’t help him maintain his reputation as a professional. With his potential clients sitting across the table, and their having paid for the wine, Julivel just smiled and nodded.
Another activity that occurred, albeit rarely, in Jesh’s Grotto was the hiring of assassins. That activity is what brought Julivel there that night. He was the man being hired.
The two men hiring him were trying to make small talk. Julivel ignored the words and nodded when they paused. He took the time to size up his potential clients. Both looked older than he did, but he doubted they were older. They seemed in their mid forties. Both were human, no, Julivel corrected himself, both looked human. The one with dark hair and eyes moved with a degree of precision and grace that humans didn’t live long enough to attain. His skin tone was copper-like, but too even to be sun-colored. He wasn’t of a race of Human or Abvi that Julivel could distinguish.