Bodyguard?
Melegal got a better look at the legs of the big man’s cloaked companion. She wore low-cut boots. A jade-colored tattoo ran up her sensual calf to her thigh. A short sword was strapped to her waist, her fist wrapped along the hilt, finger nails painted in jade as well. Melegal caught the faint aroma of her perfume. It wasn’t bad.
The table lifted from the ground as the big man pulled his blade out.
“But, Mah!” The woman slapped the man across the cheek. There was a snicker in the room.
“Do as I say!”
“Fine,” the man said, stuffing his knife back into his belt.
Melegal watched as the man pushed back the table. His wine and goblets were knocked over, and the wine was dripping everywhere. He slithered back into his seat, clothing unscathed.
“You owe me a bottle,” Melegal said.
The man’s face had a dangerous intent, his big fists turned into white-knuckled balls. The waif of a waitress came over and ran a soppy rag over the table. He felt the wench at his side scooting back. He patted her knee under the table, then focused on his business at hand.
The cloaked woman passed the waitress some coins.
“For the damage,” she said, motioning to the wary barkeep. The barkeep nodded back. Melegal got a better look at the woman. Her sandy hair was full of grit, and her skin was rough. Her face was stern and streaked with dirt and sweat. Her calloused hands tipped him that she knew how to use a sword and do many other menial things. Merchant guard?
She looked down at him, glaring and speaking in a harsh voice.
“Why were you spying on us?”
“I wasn’t. Now, how about my bottle of wine?”
“Yes, how about our bottle of wine?” the wench said, leaning her chest into him. Melegal didn’t have much need for the woman now, he’d been caught, but he might as well play it through. The cloaked woman didn’t even cast a glance the wench’s way. She dropped a few coins on the table.
“We’ll be going. Come on, Brak.”
Melegal caught the man staring at him with his blue offset eyes. The man seemed enormous and childish at the same time. The woman he was with looked to be in her thirties. Why he called the woman Mah, he didn’t understand. She must have raised the bastard. The man stooped as he stood, as if he head was too heavy for his shoulders. He was barrel-chested, but the muscles in his arms weren’t fully developed. The man had soft hands, too, and he kept rubbing them over his thick tuft of blond hair. Melegal didn’t know whether to feel uneasy or not, but he got the feeling the man could snap another in two if he wanted. It had been a rough morning, best to let them go. The pair turned to walk away, but the wench had something to say.
“Ahem … Miss, me and Venir were drinking wine much finer than these coins will buy.”
The woman and her son whirled at the wench’s words. Their faces were filled with avid interest. At the same time, they stepped forward. He was uneasy now, and his hand slipped to a blade inside his vest. The man’s big body, clenched fingers, and bared teeth seemed to push him deeper into the corner.
Now what? It’s only wine. It must be something else, though. The man and woman had them trapped in the corner.
The woman remarked, “Did you say—Venir?”
The wench, Velvet, nodded her head. Melegal noted the look of surprise on the man and woman’s faces. Was it Venir that they had been waiting on all along? Why?
The woman pulled up a chair and sat down. Brak stood tall, arms crossed over his chest. Melegal got the feeling he wasn’t going to be going back to bed anytime soon.
“Is your name Venir?” the woman asked.
Melegal saw no reason to lie; it was pointless. He just needed to figure out her game.
“No. That’s the name I gave Velvet here,” he said, stroking the woman’s hair. Velvet smiled.
“Where did you get the name, Rogue?”
“I’d be curious to know yours first, Lady?”
The waitress returned with another jug of wine and more goblets, filling Melegal’s first, then Velvet’s.
“Fetch my bottle, Girl.” The woman sat quietly for a moment. Melegal sipped his wine. “My name is Vorla. Now, what is yours?”
“Melegal.”
“Fine Melegal, now tell me, where did you come up with the name Venir?”
“I’ve heard it around. It's just something I like to use from time to time, in case I get into trouble.”
Vorla and Brak seemed to be hanging on his every word. He could tell them anything now, and they would listen. He refilled Velvet’s goblet. She twirled her hair and whispered enticing things in his ear. Vorla didn’t seem to mind, intent on more questions.
“Do you know Venir?” she said, pulling out a small purse and setting it on the table with a jingle. “I need to find this man. I made the search this far, but the well ran dry. I’ve talked with many patrons and they said that he lived here and others said that he did not. Help me find him and this bag is yours.”
If that bag had been full of the platinum and emeralds she was talking about, he’d have given up the golden brute’s location. His ears told him the bag was mostly steel and some silver. Still, every little bit helps. Not that it mattered. No matter what he told her, she would never find Venir. She had learned enough already, and Velvet’s slip only managed to make things worse.
“Hmmm … the truth is that I am not one to spread rumors. But, I do know many things. Velvet, be a dear and go. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Velvet started to object, but Melegal’s scowl set her back. She re-filled her goblet and stomped away.
“Now, tell me more about this man that you seek, Vorla. What does he look like?”
Oh, why not? Might as well enjoy something today. Besides, what would this woman want with Venir?
Vorla remarked, “Venir is a big tawny headed man …”
Yes.
“… with almost more mouth than muscles …”
Ah … you’re wrong there, more mouth these days.
“He has a V-shaped tattoo on his back …”
She seems to know him well.
“… and he’s very handsome.”
That’s a matter of opinion.
“… a storyteller of sorts … rowdy like an overgrown child …”
But I’d say you must know him quite well.
Brak was staring a Vorla, now hanging on her words, as if she was telling a story he had heard a hundred times before. It was strange, seeing the man hung up on a story like that.
Melegal ran his fingers over the rim of his goblet, contemplating what to say next. Venir had many enemies, and few other friends that he knew about. It was time to lead this couple elsewhere, because he had so many other things to do, and getting caught up in Venir’s affairs wasn't one of them. He'd had enough of that. A bitter taste formed in his mouth. He just needed to say something believable.
“Very well, Vorla, I’ll allow I do know something of this man. I have seen him before, but it’s not customary to give people up in the City of Bone. Sure, it happens, but blood money can come back to get you. Coin doesn’t last forever, at least not in my case. A bounty often lasts just long enough to see the squealer dead.”
The woman’s plain expression started to brighten. Her full lips began to part into a smile. Brak stood, unmoving, like a statue, glaring at him, his eyes filled with a dangerous intent. Melegal couldn’t help but feel that if he said something wrong, the man would snap again and try to throw him through a wall.
“Melegal, I’ve nothing to hide. I knew Venir long ago; we worked guarding merchant trains together.” She sighed. “Well, that’s not true. He guarded the merchant train. I was part of the merchant family. He was the most fearless man I ever saw, young and brave.”
Melegal noticed a quiver in her strong voice. The truth was in her eyes. So what did she want with him now? Merchants are loaded. This could turn into a good thing. He looked deep into her eyes. She began to speak again.
/>
“I need a good man. I have a job, and it pays well. I was just hoping he was still around.”
She’s lying now. She’s better than most, but not good enough for me.
“So, do you know where he is?”
Whatever she really wanted now didn’t matter. Venir was gone, at least from Bone he was. He couldn’t ever come back. Melegal was certain of that. He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not, but he was getting used to it.
“Vorla, I cannot prove it, but I am certain this Venir you knew … is dead.” Melegal’s own stomach churned at the words. It is possible, I suppose. An odd feeling of guilt crept over him.
Across the table he noticed a great degree of sadness in her eyes. Brak looked at her with confusion. She was fighting the urge to choke, and managed to regain her composure. Brak’s stance had softened as well for some reason.
“What makes you think so?”
“I hear a lot of things. Venir used to live here, but he hasn’t been seen for months. It was my understanding that the Royals had a bounty on his head. Royal games, you know. He must have got caught in the middle of something. It’s only safe to assume he’s gone.”
Vorla’s face drew up tight and she gave him an angry look.
“If that is all that you have to offer, Rogue, it’s not worth my gold.”
“But we had a deal.”
“No … no we didn’t. You didn’t help me find him. Let’s go, Brak.”
“No Mah! He’s lying!”
Well, I guess I am. At least I hope I am. I think.
“Good luck finding another good man. And don’t be a stranger the next time you visit Bone,” he said, hoisting up his goblet.
Brak’s face filled with anger. Melegal didn’t really understand why. Still, the tension was beginning to increase, not to Lord Almen levels, but something dangerous was in the air, nonetheless.
“Don’t call me that, Brak,” she said with a furrowed stare.
“Why did he call you that? Mah?” Melegal asked, easing his fingers around his chest blade. “Is that something body guards call the merchants? It sounds like he’s family, a brother or cousin maybe?”
Vorla was silent, and a look of exhaustion came over her face. Her shoulders sagged. Her brown eyes began to swell. Melegal decided it was time to excuse himself. He was ready to go. He’d had enough tantalizing drama for the day. He finished his wine, grabbed the jug, and stood up.
“Sorry for the news, but leave the past in the past. Your friend Venir is gone.”
He almost believed it himself. He felt even worse for having said it again. It was as if he were betraying his best friend, the very same friend who was the whole reason he now worked for the Royals he had spent his entire life trying to escape.
Brak had a dumbfounded look as Melegal headed around the table Vorla’s way, with Brak watching every step that he took. He was almost clear of her when she spoke again.
“Brak is my son.”
Melegal stopped and stared at the big man. It wasn’t possible. He was too old, and she was too young.
“Adopted son?”
Brak bristled.
“No, birth son.”
“Huh, well how old is he?”
“I’m fourteen,” Brak added.
Fourteen going on twenty five. She must be feeding him ogre food.The pair as a mother and son was unnatural. Melegal had never seen a fourteen-year-old boy that big before. Georgio was big at twelve, but this boy was huge. She must be lying. The boy is just too stupid to know his own age.
Vorla grabbed his sleeve.
“Rogue, how certain are you that Venir is gone?”
Melegal shrugged.
“It’s just the most likely scenario, but I am certain you won’t find him in Bone, not alive anyway.”
Now Brak went over to Melegal’s chair and sat down, sulking. Vorla rubbed his thick hands in hers. The pair seemed hopeless and lost. It was as if they had traveled across half the world to move into a new home, only to find it had been burned to the ground. He wondered why she insisted on Venir so much. He had been a more than capable soldier for hire long ago, but that time was long past. Melegal shrugged. He had things to do. It was time to track down Tonio and the Slergs.
As he walked away, he could her Vorla saying, “I am sorry, Son, but it looks like your father is dead.”
Chapter 14
Venir was smashed into the hillside and sliding to the ground. His helmet was the only thing that saved his face from being crushed. All he saw were bright spots: pink, purple, and blue. He heard a pain-filled roar coming from the giant. His vision was blurred, but he could make out the giant trying to staunch the bleeding of its stump. That was fine. All Venir wanted to do was get away.
Starving, beaten, and broken, Venir didn’t have any fight left. His helmet no longer urged him along, but his ears still rang from the giant’s blow. Every ache and pain was still amplified. He rolled himself off of his belly and sat up. He had been knocked twenty feet from the underling he had killed. He could see its crumpled corpse lying on the ground with the hilt of his knife still buried in it. Where is the other one?
He needed help, and water. He couldn’t ever remember being so thirsty. What had sustained him this far he did not know. He noticed the backpack straps on his chest. He had forgotten it was still on. He figured after the entire fracas it would have been gone. Good. The giant was stomping the ground, saying something loud and awful. It was making words with its huge lips, but they seemed so long it was impossible to understand. Whatever the giant was doing, it was the perfect time for Venir to get out of there.
He pulled off his backpack and reached inside, fumbling for something that might help, a sling maybe. He was so delirious that he tried to drink more water from an empty canteen. He swore he could taste something, but there was nothing but air. He started laughing.
“Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha … cough!” He wasn’t going anywhere, except maybe to sleep. He saw the giant more clearly now as the suns shone over its monstrous shoulders. The grimacing giant began packing dirt into its stump. Beads of sweat were dripping off its head like rain drops. Venir had a crazy idea … that sweat might be water. He would do anything for a drink of something. It was a brilliant idea, for a delirious warrior.
“Hey Giant! Give me some sweat. I’m thirsty over here,” he said, wagging his canteen in the air. His throat hurt from the effort, but he wouldn’t be deterred.
“Hey! Get over here!”
The giant cast an evil bloodshot eye his way. It gave him a bothered look, like he was a rodent raiding its camp. It looked at its stump of a hand, and it was all packed in with ground, gravel and blood. It gathered its full height and pounded its chest with its good fist.
“Thatta boy—come on, gimme a drink … Giant.”
His words were barely audible. The giant took a step his way. Its face was horrible, like one of those ridiculous carvings in a castle room. Its brown eyes expressed its murderous thoughts. Its face was contorted now, looking more like a monster than a man. The clear and present danger began to awaken in Venir. Fear began to overtake his lack of reason. Now, the idea of drinking giant sweat seemed his worst idea of all. This must be it.
Venir started rummaging in his backpack, desperate to find anything that might help. He found his sling, but there were no stones.
THOOM!
The giant took a step over the underling.
There was nowhere for Venir to go. He could barely move, and the giant would close the distance in two-steps if he tried to run. He dumped out all of the contents of his backpack.
THOOM!
The giant loomed over him now—face filled with pain and rage—its furious yell echoing down the ravine. Venir felt his skin crawl as the giant lifted its boot from the ground. His eyes darted at the contents of the backpack, scattered on the ground. There was nothing he could use to save himself. A sling, canteens, rope, a tinderbox, and a stitched-up leather sack. Feeling only sadness, Venir pulled the sack up to him,
like a frightened child hiding behind a blanket. Oddly then, Venir felt a compelling urge to crawl inside the sack.
The giant’s bare heel was now rising high above him.
I’m sure I won’t fit, but why not try?
He reached his hand inside. There seemed to be plenty of room. Then he felt something sturdy and solid in his grip.
The giant’s heel was beginning to come down. Move or die!
He yanked something out, screaming as he thrust upward with all of his might.
“BROOL!”
Venir sunk the spike in deep, through the flesh and into bone. The giant howled in fury, hopping away, grabbing at its foot. Somehow more alive now with Brool in his hand, Venir wasted no time standing around. He charged.
The giant wasn’t ready for that.
Brool sung in the air and cut off the giant’s big toe.
The hillside shook as the giant roared out with pain, grabbing hunks of the ground and hurtling it Venir’s way. Venir was mangling the giant’s foot when several small boulders knocked him from his feet. Winded, he crawled back to his knees, waiting for the giant to deliver the death blow at any moment. Instead, he saw the giant limping away, leaving a bloody trail on the ground. Down the ravine it went, not looking back, and then it was gone.
Venir rolled onto his back and laughed. The moment was short-lived. His belly resumed its groans. The rest of him was in bad enough shape without the metal of his scale armor heating up in the sun. He crawled over to a shady spot to rest. He could hear his ragged draws of breath. More busted ribs, probably. His nose was broken and dripping blood.. He fingered the spots where the javelin had cut through his armor, searing it as well as his skin. The underling magic was gone, and only the pain remained. He sagged into the hillside. Where’s that other underling? A massive shadow fell over him from above. It was a cloud.
Rain! Please Rain!
Bish had rain, just not very often in the Outlands. Rain had saved him before. He’d do anything to be drenched once more. He looked up and noticed the clouds above, some white pillows and others almost black. He thought there was a rumble in the distance, but that may have only been the giant.
The Darkslayer: Book 03 - Underling Revenge Page 7