Outside the wind howled like a banshee and rain lashed the farmhouse. Lira peered through the watery curtain on the windowpane and could just make out two dark, shadowy, figures crossing the nearby bridge as more lightning forked, lighting the sky. ‘Are you expecting company father, someone’s coming this way?’ she said, anxiously.
He took a deep breath, his face twisted as if caught in a vice and he started to say something, stopped, tried again and shook his head. He was damp with sweat, fear flashing in his eyes and his heart was pounding. ‘The baron is probably coming,’ he finally whispered. Moments later they were huddled together watching two dark shadows slide past their window and then there was a loud knock at the door startling them. ‘W-who’s there,’ stammered Tobin.
Someone outside muttered something but he and Lira couldn’t make out what it was. In panic she cried, ‘Oh my God, who’s out there?’
There was another loud knock at the door frightening them even more and their blood froze. Then everything seemed to go quiet. Lira’s pupils grew large, staring at the door handle turning, making an eerie creaking sound. ‘I don’t like this,’ she said.
Tobin was trembling, a poker at the ready in his hand. 'I don't like this either.'
A voice from outside startled them again and they nearly had a heart attack.
Thomas opened the door, grinning sheepishly around it. Rain was dripping from his hair. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you both but we were caught out in the storm on our way home. Could we possibly stay here for a while until the weather clears?’ he asked in a small voice.
More thunder drummed out overhead and the heavens opened in an even greater deluge of rain. She bid them come in as she glanced out at the rainwater bouncing off the inky surface of the nearby lake. Thomas shucked off his heavy, grey, coat and moved to the fire to warm his hands. Dardo followed him, removing his lighter coat of blue. A small log fell from the hearth, rolling onto the rug at their feet and Thomas picked it up with his bare fingers, jerking it back onto the fire without using the iron tongs laid in the hearth.
‘Are you fireproof too, besides all of your other extraordinary talents?’ said Dardo.
Thomas smiled, staring into the flames, remembering their first meeting on the gibbet in Gallows Square and wished his chin had been fist-proof not fireproof that night, besides his many other extraordinary talents. Turning to look at Lira, he fixed his eyes on Tobin instead, who was wearing a doublet of grey silk, embroidered with gold and silver thread and leggings of a lighter grey. He was a tall man, a proud man, slender yet powerfully built with a thin clean-shaven face, his hair dark and curly, his eyes blue, standing statue-still with a haunted look on his pale face.
‘I really do apologise for startling you,’ said Thomas, ‘but on the way back to our lodgings at the inn the weather turned in an instant.’ His keen brown eyes stared hard at the older man.
Tobin finally smiled, shaking his head. ‘It’s of no consequence, and you’re welcome to stay for the night if you so wish. There are two spare rooms upstairs.’
Lira nodded her approval, while Thomas’ gaze wandered around the room. Two lit lanterns were hanging in their iron brackets on the south wall, a fire burning in the hearth on the north wall, the whole place neat and tidy and the farmhouse filled with the aroma of herbs, spices, stew and vegetables. It was an inviting scene, save for the strained atmosphere. Have Tobin and Lira been arguing before our arrival, Thomas thought. ‘Are you sure it’s convenient for us to stay?’ he asked.
Dardo also noticed the tense atmosphere and shrugged, nodding questioningly.
‘It’s convenient,’ said Tobin, his spirits lifted slightly by their presence, but the dog backed away from the two men warily into a corner growling.
‘Blood’s not used to company,’ said Lira.
‘Blood?’ said Thomas, surprised by the name.
‘He’s a red-setter, hence the strange name,’ she enlightened with a smile. ‘Its father’s idea of humour, but I think it’s his age.’
Tobin stretched, yawned and sat down on a stool by the fire. ‘Age makes fools of us all,’ he whispered to himself, and he thought of the times he had been humiliated by the baron and his men with his daughter watching helplessly. If I were younger, he thought, I would challenge him to a duel and cut off both his ears and nose before dealing the final death stroke.
Another smouldering log fell from the fire, rolled into the hearth and onto the rug, jerking Tobin from his thoughts. Thomas reached down and picked it up with his bare fingers again, throwing it back onto the fire. As he did so, he noticed a blistering red mark about the blacksmiths neck, which looked like the mark a gallows noose would make. It was healing but could be no more than a few days old. Tobin noticed him staring at the mark and covered it up with his collar. Adding more kindling to the fire he hung a kettle over the blaze. ‘Lira will make us all a cup of nettle tea,’ he said evasively.
‘Have you any rose-hip tea instead?’ asked Dardo. ‘It’s my favourite.’
‘Aye,’ said Lira. ‘It’s made to my own secret recipe.’
‘Thanks,’ he said.
Tobin’s ancestors had dwelt in the hills for centuries, keeping themselves to themselves, but now Ozhan threatened to take everything away from them because they appeared to be rich in the eyes of the local city dwellers. Greed began the whole affair, and fear of a hero would be the only thing to end it. Thomas might be that hero, Tobin thought. He certainly had the reputation and the credentials.
Within moments the kettle was boiling. Lira wrapped a cloth around her hand, lifted it from its bracket and went over to the table, filling four slender cups with boiling water, adding a small muslin bag to each, and she made sure that Dardo’s cup had the rose-hip tea instead of nettle. A sweet delicious aroma filled the room instantly as she stirred the contents of each cup and hooked out the bags, passing one to each of her guests, then one to her father.
Thomas tasted the brew and smiled. ‘Thanks, it’s much appreciated and very kind of you both.’
Dardo nodded, smiling his appreciation too.
‘I’m off to bed now,’ said Tobin climbing to his feet. ‘Lira will show you to your rooms when you’re ready. Goodnight gentlemen, I’ll see you in the morning.’ He kissed her on the cheek, turned and headed for the door. Grasping the handle he glanced back at the warrior, cocked his head thoughtfully, took a deep breath and shrugged. ‘You know Thomas, with your reputation, I thought you would be much bigger,’ he said weakly.
Thomas burst out laughing, nearly choking on his tea. ‘You know, I’ve never heard that before,’ he said as her father stepped through the oak door and disappeared up the stairs to bed. The sarcasm went straight over Tobin’s head.
*
The following morning, some miles distant at Gorl’s farm, a huge fist struck the man full in the face sending him sprawling to the dirt and the baron grinned fiercely, his eyes narrowing. Glancing around at his men he cursed. ‘You told me you had put the fear of God into the old man, and that he would be gone a week ago, but the old bastard is still here,’ he said hauling the injured man upright with iron fingers gripped firmly around his throat. There was a great buzzing in the man’s ears and dizziness swamped him as he fought to focus on Ozhan’s brutal face. He smashed the man back to the floor violently. ‘You disgust me. And do you know why you disgust me?’ he said hauling the almost unconscious man upright again. ‘Because you’re a liar besides being a bleeder.’ He punched the man’s face with his fist again.
Bright lights shone before the man's eyes and he tried to rise, but the baron kicked him full in the face smashing his nose, mercifully knocking him unconscious. ‘Get him out of here. Dispose of him,’ he gestured to his men. ‘Now who else needs to apologise for not getting the job done?’
The six men stared hard at each other nervously. Stard – a tall, wiry, dark haired man with silver teeth knew in that moment his life was over. Nothing would prevent Ozhan from killing him unless he apolo
gised and made good his promise to get rid of Gorl from his farm. The baron wanted his gold and nothing and no one would stand in his way.
Stard stepped forward, humbled, his soul scaled and pitted from a life of crime and killing. ‘I apologise Oz,’ he said watching the enjoyment of torture in the baron's bloodshot eyes. ‘I really do apologise and will make good my promise to you. Gorl is a dead man right now, he just doesn’t know it.’
Ozhan drew his dagger, pricking it under the skin of Stard's chin. 'I couldn't quite here you,' he said. The point was needle sharp and Stard felt a trickle of blood on his neck. In this moment of terror he looked into the face of his tormentor, cursing his soul silently, knowing his life was over unless a guardian angel fell from the sky or a miracle happened.
‘I told you to get the old bastard off this land and now he’s barricaded himself in. Do I have to do everything myself?’ Ozhan snapped, pricking the skin a little more, lifting Stard to his toes.
‘I – I apologise Oz,’ the other stammered, ‘but we can still burn the old bastard out.’
‘Oz, there’s someone coming on foot,’ a third man called out.
The baron removed the dagger from Stard’s throat and he fell to his knees gratefully. Blinking he strained to focus on the two newcomers.
‘Good day to you all,’ said Thomas laying his heavy coat over a tethering-post. Dardo nodded, acknowledging his friends sentiment.
‘Leave well alone the pair of you,’ warned Ozhan. ‘This has nothing to do with you.’
Thomas fixed the brutal man’s hard gaze with an even harder stare. ‘Wrong,’ he said drawing his swords. ‘We’ve been paid to protect the old man and his property, so here’s my advice – leave now, all of you, while I’m not in a killing mood.’
Two men in black leather tunics stepped forward drawing swords.
‘Ah, the two young men from yesterday,’ said Thomas. ‘You found who you were looking for then. I had a feeling we might meet again sooner rather than later.’
Dardo drew his sword, standing beside Thomas. ‘I know I’m not much good with this but maybe they aren’t either,’ he whispered from the corner of his mouth.
Thomas frowned, pushing him aside. ‘They’re mercenaries. Killing is their trade, and this is no time for heroics my friend. I can take them both,’ he whispered back.
Dardo was relieved and leaned against the tethering post, but he didn't sheath his sword. ‘I know it’s not easy being my friend sometimes but I’m here if you need me,’ he said with a weak smile.
Thomas patted him on the shoulder affectionately. ‘You are my good and loyal friend,’ he replied.
‘Kill him,' snapped Ozhan. ‘Kill the whoreson.’
Both men nodded dumbly, storming forward with their two handed swords slashing towards Thomas’ head. His swords flashed up to block the strokes and he spun to his right, a blade licking out cutting deep into the flesh and muscle of one of the men’s shoulders. The man screamed, ‘you scum-sucking bastard.’
Then Thomas ducked under a slashing cut, ramming his other blade into the man’s belly, wrenching it up into his heart. Blood sprayed and air hissed from the man’s lungs as he fell to earth dead. Never before had the baron's men seen anyone dispatched so quickly and easily. Indeed, Thomas seemed devil-possessed; his eyes fever bright.
The second of the two mercenaries stood silently for a moment staring down at his dead friend in disbelief. ‘Yesterday morning the sun rose over me and my comrades, now two are dead, so there is much here to think on,’ he said at last, sheathing his sword. ‘I’m no coward, but I am outclassed brother. You have a talent for killing and swiftness like no other I’ve ever seen. Your mastery of the short-sword is truly amazing and I do not wish to die today.’
‘Do you serve me or not?’ asked the baron, his voice deep and harsh.
The mercenary shook his head, mounting his black stallion. 'Serve you? ‘No! Keep your gold. What use is gold to a dead man?’ he said thrashing the reins. The horse bolted, galloping off.
The baron called to one of his own men, who dismounted and approached Thomas.
‘I don’t care what the mercenary said, you’re still just a man and will bleed if cut,’ he announced.
Ozhan drew his sword and tossed it to the man, who caught it skilfully by the hilt.
‘Use my blade,’ he said. ‘You’ll find it lighter and easier to handle than your own.’
The man was tall, broad and darkly handsome with a shock of black hair like a lion’s mane, his eyes dark and slit like that of a big cat too. He attacked, his sword slashing towards Thomas’ face. The two short swords flashed up to block the stroke, but the man was ready for the move and spun to his right, his fist slamming against Thomas’ cheek, who staggered back as the man, shot a slashing cut to his neck. Thomas dropped to one knee surging upright quickly, his right-hand blade snaking out stabbing the man’s shoulder, ripping his vest, penetrating the muscle right down to the bone.
Dreadful pain exploded in the man’s shoulder and his face twisted as if someone had squeezed his genitals, but he hardly made a whimper. The man attacked again and Thomas ducked under another slashing cut, ramming his own blade deep into the man’s chest. The sword dropped from his hand and an agonised groan burst from his lips as acid fire filled him. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground face first, dead.
Thomas relaxed, and in that single moment a great weariness descended upon him. Hands trembling with the aftershock of the fight, his keen eyes stared at the dead man who was younger than he was.
‘You've been well trained,’ said Ozhan, ‘but why do you defend the weak and stupid? Join me and I’ll make you rich. Join the winning side.’
Thomas shook his head. ‘You just don’t understand do you?’ he said, his eyes filled with hate.
‘Understand what?’ asked the baron looking confused.
‘Ten years ago, I was on the winning side, driven by something I didn’t understand or try to explain because I had almost everything a man could wish for – a kingdom, power and riches, but the one thing I didn’t have was happiness. I left that kingdom for exactly two years to fight in the wars, and then travelled extensively in search of happiness. When I couldn’t find it I returned and fought my brother, killing him to reclaim what was mine – again in search of happiness. In doing so, I lost my soul and became a drunkard, but eventually found a vocation that did bring me happiness, and that vocation is to defend the weak and needy because it’s the only thing I’m good at.’
‘You’re a fool,’ said Ozhan grinding his teeth.
Thomas shook his head. ‘No. You're the fool and eventually life will deal with you unkindly,’ he said. ‘Now take your thugs and go. And leave the old man alone!’
Tired and humiliated, the baron decided to move on at this time, rather than force another confrontation with the warrior who barred his way to Gorl’s gold. His men mounted their horses and his brutal face trembled with anger as he mounted his. He stared hard at Thomas, and then spun his horse and they all took off like startled pigeons. He glanced back fleetingly, and the image of Dardo and Thomas laughing burned into his mind just as surely as if branded by a hot iron.
Later that night as Thomas and Dardo were listening to the blind harpist in the Dog and Duck, Lira came by wanting to talk, to try to explain her confused feelings. As she stepped inside the music ceased. Thomas shifted his gaze to her, fidgeting nervously in his chair. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in a low voice.
She looked a little embarrassed, staring down at the floor as she made her way over to their table. ‘I need to talk to you. I heard what you did for Gorl today. It was very brave of you both,’ she said at last.
Dardo smiled at her and laughed a little. ‘Umm, the baron thought better of his venture and went away with his tail between his legs.’
‘But he’ll be back,’ said Thomas. ‘With all that gold as a temptation he won’t stop now.’
She pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘That
’s what I want to talk to you about.'
There was silence for a moment, and then the harpist began to play and the crowded room buzzed with conversation again, but there were eyes watching and ears listening to their conversation – to their every word. The eyes and ears belonged to four cut-throats sat across from Thomas, all wearing ill-fitting black clothes.
The main eavesdropper, a bald man with a full tattooed face answered to the name of Yorden, and to Thomas he stood out like a sore thumb. ‘Be careful what you say, the baron has spies everywhere,’ he whispered, nodding to the four men sat across from him. They smiled dumbly, turning back around, pretending to talk to each other.
‘That was convincing,’ said Lira.
Thomas smiled, shaking his head. ‘I could spot them at ten miles distance even without the lighthouse on each of their heads.’ He chuckled playfully, elbowing Dardo who returned fire.
‘This isn't the perfect place for our conversation, but it’s private enough if we keep our voices low,’ whispered Lira. She relaxed a little, a hesitant smile blooming on her face. ‘What do you actually know of Ozhan?’
‘Amazingly, very little,’ said Thomas. ‘Just that he’s a man with a diseased mind and soul who's very violent and wants to possess everyone and everything.’
‘Do you want to know the awful truth?’ she asked, taking a moment to pull herself together before speaking again. ‘He’s doing all of this for me. I rejected him three years ago and he beat me so viciously that I almost died. Now he believes in his own twisted mind that if he gives me what no-one else can, I’ll love him.’
Thomas’ mouth responded before his brain could even register what Lira was saying, and he hesitated for a moment considering whether to ask the question that was burning in his brain. His common-sense told him it was inappropriate, but then his curiosity got the better of him. ‘Have you ever loved him?’
She looked visibly shocked by the question. ‘No, never,’ she said. ‘He’s ugly on the inside, besides being ugly on the outside. He’s a vicious twisted thug – a madman.’
A Violent Man ( the story of Thomas Flynn ) Page 6