by Ron Glick
The altercation, as it turned out, did not last long. The man behind the bar quickly crossed the room with a large stick and slammed it hard against Quinn's table. “Now what's this?” he shouted. “You'll behave or take it outside, but either way, further fightin' will see you out for the night! Clear?”
The melee quickly dispersed after that. Apparently, the barkeep held considerable clout over his clientele. Avery considered targeting him next, but discarded the notion. He actually respected the man as only a fellow merchant could. It was bad enough that his business would likely suffer tonight as it was. There was no need to address grievances against the man directly.
After the first ravenous bites, Avery took his time eating his meal. He thought about going after a helping of the meaty dish, but he found himself content with his bread and cheese. Besides, he could always pick some up later.
It took a few more minutes for Quinn to notice that his bread and cheese were missing, which sent him off into a new tirade until fresh helpings were brought. He also neglected the barmaid this time, his lustful mood forgotten for a time. That, at least, had proven to be a positive note on the encounter.
Avery took a moment to appraise the young lady himself. She was quite pretty, he admitted, buxom and solid. Her red hair was cut shorter than he would have considered normal, but perhaps it was necessary for scullery work she did around the place. Also, her hair closely resembled the coloring of the tavern's proprietor, so she could well have been his daughter. He had to admit he would not mind a roll in bed with her, either. He had no intention of allowing that loud-mouthed braggart to have his way with her though.
Besides, maybe after tonight, she would be the one pursuing him...
Avery's imaginings were interrupted as he overheard a bit of conversation. Someone had said something about the woods last night, he was sure of it. He searched in the direction he thought he had heard the voice and suddenly he saw the speaker. It was the man who had stood over him last night, right after he had pulled One from the ground. He was seated in a cluster of men some eight strong, two of the others being his companions of the night before. Avery stood up and made his way toward the group of men seated at a pair of tables pulled together to accommodate their larger number.
“No, tonight,” said the man his friend last night had called Strom. “If the miscreant is still around, he'll sneak back into town tonight, I'm sure of it. We can head him off and stop his mischief before he's begun if we watch the woods to east of town.”
“But you've had us watching the streets all day, Strom,” said one of the other men Avery did not know. “You can't expect us to all do night patrol, as well!”
“Yeah,” said yet another. “He'd of come back by now if he was gonna. You're the one with a bee in his britches, Strom. He's gone, I say, and good riddance. There's no need for us all to lose a night's sleep over this. Besides, Master Kinsel said nothin' was missin' or broken. The tramp was likely just lookin' for a place to sleep...”
“Or looking for something more valuable than blacksmith's tools to steal, more likely,” inserted Strom. “You've all sworn on to the watch and it's your duty to protect Scollhaven. Now, with a potential threat lurking in the woods, you'd rather sit around a warm, cozy fire and drink yourselves to slumber like old men!”
“Watch your tongue, Strom,” spoke an older man. His gruff countenance and posture clearly identified him as the leader of this band of men. “Until you have walked the streets as a member of the watch yourself, do not seek to judge how we perform our duties.”
“And where were any of you last night, Drake? It was pure chance that Loris and I happened upon the burglar, at all. Had we not been there, he'd have gotten away with whatever crime he'd been set to commit!”
“You seekin' a medal, then?” laughed one of the men.
“A medal?” came a disembodied voice. “For chasing a poor homeless vagrant into the woods?”
All the men dropped silent. Avery cursed himself. He had not meant to address these men yet, but his temper had gotten the better of him. At least they still did not see him.
Strom turned back to stare at the other men. “Aye,” said Drake. “We all heard it.” Slowly, the man stood up, putting his hand to a sword hilt at his side as he did so. “What foul spirit would speak so?” he asked, though he looked a touch paler than he had. His voice was raised enough so that he had attracted the attention of other patrons nearby. This, with his stance, spoke ill to any who took notice.
Oh well, thought Avery. It's now or never.
“A foul soul is one who would take sport in the rape of a woman,” spoke Avery quickly, still invisible to all in the room, “as young Quinn does yonder, with his companions drooling for the pleasure of what he leaves behind!”
A gasp escaped lips all around, many looking for the source of the voice, others to where Quinn sat with his two friends, who had taken to once again joke and carry on. It took the big man a moment to realize he was the center of some attention or that the tavern's volume had dropped considerably. “What?” he demanded as whispered voices carried the accusation to those who had not heard it first uttered.
Finally, the one called Able, having spoken to someone at a nearby table, turned to whisper in Quinn's ear. The man reddened before he managed to stutter over a response. “Who would dare?” he yelled, veins forcibly bulging at the sides of his neck.
The gruff man spoke before Avery could phrase a response. “It is a terrible claim you make against Lord Quinn and his men, spirit. What proof do you have to support it?”
Proof? Thought Avery. He had not thought of needing proof...
“Would you rather wait until they have had their way with the tender young lass yonder before you act?” he said after but a moment's hesitation. He had heard their plans for that...
All eyes turned on the redheaded barmaid, who visibly paled as the bodiless voice named her. “Not Viola,” said someone softly nearby. The bartender moved from where he stood to put a protective arm around her, glaring wickedly at Quinn's table.
“This is preposterous!” raged Quinn. The man stood up quickly, throwing his chair aside as he did so. His companions, in contrast, tried to slink further down into their own seats, unable to look at the accusing eyes surrounding them. “My good name has been slighted by some... some ghoul, and you all would listen to this... evil over your rightful lord? You are all vassals! You have no right to raise such a claim against me!
“Mansel,” he called to the barkeep, “your place is demonically possessed! I demand you summon a priest to cast out this foul shade! I have been affronted! I demand...”
“Justice?” Avery felt anger fuel the words he could no longer exert control over any longer. “You want justice?” He felt power flowing through him, raising the volume of his voice as he moved willfully across the room, not caring whether he jostled table or patron as he did so. “I will show you justice, you gluttonous fiend!” With an anger he could not contain, Avery drew One from its sheath and, in one fluid motion, brought it down on the table separating him from Quinn. The table, cleaved in two, parted before him and he wasted no time in bringing the sword point against Quinn's throat with an ease he had never before possessed. It was as though he had trained years in the handling of this magnificent blade, he thought.
Avery did not realize he was now visible to all until Quinn's frightened eyes focused upon him, a thin line of blood trickling from the edge of the blade.
“Alana protect us,” murmured someone behind Avery.
“Wh-what manner of fell beast are you?” managed Quinn weakly. He tried to swallow, and flinched as the blade cut deeper.
Avery smirked. “Call not upon your new Gods,” Avery responded to the voice behind him, ignoring Quinn, “but to the old.”
A new murmur rose in the crowd around him, speculation on Avery's words. He heard more than one ask which of the Old Gods he could be. No one seemed to dissent that possibility, though some did call upon other Gods
for protection.
“Please, Great Lord,” whined the man of Quinn's whom Avery did not know the name of. “Spare him. Spare my master. He is a cruel man and he... we all...” he swept his hands to include their other companion, as well, “have done as you say. And he did speak of the deed you say, and we did hope for our share of his misdeeds. But he has been a good and generous master. That must surely account for something.” Quinn shot a spiteful glare at his man, but said nothing else.
“Would you confess to a magistrate?” came the watch master's voice.
The man nodded. “Aye, I would. And take any measure of punishment for my part, if only my master would be spared.”
“Great Lord,” came the old man's voice again. “I beseech you to spare this man for mortal justice. There is need to learn of his full crimes and those of these others. I, too, ask that you spare him, not for loyalty, for I have none for him any longer. I ask in the name of justice, as you have said is your intent, so that he and his victims be given fair measure.”
“Would you fight for him, brave man?” asked Avery. Now what possessed me to say that? thought Avery in a panic.
Drake nodded. “If I must, then yes. But I am close enough to the grave as it is, that I would hope you not send me any sooner than is my time.”
“Then draw steel,” Avery heard himself say. “Let us test your metal.” Why am I saying this?! I am going to get myself killed!
The sound of steel being drawn reached Avery's ears and he closed his eyes instinctively. But in the next moment, he was drawing One clear of Quinn, rounding on the old watchman. In a single stroke, One cleaved through the man's upraised sword and paused in mid-stroke above the man's scalp. Avery opened his eyes to see the sweating face, eyes registering true fear for the first time. Dimly, he was aware of the echo of the other's blade landing on the floor of the room, now silent as a tomb.
“Your bravery is rewarded, Sir Drake,” Avery said, smirking. “This man's life is yours.”
Slowly, Avery felt his own control return, his heart beating as though he had run a mile. He did not feel nervous nor frightened, only mildly confused at the conviction of his words and actions.
Drake knelt humbly at his feet. “My Lord, I am in your debt.” Then he rose and signaled for his men to take Quinn and his companions into custody.
It was not until hands were actually laid upon him that Quinn finally became aware of what was happening. “You cannot do this!” he protested. “I am the duly appointed Lord of this province! Appointed by Lord Justin himself! You have not the authority...”
“I have every authority to arrest criminals and bring them before a magistrate, Lord Quinn, as you well know. If Lord Justin himself stood so accused, it would be my duty to arrest him. Rank does not provide privilege in this matter.”
“You would arrest me over the treatment of... whores?!” Quinn spit. “Over sluts who deserve no better? They are bitches, made for our pleasures! No one can punish me for taking what was rightfully mine to take!”
“Silence him now,” said Avery, sickened by the words, “or I shall.”
Quinn blanched. Drake nodded and tore a scrap away from his own shirt to stuff into the lord's mouth. “I believe, sir, that you should save further confessions for the magistrate.” At this, Quinn was roughly dragged from the room by four of the men who had been seated with Drake at his table, leaving the old man as the last actual watchman present, assuming Strom and his two companions were not watchmen.
Drake turned as though to speak, but Avery's attention was suddenly pulled away, literally. Someone had taken hold of his left hand and was pressing their lips to it!
“Oh, bless you, bless you, Oh great Lord,” murmured the bartender after he had removed his lips. It was somewhat disconcerting to see the tall man on his knees at his side with tears streaming down. “You spared my little Viola from a cruel fate. If only I had known, I would never have allowed such evil men here. Please, forgive me my failing. I could have lost her tonight...” Choking on his words, he could say no more.
“No fault was yours, good sir,” mumbled Avery. “Good men cannot be faulted for the concealed actions of evil.”
A great weight seemed to be lifted from the man, as he bowed reverently, his face dusting the sawdust upon the floor. “Bless you, Great Lord! Bless you!” At this, he stood, a spot of shavings clinging to his forehead, and looked Avery in the eye, even though he had to look down to do so. “I am your man from this day forward. Give me your name, Great Lord, that I might know what to call you.”
“Heretic,” spoke a voice sharply. “He's a heretic! Look to his right arm!” A hand forcefully grabbed the arm holding One and hoisted it overhead. “”He is branded with the four horns!”
Inwardly, Avery cursed. He had forgotten the damnable brand! Outwardly, Avery glared at the man holding his wrist.
“The mark is my own,” said Avery, trying to think fast lest he lose the momentum he had gained. “It is the mark of vengeance, of retribution aimed to strike in all directions against injustice. The so-called New Order has made it a mockery, branding those who challenge their corruption. They would seek to take those who work in my name and have them cast out, so that their own misdeeds remain unseen. But I tell you, it is not a sign of indignity to be scorned; it is a sign of honor! These new Gods have misused my symbol for grave atrocities and I have returned to set things aright again!”
The man holding his arm suddenly blanched and released his arm. “I did not know, Great Lord. Forgive me...”
Avery let himself relax. They had bought it! “Forgiveness is not needed for not knowing. And the new Gods have kept you ignorant of the truth. Only had you continued in your blasphemy after knowing would you have tempted my wrath.” That might have been a bit much, Avery thought to himself. But, by the Old Gods, it was working!
“But... we scorn people marked with this sign,” spoke up someone else. “We have been told...”
Avery felt genuine umbrage at the reminder. “And worse. I know all the crimes perpetrated against my faithful, upon the ones marked as such by the New Order. No longer. Know that from this day forward, any man or woman bearing this mark is in my favor and under my protection – for they are my devout, my faithful, whether they know of it or not. I take them under my wing as sacred, for they have suffered for their beliefs more than any other. Any cast out are now welcome. And lo be to any that would harm one of my flock!”
Avery looked at his swordarm. With calm precision, he raised the sword for all to see. “Know this blade. Its name is One and it is wielded in the arm marked by the sign. You have seen this night how the power of the sign has given this blade the strength to cut through anything, even steel!” As one, the crowd looked to the half blade still held in Drake's hand, ending in a clean, unbroken end. The sword had not shattered – it had been cut in twain! “So will One strike down any that would harm my faithful!”
“My Lord,” spoke Drake. “We still do not know your name. What would you have us call you?”
Avery grinned. “I am Avery, God of Vengeance!”
Drake dropped to his knee, head bowed. “By your glory, oh Lord Avery, I am your man.”
First one, then another, dropped to their knees in reverence. In moments, all in the room had knelt and sworn fealty to the new God walking amongst men.
Chapter Eight
Nathaniel lay still in the dimly lit room. Daylight had begun to creep in through the east window over an hour before, yet he had not been able to raise himself from the bed. The thin drapes kept out most of the daylight, keeping the room mostly in shadow still, but it had been Nathaniel's routine to be up at the first sliver of light shining through them. Though not today.
Mari's arm lay lightly over his side, his back to her. He clutched her delicate hand in his own, holding it desperately to his chest. His heart ached, and some inner instinct compelled him to believe that holding her, any part of her, close to that ache would somehow soothe it. His instincts, howeve
r, were not proving true.
Sleep had not come to him at all last night, though his mind barely registered the fact. His mind had not shut down, but it was certainly numb. To think of anything at all would thrust him into thoughts of his wife's crimes, of the games she had played with him for years now. He would have to think upon the hollowness that represented the facade behind their vows, the darkness that overshadowed every moment of passion and love he had ever had with her. He just could not accept that yet. He was not willing to face the harshness of reality.
Last night had been a dull blur. He had come into the cabin to be greeted by Mari's seemingly warm embrace, a hug he had returned mechanically, more from habit than from real emotion. He had felt a lack of heat in his own movements, and thought that surely she should have taken notice. Yet she did not, which only reinforced that Mari's own actions had been mechanically emotionless, as well.
Mari had said nothing as she had made way for the rougher, clinging embrace of Geoffrey, who had squeezed between them to wrap himself around both of Nathaniel's knees. The three year old little titan was in the mood for roughhousing, trying to topple his father as his form of greeting. Yet all Nathaniel had been able to manage was to ruffle the tike's hair and beg for a reprieve.
Dinner had been a somber occasion for him, as well. He had eaten what had seemed tasteless foods and responded to conversation with minimal words. In hindsight, he could not even recall what had been said, even by himself. He did know the one thing not spoken of though: the fateful information from Karmel knotted itself inside his gut and would not allow itself to escape.