by Jeff Gunzel
“Fools, both of you!” Jarlen bellowed. “How have such stupid creatures survived this long? You are like pitiful scavengers, thankful for even the smallest scraps cast off by your masters. Scraps a stray dog would not eat. You are slaves, yet you are grateful to be so! Are you so completely out of touch with the world that you can’t tell the difference? Do you really not see what they have done to you?”
“Why are you so angry?” Lucilla asked. This was a rare time where she was not smiling. “We know our lives are not perfect, but we are still alive. Doesn’t that count for something? The humans just need to learn to understand us. That’s all. Like you, they can be stubborn sometimes.” Her smile returned. “Once we all meet up in the north and get organized under our new leader, we will be able to show the humans the error of their ways. They’ll see we are not chaotic beings with no direction or purpose. Everything will work out. You’ll see.”
“Teach the humans the error of their ways,” Jarlen repeated, each taunting word slow and drawn out, hissing from his tongue like steam. “And that is what your vast experience with this vile race has taught you? I know more about these foul creatures than either of you could hope to learn in two lifetimes. Believe me when I say I know what it’s like to be a glorified pet.
“For years I was forced to fight in the pit of Shadowfen like some wild animal. And it was all for the entertainment of your precious humans. Hate and violence is a way of life for them. Perhaps it’s easier just to show you what they’re capable of.” He turned around and lifted the back of his cloak. The lerwicks gasped at the sight. Puckered white scars climbed his back like twisting vines. There were so many that his body almost appeared deformed.
Jarlen covered the scars and turned around to see their shocked expressions. “You actually think you can form an alliance with these soulless beasts? They are monsters of the most nightmarish variety. To them, we are lower than dirt. This treaty, alliance, whatever you want to call it, is nothing more than a fool’s reality. The sooner you realize that, the better the chance you’ll have at surviving in this ever-changing world. And mark my words, things are changing fast. And when the time comes, you will have to decide whose side you’re on.”
Alaric got off his horse and walked over to Jarlen, a sad look in his eyes. The expression seemed foreign on the ever-happy lerwick, and made him almost unrecognizable. “Jarlen,” he said, putting a hand on Jarlen’s shoulder. “We are so sorry for what happened to you. I can’t even imagine the horrors you must have experienced. But don’t you see? This is exactly what we’re hoping to prevent in the future. This is why we must reach out to the humans and show them that we are their equals. They can’t all be as bad as you think. This silent war must end before it begins, and it all starts with us.”
Disgusted, Jarlen shrugged the hand off his shoulder. “Thousands of them!” he roared. “Thousands of them stared down on me in the pit each and every day. Thousands of them all in the same place, each hoping to see my blood spilled across the sand!” He lowered his voice. “No, Alaric, I have not met every single human in the world, but I have seen and dealt with far more than you have. You stand here and try to tell me they are not all the same. Well, I have yet to meet the one who is different. We’ll talk again when you find that special human. I have a feeling you will be searching for a very long time.”
Jarlen stepped past Alaric, bumping his shoulder. “Let’s get on with this,” he grunted. “Let’s go find this paradise of yours, if indeed it even exists.”
* * *
They traveled throughout the day in silence. Each time Alaric or Lucilla felt like telling a story or even singing a song they had learned from their human masters, Jarlen cut them off with a groan or stony glare. He was fed up with their childlike behavior. Still, he wasn’t foolish enough to part ways with them just yet. They might still prove to be useful in one way or another.
They had proven themselves to be capable fighters. They weren’t skilled warriors, of course, at least not to compared to Jarlen. But their above-average speed and instinct would almost certainly overmatch any human adversary. That in itself could prove useful. No, Jarlen would not make any hasty decisions regarding these two. At least, not until they had safely reached their destination anyway.
“I’m tired of riding,” Alaric complained. “Let’s stop for the night.”
“We still have some daylight left,” Jarlen pointed out. He was now riding behind Alaric to give Lucilla’s horse a break. “Another couple miles won’t kill you.” In truth, Jarlen was feeling rather fatigued himself. The idea of a warm fire and some comfortable grass to lay on was a tempting one indeed. But stopping early each day would also extend his travel time with these two imbeciles, and the thought of that was almost unbearable.
“I’m tired too,” Lucilla added, leaning way back on her mount in exaggerated fashion as if she might fall off the back. “Let’s just stop. We can make up the time tomorrow.”
“Listen, you two,” Jarlen growled. He couldn’t help but feel like he was talking to children. “We still have a long way to go. If you can just hold on for a few more—”
“Hey, up ahead,” Alaric called out. Off in the distance was what looked to be a small town. So small in fact it was unlikely to show up on any map, let alone the crude one they were using to guide them. “We can stop there and get a hot meal. Maybe even get a room.”
“You two are in the real world now,” Jarlen growled, slapping a hand down over his eyes. How much more of their ignorance could he take? “It doesn’t work like that. Nothing is free! Rooms, food, it all costs—”
“We have gold,” Lucilla said, jingling a small pouch strapped near her waist. Well, that certainly changed everything. It never even occurred to Jarlen that they might have coin with them. And from the sound of that heavy jingle, they had enough to make this night a rather comfortable one at that.
“All right, then,” Jarlen said, looking up to the sky. Perhaps they didn’t have as much daylight left as he thought. The decision to stop was a practical one that had nothing to do with hot food, cold ale, or a warm bed. Yes, the daylight was definitely waning... “But I don’t need you two drawing any unnecessary attention while we’re there. Keep your heads down and let me do all the talking. Now cover up.”
Grinning at the thought of a hot meal, Alaric and Lucilla pulled their hoods forward and rode on. It was a rundown town with only one wide road dividing the worn, rickety shacks on each side. If not for the flickering candlelight coming from a few windows here and there, they would have thought the place abandoned. Piles of horse dung littered the street, some of it obviously quite old. It didn’t seem like this sleepy town was all that well traveled. But that was fine with Jarlen. Less traffic meant less chance of drawing attention.
After receiving a few long, lingering stares from a few drunks staggering out from one of the taverns, they tied the horses and decided to try their luck at getting some food. The Milking Goat Tavern read the swinging sign. “As good a place as any,” Jarlen muttered, motioning for them to follow. The moment they stepped inside, they were assaulted by the scent of filthy humans and stale pipe smoke. Heads turned towards the suspicious strangers, most with sleepy, fluttering eyelids unable to focus on much of anything. It was obvious they didn’t get too many visitors around here.
“Go take a seat in the corner,” Jarlen whispered, pointing with his chin. Three cloaked strangers were not a subtle thing, but the sooner they sat down and made an attempt to blend in, the sooner others in the room might just forget they were there. They scurried over to the corner and slipped into a booth. The feel of a comfortable seat as opposed to a horse’s back was pure bliss. As far as they were concerned, this seat alone had already made the trip worth it.
“We don’t get too many visitors around here,” said a heavyset barmaid stumbling up to their booth. Her frizzy dark hair with streaks of white flared out in all directions, and her bulging blue eyes were bloodshot. Constantly wringing her hands and
licking her chapped lips, she appeared to be a bit unstable, to say the least.
“We’re just looking for a place to—” Jarlen began, making sure to hurry and speak before one of these two got any ideas.
“Ah, I know why you’re here,” she said, laughing far too loudly for their comfort. But none of the drunk patrons around the room seemed to notice. That was a good sign. “Only one reason anyone would come to this town. And don’t you worry. You came on the right day. It’s happening tonight. So, what can I bring you?”
“Um,” Jarlen hesitated, confused by the woman’s nonsensical ramblings. What was happening tonight? “What do you have on the spit in back?”
“Pork. Best in town, I say!” Again, her bellowing laugh was enough to make any man cringe.
“Fine, then. Three plates and three ales.” At this point Jarlen just wanted her to go away and stop drawing attention. But at the same time he was thankful that this odd woman didn’t seem all that curious about them, either.
“Coming right up,” she said, twirling around before almost falling down. It was only then that Jarlen realized she was just as intoxicated as everyone else here. Perhaps that was also a good thing.
“Listen,” Jarlen said, urging his companions to lean in closer while keeping a watchful eye on their hostess. “I think we might have gotten lucky tonight. Everyone is drunk. They’ve hardly even noticed us.” He looked around again just to verify his own presumption. There was a group laughing in the corner and another playing dice at a table in the center of the room. Other than that there were a few men scattered about drinking alone. The way they were swaying in their seats, it was likely they wouldn’t even notice if the place caught fire.
“Yes,” Jarlen continued. “As long as you two don’t do anything stupid, I think we will be able to enjoy a decent meal as well as sleep with a roof over our heads. Now give me your coin purse.” Lucilla slid the leather sack across the table. “Good. Now just keep quiet. Understood?”
“Yes,” they said together.
The barmaid returned with two trays, one with frosty mugs of ale, the other with three steaming plates. “Here you are,” she said, laughing at nothing as she set them out. Jarlen thumbed two gold pieces down on an empty tray, and hoped she would leave quickly. The barmaid scooped them up and dropped them into her ample cleavage. “You boys better hurry up. You probably have less than an hour.” She spun away and went back to the kitchen.
What is it she keeps talking about? Jarlen thought to himself.
The second she was out of sight, all three of them began devouring their plates. Raw horse meat would have been preferable to the dry rations they had been eating, but as it was, the roasted pork was quite good by any measure. Jarlen drained his mug of ale faster than he intended, but was quick to remind himself that there was plenty more where that came from. These two had plenty of coin and seemed mostly unsure of what to do with it. It was now his assumed duty to help them with that little problem. At least, that’s how he saw it.
The meal was gone all too quickly, and they were already thinking about ordering a second round when the barmaid showed up again. “If you fine folks are ready, we have a fresh pie cooking that’s just about ready,” she said, her already bulging eyes looking as if they just might pop out of her head. She was obviously very excited about this pie. “Just say the word and I’ll rustle up a couple plates.”
“What kind of pie?” Alaric asked, nearly as excited as the barmaid. In his excitement he bumped his drink, spilling the cold ale onto Lucilla’s lap. She squealed, trying to jump up, but her legs hit the bottom of the table. In turn, the jarring thud knocked over her own mug. In what seemed to be an uncanny barrage of clumsy, flailing movements, both their hoods slid back. If it were even possible, the barmaid’s eyes went even wider. “You’re those creatures,” she gasped, hands trembling against the empty tray clutched to her chest. “H-Help! Sombo—”
Arms going limp, the tray bounced on the table before rattling to a halt. Jarlen raised a hushing finger to his lips, urging the other two not to make a sound. They stared in horror, his arm-turned-flesh blade raised up through the bottom of her neck and protruding from her mouth. Still standing, her full weight supported up by the blade, her lifeless eyes stared off at nothing. Blood streamed down his arm, dripping from his elbow and pooling near the barmaid’s feet.
“I should kill you both,” Jarlen growled under his breath, his tone soft and dangerous. “Now don’t...move.” Severely shaken by what they had just witnessed, they still had enough wits to obey his instruction. Pulling their hoods forward, they sat like statues, hands folded tightly on their laps to keep them from trembling. Jarlen glanced to the side, scanning the tavern room while holding the corpse upright. No one appeared to have noticed anything, and any who did look their way only saw the back of a barmaid taking their order. “When I say so, start walking towards the door,” he whispered.
Jarlen began laughing as he retracted his flesh blade. Slowing her fall, he allowed her lifeless arms to swing forward, palms flopping down on the table as if she were trying to catch herself. He slapped his hand against the underside of the table, hoping the sound would add to the illusion. “There you go,” he said, lowering her into the booth so that her neck wound was facing away from the other patrons. “We’re leaving anyway, so the seat is all yours. I would tell you to have a drink, but it looks like you’ve already had one too many.”
The few patrons around them who took notice of the mild commotion began laughing at the passed-out barmaid. Go now Jarlen mouthed silently. Resisting the urge to run, the frightened lerwicks started walking towards the door. “That’s what happens when you let these girls drink on the job.” Jarlen laughed loudly, patting the corpse on the shoulder. Those around him chuckled at the stranger’s jest. It wasn’t the first time they had seen a barmaid go down in a drunken stupor long before her shift was over.
“Hold on, then,” said a fellow sitting in the corner just as Jarlen began following the other two. Rising to his feet, the tall, lumbering fellow began making his way towards the booth. “She doesn’t look right to me. Are you sure that liquor is her only problem?” As he was almost at the booth, Jarlen sidestepped in front of him, blocking him from the corpse. “Of course I’m sure,” he said, his face shadowed beneath his hood. If he had to kill this man to silence him, so be it. But after that, they would have to take advantage of the confusion and move quickly to get to the horses. Already Jarlen was playing out the scenario in his head, a thing he did often. Always ready for anything, the warrior was rarely caught off guard. “What else would it be?” Fists clenched, he held his breath in anticipation.
A bell started ringing from outside. Ignoring the standoff, patrons began rising from their seats. They pushed past the cloaked lerwicks who were waiting near the door and moved out into the street.
The scowling man’s lips turned up in a grin and his eyes lit up. “Well then, I guess she’s going to miss all the fun,” he said, dropping a heavy hand onto Jarlen’s shoulder as he let out a bellowing laugh. “And so will we if we don’t hurry. Come on, friend.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand but didn’t wait for Jarlen to follow. Lumbering along, he pushed his way out into the street.
Alaric and Lucilla waved near the door, urging Jarlen to hurry. Now that practically the whole town seemed to be distracted by something, they could ride off without being noticed. Nodding his silent agreement, the three of them rushed out to the tied horses.
Other taverns were emptying as well. As Alaric began loosening the straps, Jarlen looked down the street in the direction everyone seemed to be heading, then glanced back at the tavern they had just left from. Even from here he could see the barmaid’s corpse propped up in the booth. But aside from her, the tavern was empty. He felt confident no one would discover her until much later tonight, possibly not even until morning.
“You two can meet me outside the town or wait here if you want,” Jarlen said, looking down the street to
see where everyone was headed. “I want to see what’s going on.” Normally Jarlen wasn’t concerned with the affairs of humans, but for some reason his curiosity was getting the best of him this time. None of these simple folk appeared to suspect their true identities, and they were in the clear as far as the dead barmaid was concerned. The risk was minimal and worth a chance to satisfy his curiosity.
“Are you insane?” Lucilla gasped, her head darting about. “Look what you did. We have to get out of here!”
Jarlen took a step forward, looming over her like a dark shadow. “You did that,” he hissed, pointing back to the tavern. “I was forced to clean up your mess because you two are incompetent.” Lucilla wilted under that piercing gaze. She knew he was right. If not for his quick reaction, they would have been discovered for sure. “Besides,” he added, his tone lightening just a bit, “unlike you, I know my place in this world. I don’t fear humans.” He turned away to go follow the crowd.
Alaric glanced at her with a shrug, then he too followed behind their traveling companion. Not liking the idea, but not wanting to wait outside the town by herself either, Lucilla threw her hands up and started jogging to catch up. There were many people in the street, surprising given that the place seemed like a ghost town when they had first arrived.
Even after the crowd had come to a standstill, Jarlen dipped his shoulder and continued to push his way through. More than willing to oblige three cloaked strangers who may or may not be dangerous, folk willingly stepped aside to let them pass.
Making their way to the front of the crowd, they found a makeshift platform assembled with planks of old wood, and held together with even older twine. On it stood a short man with a large black hat and an oversized coat. Several sizes too large, the funny-looking coat hung down past his knees. They could only assume that he was the mayor, or whatever title gave rank in such a small, rundown town.
He raised his hands, settling the crowd. “Welcome, people of Drakdale,” he began, his voice surprisingly deep for such a small man. Almost immediately Jarlen blocked him out. He had no interest in a lecture from some pitiful human. Were they gathering in praise for one of the many human gods he had heard so much about? This was all just a waste of time. Jarlen’s interest quickly faded.