by Lloyd Baron
Spader now eyes Riochald wearily before bowing in her direction, flashing a nervous smile. “This is Wheelwright Lane or Splinter Shard Way, depending on how old you are.” Darwin’t smiles and exchanges a look with Tarfleam, who offers a rare smile in return. It isn’t just back home in their small village that the older generations don’t like to move along with change.
“That’s an odd name for a road, Master Spader. Splinter Shard.” Canace frowns down at the little man, though a sweet smile replaces it when he goes to recite another of his tales.
“It went by another name long ago,” he says almost song-like. “So long ago now that nobody can remember.” Many of his stories also claim that they are too old to be remembered; apart from him, apparently. “One night a bloody murder was committed here in which a young man was beheaded using a wooden…”
Riochald sweeps from her horse and grabs Spader by the collar of his tunic. He gives off a yelp and eyes her with open fear, his face going white and breaking out in a sweat. Riochald opens her mouth but her words are cut off as a well-dressed man is thrust into the road from a nearby doorway. He glances up at their group, a large bruise growing around his eye. Riochald shoves Spader away from her and begins stalking down the road towards the man. However, she stops short of him. Two large men in dark-blue garb with shining silver breastplates and boots step from the doorway after him; their cloaks catching in the breeze. Following close behind is an elderly woman with an apron tied about her waist and a yellow ribbon holding back her long greying hair. She ties to reach the fallen man, but the younger of the two men restrains her roughly.
Seeing the look on Riochald’s face and foreseeing her actions, Master Spader grabs her arm and tugs her back. “Brothers of the Star,” he whispers loudly enough for them all to hear. “They are zealots who act under the name of the Goddess, but they mostly boil down to bullies. A few suns ago they were nothing more than a movement in Alan, but they have spread like a plague.”
“I have never heard of them,” Riochald says briskly. Her temper flaring again. “They act as guards for this harbor?”
Spader tries to hush her and speaks at an even lower volume than he had before. Darwin’t strains his ears but only makes out a few words—none of them good. “We should not become entangled with them,” he mutters to himself, but Riochald swings in his direction and glares at him. In a swift motion she turns and barges past Spader before he can stop her. The little man yelps, and with a brief bow at Canace runs in the opposite direction. “Hey!” he calls, but the man does not stop or even slow down. Turning back to the scene in front of him he sees that Riochald has reached the pair of men and is waving her arms angrily at them. He leaps down from his mount and makes his way over to them. His stomach begins to flip and roll the closer he gets. It’s an effort not to put his hands on his belly to calm his nerves. To his surprise Canace comes up beside him and Tarfleam slightly behind. They draw close enough to hear what is being said.
“He is Dark Clan,” one of the men says calmly. “He is an abomination of the Sorceress and must be burned.”
“He is not!” the elderly woman barks as she tries to twist her wrists free of the man’s grip. “He has been a patron of this inn for many suns. He tells us stories of his travels and of adventures. He sings us songs and plays the flute. Many times he has reduced me to tears with his beautiful words and stopped my breathing with his jokes.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Now tell me, young man, does that sound like a Dark Clan to you?”
By way of an answer, the older of the two armed men kicks the fallen man in the face. Riochald steps forwards then stops and puts her hands to her mouth. The well-dressed man’s eyes have become as black as a starless night. He lowers his face quickly so that the elderly woman cannot see. It is too late. She gasps and steps away. However, she shakes herself and points a finger at the top of his head. “Dark Clan or not, he has never hurt anyone here. His tales and his smile have touched my heart, Captain Zine. He is a friend and I will not have you beat him to death.”
The older man turns, revealing a star emblazed upon his chest. He shakes his head and looks at the woman sadly. “Those who walk and shelter servants of the dark will be judged as harshly as those who they protect!”
“Clary,” the croaky voice comes from the downed man. “Do not do this. Let them take me. Do not stand in their way, or you will be on the pyre alongside me.” He does not look up at her.
The old woman, Clary, sobs and drops to her knees beside him. She reaches out a shaky hand and touches his hair. “It is too late, my dear friend. I will never stand and watch them murder you. You have my word that you will be saved before they get the chance.” The two Brothers of the Star look at each other. Captain Zine nods slightly and the younger one grabs Clary by the head. Before Darwin’t has a chance to react Riochald has leapt forward, and using her shoulder knocks the man away from Clary.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves! She is an old woman looking out for a friend. Even if he is Dark Clan.” She shudders and glances down at the well-dressed man. “Do you expect her to forsake a friend of many suns? Do what you will with him, but leave her be! Or I will report you both to the town guard for murder, Captain Zine!”
Zine appraises her coldly then nods and smiles. “You speak well my dear. We do not allow woman into the Brotherhood, yet I would take you into my charge as a speaker for the light.” He gestures for the younger man to remove the Dark Clan from the street. As he is dragging him away Zine pulls a hanky from his belt pouch and bends to wipe blood from his silver boot. “Shall we speak of this further or will you stay quiet before I judge you all as helping hide Dark followers.”
Riochald draws herself up, but Darwin’t steps in front of her while Canace and Tarfleam grab her and drag her back to the horses. “That will not be necessary, Captain Zine. We are leaving.” He turns and walks quickly after his friends, with the feeling that he will get the man’s sword in his back the whole way. When he turns Zine is strolling down the road, and there is no sign of the elderly woman.
“How dare you!” Riochald roars at him. “Never do that again! Do you hear me? I had everything under control back there! Men! You all think you can handle things better than women!” She glares at him. As she clambers back into her saddle she mutters something about women not being able to join the brotherhood.
“Hail there!” a deep voice calls from the mouth of the street. “We have been looking for you!” Turning his horse Darwin’t sees a sight that gladdens his heart. Crammed into a saddle upon a sleek grey horse are Danlynn and Derry’n.
“We thought we could hear friendly voices!” Danlynn says with a grin. “It’s nice to see you getting along.” If he was surprised to see Canace and Riochald with them he shows no sign of it. “Come on then. We passed this really nice looking inn a while ago called the Nine Swans and I could do with a meal and a bed for the night.”
Mo Sher, publican of the Nine Swans Inn in the heart of Doeia Harbor, wipes a sweaty fat hand over the cheek of his slim young new wife; smacks her bottom and laughs at one of his own jokes as he moves back into the bustling crowd filling the bar room. He kicks her cat, Munchkin, out of his way in the process.
Mondy Sher stares after the fat blubbering mass of her husband and shivers with the disgusting thought of his naked form pressing down on her tonight. She has been faking a backache, but tonight is his birthday and he wanted a party in his honor. It was a choice she did not like to make yet one she felt she did not ultimately have. It was a birthday party and then either sex with her husband, or a night with the fat sweaty man over a fine dinner and then him pleasuring himself while she pretended not to listen. She crouches and strokes the cat, making a clucking sound.
It had seemed like such an easy scheme to begin with. Two seasons ago she had paid a man to fight with her in the inn. She had watched the innkeeper step between fights with his large bulk in the past and he did not disappoint that night. She of course had been very grate
ful, and they had stayed up talking for most of the night. The innkeeper seemed pleasant enough, and she learned very quickly that he had a lot of money. He owned two inns in the south and one all the way up north in Bohend Fie's in Gamblet, plus a bar in Dalvistel. All she needed to do was marry him and slowly take over his businesses. However, he has not been so easy to manipulate, and she has become nothing more than his sex slave. He wants to make love each and every night. He wants a family and will not stop until she gets pregnant. She hates what she has become and she hates him even more for making her this way.
She turns back to the large pot of soup bubbling upon the stove. There is enough poison in there to kill a horse. That should be enough to kill one fat innkeeper. She smiles down at Munchkin whose wide blue eyes shine up at her.
A table shrieks across the wooden floor and a glass smashes. Shouts erupt from the bar and she can hear her husband yelling for the racket to die down. She stoops to look through the serving hatch to see what is going on. A stout woman with broad shoulders and hair pulled into a bun has a skinny young man pinned against the wall. A tiny girl with stunning blond hair is jumping up and down yelling for the other to release the boy, as another boy with hair like a mop sits besides laughing. Two others sit with them. A chunky dream of a man she would not mind getting into bed with sits shaking his head, not paying them much attention while the other, a weasel of a man with skinny features and sly eyes watches with a hint of lust for the fight. She notices though that when the woman swings the man back into his seat, the weasel jumps and sinks back within himself. She smiles and turns back to her soup.
***
“Riochald, put him down!” Canace screams again, her throat becoming hoarse. “He really doesn’t need to apologize again.”
“Yes he does!” is the reply and the stern face is then turned towards her. “And it is does not need to apologize. Just because we are away from home does not mean you can begin to talk like a commoner.” She hefts Darwin’t away from the wall and drops him back into his seat. Tarfleam yelps pathetically and lowers his head, vanishing back into his own thoughts. Riochald sighs and sits down, folding her arms across her bosom.
“I am so glad we got that sorted out,” Danlynn says with a chuckle. “Now let us get onto the important things. Who is hungry?” A table of faces turns his way.
Mo Sher has married a scheming tramp who wants nothing more than to bleed him dry. However, she is not so bright, and he is using her until he becomes bored. After all, a man of his size does not get beautiful women into bed so easily. He rubs two chubby hands together and watches the group of strangers sitting in the corner. They look at first to be old friends on a journey south from the grasslands , yet as the night progresses there emerges real tension between them.
Two of them, the tall skinny lad and the wide-shouldered lady, are clearly fighting for leadership of the group. The other three men seem happy to let them carry on, yet the little woman is becoming more and more drawn into the battle. At first, she had been talking lightly to both parties, though that had soon crumbled and she now stands, hands on hips, shouting at the pair. He has thought about stepping in to break them up, but it is not a busy night and he does not wish to drive them out. Besides, they have not ordered anything yet.
He glances at his wife and grimaces as she ogles over the big man in their group. He hates her now. She has eyed up her last victim. He looks down at the bottle of wine under the counter and smiles to himself. There is enough poison in there to kill a horse. That should be enough to kill one lying whore.
The icy stares last only a moment and then they all melt. Riochald even smiles, slightly. They decide to order some wine and maybe some of the wonderful soup they can smell. Danlynn is about to order when he spots the woman staring at them through the hatch and smiles. She smiles back and makes her way to the kitchen door. Derry’n mutters something and raises his hand.
Mondy smiles at the mop-haired young man and walks through the kitchen to get a better look of his face. Maybe she will pretend to hurt her back again and then ask this young man for a ride. The thought does not last long as she sees her wide husband waddle over to the table. He takes the order and then moves towards her.
“Get the table at the back six glasses of the cheap wine. Anything from the back of the bar.” She smiles cheerfully, feeling none of its mirth and passes the stinking mass of flesh and enters the bar. She catches the man’s eye again and smiles. “A cheap bottle is it,” she mutters to herself. “I don’t think so.” She sees a bottle of expensive Lokkie red under the counter and grabs it. “This will serve the fat bastard right.” A bitter snigger escapes her lips before she turns back on the charm; making her way to the table at the back. The cat meows around her feet, but she ignores him.
Mo leaves his wife, the vile bitch, to fetch the cheapest wine in the rack and walks into the kitchen. The soup on the stove is meant for him as a birthday meal for the two of them. He spits into it and grabs a set of bowls, spitting into the bottom of each one before ladling in the thick vegetable broth. He stirs each one making sure the thick gob cannot be seen and loads them onto a tray. He grins to himself. “I hope they all choke on it,” he says to himself as he steps into the bar, the soup steaming in his face.
The noise and hubbub of the inn dissipates into the background. She is looking this way. Danlynn watches the beautiful waitress from the corner of his eye; all thoughts of Prophecy and ghouls forgotten. All replaced by the wonder that is the lady in the green dress.
She has startling black eyes which glitter like gems and long burnt copper hair. Her breasts trying to force themselves from beneath the green fabric, the two erect nipples teasing him. He feels his loins stir and closes his legs, which only makes it worse.
“No!” The shout booms out from the far side of the large bar and the fat innkeeper rushes towards them, his tray left on a table at the back. Danlynn watches the woman as she tries to hide the bottle of wine behind her back, swiftly switching it for one on the table behind her. She glares at the man in a way only a wife can and get away with it.
“No way!” he hears himself say under his breath.
“It looks like you may have started a domestic between man and wife,” Derry’n says with a chuckle into his ear.
“When did you start to talk?” He snipes back. “And when did you get a sense of humor?” He flashes a grin at the big man who stares solemnly back at him. He shrugs and turns back to the room. The soup is long gone, a group of hungry looking dock workers wolfing it down. He glances at the wine which also seems to have been drunk by the occupants of the table it had been dumped on. He sighs to himself.
Will he ever get anything to eat?
Mo shouts at the silly witch, fighting the urge to take a swing at her. Anger builds up in his chest and he has to expel it somehow. He has the idea of unleashing it upon the guy with the curly hair who had been staring longingly at his wife. He shoves her out of the way and rushes towards the table.
He never makes it.
Mondy falls against the wall and drops to the floor. She is about to give chase to the fat moron when she sees the empty soup bowls cluttering up the tables at the back of the room. She jumps up and runs into the kitchen. The large pot sits empty by the sink. “What have you done?” She screams. But her voice is drowned out by the screams from the bar and the crash of dishes on the floor.
Danlynn yells his horror at the sight of the men dropping to the floor beside them, blood leaking from their mouths and noses. He shrieks again as the last one coughs blood over the table. Danlynn pushes back from his seat. The others doing the same. The innkeeper had been rushing towards him but had stopped at the sight of something on the table moments before they had begun to vomit and die.
His wife's scream from the kitchen becomes muffled as more screams begin around the dining hall. A plump dock worker knocks his glass aside and coughs; a piece of carrot flying from his mouth. His next cough brings a spray of blood and more of the soup. Th
e others around the table begin hacking too. Everybody in the inn has now turned to the coughing men, their conversations lost, replaced now with shouts and cries for help.
A chair scrapes back. The largest of the men tries to stand and is violently sick down his overalls and across the table. A sour mix of bile and soup drifts across the room. Canace screams and buries her face in Darwin’t’s chest. Tarfleam is crying again, rocking backwards and banging his head against the wooden wall. Riochald looks as if she wants to help, but Derry’n’s firm hand stays her.
The first of the dockworkers collapses into the soup bowls, knocking them to smash upon the floor. A thick brown geyser of vegetables and gastric juices erupts from another of the men. He tries to stem the flow with his hands, standing as the torrent turns crimson with blood.
As suddenly as it had begun, it ends. Four dead men beside their table, blood oozing slowly from their mouths, and three dead on the other side of the room, their guts spread across the table and floor for all to see. The innkeeper’s wife screams and rushes for the door. The innkeeper gives chase, catching her as she makes her escape, grabbing her shoulders. She screams like a wild thing and buries a kitchen knife in the fat man’s chest. He releases her and drops to the floor, his lifeblood flowing from him like a river. Guests at the inn run to their rooms and some from the inn altogether. One man drops to the floor beside the innkeeper. Realizing the man is dead, he too runs.
Danlynn just stares at the carnage in the room. His stomach churns violently and he vomits thick yellow bile over his feet. A strong hand grasps his shoulder and turns him away from the gore. The looks on his friends’ faces must be a reflection of his own. “That soup and that wine were meant for us,” he says, voice shaking. “We should be dead.”