“Now lads,” Vonka said, “Warton is just telling tales, no harm done, have a candy. Women love them, so you should enjoy them also.” The pilot held out a handful of the treats. The cackling lackeys reached for them as the big man swatted the hand, the candies scattering as he did.
“We ain’t no soft women to want your little chewy morsels in our mouth!” the man bellowed. The crowd around snickered, but silenced when he looked around. “You insult us, and we are going to teach you a lesson!”
“What’s going on here?” came a voice from the side. Everyone turned to see Bezel in his long navy blue coat approaching with his hands in his pockets, followed by Jumper and a grumbling Kytson, who spat a wad of brown tobacco juice into the sand. “I think we can settle this without any real problems. Let me buy you drink. Something with rum, and perhaps you enjoy something fruity? What’s your name, sailor?”
“Chrindak of the Dark Horizon,” the man said, cracking his knuckles, “you might be able to buy your way out of this fight, fat man.”
“Oh aye,” Conald threw back his whiskey in one shot, and then stood. “I think they should take a drink, before they take a beating.”
“I ain’t no fool,” Chrindak said, as Conald scoffed, “I don’t think I could beat all of you off, but I could take three of you in a fight. Pick your best!”
The crowd had quieted, watching the scene. A thin man in a white shirt and a white apron approached, wringing his hands.
“Good sirs,” the thin man said, “I am Joejoe, proprietor of the Argent’s Rest. Perhaps this is best settled in one of the many arenas?”
Bezel sighed, as the crew puffed out their chests and grinned.
Rogen sought his contact as he followed the buildings deeper into the island. Lean-tos and tarps covered an open area that served as a market place during the day and a refuge for the beggars and drunks at night. From the rope bridges above, the Rokairn understood why sailors were so comfortable here. The sea of canvas below rustled in the wind like waves, and the rope and wood catwalk swayed underfoot. He spotted the man, leaning against a pole hat held an overhead tarp, and approached him.
The dark skinned man was never a slave, but had taken many under his wing at Rogen’s request. Silver was the name the man went by, and he belonged to an ancient family line that controlled much of the trade in the central and eastern portions of continent of Teurone. Silver was dressed in leathers that were two shades darker than his skin, and wore a short bladed sword on each hip. A brace of throwing knives went across his chest, and dagger stuck out of each boot. Silver studs decorated any part of him that wasn’t covered with weapons, including his nose, ears, lip, and eyebrow.
“My friend,” Rogen said as he reached the man, holding his hand out in greeting. Silver grasped the Rokairn’s wrist in welcome, smiling broadly.
“So, now we are friends?” Silver asked, still smiling.
“Silver, I need as many friends as I can have right now, and I would be honored to call you that.”
“You’re an honorable man, Rogen, and I have long thought of you as more than just a business acquaintance. Even if you deal in the flesh trade, filthy as that is.”
“Always speaking your mind, I like that. I don’t get it enough.”
“You could have it more, just stay still and unguarded long enough for that bounty hunter to find you.”
“Is she still after me?” Rogen sighed. “I thought she had quit.”
“When there is money, they will never quit. And you did enslave her and her family, then sold them to different parts of the world. And you trained her, so she knows your ways. It’s personal though, so she has more motivation than just ten-thousand gold kords.”
“Shall we go find a table and a drink?” Rogen asked, gesturing towards a stairway to the ground.
“I think here is better,” Silver said as he shook his head. “The wind carried our words away up here, and less eyes and ears. No one looks up.”
“Very well then, what news do you have for me?”
“Your Troödian friends have killed every spy you had around them,” Silver said, leaning on the railing and scanning the walkways and rooftops for anyone who might be looking their way. “A few escaped, they mentioned a new ally, the name Kez’et-dual. Does that mean anything to you?”
“I have heard it before; it is not good news. Go on, what else?”
“In Everyway, Nomed is up to something. I don’t know if it is good or bad, but it is always interesting when he starts moving about and pulling strings. Kaht is also on the move, with her boyfriend, the dragon guy. His name is Grenedal Dragonblood, if you didn’t know already. They are trying to form up resistance against the undead and bugs that litter the land. There is a new player also, a friend of theirs, Hue Blueaxe.”
Rogen grunted and waited for Silver to go on, his hands behind in back in a military rest. Silver did go on; detailing information that was new or confirmed other news Rogen had received through notes left by his spy network. They spoke for almost an hour, Rogen asking questions to clarify what was said occasionally, but listening more than talking.
“Thank you, my friend,” Rogen said, grasping Silver’s wrist again. “Do you have my package?”
“Of course,” Silver passed the man a cloth wrapped bundle, not much larger than a book.
“And is my room ready also?”
“Yes, it wasn’t easy getting a basement on this sand trap, but I found one. It is secure. I’ll take you there for your next meeting. Just, be careful. I know the world is a dangerous place, but you’re juggling fire over a saltpeter mine.”
The men gathered to discuss their strategy for the arena. The air was warmer inland, not having the direct cooling breezes from the water. Instead it was blocked by trees, buildings, and rolling ridges of long cooled volcanic rock. The sand underfoot glittered with black volcanic glass mixed in with white and pink crushed shells. Wild birds called from tree tops, some of them mimicking human noises.
They had gathered a small crowd in one of the favorite arenas used by sailors to settle disputes. The floor had cracked as a small stream made its way through the center of the sandy floor, the stands, and the outer walls. Three dozen men crowded into a huddle, making bets, and buying drinks. Joejoe had sent a half dozen women with skins containing wine, brandy, and rum, as well as cigars and other herbs to smoke. Four men, sent to make sure everyone paid, each stood by a small cask of beer, ale, or other drink. This arena could easily seat ten times as many people,
Warton, Conald, and Jumper had been chosen to face off against three of the crew from the Dark Horizon. They stood on one side of the rivulet, surrounded by the others from Lady Luck. Tart, Puffer, and Treat were bouncing around their crewmates, jeering at the other pirate crew. Kytson was pushing the men to fight dirty and get this over quick so they would all have time for a whore before returning to the ship. Cutter reminded them of their duties and not to get hurt. A stitched sailor couldn’t climb the rigging. Bezel sauntered through the crowd of men placing bets, collecting bets of his own with odds that the others couldn’t ignore. Vonka just sat in the spectators’ area, apart from all the others, and popped candies into his mouth and occasionally shouting support for Lady Luck and her crew.
Chrindak and his two mates stood ready, flexing and jeering at the others. They were all three massive and muscled. Only Warton came close to them in size, but he was a bit softer in the middle. Jumper was a head and shoulders shorter, and a third of the smallest opponent’s weight. The smaller man jumped up and down on his toes, kicking over the head of his friends. Conald wasn’t much better off than Jumper when it came to size, but he didn’t show any fear thanks to the whiskey and being raised in the Talon Isles to the west. His people were known for drinking, their temper, and throwing five-meter long trees as a form of entertainment and sport. No one else stood in the circle with three men of the Dark Horizon, their crew being too busy placing bets to bother.
The crew of the Lady Luck re
treated to the stands, leaving only Conald, Warton, and Jumper in the ring, as a fight mediator came into the arena. This was a shrewd old man who squinted at anyone who spoke, as if considering and weighing anything that was said. He raised his voice and shouted over the crowd, who quieted as he did, and announced the rules. The fight would last until a crew begged for quarter, or no man was left standing. No jewel smashing, no eyeball gouging, or killing was all he said. The bent man warned them to listen when he called halt or fight, because he would knife anyone who didn’t. With a cackle, the wiry man danced towards the stone dais where he would preside over the fight.
A man started beating a goatskin drum. It was a steady and deep beat on a loose and haired drumhead. The crowd started stomping and clapping to the rhythm. The mediator called out, “Fight!” and the crew of the Lady Luck crouched, ready for action, as the crew of Dark Horizons stood upright and held up their hands. Their shipmates in the crowd began tossing knives and clubs to their friends, who caught them deftly and turned towards Conald, Warton, and Jumper.
“Oh gods be damned,” muttered Bezel, and then the crowd went wild.
The lights flashed as the demon finished testing the magical barrier, as he always did. The obsidian glass, created by volcanic rock, which made the walls of the basement, glistened from the activity. Rogen waited, his face as placid as a mountain.
“I need to know about Kez’et-dual.”
“What do you want to know about the pathetic creature called Kez’et-dual?”
“What is he planning?” Rogen took a military stance, hands behind him, legs wide, and fingered the silver dagger behind his back. “You are bound by the covenant of the circle, and accepting my gifts to give me the truth and your knowledge.”
“I am bound,” the demon growled, ripping another kid in two with his vestigial hands. “The underling Kez’et-dual has not been here for nearly a century; how would I know of his plans?”
“By information from others, and your spies. Now tell me the information, before I invoke the intrusion clause of our contract, and you can leave this place forever and stay in your home dimension, and suffer pain for the next decade! No longer toy with me, no longer dodge the information, or I shall bring suffering to you every day for ten of my years!”
“Yes… Master. He is a renegade, who fouled up and was trapped on your plane of existence by his own stupidity.”
“You test my patience; I know all this. This is your last chance.”
“He pretends servitude to the Troöds, also not of your world. They want him to find a powerful portal that is stable. Once it is found, they will breed pathetic fae-kin with demons and create an army of soldiers that are magical in nature, but do not have to follow the rules of your world. Kez’et-dual will take control of this army, betraying his masters.”
“And he can do that, because they did not summon and bind him from another world. He was already within this one, and they do not realize that.”
“Yes,” Titusian muttered, as he chewed on the first two sacrifices. “You are very smart. No, I think you knew some of this. You toy with me now.”
“I can take care of him on our next stop.” Rogen said, staring at the entrapped demon. “I will contact you again.”
“The sacrifice will be greater for more information. The young mage you harbor, Cite, is a tasty treat. It wouldn’t be the first time you have given me something you value.”
Rogen invoked the expulsion chant, his face unreadable.
The men smiled as the crowd gathered close to the edge of the arena. Cries of foul play arose from around Kytson as he leaned over the stone parapet and yelled at the men from Dark Horizon.
“Ya stinkin’ bastards,” the fat man shouted, “yer too cowardly to face my boys as men, so you need yer sticks and pig stickers to hide behind. I wouldn’t have ever fucked yer mothers if I knew you’d turn out to be such yellow belly cravens!”
The six men in the stone ring closed on each other, Warton barreling straight towards the opponents, and wading through rivulet cutting the field in half. His massive arms swung in wide circles, clumsy but powerful, and connected with one of Chrindak’s cohorts. The man’s head snapped to the side as he fell to the ground and his knife flew from his hand.
Treat, Tart, and Puffer screamed from the stands, throwing small rocks into the fray. The crowd edged away from them, staring and muttering. Vonka smiled at the lads and slapped Tart playfully on the rump.
Conald followed Warton’s wake and leapt out from behind his large friend. A flurry of punches connected with Chrindak’s stomach and ribs. The sailor looked down at the smaller man, and reaching out with a massive hand, covered Conald’s entire face with it. Tossing the carpenter to the side, Chrindak headed for Warton.
Bezel leaned in and whispered to Cutter, pointing at a few men in the crowd. Cutter nodded and headed towards them as Bezel crossed his arms and in a loud voice said, “I think the boys of the Dark Horizon heard about Captain Redblood and the Lady Luck, and decided to try and turn the odds in their favor. You can’t bet against someone favored by Parsay and ever hope to win. But if you want to try, I can offer you ten to one odds.”
The wiry sail master of the Lady Luck faced the third crewmember, who wielded a club in one hand and a shucking knife in the other, dodging wild swings. Jumper turned and twisted, a dozen punches connecting with his foe, all the while keeping a smile on his face, and then dropped to the ground kicked the feet out from under the other man. Grabbing the knife, which the man that Warton had knocked unconscious dropped, from the sand, Jumper stabbed it into his opponent’s hand, pinning it to the arena floor.
“Two down, and one blowhard braggart to go,” Bezel laughed, the crowd looking at him as he did. He leaned back on his heels, hands in the pockets of his dark blue coat. “This wasn’t even a fair fight. Now, let’s see if the crew of Lady Luck follows Captain Redblood’s example and leaves no prisoners or witnesses.”
“Kill the cheese eating, back stabbing, lying rats!” Kytson added, spittle flying and his face purple with anger.
Chrindak looked around as Warton and Jumper came towards him, and Conald brushed himself off as he stood. With a growl, he took a wide legged stance and prepared to do as much damage as possible before going down.
The ten crew members laughed and clapped each other on the back as they counted their winnings and headed back to the Lady Luck. The sun was low in the sky and the Captain wouldn’t wait for them the way she waited for the tide, and they hurried the last couple of blocks to the waiting rowboat. They waved at Rogen, who was waiting with his arms crossed and a scowl when he saw their disheveled appearances. They didn’t pay it any mind; they had a good story to tell tonight.
Chapter 12: Wanton Destruction
“The spirit is the hardest thing to break, but it’s worth it.”
Duke Malvornick
5854 – Thon – Talsā – Ginof
Cyril woke in a cold sweat to someone pounding on the door. He sat up in bed, his nightshirt clinging to him, his breath quick. The pounding at the door stopped and a voice called his name from the other side. He stood up slowly and went to open it. Gruedo stood outside the door, leaning on the doorframe with her thumbs tucked into her belt. She grinned as Cyril opened the door and leaned to look around the priest so she could see the bed.
“I would never have guessed you for a screamer.” Gruedo teased. Cyril grunted and turned away from the door, leaving it open for Gruedo to follow him into the room. Gruedo waved the sleepy but curious people in the hall back into their rooms and shut the door as she came into the room. Cyril went to the armchair, sat down and stared at the glowing embers of the fire. Gruedo sat in one of the other chairs and propped her feet on the table. She folded her arms across her chest.
“So what was so important that you woke half the inn an hour before sunrise?” asked Gruedo.
Cyril stared at the floor, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, and then looked at Gruedo. “E
vil,” was his simple reply.
“Bedbugs? Evil bedbugs? Oh wait, I know. You mean that spiced soup they forced upon everyone last night, the one you had three bowls of to help wash down your four glasses of spiced wine. Yes indeed, spices are the root of all evil.”
Cyril sighed.
“I had a nightmare. It was muddled and I don’t remember most of it. It could have been memories. It had bugs, the walking dead, and demons. There was more though. I have dreams like that often enough since…” Cyril hesitated, his eyes flicking to Gruedo’s face then dropped again. “There was more. Evil. Something has happened. My God has woken me. I leave today.” Cyril stood and went to his chest of drawers to begin packing his things.
“Leave for where?” Gruedo asked with an impish grin. “The heart of evil that lies in the breast of the forest to our west?”
“Yes, but not immediately. I will go to Red City first and see if I can find any more information before I do.”
“When do we leave?” Gruedo asked.
Cyril turned around and looked at the lass. Seeing the serious look on her face, Cyril was surprised that the street thief would go with him.
“You still think you would go with me?” Cyril asked. “You are from the streets. You are paid for the things you do. I am going into a place where there may not be any treasure or payment. The chances of death are better than the chances of finding some great trove of jewels and gems. There will be no glory. There will be no one to tell the tale except you or me, if we even return. Then who will believe what we say when there are no witnesses? Do you still want to go? You have been paid. You can go. I don’t feel you owe me anything more.”
Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One Page 15