by Rob J. Hayes
As the ruddy face giant laughed a few nearby tables joined in with him. Bones wasn't fooled, big man though he may be he was not so stupid as many folk took him for. “My ma weren't no weird. She didn't lie with bears.”
The smile dropped from the ruddy faced giant's mouth. “Was only a joke, big man. How about a friendly contest of strength?”
“An arm wrestle?”
“Hell no, I mean a real test of strength. A good ol' fashioned rope pull. Two men, ten foot of rope and a line between 'em. First one to be pulled across the line loses.”
“What's the point?” Bones asked.
“To prove which of us is stronger.”
Bones shrugged. “Can't say I care.”
The Boss struggled to his feet; he had to keep both hands on the table to steady himself. “Seems ta me it might make fer a welcome distraction.”
Bones nodded. “Aye, alright then.”
“Good,” the big ruddy faced giant said. “Your lads can come cheer you on. Your lady too.”
Henry snorted and spat. It wouldn't have surprised Betrim if that was the first time she had ever been called a lady and she didn't look too pleased about it.
It didn't take long once they were outside for Betrim to notice the change. Before the yard had been mostly empty save for a fair number of soldiers milling about doing very little. Now the yard was mostly empty save for the same fair number of soldiers all pointing crossbows at the crew. It was a fairly obvious change and a none too welcome one.
“Reckon we might have been sold out,” said Swift, his voice as low and dangerous as a wolf's growl.
The Captain with the icy eyes walked out behind them. “Take their weapons,” he ordered his men.
None of the crew made any move to resist and they took everything. They even patted Betrim down and took the hidden blades he kept in his coat, most of them anyways. Afterwards the Captain stood facing them, his face a cold stone mask. The Boss swayed on his feet to Betrim's left, Henry seethed on hers to his right.
“Which one of you is the Black Thorn?” the Captain asked in his quiet voice.
Before Betrim could answer Green stepped forward. “That one there,” the lad pointed at Betrim.
“Good,” the Captain continued. “Him we'll send back to Chade. The rest of you will be hanged once his Lordship gives the order.”
“When do I get my reward?” Green asked.
“You sold us out?” Bones asked.
“Sent word we was coming back in Bittersprings. Cost all my coin fer a bird but it's like Thorn is always saying, 'folk don't last long in this game.'”
“Actually it's boys like you don't last long in this game.”
“Fuck you, Thorn. Looks like I'll be around long after you're gone eh. So when...” The back of the Captain's left hand took Green full in the face and the boy went down spitting teeth and coughing blood. Betrim always found it amazing how much damage a gauntlet could do to a face; a deep gash had torn the lad's cheek right open and Green screamed.
“Silence him,” the Captain said in his quiet voice. His cold blue eyes swept over the rest of the crew as the ruddy faced giant picked the screaming Green up and delivered a thunderous punch to the lad's gut that drove all the wind out of him and left him gasping.
“Don't reckon you should start screaming again,” the giant said. “For the best if you just stay quiet.”
“His Lordship will decide just what kind of reward you deserve. Bind their hands, sergeant.”
The old, grey haired, grey bearded man moved to obey, apologising even as he tied rope around their wrists.
Then the Captain smiled. “His Lordship will be done with your witch hunter soon enough. Then he will sentence you.”
The BladeMaster
As far as halls went it wasn't a bad one, Jezzet was sure it could fit a small house inside. Wooden floors all polished and slippery, paintings on the walls; one of H'ost himself if Jezzet remembered what he looked like. More candles than was necessary to light a room three times the size and all were lit; seemed to give the room a thick atmosphere. One large table dominated the centre of the hall. It was long enough to seat thirty folk but at the moment it had only four chairs.
One for me, one for Thanquil, one for H'ost and one for Constance. Does he mean to feed us to death?
There was, as yet, no food on the table but it was all set out with plates and cutlery for four people. Maybe he means to poison us? Jez thought H'ost was more than capable of such deception but Constance... Constance would want to kill Jezzet with her own hands.
The Captain had escorted them to the room, instructed them to wait and departed. Since then Jezzet and Thanquil had been alone in the room and for all those five minutes neither had spoken. The Arbiter had taken a seat at the table and seemed content just to wait. Jezzet did not feel so relaxed; she paced, she muttered, she loosened her sword in its scabbard, she made an entire circuit of the room and glared at each painting at turn, considered smashing a very old, very expensive-looking vase, she stopped and stared into the large empty fireplace, walked to each of the windows in turn and looked out; a short drop to the ground below, Constance wouldn't baulk at following her out of these windows.
“Jez, I need you to do something for me,” Thanquil said from his seat at the table. He was looking at her with those pretty blue eyes of his.
“Aye. Last time you asked me to do something for you it ended with you turning the Boss into a walking, talking corpse. Well actually he does very little of either these days but he still looks very corpse-like.”
“I need you to make Constance angry.”
“My breathing makes her angry.”
“Then breathe a lot. I want her to attack you.”
“Why? Why don't I just attack her?” Jezzet asked though truth was she expected Constance to try and kill her on sight.
“They're less likely to call for more guards if she attacks you. After that feel free to kill her.” Thanquil was sporting that thoughtful, far-away look he sometimes got. Strange but it made Jezzet want to smile.
“While you question H'ost?”
“Aye.”
“What about the guards?” she asked.
“I'll deal with the guards.”
Jezzet sighed and sank down into the chair next to him. Truth was he looked tired and more than a little nervous. Reckon you look any better, Jez?
“Thanquil, what is this all about? I mean, why are we here?”
The Arbiter winced and ran a hand through his dark oak hair; it was getting long, almost down to his shoulders. He looks better with short hair.
“Not here, Jez. I promise you, if we both survive, I'll tell you everything.”
That seemed to be about all the answer he was willing to give at the moment so Jezzet turned her attention to the table and decided to wait. There was a fork missing from the spot at the head of the table, she noticed, some poor servant would receive a whipping for that. There were plenty of spoons though.
“Ever killed anyone with a spoon, Arbiter?” she asked. Thanquil only laughed in reply.
The two big doors at the far end of the room swung open and a man in servant's garb scuttled through. “Lord Gregor H'ost, Lord of Hostown and head of the family H'ost. Victor of Sefly's Point, Short Hill, Mooson and Baskville. Warden of the Jorl and rightful king of the wilds.”
Rightful king of the wilds? That one's new.
The man who swept into the room was just as Jezzet remembered. Tall, handsome, short-cropped auburn hair with a little more grey in it now. His face had sharp features that some would call hard and cold but Jezzet had seen the man laugh and smile and she knew better. He wore a simple shirt of green on red along with similar trousers. No sword hung from his belt but he did have a large purse. Still carrying around a small fortune in bits, H'ost?
“Arbiter Thanquil Darkheart,” H'ost said in a merry tone. “I've been expecting you.”
That made the Arbiter pause. For a moment he looked lost. Jezzet saw
Thanquil glance around the room before finding his tongue.
“Lord H'ost. On behalf of the Inquisition I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Of course,” H'ost dismissed the Arbiter's comment with a wave of his hand. “Jezzet Vel'urn, It has been a long time. You look well... of sorts.”
Constance strode in just behind her master. As much a giant as she had ever been she stood at close to seven feet and was as muscled as the Boss. Her face had long, awkward features that Jez had compared to a donkey on more than one occasion and her hair was the colour of dirty straw, tied back on top of her head in a tight tail. She wore mail on top of boiled leather and a heavy long sword on her left hip with an equally heavy short sword on her right. Constance's left eye, glazed and white glared at Jezzet unseeing, her right eye held all the fury of a particularly violent storm.
“Whore,” Constance spat.
Why is everyone calling me a whore these days? I've only ever accepted money for sex once and it was a long time ago.
“Catherine,” Jezzet said with an easy smile. “Sorry. Constance. You two are so much alike these days now that you're the one bending over for H'ost. Tell me, Constance; does he make you squeal like he did her?”
“She never...” Constance roared, her hand on her sword hilt but H'ost held up a hand.
“Constance, Jezzet is our guest. No fighting over dinner, please. If we're ready I'll have the first course brought out.” He waved to the servant and Constance backed away a step.
“Really?” Jezzet goaded. “Catherine would never have backed down so easy, but then she always did have a set of stones on her. Shame she didn't have a cock to go with them or you two could have...”
“FUCK YOU!”
“Constance,” H'ost warned. “We talked about this.”
Why the hell am I goading this giant with a thirst for vengeance into a fight? Jezzet glanced at the Arbiter. For him?
Constance saw the glance and an ugly grin managed to make her ugly face somehow uglier. “Didn't take ya long ta find another man ta fill your hole, Jezzet. At least Eirik was a man an’ not a witch hunter.”
Jezzet almost laughed. Catherine had tried for years to correct Constance's speech but whenever the big woman got angry her accent slipped back into the common drawl of the wilds. It seemed H'ost had had just as little luck.
“I am most sorry about this, Arbiter. Inevitably if you put two women in a room they either fight like cocks or cluck like hens.”
The Arbiter laughed though Jezzet could see his eyes remained cold and hard. “So very true, Lord H'ost. Though women do have their uses.”
H'ost laughed. “Very true, very true. How are you finding our Jezzet? D'roan always said she was most pleasing.”
Jezzet might have flushed red if she had any pride left but it had all been beaten out of her long ago. Didn't seem to stop the burning anger from building up inside. Of course D'roan talked about you, Jez. The blooded folk may all be at war but at their fancy parties it's all civilized.
H'ost continued. “He used to say he'd never known a more wet or willing ca...”
“Lord H'ost,” Thanquil interrupted, Jezzet could have kissed him for that. “I wonder how it is you knew I was coming. I'm afraid I had no time to send you a message.”
“After the events in Chade? I don't doubt you would be pressed for time. What with the escaping and all. Ah yes, the first course; fried giraffe. Have you ever tried giraffe, Arbiter?”
“I must confess I do not know what a giraffe is.”
“Hah! An Arbiter confessing. Brilliant. Big beast, long neck, spots, horns.” H'ost sounded as if he were talking to some child ignorant of the world. Thanquil shook his head in reply. “I suppose you don't have them over in your Holy Empire. Got yourself a walking, talking, living God but not a single giraffe. I'd prefer the beast any day. The tongue is a delicacy but I told the cook not to waste it. Never even seen a giraffe. Hah.”
In all her life Jezzet had never met a man who loved the sound of his own voice like H'ost.
“So you knew we were coming...” Thanquil prompted.
“Of course I did. You may not have had time to let me know of your arrival but one of your hirelings did, I forget which one. Sent a bird from Bittersprings.”
That wasn't good. If someone had told H'ost they were coming it was almost certain they had told him why as well. Jezzet watched as H'ost plucked a strip of fried giraffe and popped it into his mouth. He even chews with that smug smile.
Jezzet noticed something was off. There were no guards in the room. Aside from the servant who had announced the Lord and brought the food only Constance was here to guard H'ost. Somehow she did not think that bode well. Still, it was time for Jezzet to play her part.
“Catherine once told me you weren't really sisters.” Constance's eye had never left Jez but now she could see her jaw clenching. H'ost looked intrigued. “Can't say I was surprised. Catherine was shorter, slighter and very pretty while you... well that scar I gave you marks an improvement.”
“Bitch,” was Constance's only reply.
“She was drunk as a fish when she told me, to be certain, but she said she found you in Solantis rooting around with the rest of the garbage. She was... with the Bold Men at the time.” Jezzet looked at H'ost. “Old merc company used to operate out of Solantis. Catherine kept you as her... pet.”
“Bitch.”
“I reckon you didn't know this bit did you, Lord H'ost,” Jezzet continued. “Your mighty general Catherine used to be a slave.”
“Shut up, whore!”
“The captain of the Bold Men bought her in Chade as a nubile girl, virgin and un-flowered and for six years she followed him around in chains to fuck him whenever he wanted. When Catherine found Constance she took her in. What was it they used to call you? Catherine told me once but I forget.”
“Shut! Up!” Constance had gone bright red.
“You see the feared Deadeye used to just be some slave whore's freakish pet, begging for scraps off her master’s table.” I hope you get what you need from him, Arbiter. “Only thing that's changed since is the slave whore is dead.”
With a roar that was all fury and hatred Constance pushed back her chair, sprang onto the table and leapt at Jezzet, her sword flashing from her scabbard into her hand. Jezzet tipped her own chair back and rolled arse over head as it hit the floor. She heard a crash and flowed to her feet, her own sword already in shaky hand. The chair she had been sat in was no more than splinters.
Somewhere Jez could hear H'ost shouting but neither she nor the big woman paid it any mind. Constance came at her swinging. Jezzet blocked, stumbled away and blocked again. By all the Gods I'd forgotten how freakishly strong she is. Jez parried a stab and sent one back, Constance span away on nimble feet that belied her size and was attacking again.
Jezzet found herself giving ground. Blocking and parrying, dodging and evading but not attacking. The Arbiter wanted time alone with H'ost and she was determined to give it him. She was close to the wall now, Constance raining in blows from the front, the servant standing just a few feet behind, cowering in terror. Jezzet grabbed hold of one of the expensive-looking vases next to her and flung it at Constance's head. The big woman slashed it out of the air and it shattered, shards raining down on her.
All the time I need.
Jez spun around and was running by the time the first shard of vase hit the floor. She laid open the servants throat with a single slash and barrelled into the doorway he had brought the food from, slamming it open with her shoulder. She kept running knowing full well Constance would be just a few feet behind and all the fury of hell came with her.
The Arbiter
“Women,” H'ost said after Jezzet and Constance had smashed their way out of the hall. Thanquil could still hear the clashing of metal on metal. Neither man had moved; they both still sat at the table, though Thanquil had edged his chair away from the chaos. H'ost himself looked unperturbed by his giant of a General attac
king Jezzet. “Honestly I had a feeling it might end this way. Constance is useful, a seasoned military leader but she has a fire in her where our lovely Jezzet is concerned.”
“You knew we were coming,” Thanquil said as H'ost popped his last strip of fried giraffe into his mouth and started chewing. “You know why I'm here.” It wasn't a question.
“Well of course I do, Arbiter. Though I must admit I'm curious as to how you managed to make her talk, I assumed she would be immune to your compulsion.” Thanquil tried his best to hide his confusion, he had no idea what this man was talking about and it did not bode well that H'ost knew about the compulsion.
“Nor do I understand how you knew the language. I thought it would be quite beyond an Arbiter of your experience but there you have it. We can't be right about everything can we.”
H'ost leaned back in his chair and yawned. “You can come in now, darling.”
The double doors swung open again and a woman walked through them, a woman Thanquil knew all too well. She was clad better now, tight riding leathers where before she had worn rags. She was cleaner also, her hair and skin washed. It was easy to see now that she resembled H'ost though younger and more feminine. The lack of chains were a concern though, Thanquil would far preferred her to still be in chains.
He didn't hesitate. Thanquil pulled the ball thrower from his belt, aimed and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The merchant had said accurate up to ten paces. This was more like twenty and the shot went well wide, splintering the door frame. The woman looked at where the small pellet had hit, saw the slight yellow-gold glow fading away, and then turned to Thanquil with a cruel smile. He was already reloading.
“A pistol!” H'ost said with a clap of his hands. “Wonderful, where did you get that?”
“Chade,” Thanquil answered as he finished popping the ball back into the barrel then shoved it back into his belt and stood, drawing his sword instead. The woman walked forward and stopped behind H'ost's chair. She carried no weapon but he knew just how dangerous she was.