As thug number two dropped to the ground in agony, Bazur stood up. Thug three delivered a hard right to Bazur’s head. Shaking off the blow, Bazur grabbed thug three by the shoulders and lifted him into the air. He then slammed the man down onto the bar floor. The thug’s head bounced off the floor and his eyes rolled up into his head as he lost consciousness.
Done with the thugs, Bazur took his seat at the bar. Looked around and found Sam the bartender nervously watching from across the room. “Sam, why don’t you go get Black before I get angry.”
Sam lowered his head, turned and went to the office door at the back of the bar. He knocked at the door.
“Enter.”
Sam stuck his head in the door. “Sir, I apologize for bothering you, but there is a problem out here. Someone strange was asking for you so I told him to piss off. But he didn’t take it well and got a bit rough. I had Brent and the boys deal with it, but that didn’t go well… He’s still out here asking for you.”
Rory Black looked up from his ledger. “What does this stranger look like?”
“Big fellow, gots some orc blood this one does.”
Rory chuckled softly. “A savage looking fellow you might say?”
Sam rubbed his sore face. “Yes, sir, that is how I’d describe him. A savage half-blood.”
“That will be all, Sam. Please go give our guest a glass of honey mead, the good stuff from Irri. Tell him it’s on the house.”
“Sir?”
“Just do it, before you annoy him further. You are lucky he was being kind.” Rory stood up. “On second thought, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off. I’ll deliver the drink myself. I can’t afford to anger our new friend. He has a reputation for destroying places like this for fun.” Rory strode out of the office and made his way behind the bar. He reached beneath the counter to where the good stuff was hidden. He pulled out a bottle of orc honey mead and poured two glasses of the golden liquor. Taking the glasses, he walked over to the now empty area where Bazur sat waiting. Rory slid the glass in front of Bazur. “I get this mead from a tiny little village in the north corner of Irri. I can never secure more than a couple bottles at a time, but it is worth it.”
Bazur took the glass and lifted it to inspect the color. He then gave the drink a sniff before taking a small sip. “Arkrul. The village is Arkrul. They only sell this mead in small doses because it is brewed after the first frost of the year. They add frost bitten yappa berries to the honey mead. It gives it that extra bite and a hint of berry aftertaste. My father would take bottles of it when he visited Amradin.”
“Arkrul, yes that does sound familiar. You know your mead, Bazur Zargha.”
Bazur took another sip of the Arkrul honey mead before putting his glass down and examining the man across the bar. Rory Black was a diminutive man with almost feminine facial features and long curly black hair that settled over the shoulders of his black and gold velvet tunic. While the man’s grooming and wardrobe were that of a dandy, his posture was that of one with a military background. Rory Black might choose to look like a self-obsessed noble but his eyes were those of a man who’d been through the trenches. There was more to Rory Black than his looks. “Rory Black. You are a difficult man to talk to. I had to be extra persuasive to get them to let me speak to you.”
Rory leaned over the bar and examined the pile of bodies at Bazur’s feet. “Yes, I can see that. This time of day I am usually doing the books. Accounting gives me a headache so I insist on not being disturbed until the damn things are done. But I can see you have a talent for being persuasive. I appreciate you not roughing up Sam too much. Bouncers can take a beating; it is their job. But good bartenders are hard to find. Especially ones that I can trust to keep my wife entertained while I do the books.”
So the overdone woman was his wife? Bazur held back a chuckle as he reassessed his opinion of the bartender, Sam.
“I can see what you are thinking. Let me guess. Sam was ignoring you and focusing on Lydia. You assumed he was flirting with an older woman, hoping for a big tip or a little something more.” Rory didn’t wait for Bazur to comment. “I don’t blame you for thinking that. It is what any man would think. The good looking young bartender flirting with the old hag. It is a bar cliché as old as man.”
“I wouldn’t say old hag. In the right lighting, she still passes for a younger woman, but she should go a little lighter on the makeup. It doesn’t flatter her.”
Rory sighed. “I try telling her that, but she is convinced it hides her wrinkles. The idea of aging gracefully is one she hasn’t quite grasped yet. She is fighting age tooth and nail. She insists we make a trip to Amradin this summer. Apparently, there is a mage there who makes wrinkles disappear.”
“Impressive. Can he do anything for saggy tits?”
Rory slapped the bar. “I like that. I will have to remember that one. Now as much as I enjoy discussing fine honey mead and my wife’s inability to age gracefully, how about you tell me what you are doing here?”
“I understand you are a man who can facilitate things. If someone wanted to hire a mercenary of considerable talent, they might talk to you.”
“You looking for work? I have some clients that would like a big strapping fellow like yourself,” said Rory.
“No, I’m tracking down a mercenary and I’m told he might be one of yours.”
“Brent and the boys handle debt collection and provide security once in a while. For specific jobs, I hire out. So it is possible that I have an association with the man you are looking for. But if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. You can beat me up like you did Brent and the others, but I am not a talker.”
Something in the way he said it made Bazur think that someone had once tried to make Rory talk. That Rory was still around signified his mental toughness. Perhaps a subtler approach would be necessary. Bazur reached into his pocket and put his brooch on the bar counter.
Rory picked up the brooch. “A dangerous business being an investigator for Prince Astor. The last few didn’t last long. Three of them came here asking questions, but they were all stumbling around in the dark. They didn’t know what or who they were looking for. All they did was draw attention to themselves. I trust you actually have a name.”
“General Jasper Vargas.”
“You know, many people in this city are concerned about Prince Astor one day becoming the king. They see all the changes he has implemented and they fear what he will do next. Me, I think change is long overdue. For far too long, Draisha has been controlled by a few rich families that control everything. Between them and the religious fanatics it is hard for an honest man to make a living. Thankfully, I gave up being honest a long time ago. I look forward to the prince becoming king one day. I want him to survive long enough to make some changes… General Vargas is not someone to take lightly. I contracted him to do a couple jobs when he was first removed from the military. His reputation for being ruthless and blood thirsty is well deserved. I quit using him for that reason. He was creating more problems than he solved. Too much collateral damage. When you hire a mercenary, you want precision. Hit the target like a dagger to the heart and move on. Vargas was like swinging a hammer in a crowd. He doesn’t stop swinging until the victim is hit, no matter how many people he has to go through to do it. Not good for me when I get angry clients coming back for refunds. I haven’t used him in years now.”
For a man who just claimed to have given up being honest, Rory sounded just like someone telling the truth. But was he telling a convenient half-truth to throw Bazur off the scent, or was he being forthright? If he was being honest, then there wasn’t much more Bazur could gain by questioning the man, and if he was lying, anything Bazur gained by continuing the conversation would likely be tainted information. Perhaps a few pointed questions would be wise. “If you were looking for Vargas where would you look? And what does the man look like?”
“Vargas is average height, but he looks taller because of his long neck and his long arms.
Short dirty blonde hair and a small scar over his left eyebrow. Deep set eyes and a flat broad nose. Not an overly big man, he is average at best, but he is quick, very quick. He was the best swordsman in the royal guards, equally good with his left and right hands. As for where to find him… I wouldn’t worry about that. Now that you are going around asking about him, I suspect he will find you. The first three investigators didn’t have anything about him and they disappeared. I’d wager he’s not happy about you throwing his name about.”
Bazur grinned and loudly proclaimed, “In that case, do me a favor. Make sure everyone knows I’m looking for Jasper Vargas.”
“It’s your funeral,” said Rory Black. “Beating up bouncers is a whole different world from General Vargas.”
“It’s a world I’m comfortable in. This subtle investigation crap is for others. I’ll take my chances being the bait.”
Rory nodded. “Well I can’t fault a man for playing to his strengths. Best of luck to you.” He lifted his glass in a salute.
Bazur lifted his glass and drank with the man. He swallowed the rest of the honey mead down. It truly was a treat to have a drink from his old home. “If you ever get the opportunity, bring in some blackberry mead from the Orc province of Grigkiz. It is truly exceptional.”
…
Leaving the Black Widow, Bazur headed to the royal palace. He wanted to check on Kyra. As he walked, Bazur went over the conversations he’d had with all three facilitators, Hoggard, Grundal, and Black. His instincts told him that Hoggard was the most trust worthy of the three, but he couldn’t disregard him as a potential suspect. Grundal and Black were entirely different personalities but both came across as being at least partly genuine. He couldn’t expect men who dealt in illegal activities to be completely forthcoming with him, especially when they all knew he was acting on the behalf of the royal family, but he did think that at least to a degree all three men had cooperated.
As he walked, Bazur noticed a shadow on the building next to him. A shadow that didn’t belong there. Instinctively, he jumped to his right, hugging the building wall. An arrow sliced his shoulder, only his last second move had prevented the arrow from striking his torso. His attacker was almost above him, but with the lip of the building was having a hard time getting an angle. The building was a two story deal with a flat roof and a brick lip that acted as a rail for the roof. Bazur suspected that, like many of the other small shops in Draisha, the second floor was the shop owner’s residence and the flat roof had a small garden. Bazur’s quick movement to the wall had saved his life, or rather the fool on the roof not accounting for the sun had saved his life. Bazur leaned into the wall and kept moving forward. Ahead of him was a narrow alley and then another building. The second building was only a single story building with a curved clay rooftop. If he could get to the second building’s roof, he could get up top to the shooter.
Taking a chance, Bazur sprinted towards the next building and when he was almost to the building he leaped into the air, springing backwards to hit the wall of the first building. Like an acrobat, he twisted and rebounded off the first building springing himself out and up onto the roof of the second building. Crouched on the roof, Bazur watched the first building’s roof. The assassin was up there somewhere. He would either have to come to this end of the building to fight or give up his attempt and flee. That the attempt was made in broad daylight made Bazur suspect that the assassin would not flee easily. Bazur was now in an awkward and dangerous position. Jumping up onto the first roof would require pulling himself up, and for a good second he would be vulnerable to attack. However, if the assassin showed himself now, Bazur was completely exposed. Neither was a good option but the alternative was fleeing, and he didn’t intend to spend the rest of his day looking over his shoulder for a bow wielding assassin. His decision made, Bazur jumped up and back across the alley. He grabbed the ledge of the roof, pulled himself up with one arm until he could swing his leg up and over the ledge. With a deep breath, Bazur flipped himself over the ledge and onto the roof.
The assassin was crouched halfway down the edge of the building, peeking over the edge. He had not heard Bazur sprint into the alley! Seeing Bazur climbing onto the roof, the assassin stood and smoothly drew his bow back and fired.
Now on the roof, Bazur hurled himself forward and sideways, twisting as he lunged forward. The assassins arrow barely missed him. Bazur lunged forward again, this time he barrel rolled forward.
Having missed Bazur twice now and with the distance between them rapidly closing, the assassin dropped his bow and drew his sword.
Seeing the assassin dropping his bow, Bazur rose and sprinted the rest of the way to the assassin. Pulling his dagger from its sheath, Bazur charged forward. When he was in striking distance of the assassin, he didn’t slow down at all. Instead, he used his dagger to block the assassin’s sword strike and kept running forward, colliding with assassin. With his free hand, Bazur hooked his arm around the back of the assassin as their chests slammed together. Bazur then took a powerful sidestep that sent both him and the assassin over the edge of the roof.
The assassin panicked. He let go of his sword and desperately tried to reach out and grab the building but their momentum had already carried them well away from the building.
Bazur didn’t panic. He knew exactly what he needed, a soft place to land. As the assassin tried to reach out for the building, Bazur found a home for his dagger, the blade sliced up through the assassin’s ribs and into his heart. Bazur jabbed the blade home a second time for good measure and then focused his attention on the rapidly approaching ground. Letting go of the dying assassin’s back, Bazur placed both his hands on the man’s shoulders, and his head against the assassin’s chest. When the assassin hit the ground flat on his back, Bazur was directly on top of him.
The assassin didn’t make a good pillow. Bazur’s head bounced uncomfortable off the man’s chest as their bodies banged into the ground. The repeated stabs to his heart and the hard landing had taken the life out of the assassin. Bazur had fared much better. The man’s body had cushioned the two story fall enough that Bazur managed to land unharmed. Standing up, Bazur assessed the damage. His left shoulder was sliced open and bleeding from the assassin’s first arrow, and his right hip had a small gash in it as well. Apparently, he hadn’t dodged the assassin’s second arrow as well as he thought. Two minor flesh wounds… he’d gotten off lucky thanks to the assassin’s mistake. Next time, he might not get so lucky. From here on he would have to be extra cautious. He’d stirred the bees nest and now they were stinging back.
…
The royal healer greeted Bazur as he entered the palace infirmary. “Hello. Your friend is doing well. She is resting right now, but I suspect she will be awake shortly.”
Bazur was relieved to hear she was doing well. “Good. I’ll wait until she is awake. I do need to speak to her.”
The healer looked Bazur over. It looks like you’ve acquired some new injuries since you were last here. We might as well fix you up while you wait. Take off your shirt.”
Removing his tunic, Bazur revealed his lean and powerful torso. It was covered with the scars of previous battles, his badges of honor. An orc would only need one look to know he was a warrior worth respect. The healer noticed this. “I was going to say being an investigator for Prince Astor is a dangerous line of work, but it seems you already have a knack for acquiring wounds.” The healer made Bazur sit on an examining table while he stitched his wounds. “I’m going to give you a small package of magical salve for the next time you’re in a fight. It isn’t a heal-all. If someone cuts off your head or stabs you in the heart, applying the salve won’t heal it. But if you clean and care for a normal wound, the salve will speed the healing, and will save you from a wound that might otherwise kill you. Use it wisely. I only have so much. Until Prince Astor is king and changes the laws against the use of magic, this is strictly contraband.”
“The prince lets you bring in magical salv
es? Isn’t that contradicting his father?”
The king is dying. He no longer cares about being king, he barely gets out of bed these days. For all intents and purposes, Prince Astor runs Draisha. However, some things can’t be done in the name of the king. I know that King Astor is leery of magic, but he isn’t against its use. It is the religious leaders that don’t want mages in Draisha. The king has close ties with the priests, and is a follower of Verisha.”
“Verisha?” asked Bazur. There were many religions in Draisha, and he’d never taken the time to learn them. Religion wasn’t needed in the badlands, not by Bazur at least.
“The god of virtue,” said the healer as he started applying salve to the new stitches. “A cynical man would note that the king didn’t take up religion until his own mortality came into question about ten years ago during an uprising. The royals were living a little too high on the hog and the peasants, with the religious leaders’ approval, started an uprising. They almost took the royal palace, and King Astor was wounded during the battle. After that, King Astor focused more of his attention on appeasing the religious leaders.”
“What about the peasants? Did he work to appease them as well?”
The healer shrugged. “The king lowered the worker tax slightly and gave away enough food and wine to placate the poor. But real reforms didn’t start until about five years ago when the prince had a new well dug for the poor. The prince actually cares about his people and will do great things for the common man if he lives long enough to achieve his goals.”
“Is that why he allows you to use magic salves. To put magic use in a good light so that he can advance his cause?”
“Yes,” replied the healer as he handed Bazur his shirt back. “But I hear the cynicism in your voice. The prince doesn’t allow me magical salves as a way of introducing magic into the kingdom. He allows me magical salves because they are an effective treatment. Draishan healers are in the dark compared to the magical healers of the eastern kingdoms, or your orcs to the north. If the prince wanted to push mages on the kingdom, he’d start with performers. People love performers. They only love healers when we are a necessity. Besides, the introduction of magic to Draisha is only one of his many reforms he’d like to make. It is only a small piece in the puzzle.”
Savage Page 15