by J. K. Barber
Jared shrugged slightly, letting his harness settle into a more comfortable position across his shoulders, and took a quick inventory of the various blades and other weapons he had secreted on his person. The sword, now on his hip, and the bow, unstrung and lashed tightly next to the small quiver of arrows on his back, were his most obvious weapons. Jared took a deep breath and walked down the street toward the raucous laughter.
As Jared approached the tavern, he took a mental note of the one easy way and the four more difficult ways to leave the alehouse. The easiest, of course, was the front door. The more difficult paths of egress were the four windows that allowed the light of numerous interior lanterns to escape into the night air, which still held a hint of the chill from the waning winter.
Jared paused before the open door of the tavern, the warmth of many bodies and the heat of a small hearth fire radiating from within. He bent down on one knee, ostensibly to check the sole of his shoe, but in reality looking at the hard-packed earth in front of the tavern. There were too many comings and goings over the past week, since the last rain, to give a clear indication as to how many people had passed from the street up onto the wooden porch on their way into the noisy building. Jared guessed that the majority of the town patronized its only bar quite a bit.
Jared rose and walked into the tavern, doing his best to look road weary and non-threatening. He knew that the first step towards avoiding trouble was not looking like he was trying to find it. With a heavy sigh, he took the wide-brimmed hat off his head and knocked the trail dust off of it by striking his thigh several times. Ignoring the many eyes that now watched him walk across the wooden floor towards the bar, Jared removed his pack and placed it beside an empty stool at the bar. Doing the same with his bow and quiver, he attempted to put the same exhaustion into his movements that he wore on his face. Throwing his hat onto the bar, Jared perched atop a stool and motioned for the bartender.
A skinny man with stringy brown hair walked over to Jared, cleaning a dirty glass with an even dirtier cloth rag. “Yeah, what’ll it be, stranger?” The implied meaning in the way the barkeep said the word stranger and the leery look in his eyes gave Jared the intended impression. This was a small mining town and each man there depended on everyone else for his survival on a daily basis. They didn’t like people they didn’t know, especially when they carried swords.
“Anything that’s not water from a river, lake or skin would be great,” Jared replied smiling. Looking as uncomfortable as possible, he unbuckled his sword belt. Fumbling with the catch, Jared let his sword fall to the floor loudly and put an embarrassed expression on his face. “Whoops,” he said to the man behind the bar and slid off the stool. Jared retrieved his errant blade and tossed it casually on top of his back pack on the floor.
Returning to the bartender, who now wore an amused smile, Jared said, “A tall mug of ale, if you have it, would be very nice about now.” He tossed a silver royal onto the bar.
“Coming right up,” the bartender responded, quickly palming the coin. Jared knew that the royal was probably several times the price of the drink, but it didn’t hurt to have at least one person partially on his side.
Having chosen the short side of the bar, with his back to the door, Jared was able to turn sideways in his seat and survey the room. The smoke from several pipes hung in the air, irritating Jared’s eyes. There was a low blaze in the fireplace, and the tavern was filled with miners, the stench of their sweat-soaked clothes and filth after a day in the mines assaulting Jared’s nose.
Reminded of why he spent most of his days in the wilderness, Jared picked up his newly arrived ale and took a long slow gulp. It was not as bad as he had expected, but far from the best he had ever had. He smiled and nodded approvingly to the bartender. The barkeep went back to the other end of the bar, and a conversation that Jared had apparently interrupted with his arrival. The volume of the miner’s voices returned to its previous level. However, several of the men, and a couple of the women, kept glancing at Jared out of the corner of their eyes.
Jared let his eyes linger on one of the girls that floated about from table to table, as she watched various men playing cards, rolling dice or just talking over their drinks. She was younger than the other women and appeared unspoken for, as the older females obviously were, sitting on the laps of their husbands or lovers. She was perfect for what Jared had in mind. Watching her until her eyes wandered to the bar, Jared let a small smile play across his lips and raised one of his eyebrows inquiringly. The young woman, who was perhaps eighteen-winters-old, smiled coyly and casually made her way to the bar. She stood at the corner, not too close to Jared as to appear overly interested, but near enough that she could hear him if he chose to speak to her.
“Well, you certainly don’t look like a miner to me,” Jared said to the young woman. “Or things have changed a good bit since my uncle worked a vein,” he had to raise his voice a bit to be heard over the din, but his observation had the desired effect. The woman turned her head towards him, as did several of the people at the tables closest to the bar. Good, Jared thought to himself.
The girl turned, smiled at the woodsman and tossed her long curly straw-colored locks over her bare shoulder. She turned fully to face him, resting her elbows on the bar and leaning forward coquettishly. Her shabby off the shoulder dress combined with her posture elicited the desired response from Jared. He coughed nervously into his ale and then wiped the resulting foam from his chin, darkened by week old stubble.
“No ma’am, none of those miners looked anything like you,” Jared said politely. “Course, my daddy moved us when I was still kinda young. He decided that Binford’s Bluff was a better place to grow up than some mining town.” Jared timed his glance up from his ale to correspond with his mention of the Bluff. The woman’s smile soured marginally, but he was only partially paying attention to her reaction. He looked past her to some men at a table near the bar. Sure enough, one of them stiffened slightly at Jared’s comment. “Now, don’t get me wrong, darlin,” Jared continued. “This here’s a very nice place, but it’s not the life for me, ya know? I’m more of an open roads kinda man.” The girl’s smile returned, and she leaned a little further towards Jared.
Behind her, the man who had stiffened relaxed and tried to look focused on his game of dice, while watching Jared over the rim of his mug. Jared leaned forward on his stool, continuing his conversation with the young woman. “Yeah,” Jared said smugly. “I like the wide open places, nothing fencing me in, nothing to keep me from going wherever, whenever.” The girl nodded in agreement.
Jared used his vantage point to peer under the table of the men playing dice. Their leather boots were all old, mud-caked, soot-covered, and had thick soles. None appeared to match the tracks he had been following for the past several days, but one of them knew something. He continued talking to the girl, making up places he had been and people he had seen. Well, partially making it up. Jared had been a lot of places and seen a lot of people. She kept nodding her head, enraptured and Jared kept an eye on the miner.
After about an hour and a half the suspicious man that Jared was watching finished his game of dice, scooped up his royals and walked towards the back of tavern. The crowd had thinned somewhat as the night went on. Miners had to be up before dawn to hit the shafts early, and about three quarters of the bar’s patrons had decided that a good night’s sleep was preferable to the continued revelries. Jared listened to the young woman, Lila, as she had introduced herself about five minutes into the conversation, as she prattled on about life in Mica. He had only had to talk for the first few minutes; from then on, the rest of the time had been taken up by Lila’s descriptions of life in a small mining town and her occasional trips around the room. Several of the older men had called Lila over to their table, whispering in her ear and making no effort to hide the fact that they were talking about the stranger at the bar. Their glances and facial expressions were as easy for Jared to read, like the tracks of a hea
vily laden horse over muddy ground.
Now, Lila was back and saying something about one of her friend’s fathers who had received a promotion. Jared wasn’t really paying attention though. His sidelong gaze was watching the man who had stood up from the table behind Lila. He paused on his trip towards the back door, his stiff-legged gate indicating he had been sitting a long time, and that he was likely heading towards the outhouse.
His journey was not a direct one though. He stopped at another table near the back of the room, leaning down to talk to a man playing cards with several others. The man was a large gentleman with long black hair to just below his thick stubble-shaded jaw and sat turned towards the door, which was also facing Jared at the corner of the bar. Turning his head to speak with his visitor, the man at the table sat up a little taller in his chair. He looked back at his cards, observing Jared over the top of his hand, while listening to what the first man had to say. Jared turned his attention back to Lila, so as not to let on that he knew he was being watched.
“I’m sorry darlin,” Jared replied to whatever it was the young woman had just finished saying. “I don’t mean to be rude, but would you happen to know where there’s a privy around here?” Jared smiled awkwardly, implying that he hated to bring up such a delicate subject in front of her.
Lila missed the gesture entirely. “Why sure. Just out that back door,” she tilted her head towards where the first miner had just exited, “and head around the left side of the stables.”
Jared expressed his thanks and asked Lila politely to keep an eye on his gear. He walked out the back door of the tavern towards the outhouse as Lila had indicated. Seeing the small wooden building occupied, he leaned against the side of the stable waiting. The man who had reacted to Jared’s mention of Binford’s Bluff stepped out and came to a sudden stop. Jared only nodded and moved towards the now open door of the outhouse. The startled man quickly regained his composure, exchanged curt pleasantries with Jared and walked purposefully towards the tavern.
As he stepped back into the bar, Jared noticed that the atmosphere had changed. Almost all of the patrons had left. Only three remained. The hunter’s gaze traveled to the end of the bar where he had recently sat. As he expected, the large man was sitting on his stool.
Even the bartender and barmaids had found something else to do in the back room of the tavern. The man, who had been watching Jared over his cards, sat fingering the handle of Jared’s curved blade. The sword, still in its sheath, rested on the bar in front of the man. Jared took a quick second, masking his assessment of the situation, with a look of mild shock. In truth, this was exactly what Jared had expected.
Jared coughed, feigning discomfort, and walked slowly towards the short end of the bar. Two men stood behind the large miner, not small by any other comparison than to the man seated at the bar. Lila was, of course, nowhere to be seen. One of the men, who was flanking the behemoth, was the same one who had reacted to Jared’s mention of Binford’s Bluff. “Greetings,” Jared said, making his voice crack slightly. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
The man on the bar stool left Jared’s sword resting on the polished wood and stood, stretching to his full height of close to seven feet. Jared stopped a short distance away. “Me and my friends were just admiring your things and wanted to ask you a couple questions.”
“Well... sure,” Jared stumbled. “I’d be happy to tell you what you want to know. Can I buy you a drink?” He looked at the bar in askance, seeing only the bartender’s dirty rag resting on top of the bar. “Maybe later then,” Jared gulped, trying to look sufficiently intimidated, which was not far from the truth. The man was huge. As the miner sauntered around the corner of the bar to stand fully in front of Jared, the woodsman marveled at just how big the man was. Obviously a miner of many years, the man had large broad shoulders, a neck of corded muscle, and thick calloused hands that looked like they could break a man’s bones as easily as they crushed rock. Looking nervous was not much of a stretch for Jared at this point. “So, friend,” Jared said weakly, “what’s your name?”
“Zach’s what my mother called me,” the massive man said, his voice resonating deeply in his barrel chest. He raised his hands together, cracking his knuckles loudly before him. “But most folks just call me Breaker.” The man advanced, obviously finished with the verbal part of the conversation. Breaker’s two companions hung back, relaxed, apparently feeling that their friend did not require their assistance. Jared began backing up slowly showing fear, letting his future assailant move closer and develop a feeling of overconfidence.
When Breaker was close enough to grab Jared, the woodsman turned his backward stumble into a quick half-step and then spun rapidly, lashing out with his back leg and driving it hard into the miner’s stomach. Breaker stumbled backwards, a look of surprise on his face. Jared raised his hands, clenched his fists in a line before him, turned his body at an angle and slightly bent his knees, getting into a fighting stance. Jared did his best to keep the look of concern off his face. He felt like he had just kicked a stone wall. Working the body of this mountain of a man was clearly not the tactic to take. The other two miners stood up a little straighter behind their friend.
A little more leery this time, Breaker approached again, hunching to maximize his reach, and distance the rest of his body from Jared’s feet. Jared looked down at the man’s stance, noticing two things. The man was, in fact, wearing brand new boots of a finer and softer leather than what the average miner wore. Jared also noted that the big man stood facing him straight on, not turned to the side as the tracker was. The man was a grappler, relying on his considerable reach and prodigious strength. Jared rolled up onto the balls of his feet, waiting for Breaker to strike again.
He didn’t have to wait long. The big man, his eyes going slightly wider just before he reached out again, came forward with his huge right hand trying to grab Jared around the throat. Jared sidestepped, letting the large man lunge past him, before driving his knee up into the miner’s stomach and his elbow down into the back of giant’s head. Unfortunately, Breaker realized his mistake and tensed his rock hard muscles just before Jared struck. The miner was only partially winded by the knee and shrugged off the blow to his head like it was no more than the sting of an annoying insect. The giant brought his huge elbow quickly back, hitting Jared on the side of the head. Moving with the force of the impact, the woodsman fell forwards, ducking his head and rolling swiftly back up to his feet. He spun around to face the giant, who turned slowly and smiled with grim delight.
Stupid, Jared thought, trying to ignore the painful tingle that had lanced up his forearm. Striking the back of the big miner’s head had been like hitting the stump of a tree. You could probably shatter a boulder on this man’s stomach with a sledge before he’d notice. Sirus had taught Jared better than this. “All men have weak points,” the grizzled old man had once said. “You have to recognize them in each opponent you face and in yourself.” One of the first things Jared had learned to do was protect his own weaknesses, either with blocks, with his stance, or through avoiding the blows all together.
Jared studied the large miner’s posture again. Grapplers had a different stance to make them steady against other grapplers, but it was vulnerable to the right strikes. Jared spared a quick glance to the other two men who had stopped leaning against the wall and now stood at the bar. They looked questioningly at Breaker, who shook his head causing them to back down.
“No need, I got this little runt’s number now,” the huge man grumbled and launched himself forward, this time with his hands a little lower. Hoping to catch or at least block Jared’s feet, the large murderer didn’t hold his hands quite low enough. Jared took another half-a-step back then quickly forward again. His back leg cocked as he moved towards the lunging miner, Jared lashed out with his booted heel, leaning back to avoid the big man’s hands, swiftly driving his foot straight forward into the knee of the oncoming giant. There as a sickening crack that echoed thr
ough tavern, followed by a loud bellow of pain as the giant man fell to his knees on the dirty wooden floor.
Jared caught motion in the shadows near the back door, over the falling giant’s shoulder. Instinctively, he fell to the floor, rolling left and bouncing back up into a low crouch behind one of the tables. As he rolled, he saw two small objects come flying into the room. He looked towards the two miners, who had been watching his fight with the larger man. They wore twin expressions of shock as they fell to the floor, long thin daggers protruding from their throats. Jared glanced at the front door, looking for possible avenues of escape. There was a blade, a perfect match for the two that had taken the miner’s lives, sticking out of the wood near the door. That dark blade had been meant for him.
Jared tipped over the table in front of him for cover, sending abandoned mugs and plates crashing to the floor. He reached out with his right hand to grab Breaker’s arm and drag him to safety. He grabbed the thick wrist and began pulling, noticing too late that a knife was buried in his back. The pommel of the dagger was a black skull, its macabre grin seeming to laugh at Jared in his impotence to save the man. Blood poured from the wound, mingling with the dirt on the wooden floor to form a thick, viscous black puddle. The big miner had barely enough strength left to turn his head to Jared, a questioning look on his face before the light died in his eyes. Jared uttered a silent curse, quickly fishing a hidden dagger out of his boot and a small hunting blade from a rear position on his belt.
Rising so just his shoulders were over the top of the upturned table, Jared let his boot dagger sail into the shadows of the tavern’s back entrance and then dove diagonally to the left. He tumbled forward into a low crouch, using the other tables in the room as cover in his mad dash towards the far wall. He slammed his back against the wooden planks of the bar room wall, watching the doorway for any sign of movement. Slowing his breathing and calming his racing heart, Jared waited, but nothing else emerged. He cautiously slid along the wall towards the back door expecting movement that never came and cursing for leaving his sword so far away. He spared a quick glance at the bar. One of the two other miners had managed to pull the dagger from his throat before he expired. An expanding pool of dark crimson surrounded his unmoving head.