Shadow Kingdom

by N. A. Oberheide

  “Dad, isn’t there somewhere else we can stay? Like another inn?”

  His father glanced over with some pity in his eyes. “No son, I’m afraid not. Hitch up now.”

  Once the horses were all hitched and settled in, they made for the door. Naurus walked ahead of his father but didn’t quite make it to the grimy and beaten door before he felt a strong tug on his belt yank him straight back where he came from.

  “Dad, what the hell are you doing?”

  “Shut it boy, now listen to me very carefully. You’re going to enter first, and I will follow behind you some moments later. Do not wait for me, go straight to the bar. Sit on the far-right side of the bar top, against the wall. Order whatever is your fancy, I’ll meet you there.”

  “W-what? Why all that—”

  “What did I tell you? Don’t trust your old man now? This isn’t the snotty kiddie bars you and your boyfriend Talf venture off to. You ken?” His father snorted.

  “He’s not my boyfriend...” Naurus turned around and made for the door, figuring this was about the worst place to argue with his father right now.

  A loud rusty creak announced his entry just as before, and the room was filled with the usual suspects. A rhythmic tapping of a knife tip into a table top was the first thing he heard, and sure enough off in the corner was a group engrossed in five finger fillet. Closer to the door, a bawdy cluster of drunk locals was loudly betting on a heated game of bloody knuckles. Naurus saw and felt eyes draw on him, the atmosphere seemed to thicken as he made his way to the bar. He couldn’t help but to overhear bits and pieces of conversation.

  “…looky….shake ‘em, break ‘em?...you wanna sponsor the killer?”

  He didn’t bother looking and making eye contact with anyone around. He nestled up to the right most side of the bar, right against the wall as dear old dad had said. He felt silly sitting there as there wasn’t even a barkeep around. Soon from the kitchen emerged a fiery haired lass with an impressive plait down to her hips. Her dirty white apron and blue smock were about the most colorful things in the room.

  “What can I get ya, dear?” She bleated out, hurriedly rushing about putting cups and mugs away and wiping down the counter top.

  “Well uh…” Naurus had a brain fart trying to figure out what he even wanted after all.

  He noticed the barmaid look over his left shoulder as if someone was standing there, but he couldn’t even turn around before he felt something hard looping over his should and a dirty, bloodied hand slapped some coins on the bar top.

  “Give us a jug o’ the good stuff now lassie. It’ll be his last, so make it quick.” A vaguely familiar voice ordered.

  Naurus looked over and first noticed the hook that was on his shoulder, and then noticed the arm and the rest of the man it was attached to. He wore a faded green doublet and had a dark woolen cape on. His face was weathered and beaten, by both causes natural and manmade.

  “Uh…do I know you?” Naurus asked while removing the hook from his shoulder.

  The man looked over and flashed a hideous smile full of gold and silver caps.

  “Now you do. Enjoy this one on the house, while you can.” The man gruffed, grabbing the earthenware pitcher from the bar top and pouring it into mugs.

  He used his prosthetic hook to push the mug over to Naurus, who didn’t bother to pick it up.

  “I don’t think I know you. What’s your name?” He asked to the hooded stranger.

  The man next to him pulled his hood back to reveal the full extent of his visage. A mess of brown hair topped his thick skull and short neck. Naurus saw nothing but empty coldness in his dark eyes.

  “You can call me Dirge, ‘cause I’m the last thing yer gonna see before they put you in the ground.”

  Dirge took a long swig off his mug, and Naurus looked away nervously. He realized that this was the thug who accosted him as he was leaving the last time he was here. The same one he chopped with his sword. Now he is here, sans that hand all because of him. Click-clack! A now familiar noise rang out behind them. Naurus knew exactly what it was but decided to turn around and see who joined the party now. Standing behind them was a set of twins, their scars almost as ugly as their faces. They appeared to be middle age and bore close cropped military haircuts and various golden rings and semi-valuable gem stones studded in their ears. The one on the left wore an eye patch and was intently chewing and puffing on a cigarillo, taking no care to blow the smoke away from Naurus. He held the long hunting knife which had sounded its presence just moments before and was picking under his fingernails with it pretending as if that was what normal people do with a large folding knife. The one on the right rested one hand on a pistol tucked into his belt and the other on a flanged mace tucked into the other side. They matched with black, steel studded aketons that went down to their thighs.

  Naurus did his best to scan around the room behind them, looking for his father.

  “Ain’t no one gonna save ya, boy. Yer all by yerself here. Drink up, it’s the least dignity I can give ya.” Dirge said, noticing the anxious glancing around the room.

  Indeed, Naurus couldn’t seem to find his father among the rabble that caroused around the room. In a dark alcove tucked into a corner, he noticed a heavily shadowed figured sitting therein. He could only vaguely make out the figure of a man sitting in there as the man seemed to be wearing a hooded cloak that broke up his outline. At that moment he noticed a strange light coming from where the man’s face was faintly outlined. An amber glow emanated in the size and shape of an eyeball, seeming to stare straight at Naurus. There was no glow coming from where the other eye would be, just the one glowing eye inset a face of darkness cloaked in cloth and shadow. Chills shot down his spine, he wanted to call out to someone, anyone in the room but he felt as if that would only make his plight worse.

  He turned back to the bar top and took a quick swig from the mug, figuring he might as well enjoy what little he had now. As he finished the first swig the strong taste of corn with a nice metallic finish almost made him gag. He wanted to loudly comment on how nasty the brew was but figured he should probably stall for time. He was so absorbed in his thoughts of possible escape plans and how wretched his father was for leaving him alone he hardly noticed the room becoming more hushed for no apparent reason. Agitated whispers and the faint tapping of a knife between fingers became the ambiance. Suddenly the hiss of a blade being drawn tore the silence, and Naurus tensed up, hunching over the bar expecting a blade to run him through. Instead he heard a strange sound like that of a knife being stabbed through a ham hock. He whipped his head around only to notice the one-eyed wonder standing behind him now had a long, thin knife buried almost to the hilt in his ear. The cigarillo dropped to the floor shortly before the body came crashing down with it.

  “NAURUS, GET UP AND FIGHT!” His father bellowed. Everything happened at once.

  The thug who had both eyes immediately tried to draw his pistol, but tangled up with his father who was trying to get the toothpick in between the plates in his aketon. The man with the hook drew a dirk but Naurus pushed off the wall and knocked him to the floor before he could do anything with it. Dirge scrambled up and drew a rapier which Naurus had failed to notice earlier. His falchion drawn in response, a loud crash rang out as hundreds of pounds of men fighting life or death knocked a large wood table over. The spectacle of his father locking horns, trading blows with this thug transfixed him, time seeming to dilate as his brain just now registered this was actually happening. He suddenly felt hot and flushed, and couldn’t hear much but picked up on a swift movement in his peripheral vision. Fortunately, Dirge had to lunge over the body of the one-eyed beast which gave Naurus time to set himself and side step a stab straight at his chest. They traded a few more blows tit for tat, until Dirge feinted to draw a parry, using the mistake to hook the falchion and pinned it to his hip. He drew back the rapier for a powerful thrust, and Naurus couldn’t do much more than shove him as hard as he could, losing his
own sword in the process.

  Dirge almost fell onto his back, but recovered his balance several feet away thanks to a wall that caught him. Dropping the falchion, he advanced and Naurus picked up a four-legged wooden chair and used it as his only means of fending off the coming offensive. They danced awkwardly, like a circus tamer fending off a lion, or in this case a man with a rapier and a taste for revenge. The lion and the tamer tangled over the chair, until suddenly a percussive thud hit his ears and smoke billowed into his line of sight. Ears ringing, Naurus lowered the chair and noticed Dirge clutching his chest, blood seeping between his fingers. He doubled over, muttering curses under labored breaths and slumped to the ground.

  Looking over, his father stood there with his blood-stained toothpick in one hand, and a smoking flintlock pistol in the other. Without saying a word, his father went over to Dirge and cut his coin purse off his belt and frisked him for concealed weapons in an almost instinctual manner. This was fruitful, as he found a deeply concealed double barrel derringer tucked into the rear of Dirge’s belt. Naurus could only stand there dumbfounded. He felt so out of his element yet his father didn’t seem to be fazed by anything that just happened in the least.

  “What are you looking at? The dead have no need for this. Come on, we need to go. Now!” His father commanded, grabbing Naurus and pushing him towards the door.

  He grabbed his sword up off the ground and sheathed it, making towards the door. As he got close, a shady figure rose from a table nearby and aggressively postured, snaking his hand towards something hidden beneath his cloak. Naurus clumsily tried to position himself with his back to the door while drawing his blade, but the shady man was merely a few steps away. A stiff mechanical clicking sounded from directly behind him, and he stole a glance over his shoulder to see his father aiming the now cocked derringer directly at the cloaked man. The man slowly sat back down but didn’t remove his hand from whatever it was on. Naurus was pushed back out the door with one hand while his father maintained the derringer trained on the threat. Once outside, the cool air washing over him made suddenly realize how sweaty his face was.

  “Get on your horse son, and follow me. Don’t ask any stupid questions, I don’t want to hear any of our shit before we get to where I say it's safe. Got it? Good, now move it!”

  Naurus did as he was told and mounted up without any fuss. No sooner could he get going behind his father than suddenly he started tearing down the street.

  “WORK YOU DAMN NAG!” Echoed through the streets as his father whipped his horse with the reins.

  Naurus jabbed his steed with his heels and tried his best to keep up. Looking behind him, he could see people coming out of the inn joining a small crowd had gathered where they just were, and they didn’t look particularly happy either. Still unable to match his father's horsemanship, he kept a few dozen yards behind. The furious clatter and clomp of hooves over gravel and dirt was the only sound in the vacuum of this dark and wretched criminal encampment called Kaladore. They fast approached the edge of town, and his father hooked a hard left instead of continuing on towards the mountains. Naurus rounded the same way, and saw his father restlessly waiting for him to catch up before he galloped down an alleyway and meandered through some backstreets. Refuse, trash, and various junk made passage through these narrow ways a slower affair. Around one corner they completely surprised a pair of men who dove out of the way while cursing the interrupters with great alacrity. After a few minutes of this, they came to a squat and drab looking townhouse. The windows were covered by curtains and only a faint glow could be made from behind the dirty windows. Naurus dismounted with his father and they quickly tied their horses up to the nearby hitching post.

  Making their way up the creaky steps, they found themselves on a portico with heavily chipped and cracked paint telling a story of a more prosperous time not all that long ago.

  “Gully! Open up!” His father shouted, banging on the iron banded wooden door. No reply came from within.

  “You dumb son of a bitch!” He kept pounding the door. “Open up, it's me! You know who I am!”

  After several more agonizing seconds, a faint sound of footsteps could be heard making its way towards the door. However, it didn’t open.

  “Who'sh 'ere?” Came a muffled challenge from behind the door.

  “Gully, it’s me your old bud! I know it's been years, but I need help. We need a place to stay for the night. Please open up and I can explain it all!” His father pressed close to the door, hushing his voice as they noticed people across the street looking at them.

  The door flung open, and Naurus found himself looking at a slim and tall silhouette standing in the doorway. No sooner did he register the loud clicking coming from the man did he feel the cold, metal barrel of a blunderbuss thrust into his forehead.

  “And who’sh the vampyr? I’ll blow yer fuckin’ head off if you move!” The silhouette growled from the doorway. Naurus was frozen in place, looking at his alarmed father.

  “Put down the popgun you goddamned dotard! That’s my son, he’s with me. It’s a long ass story, please just let us in? I’ve got some coin to sweeten the deal!” His father pleaded, jingling the coin sack.

  Gully didn’t respond, only lowered the blunderbuss and reset it to half cock. He moved back inside, leaving the door open. Naurus looked anxiously at his father, who was the first to walk inside and so he followed. They moved through a short, dusty, arched foyer that was only vaguely lit by the candlelight from the sitting room it led to. Inside this small, plaster walled room was a set of wicker chairs surrounding a beat-up coffee table. On the table was an old, glass oil lantern casting its glow around the room. Gully silently made his way into the adjoining larder, blunderbuss tucked into his cracked leather belt. Naurus sat down next to his father and soon they were rejoined by Gully who now had a trio of wooden mugs and a dark glass carboy. He set his blunderbuss down on the table in front of him and proceeded to pour some dark brew into the mugs. Naurus stared at the weapon, fascinated by its fluted brass barrel which was obviously cut down at some point, combined with a hand carved ivory birds head grip. He didn’t realize he was leaning forward to get a better look until his father jabbed him in the side and shot him daggers, mouthing ‘don’t even think about it’ at him while subtly shaking his head.

  “So...what brings ya and the fruit o’ yer crotch out here?” Gully asked, his deeply set grey eyes flashing mild irritation while handing them mugs full of dark ale.

  “Hah! You still have your sense of humor I see. My apologies for all this friend, I know it’s been years since I’ve seen you or even been out here. It’s a shame you had to meet my son this way, but we have a quite the story to tell. I owe you big time.” His father flipped the coin pouch at him, which Gully caught midair and kneaded it around contemplatively while starting at his old friend. He tossed the pouch back.

  “Let’s call it even fer ol’ time's sake. Go on...lets here yer tale, I don’ got all night!” Gully took a swig then adjusted his leather jerkin and sat back, getting comfortable and still wearing little expression on his scruffy, angular face.

  Naurus looked around the room while his father gave an abridged tale of events of the past day or two. What he first noticed was an old, rusted harpoon nestled on nails in the wall above the mantle place in front of him. This led him to realize this house was sparsely decorated, at least so far. He took a swig of the sweet, nutty ale and started zoning out. His body was tired, but his mind was racing trying to process the day’s events so far. His father's voice became indistinct humming, but soon was jostled back to reality by a stiff slap on his shoulder.

  “It’s rude to ignore your host, boy. Answer the man.”

  “What? Answer what?”

  “How many times ye been out here is what I asked.” Gully said softly, leaning forward and resting his chin on his clasped hands.

  “Oh uh, just twice. At least recently. Hasn’t been much good hunting out here in a while. I guess we finall
y killed every critter out here huh?” Naurus cracked, the joke drawing no laughter and only resulting in his father burying his face into his hands.

  “Imma guess you were by yourself the time ‘afore this. What would bring the likes of ye out this way?”

  “Well uh…I had a little itch and decided to go through the Iron Valley and see what was on the other side.”

  “And?”

  “And I didn’t really like it. And now I’m back here again because Recht demands it now and…” Naurus trailed off, seeing Gully crack a hideous smile and silently laugh all the while his father grimaced and pretended to be deeply contemplating the ale in front of him.

  Gully leaned forward, seeming to be looking directly through him. “Do ye know the definition of insanity, boy?”

  “Uh….no?”

  “It’s doin’ the same thing over an’ over again expecting different results. Did ya really expect coming out here again was going to be smooth sailing just ‘cause yer old man was with ya? Lucky you are, seems like he saved your ass after all. I heard about what happened last time you were here. Made some ol’ smuggler lose his hand with a little swipe o’ that sword. First time you cut a man eh? Still got those nerves in yer eyes. Quite the prize on yer head there is. Sounds like someone almost cashed it out tonight.”

  Naurus didn’t answer, only finished his ale with a quick swig and looked at his father who seemed to be lost in thought. An awkward silence fell, Gully taking the chance to refill everyone’s mugs.

  “Well, it’s gettin’ late. You two are welcome to stay, the usual spot.” Gully said glancing at his father. He chugged the rest of his ale and got up to leave, stopping in the doorway and turning around.