by Moore, Scott
As for Malik, he got the opportunity to take care of the idiot mules, and to watch them training every night. Malik went to bed early both nights. He did not have the patience to watch Mollie get closer to achieving the goal that he had set out so long ago to do. Mollie had not even suffered for as long as he had. Malik had known of the Tempre for almost ten years. Mollie found out about them less than a month ago. She should have had to wait her turn. Grab a number, stand in the back, and do not skip! He wanted to yell this at her. Instead, he had been quiet and reserved. Even when Abrie asked him the second night if he wanted to hold the stick again, Malik shook his head. He had felt more comfortable with the bow. The sword was not for him. He would do no one any good swinging a piece of death metal around. That, and he enjoyed having both of his arms and all his fingers.
Minnow’s Creek was a medium sized outcropping of fishermen. Most men and women there went to work at sunup on the docks, returning at dusk to drink at the taverns. The only trader anyone spoke of was a barkeep at the far end of town.
The tavern ended up being less reputable than any of them would have liked. Malik ducked around a group of brutish looking men swilling large tankards of ale. A few of the men had daggers hanging from their pants that were bigger than Malik’s forearm. Malik opted not to start a drunken fight.
Abrie and Mollie followed behind Malik. They were heading for the scrawny barkeep behind the counter. The man saw them arrive in through the door, without them having to order, he filled four cups.
“I took the occasion to pour myself on your tab. Being that you are new here, I figured you would want to celebrate that occasion with me.”
Malik wished he would not have smiled. His teeth, what was left of them, were wood brown. His breath permeated the air.
Malik still took the tumbler from the bar, swilling it down with the ugly mugged barkeep. Mollie and Abrie took their cups, clinked them together then dumped them down the hatch. Malik almost said something about their chummy behavior, but the barkeep spoke before he could interject.
“What brings you handsome folk to our neck of the woods? Are you enthralled by lake food? Or maybe you have heard of my extensive collection of liquor?”
Malik wasn’t interested in the liquor, but his arm hurt. Abrie spoke before Malik could ask for something to take the pain in his arm away.
“We are looking for a few items. We were told that you were the only man in the entire village that could provide us with them.”
The man nodded. “All the village people tell you that did they? Tell you I could get you anything your dreams could think up?”
Malik could not remember a single person describing it quite like that. Most of them stated he was a no-good swindler who sold dangerous items to children, but he also had a caravan that supplied them with tobacco, alcohol, and grain so they had a hard time painting him as an all bad figure.
“Not quite the message we received. However, we are aware you may have the few items we need.”
“What do you fancy? We have little root, big root, gray fire.” He grew more excited with each random phrasing.
Malik had no idea what he went on about. He glanced toward Abrie and Mollie, their faces told him all he needed to know; they too had no idea what he rambled about.
“I am just interested in bow string and possibly some strong wood, clasps, and fetching,” Abrie said.
The barkeep looked disappointed. Whatever the random items were, Malik guessed they were not part of a bow or arrow.
“You can fill us up another glass too, if you don’t mind,” Malik said, sliding his glass back across the countertop.
The other two put their cups back onto the bar. The travels had been hard.
“I will see what I have in the back for you,” the barkeep said, filling their cups before moving behind two swinging doors.
“Do you think he even has any of that stuff?” Malik asked.
“I hope so,” Abrie replied.
“What is gray fire?”
Abrie never had time to answer. One of the big brutes came sauntering over to the bar. He placed his shoulder into Abrie, pushing him aside. Then he leaned his massive girth onto the bar between Mollie and Abrie. Mollie disappeared behind the man’s width.
“What is your name, beautiful?”
Malik felt a sudden urge to go against his earlier word. Maybe he would start a barroom brawl with these men. Then he looked them over again. The man’s arm muscles were bigger than Malik’s waist. It was best to feign ignorance. Let the man get a drink and then move off to his table of friends.
“Do you not speak? I don’t mind mine mute,” he laughed.
Mollie didn’t laugh with him.
“You deaf too?”
Malik stepped around to see Mollie’s shoulders tensing. He wondered if she thought about the sword on her back. Malik wondered why every man missed the giant blade when they conferred with Mollie. Not a single man yet had commented on it. Not one man believed she could use it against them.
Malik knew better than that. He watched her stare down a nine-foot monster. He watched her take Top and Blade out in less than a minute. This foe would be a little harder than Top and Blade. This man, Malik would bet, could use a sword. Abrie had brought in his lyre case with them but how many arrows did he have left? How many arrows apiece could these half-giant men take?
“I should buy you a drink, maybe you will talk to me more then?” The man reached over the counter, grabbing an amber container. “I will pour you another.”
“Not buying if you don’t spend any coin,” Malik said, wishing he knew when to shut his mouth.
The man whirled on him. He hoped Abrie could save them with that bow. Then he remembered, too late, that they were here to get string for the broken bow. He would be a sitting duck. Abrie could not save them this time.
“You think you’re a fighter?”
“Nope, probably not, just observing. What you claimed to be buying a drink, was more akin to stealing a drink. So, you aren’t doing her a favor, you are robbing the bar.”
The man pushed Abrie aside again. Abrie put up no resistance, moving to the man’s side. Malik swallowed, feeling like he would throw up. His heart hammered like a drum inside his chest. His breath caught.
“What drink were you buying me?” Mollie tapped the man on the gigantic shoulder.
His snarl did not fade, but he looked back over his shoulder.
“You said you will buy me a drink, what are you buying me?”
The man turned all the way around. Malik was safe. He could flee through the door, run down the road, and never look back.
“How about we skip the boring parts?” The man grabbed Mollie by the waist pulling her toward him.
Mollie tried to struggle, but the man was just too big, his grip just too strong. She would need to be another hundred pounds to stand a chance of breaking his hold. The man’s other arm braced on the countertop.
Abrie glanced down at his bow, remembering too that he waited on the barkeep to get back with supplies.
Malik looked toward the swinging doors. That man took what seemed like an eternity to get just a few items.
Malik tried to think of another route. He looked over toward the table the man had gotten up from. There were three more men, just about as big as this lumbering giant. None of them seemed to care their friend forced himself on a young girl. They would be of no help.
Abrie opened the lyre case. The man paid no attention to the two behind him. He had his mind preoccupied and didn’t see Malik or Abrie as a threat to him succeeding with his goals.
Mollie tried to pull her sword free from her back. Malik almost believed that if she could there would have been a small glimmer of hope, but the man grabbed her in closer.
“Don’t struggle. This is something you have been wanting all your life. I am the man of your dreams. Every night when you go to sleep you think of a man like me. Well here I am.”
The man leaned in to try for a
kiss, Mollie turned her head away.
Malik took a deep breath. He was about to do the stupidest thing he had ever done. He needed all the courage he could muster. Leaning down toward the open lyre case, he snatched up an arrow into his hand. With one quick lunge, he drove the tip into the man’s bracing hand. The man let out a yelp of pain. Malik stumbled back.
The man let go of Mollie, using his now free hand to rip the arrow from his flesh. Blood sputtered like a water fountain. The man let out an almost feral bark. The anger in his eyes told Malik all he needed to know about his fate.
At least Malik would never have to wonder if he had done the right thing. Soon he would never have to worry about anything ever again.
The giant spun the arrow around, holding the tip out like a knife. Malik imagined the point ripping into his flesh. He closed his eyes, too afraid to even watch his own death; too afraid to even scream.
He heard the grunting close to his ear. The man would make this personal. He would make Malik hurt before he died. The blood from the giant’s hand came in a warm drop, landing on Malik’s cheek. He could imagine the snarled face standing over him. The arrow moved above the giant’s head in his mind. Soon it would come down striking him, causing immense pain to radiate through his body.
The next grunt wasn’t a killing grunt. It was a being killed kind of grunt. Malik dared to open his eyes. Mollie stood behind the brute. In her hands, was the pommel of her father’s old sword. The blade of the sword protruded through the giant’s belly.
The giant’s eyes were still open. He stared at the gaping wound and the metal sticking from his sternum. He took a few labored breaths. Malik almost believed that he would not die. Almost believed he was too big for even a large wound. Then he fell to one knee, coughing up blood into his hands. Malik then knew that Mollie had hit something vital. The man coughed, sending speckles of blood onto the floor. Then he fell the rest of the way down, before dying right in front of Malik.
Mollie wasted no time in pulling her blade free from his insides. The giant was dead. He would not be bothering them anymore. While that was a good thing, there was still something terrible about the situation.
“You have made a big mistake,” came the voice of one of the other three large men.
Mollie had killed one giant. She had been lucky enough that he had turned around to face Malik. They would not get that lucky again. Even if they did, they wouldn’t get that lucky three more times.
“I have the string, wood, clasps, and fetching for you right here.” The barkeep threw the items onto the counter. He had yet to see the dead man bleeding on his floor. Malik waited for him to notice. It took only a short moment.
“Are you kidding me?” he said. “Blood stains everything.” He put his head into his hands. “Not to mention that was my favorite guard.”
Abrie was at the counter grabbing the string before the barkeep could even come to grips with what he saw. When the barkeep understood the implications, he looked up to the other men in the tavern.
“When you kill them, please be discreet.”
Abrie moved faster than any man had a right to. Mollie had done her part in killing the first of the four goons. That ended up being the hardest part of the job. Abrie scored three quick shots in less than a heartbeat. Three dead men hit the floor before they even knew they had been shot.
“I was just kidding, friends,” the barkeep laughed, holding out his hands. “I would not want to see my new friend’s dead. Matters of fact, your drinks are on me tonight. How about that?” He inched toward the back room.
“You should think about getting better guards,” Malik said.
He stepped forward, pretending that he had done any of this. He pretended that not minutes ago he cowered on the floor on the verge of tears.
“You are right, young man,” the barkeep said almost to the doors now.
“We will not kill you. I will take the items as your fee for almost getting us killed,” Abrie said.
Abrie didn’t sound mad, upset, or even a smidge frustrated.
The barkeep shook his head. “You take those items. Here you take a special gift from me to you.” The barkeep grabbed a dark whiskey bottle from the shelf behind him. He slid it onto the counter not daring to get within reach of the three.
Malik moved to the counter, scooping up the bottle.
The door thudding shut was the first alert to Mollie having slipped away from them. Malik shoved the bottle into Abrie’s chest, jogging off toward the door. Mollie had not made it very far before collapsing on the ground. Malik kneeled beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She cried. Malik could hear her sobs.
“It will be okay,” he said, trying to be of comfort to her.
She stood without warning. “I do not need you cowing over me.” She wiped her tears away.
“I am just trying to help you,” Malik said.
Mollie turned away from him, walking up the road. Malik decided he would follow.
“We are the same.”
Mollie twirled they were face to face.
“We are not the same.”
“We both want the same thing.”
Mollie clenched her teeth. “I just killed a man.”
“He had it coming,” Malik said.
“It does not matter. I thought I was ready to kill a man. It was nothing like I imagined it would be.”
Malik had never killed a man. He had punched a few and been punched by even more.
“He deserved it.”
“So, you have already said.” Mollie leaned in closer to him.
“It is the truth.”
Mollie was an inch away from his face with her own. Malik could feel his heart pressing against his breastbone.
“You have no idea what it is like.” She turned away from him.
“We have what we came for, I don’t think we should stay the night here,” Abrie said, joining them outside the tavern.
Malik agreed that this town wasn’t the safest place to stay. After their spout in the tavern, he doubted that the next five villages would accept them as a guest. Malik wondered if any messengers even patrolled this backward village.
“We will see what we can scavenge on the way to Opallum. There are a few things I think would be beneficial to us there.” Abrie stepped forward, pressing the wood from the barkeep into Malik’s arms. “You can use this to make your own bow. Maybe this one you won’t snap on your first draw back.” Abrie chuckled.
Malik thought about the welt on his arm. The prospect of shooting a bow again didn’t scare him as he thought it would.
He looked to Mollie. She had not left them when things got tough. She needed them. Malik figured deep down he needed her too.
Chapter 10
Bows and Arrows
Malik had been wrong about the messengers. They came through Minnow’s Creek. They also traveled much faster than the five partied crew. Sallie and Callie weren’t fast walkers. Any man on a traveling horse would pass them five times over.
The first village pointed toward a wanted poster that had crude sketches of their faces on it. Malik had a hard time figuring out if he was more offended by getting kicked from the village, or that they gave him a nose the size of a fist. On his way out, Malik pulled every poster he could find off posts, doors, windows, and any other items.
Mollie forgot her tears from a few nights before on the visit to the second village. She brawled with two deputy officials as they tried to drag the three of them to jail. Mollie refrained from killing any, but they would remember that the three had been through their town for some time to come.
In the third village, Abrie tried to negotiate some supplies to keep them going, but the merchants had orders from the town’s mayor not to accept a single coin from the outlaws.
The funny thing about the kingdom of King Bently was that they would travel five more towns and they would become someone different. If they traveled far enough, they would be pirates. Even further, the criminals would be
a royal escort from a faraway kingdom. The farther they moved from Minnow’s Creek, the less they would be recognized and the more supplies they could get.
The only problem with that logic was that they would starve long before then. Unless they remedied that.
“So, you can hunt then?” Malik asked Abrie one evening while they lounged around a small cook fire.
Abrie looked up over his reading material. Abrie read books about as much as he preached morals.
“What?”
Malik pointed to the lyre case. He had been working on his own bow for six days. It was shaped, clasped, and Abrie even showed him how to string it. He had yet to test it out.
“You have the bow. You say you used it to hunt these monsters. Could you hunt food with it too?”
Abrie shrugged. “I suppose I could.”
“No town will serve us, but we can serve ourselves. It will also give me time to practice with this thing.” Malik hefted his bow.
Malik grew restless in the camp. He liked Mollie most of the time. The rest of the time she trained with Abrie, leaving him to fend for himself. They ignored him, talking about sword fundamentals. They worked on stances for so long, Malik dreamed about them every night.
Abrie looked to be deep in thought about the suggestion. Malik gave him a few minutes, hoping he would agree.
“I don’t see a problem with this.”
Malik tried not to jump up from his seat in joy. He would learn how to shoot this thing.
“So, we will go first thing in the morning then?”
He itched to get started.
“Mollie, would you be okay with the mules for the rest of the night?”
Mollie looked up from cleaning her sword’s blade. She didn’t talk to anyone much since the night at Minnow’s Creek.
“I will manage if I need to.”
Abrie closed his book, placing it back into his satchel.
“Grab your arrows,” Abrie said to Malik. “Mollie we will return sometime late.”
Malik wasn’t sure what Abrie had in mind. He was almost positive that people did not hunt during the night.
“Aren’t we supposed to wait until it is daylight out?”