Clash of Heroes: Nath Dragon meets The Darkslayer (8 page)

CHAPTER 19

Surrounded by women, Nath chewed on a mouthful of juicy turkey. A pretty woman in fine silken linens tilted a goblet to his lips while another one dabbed his chin with a cloth napkin.

“Thank you,” he said, unable to contain his smile. He winked at one. “Thank you.” His belly was full of meat, cheese, and hard bread. The strong drinks lifted his spirits up, and the company, full of compliments and flattery, had him brimming out of his boots. He lapped it all up.

Maybe this place isn’t so horrible after all.

“Stranger, what is your name?” a woman asked, batting her extremely long lashes at him. Her honey-brown hair was up in a bun, and her outfit accented every curve. Her voice was sweet but forceful as she hugged his arm.

“Nath,” he said, “and yours?”

“My name is Naydeen.” She squeezed his arm. “Your arm is firm like the limbs of a mighty tree,” she said with a purr in her voice. “I bet you’re strong.”

There was a hungry look in the eyes of every woman who surrounded him at the table. One had slipped behind him and began to massage his shoulders. Another continued to stuff chunks of food into his mouth. Probing hands pawed at him, and a surly redhead tried to remove the long leather gloves from his hands.

“No,” he said, forming a fist. “Let’s leave the gloves on for now.”

“Aw,” the woman said, sticking out her lower lip. “Please, let me do something else?”

“You could fetch more of that stew. It was quite satisfying.”

“And lose my seat?” She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

All of the women peppered him with questions—and demands.

“Where did you get those golden eyes, stranger?”

“Are they from your father’s or mother’s side?’

“You must be a Royal from the north. What city do you hail from?”

“Make me your bride. I will do anything you ask.”

Naydeen tangled her fingers in Nath’s hair. “It’s softer than a baby’s and yet glimmers like fire. My, you are the most ravishing man I ever saw.”

“You don’t have tabs on him, Naydeen!” argued a buxom gal.

“And you think you do, Rosewynn?”

“I’m far fairer than you, oily skank!”

The women started arguing, pushing and shoving. They pulled, pinched, and punched.

Nath interjected, “Ladies!”

Every one of them went still and glued their softened eyes on him.

“Ahem, that’s better,” he said. “We have plenty of time. Let’s just sit here and get to know each other better, shall we?”

“We only want to know about you, Nath. Tell us everything!”

Disappointed that he didn’t have anything to say, he dodged the subject. It wasn’t difficult. He ate, drank, and offered vague answers to their questions.

“I bet he can play!” one of the women said.

“Play, play what?” Nath replied.

“Yes, yes, you are a handsome troubadour, aren’t you? One that travels the world.”

He shrugged his shoulders and said with a wink, “Perhaps.”

One of the waitresses returned with an ebony three-stringed lute.

“Play it!” they urged. “Play it.”

Nath took the lute in hand and plucked at the strings. “Seems a little difficult with these gloves on.”

He plucked away some more, turned the tuning pegs on the upper neck, and said, “I think I have it.” Not knowing why or how, his fingers danced over the strings, and beautiful music poured out, never heard before in all of Bish. The tavern fell silent. When Nath finished, the women’s eyes were wet with tears, and he caught an old bald orc thumbing water from its drooping eyes. The place erupted in applause.

Astonished, Naydeen said, “There are no words for you and what you do.”

“Thanks,” said Nath, setting the lute down on the table. “I must admit, I don’t have any words for that either.”

A scuffle erupted in the room. Pushing through the crowd came the young orcen boy he’d dealt with earlier. He wasn’t alone this time. This time he had friends, big ones. Full-blooded orcs with coarse black hair, armored and with weapons all over. The orcen boy pointed at Nath and said, “That’s him!”

The biggest of the four orcs stared at him with his nostrils flared wide. “You’re ugly.”

“Says you with more hair in his nose than grass in the meadows,” Nath replied easily, surprising himself.

The women all giggled, drawing the lead orc’s perturbed eye. He reached down with his grubby yellow-skinned hand and picked up the lute. “Is this yours? You play like slat.”

“No,” Nath said, glancing around, “I think it belongs to that fellow over—”

The orc took the lute and cracked him upside the head with it.

Smash!

Red faced, Nath turned on the orc. All of the women scrambled. One by one, orcs weighted down in armor and leather piled on top of him.

CHAPTER 20

The tavern exploded into jovial shouts. The excited people frolicked with glee. They chanted. They screamed.

“Brawl! Brawl! Brawl!”

“Cut his eyes out!”

“I want his hair!”

“Break his fancy quick fingers!”

Venir headed straight for the melee. He felt a firm tug on his arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Melegal said.

“I’m going to break it up.”

“No, you’re not going to break it up. Those are some of those inhuman Royals’s guards. You stay put. We don’t need any more trouble around here.”

“But they’re orcs,” Venir argued.

“It’s not like that’s Mikkel or Billip over there. That man with the furious fingers must be a Royal.” Melegal wedged himself between Venir and the wild crowd. “He probably has it coming.”

“I don’t like those odds. Three on one.”

“Why, you’ve handled more than that before. He looked to be a big fella. I wouldn’t worry. I doubt a few lumps will kill him.” He patted Venir’s chest. “You get steamed up too easily. Save it for the underlings.”

Venir grunted. The taunting crowd fired the blood in his veins and reddened his ears. There was a fight happening. He wanted in on it.

Melegal pushed him toward the door, “Let’s go. Now. Find your plush little harlot, and we’ll drag her out as well.”

It wasn’t uncommon for a fight to break out on any given night in Two-Ten City. Venir had been in the middle of plenty of them. Soldiers, frontiersmen, brigands—they all had a wild side to them that brought their worst qualities out. And there was nothing Venir would rather do than pummel a handful of orcs. He’d had his fill of them of late.

“Let’s just stick around and see how this thing turns out,” he said. “Besides, shouldn’t you be placing a wager? This is the type of action you thrive on.”

“And bet on who? The man being pummeled under the tables? I like long odds but not that long.”

“Perhaps he can tickle his way out with those fingers,” Venir said.

“How do you know orcs are ticklish?”

Crack!

“What was that?” Venir said, snapping his head around toward the fight.

An orc teetered out of the fray with his neck bent over and collapsed to the floor. A sound of heavy punching followed.
Whop! Whop! Whop! Whop!

The crowed oohed and ahhed.

The flame-headed stranger had an orc pinned down and was delivering strike after strike. The biggest orc of all scrambled for a chair, snatched it up, and shattered it on the golden-eyed man’s head. The chair broke. The stranger’s fighting spirit didn’t. His golden eyes were flashing when he stood up and glowered at the orc leader, snatched the broken chair from the orc’s grip, and smacked him in the face with it. The orc staggered back into the crowd. They shoved him back into the melee.

“Get in there and finish what you started!” they said.

The orc drew a blade. The stranger struck like a cobra, wrenched the blade free, snatched the big orc up like a giant sack of potatoes, and hurled him through the glass window.

Crash!

“By Bish!” Venir nudged Melegal. “I knew you should have taken those odds.”

“Agreed. One never knows about these things.” Melegal needled his chin. “I don’t know of many men that can toss an orc like a stone.”

“Aye. Me either.”

The flame-headed stranger huffed for breath and scanned the crowd. The fires in his eyes were far from dim. Finally, they settled on the orcen boy, who sneered at him and said, “This isn’t over yet! You’ll see!” He turned and ran.

“That man will be marked for death now. That one orc isn’t even breathing, and that boy, he’s one of the Royals’s little loudmouthed mongrels,” Melegal said. “We might want to clear out of here.”

“I say we stick around,” Venir replied.

“Fine. Enjoy your time in the stockade.”

“Look!” a man cried out in a loud voice, “He’s got scales on his arms!”

Melegal’s brows perched.

Venir cocked a brow himself. He’d seen many strange things but nothing quite like that. The stranger’s arms were layered with black scales that had a dull sheen to them.

Quickly, the crowd’s affection for the red-haired stranger turned sour.

“He’s a fiend!” one of the women cried.

Another man, one-eyed and gutsy, spoke above them all. “The underlings sent this thing to deceive us! Grab steel, everyone. He’ll have naught of me.” He ripped his blade clean free of the scabbard. “Kill him!”

CHAPTER 21

Nath covered up his arms. It did little good. Part of the cloak was torn and one arm was exposed.
The secret is out.
On feet ready to spring, he scanned the faces of the crowd. Moments ago they’d been cheerful and light. Now, darkened expressions filled all of them. The temperature in the room started to rise. He could feel their heartbeats. See the tension in their faces. The very word “underling” had ignited something in them.

He eased back toward the wall with his hands up and palms out. “I’m not a threat.”

“Hah!” the gutsy one-eyed man said. “And with scales like that, what are we to take you for, a fish?”

More metal appeared in everyone’s hands, aside from a few observers. One of them, the straw-locked tracker from the forest, stood tall behind the rest. An intent observer.

Nath decided to try reason once more. “I’m only passing through. I’ll be gone.” He waved his finger at them. “I’ve not brought harm to a single one of you.”

“So you say! But you killed him.” The brash warrior said, pointing at the corpse on the floor. “And you tried to kill the others!”

“I was defending myself,” Nath argued. “It was them or me.”

“Nay! You’ll bring all of the Royals down on us for your trespassing. No, you did this because you serve the underlings!”

The crowd stirred and grumbled. Eyes blinking and shifting back and forth, a handful of them crept forward. The man with the eye patch got an encouraging shove in the back and found himself only a few steps from Nath. Eyes like saucers, he said, “Stop shoving.”

“Kill him, Garth! We’re behind you. Kill him!”

Garth the one-eye summoned his courage and stabbed his longsword at Nath’s chest. The blade skipped off the metal breastplate. Aghast, Garth cried out, “He
is
one of those black fiends!”

“I’m not a fiend!” Nath argued.

The people, most drunk and unruly, became bolder. Louder.

“His tongue is deceitful! Don’t believe him!”

“Did you see how he deceived our women?”

“And that lute! I’ve never seen the best play so fine as that!”

Nath ducked. A wine jug crashed on the wall behind him. He snatched one jug out of the air, then another, and pleaded, “Stop throwing things. I am not your enemy!”

“Garth is right!” said the honey-blond woman who’d sat with him earlier. “No man’s tongue could be so polished if he wasn’t a serpent. And I’ve never seen a man so handsome. It’s wizardry! Dark, underling wizardry.” She chucked a plate at him. “I’m with Garth. We must kill him, pretty or not!”

There was no dodging the next wave of tableware. Nath was pelted with food, drink, and pottery. He swatted away what he could and tried to head for the door. His path was blocked at every turn. He screamed, “If I was an underling, wouldn’t I be trying to kill you people?”

“Did you hear that? He’s trying to kill us people!”

The frenzied and disorganized mob pressed with their blades and started to strike. With quick and powerful hands, Nath disarmed them one by one. The throng, sensing that he wasn’t fighting back, became bolder. Sluggish sword swings became arcs of death.

Nath couldn’t tamp down his agitation any longer. Side-stepping the blades, swing after swing, he started dropping the foolish men with hard punches. Men fell to their knees, holding their guts. Others lay on the floor, out cold. Heading for the exit, Nath yelled, “Get out of my way!”

It wasn’t just words that came out either.

It was words and fire.

Oh my!

Flames streaming from his mouth and unable to shut them off, Nath started fanning his arms and tried to say, “Get out of the way! Get out of the way!”

The bright orange flames clung to the walls and crawled up to the ceiling. Finally, the flames in his mouth ceased. The damage was done. The tavern roared from the uncontrollable fire. Smoke filled the room. People were hacking, screaming, and coughing. Others were being dragged outside, on fire. Through the haze and chaos, Nath turned to run.

Something hard as an anvil smote the back of his head.

Chok!

Dazed, he turned to see his attacker. Another fierce blow struck again.

Chok!

Surrounded by a raging fire, he sank to the floor, and all of the bright flaming lights went dim.

***

Splash!

Nath’s eyes popped open, and he sat up with his head ringing. A guard—part man, part orc—held an empty water bucket on the other side of steel bars. The guard sneered and walked away.

Grunting, he heard a rattle of chains. His arms were behind his back, his legs in tight shackles. A tight cord of leather tethered his mouth shut. All he could do was sit there and breathe. He was in a dungeon or jail. His nostrils flared. The place reeked. It was filled with dampness and stink.

Great!

His neck was burning too, under the metal collar. An agitated voice was screaming in his mind.

Nath! Where are you? Nath! Report in!

Speaking in thought, he said to Oran, “I am here.”

“Here as in where?” Oran replied.

“A cell in a place called Two-Ten City.”

“You’ve been captured!”

“Yes.”

There was no reply for the longest time, and then finally Oran said, “Farewell to you then, fool. Now you will see what it’s like when those villainous surface dwellers try to kill you. Now you will understand our suffering.”