The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (11 page)

Soon enough, Venir caught the cross look in Melegal’s face. The thief gave a subtle nod and leaned back from the table. Something was afoot. It had been weeks since they’d made a solid score. Although to Venir it was just a game—his real concern was his survival outside the city—for his friend Melegal, this was his sole mode of survival and making a living.

Skimming was the name of the game. It was illegal, and it could lead to the dungeon and worse: torture, beatings, or even hanging, assuming whoever caught you didn’t kill you first. Skimming was a rare type of inner-city hustle that only the brave and the bold dared undertake. Accepting challenges was not supposed to be a profession, and the playing field was assumed to be even, sort of.

But if the ringer happened to be more than a mere man, in the case of Venir, they had an edge. Melegal would set the stage, while Venir played it. True, Venir had taken his lumps more than a time or two, but the payoff was worth it. The take from a good skim would last weeks, even months, allowing the pair to lay low for a while. Tonight was going to be one of those big nights, Venir sensed, and he was ready. He knew Melegal was too, as his friend complained daily on account of their thinning purses.

As Venir rambled on, he caught quick glances of Melegal sitting with a glint in his eye.

Then a thrill went up Venir’s spine. It was Dresla. She was running her long, painted nails over the belly hair beneath his dark blue tunic. He tilted back in his chair, only to have Dresla tip him forward again by tugging on his chest hair and shirt. He had just tilted back again when an abrupt voice cut in.

“
Let me help you lean back, blondie!” a loud woman said.

The woman kicked the back legs out from under his chair. He crashed to the floor, bringing a roar of laughter.

Venir looked up, stupefied, while Dresla stared at a fistful of blond hair from his chest.

“
The floor suits you, blondie,” said the woman who had kicked his chair out from beneath him. “You can get up now, but you gotta shut up as well!”

Venir gave her a hard look. She was about as ugly a woman as he’d ever seen there before: plain and rugged, a gal of medium build with cropped black hair, but smart-eyed, along with a crooked overbite, pot belly, and black clothes from head to toe. Most of all, she appeared angry.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Venir started to chuckle.

“
Go back to your stable, girl. I have no quarrel with you,” he said.

The crowd chuckled. Her pale cheeks turned pink.

“
Start flapping those lips of yours again and you soon will,” she said with a lisp. “I didn’t come here to listen to none of your stories.”

Venir gathered himself to his feet and replied, “Listen to me. I’ll say what I want when I want. If you don’t like it, you can leave. You keep running your mouth to me and I’ll drag you right back to the stable you came from.”

Venir could still hear Melegal chuckling out loud as two more black-clad women closed in on their table, nodding at the first woman and calling her, “Sis.” Venir couldn’t believe that this odd assortment of women were the ones that had taken Melegal’s bait. It was going to be embarrassing if he was challenged by a woman. Dresla rose toward his side in support, and as she pressed closer, the much bigger black-clad woman grabbed her long honey tresses and slung her back into her chair, tipping her backward and onto the floor.

“
You stay put, Miss Prissy!” said the heavyset assailant, bringing her foot down onto Dresla’s hair and pinning her to the grimy floor. Dresla shot a furious look at Venir.

As a skinny third woman approached Melegal, his date abandoned the table. The black-clad woman perched herself in the vacant chair and stared at Melegal. The tavern’s revelers were gathering about now, seeking the cause of the commotion. Venir heard the crowd referring to their assailants as three sisters who liked to be called the Motley Girls.
Accurate
, he thought.

“
Let her up, Fatty!” Venir said with a growl.

The hefty black-clad woman pinning Dresla down jerked her foot up and stepped back with a confused look on her face.

“
Why did you do that!” Sis said. “You listen to
me
, Frigdah, not him!”

“
Sorry, Sis,” Frigdah said. “He … scared me.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Venir sized up Frigdah: she was much larger than her two sisters, heavy and full bodied, with a face of a child.

Then Venir heard a huff and looked over at his date for the night. Dresla wiped off her filthy dress, cast Venir an evil glance, and stormed away. Venir felt himself starting to get mad.

“
See what you did … Sis?” Venir asked. “Now my date’s gone, and all just because you don’t like my storytelling.”

He took a step forward. She held her hands up, stepping back.

“
Easy now, big fella,” she replied, winking with obvious inexperience. “But … I guess I could be your date.”

“
You can handle him, Sis!” a patron yelled.

The tavern crowd roared in laughter.

“
Are you kidding me?” Venir said. “What do you want? My patience is about done!”

Oh, here it comes
, he thought.

Venir planned to make quick work of the woman and then track down Dresla before it was too late.

Sis paused, looking at the gathering crowd. She began wiping her sweaty hands on her dark clothes. Venir unfolded his arms and grabbed the hilt of his long hunting knife sheathed at his side. He didn’t know what to expect, but he’d be ready nonetheless.

Then Sis licked her thin cracked lips and finally spoke: “I want a challenge!”

Cries of elation poured from the patrons’ drunken lips like a thunderous waterfall. They began to cheer at the unexpected, somewhat ludicrous announcement. Word spread like fire that
the
Motley Girls had challenged the cow-kissing loudmouth. The men and women started dancing in elation as Luke the lute player started playing a daring song.

“
What do you challenge me with, Sis?” Venir said over the noise. “You want me to wrestle you? Or maybe the bigger version of you over there?” He nodded at Frigdah, who was helping herself to the half-empty drinks on the table.

“
Not you—him,” Sis said, pointing at Melegal. “We want to challenge him.”

“
Me?” the thief exclaimed in uncharacteristic bewilderment.

“
Him!” Venir said, arms extended wide. “Then why did you kick my chair instead of his?”

“
I don’t like your dumb stories!”

“
Okay, okay. What’s the challenge, then?” Venir said, almost laughing at the sudden turn of events. He couldn’t remember the last time Melegal had been challenged.

Sis crossed her chest. “Hand stabs,” she said. “I want my little sister to take on your skinny friend.”

The crowd oohed at this suggestion as the sound of coins started shuffling from hand to hand. Luke the lute player began the betting runs. Venir could see a frown growing on Melegal’s face. The thief wouldn’t even look his way but kept his eyes glued to the wine sitting before him. But seeing his friend at risk for a change was a welcoming sight. After all, why should Venir have to take all of the risks?

So Venir began taking bets. He knew Melegal preferred not to take on a challenge, but Venir was confident he could handle the hand stabs against this female counterpart—but then, one never knew for sure what opponents had up their sleeve.

“
Okay, Sis,” Venir said. “I like straight bets, so how much coin are you going to put on this wager?”

“
Ten,” she replied.

“
Ten?” He shrugged. “That’s no wager. All this trouble for ten pieces of silver?”

The crowd likewise responded with boos.

“
Ten gold talents! And not a talent more!” she said, slapping her gold on the table.

His eyes widened; it was a sizeable sum.

“
What do you think, Me?” Venir said, looking at Melegal. “Is ten worth the risk?”

Melegal shrugged, still not looking up from his wine.

“
Okay, Sis,” Venir said, “you and Big Sis over there, clear a smaller table and bring it here. I’ll fetch a blade.”

“
Hold up, blondie.” Sis poked his chest. “We’ll use her blade. Women get to pick, fair enough? You’re a sport, aren’t you?” she said with a toothy smile.

“
Let’s give it a look, then,” Venir said.

At that the thinner sister produced a slender, twin-bladed dagger with a black onyx hilt about nine inches long. She handed it to Venir. He eyed it, thumbed the edge, and then stuck it into the table that Frigdah and Luke had brought over. Melegal and his opponent dragged their chairs to opposite sides of the table and sat down.

“
What’s your name,” Melegal asked her, looking up and tilting back on his chair.

“
Haze,” she said, trying to see what he was looking at. “You ever been challenged by a woman before?”

Venir could see she was flirting, but Melegal kept his gaze away.

“
Not under these circumstances. This time of night, I’m usually challenged by women much prettier than you,” he said with a scowl.

“
You’d be lucky to wind up with a gal like me,” she said then spat on the ground.

“
How charming,” he said, bringing his eyes down to meet hers.

“
You ain’t so tough, thief. I know you,” Haze said. “You’re an urchin like the rest of us. You and your big friend—we remember you.”

Venir looked at Melegal, but the thief didn’t look his way. He didn’t recall the three sisters, but he had no reason to disbelieve their claim. Not wanting to dredge up what they might have in common, Venir hollered over to the barkeep for the rules.

The stocky barkeep with hairy black arms strolled into their midst. His scars and tattoos suggested he’d once been a soldier. He looked sleepy, smoking his long thin cigar and turning his smoke-reddened eyes toward the table. Venir clasped the man on the shoulder, who nodded and then spoke with authority:

“
Hands flat on the table, both of you,” the barkeep said. “When I say go, the one who grabs the blade first gets the first strike … or stab. Whoever doesn’t get the blade keeps both hands on the table. When I say go again, the one with the blade keeps one hand on the table and one on the blade. Gets one shot at either of the opponent’s hands with the blade. The dodger can only move one hand or the other. Whoever draws blood first wins. But …” The barkeep stretched out his fingers wide. “If the dodger moves both hands, it’s a forfeit. Are you both clear on the rules?”

They nodded.

Hand stabs were a popular traditional skill practiced among all races on the world of Bish. As a result, plenty of individuals had missing fingers and/or scars where hands had been impaled. Hand stabs was one of the most exciting and common tavern challenges in the City of Bone. The stakes were always high and there were several hand stab heroes—not those one might expect. Some of the best players had hardly any scars to show, while others were scarred many times. Venir had seen massive brutes from the field take the risk against someone who appeared to be a lesser opponent. But many delicate and defter hands made such grizzled challengers pay.

Venir could see that Haze’s hands were rough and calloused, but without scars. He rubbed his chin. Her mysterious dark eyes kept him wary, but Melegal’s scowl was just fine.

The flickering torch flames seemed to dim as the crowd quieted in anticipation. The odds favored Melegal. Venir let Luke manage the betting for him. He liked the young man. He eased into the crowd for a closer look.

The barkeep drew a loud breath and said, “Ready?”

As the barkeep’s voice rang out, the room took in one unified breath.

“
Go!”

Venir watched Haze strike like a snake, snatching the blade first. Melegal’s long slender hands remained flat on the table. The crowd had puzzled looks. The wagering began favoring Haze amidst some grumbles. Even Venir was surprised that Melegal hadn’t moved at all.

“
You’re a righty, I see,” Melegal said. “Good for you. I’m a gentleman, now, so ladies first. Take your strike.”

Keeping her right elbow down, Haze pointed the blade high above and between Melegal’s vascular hands. Her brown eyes remained locked on his, confident. Venir glanced at Melegal. He look bored.

The barkeep settled the stirring room again, and Luke waved off the betting.

“
Ready?” the barkeep said, silencing the crowd again.

“
Go!”

Wham!

Like the tail of a whip, her blade pierced deep into the wood where Melegal’s left index finger had been. The crowd roared as they saw both his hands still on the table, and everyone fought to get a look at the damage she had wrought. Venir was struggling to see through the throng.

“
She got him!” someone screamed.

Cheers erupted over the cries of disappointment.

“
Hold!” the barkeep said shoving people out of the way. “Let me see, for the love of Bone!”

Venir could see that the thief’s hands were still in place, yet there was no sign of blood. Haze’s blade was exactly where the middle knuckle of his index finger had been, but his finger was missing. Venir saw the puzzled look on her face as well as everyone else and then he looked at Melegal, who was grinning.