The Darkslayer: Book 02 - Blades in the Night (13 page)

His stomach growled as he spotted a fresh batch of fluffy split rolls. Almost swooning from the aroma, he grabbed one, then two more, and a giant pat of butter. He gave Almen and Teku’s food requests to a pretty gray-eyed servant girl, who darted away from his stare.

Then Sefron found a small table where the staff dined, and he sat down to enjoy the hot rolls, humming in self-delight. It was a benefit of his position as cleric that he ranked above the common staff, and he took full advantage. The girl returned and set down the food, eyes averted. Sefron tugged at her long brown braids, running his pasty hands along her lithe figure, smiling as she trembled.

“
It’s okay, dear. Go back to your duties,” he said with a hungry sneer.

Chuckling, he stacked the two trays of food on one another and returned past the sentry and down the stairs. He hovered near the door at the bottom, but heard nothing. He knocked. Teku opened the door, took the trays of food, and closed the door in his face. Sefron scowled and dragged himself back up the stairs and found a spot where he could keep his eyes on the dinner party—as well as the servant girl.

In a small room four floors above the Drunken Octopus, small torches supplemented the faint red moonlight that penetrated through two small windows. A small cot sat beneath each window, and two more between them, each with a green blanket. A coffeepot brewed on the little coal stove that warmed the room. The only other furniture was a small cupboard and a wooden table with four unmatched chairs of varying sizes. Though lacking a woman’s touch, the room was cozy and full of life.

Lefty Lightfoot sat crossed-legged on the floor, scribbling on a parchment as fast as his tiny fingers could fly. Beside him lay several large leather-bound tomes that collected parchments he had already finished. He was a halfling boy, about the size of a human toddler. His blond hair fell over his intent light blue eyes as he kept blowing his locks away. He was a sole survivor of a devastating attack by underlings. Venir, Georgio, and Melegal had taken him in and he’d been their ally ever since.

Survival was the main focus of everyone on Bish, and halflings were no different. Halflings survived by moving throughout the realm in small clans, like gypsies. They were good scouts and woodsmen, and experts in trading, bartering, and sleight of hand. They could talk anyone into buying or trading by pestering them to no end. The only way to make them go away, other than killing them, was to strike a deal. Plenty of fair-haired halflings had perished, however, in pursuit of an ill-advised transaction. Lefty had inherited the trading skills of his clan, as well as other special gifts, and did a fine job keeping his friends stocked with groceries. He brought at least that much to the table.

But right now, Lefty was scribbling down every word as Georgio recounted tale after tale of Venir—the Darkslayer. Georgio’s curly brown locks bounced as he recounted how he had helped the Darkslayer to destroy the Forest Magi in the Red Clay Forest in dramatic fervor. The halfling listened close as he wrote.

“
So I took out my sling,” Georgio said, “and Melegal took out his. We waited to make our move. Then Venir got caught in some vines or something, and the Forest Magi started casting spells. We struck like a cat. No … I mean like a panther. Wait, like an eagle, I think. Uh … what does a sling strike like, Lefty?” Georgio asked while scratching his head.

“
Hold it,” Lefty cried. “I’m trying to catch up. You talk too fast, young human! My hand hurts from writing this past hour. Let’s take a break and have our coffee.”

Lefty put down his quill and gingerly massaged his little hand. Georgio shrugged and heaved a sigh. The excitement of recounting this adventure with the Darkslayer had left Georgio breathless, Lefty noticed. He grabbed two ceramic cups from the cupboard and filled them.
Smells good
, Lefty thought, wafting the aroma through his nostrils. He set the cups down on the table, took a seat by the husky boy, and relaxed. After a several sips in silence, he heard Georgio begin to hum. He realized that he felt like humming too. Actually he was ready to race around the room and do anything. He sipped more coffee. Then he began humming, whistling, and singing along.

“
Do you like the coffee?” Georgio said, hopping from his chair, swinging his elbow about.

“
Yes, I like the coffee!” Lefty said, jumping onto the table.

“
Would you like more coffee?”

“
Yes, I want more coffee!”

Then Lefty leaped onto Georgio’s back. Over and over, the big boy marched him around. Lefty’s body and mind were not his own. He started to leapfrog Georgio and then Georgio did the same over him. Lefty landed as silent as a cat, while Georgio thumped on the floor like a small black bear, causing cries to come from underneath the shaking floor. The coffee on Bish was intoxicating, and for these boys it might as well have been a kettle full of grog. Lefty then lay back and giggled, tears streaking his face. Georgio did the same then perked up, running over to the urine shoot, and began to pee.

“
Ah!” he said.

Lefty kept giggling. At last he managed to regain some composure, sat on the floor, and leaned back against his friend.

“
Lefty, why are you writing down all this stuff? I’ve never seen anything like it,” Georgio said, fumbling through the books.

“
Georgio!” Lefty raised his voice.“How come you keep asking me this same question? We can’t help it, either of us.” He shrugged, palms raised. “Can we? We just have to.”

“
That’s weird,” Georgio said.

“
It is,” he replied, elbowing him and causing a grunt.

For indeed, Lefty Lightfoot had become obsessed with chronicling any and every event he could about his friends and the Darkslayer. He couldn’t help it for some reason, as if he were compelled to do it. He even dreamed about it.

Lefty did enjoy it, though. It made him feel like he belonged. His tomes were filled with tales of the big warrior, many of which made him cringe. He also wrote in a language no one could read. Even savvy Melegal had trouble with it. It was halfling shorthand, Melegal insisted. That must be how Lefty kept pace with Venir’s blathering, the thief would say, if not by magic. But, given time, Melegal swore to Lefty that he would be able decipher it. Lefty just laughed at him. He might teach Melegal one day. The thief had taught him many things, after all. Melegal seemed demanding most times, but Lefty noticed that the unpleasant thief would crack a smile at his skills from time to time.

“
When’s Vee coming back here?” Georgio said in a huff. “He got back and now he’s been gone nearly two days. What in the world could he be doing in this cruddy city?”

“
Girlfriend, maybe?” the halfing said.

“
Yeah right! Vee doesn’t need a girlfriend. That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” Georgio insisted, finishing off his coffee. “Besides, he can’t be having more fun than us!” The boy stood up behind Lefty, meaty hands on hips. “Well, want to come to the stable? I gotta feed Chongo and Quickster.”

He watched Georgio put on his muddy shoes and head for the door.

“
I’ll stay, but hurry back. They’ll need some good coffee, and they always show up around coffee time,” Lefty replied as he began writing again.

“
Okay,” said Georgio. “I’ll go the back way; they get mad when I go through the tavern. See you soon.”

Lefty waved, but a queasy feeling started in his stomach. Georgio was a true friend; Lefty just could not imagine what he would do without him. An odd sense of dread overcame him as he watch his best friend saunter away. Lefty, though, thought maybe it was just the coffee making him sick and continued on finishing the latest tale in his tome.

It was almost dawn at the Drunken Octopus and only a few other scoundrels remained along with Venir and Melegal. The Motley Girls were present, along with two hefty men slouched over a table. Venir had stripped to the waist for a strength challenge not long after the hand stabs incident. He suspected Melegal had set up the challenge as some sort of payback, but he didn’t mind. Venir also noticed that one of the Motley Girls—Haze—had been paying close attention to Melegal, keeping a keen eye on the thief.

Venir had been challenged by an inebriated local with a big head and bad smile. Someone—he suspected Luke, at the prodding of Melegal—told the oaf he looked like a girlie in his new bearskin vest. The man was even more insulted when told that his coin wouldn’t even earn him a good-night kiss from the likes of Frigdah. Then he was told that he should go back to the farm and feed the pigs. And Venir had been accused of it all.

The big oaf boasted that he was indeed a farm boy and that he would show everyone how farm boys took care of city boys. That comment brought audible snickers from many in the room. The ignorant fellow removed his vest and shirt, flexed his muscles, then slapped his big belly a few times before calling Venir out. Venir then removed his shirt in acceptance. His massive chest, corded arms, and broad back put all bets in his favor. The V-shaped tattoo covering his back drew comments and gasps, and even the Motley Girls looked impressed.

The goal of this particular strength test was to see who could wrestle his opponent out the front door of the tavern. The grubby oaf failed to realize that despite his superior height and weight advantage, he was in over his head. The match went fast, as Venir didn’t hold back and tossed the three-hundred-pound-plus oaf right through the tavern wall.

Venir then began arguing with Melegal. Luke moved on and nodded politely to the ugly women, who sneered in return as he walked out through the hole recently made in the wall. Venir got up, tossed his mug across the room, and headed toward the men’s room to relieve himself, leaving the gray-haired thief muttering to himself.

*****

After Venir left, Haze sat down beside Melegal.

“
Go away,” Melegal said.

“
Naw,” she responded, batting her eyelashes at him.

He rolled his eyes under his floppy gray hat. “Pah! You with me? You’re not serious.”

“
Why? I ain’t so bad looking, and you ain’t so good looking. So why not?” she asked.

“
Cause you’re ugly and I don’t do ugly. Now go, you’re scaring the rats,” he said, turning his back to her.

Melegal heard the indignant women unsheathe her blade. He whirled in a single motion and twisted the blade out of her hand. It dropped onto the table. He pinned her palm to the table.

“
Spread your fingers,” he ordered with a cold stare, squeezing her wrist like a vise.

She complied. He snatched up her blade and moved it over her hand in a blur of flickering steel.

Rat-a-tat-ta-tat-a-tat!

The blade left a clean cut on the outside and inside of each of her slender fingers. Then he tossed the blade aside and poured grog over the top of her fresh, bleeding wounds, ignoring her howls.

As he watched tears stream down her cheeks, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Now you’ve had a night with me you’ll never forget.”

She clutched her bleeding hand, trembling with shock. She sat there like a frightened child. Her older sister swooped over to get her away from Melegal, glaring into his eyes. Haze, though, stubbornly remained. He just sneered.

“
Come on, Haze,” Sis said. “Let’s go before you get us both killed. We got places to be today, you know, or our bosses will cut our pay, and I need some sleep first.”

The lean woman lurched upward with a hysterical little laugh, then rose stiff as a board and followed her sister. Melegal waved at Sis, who scowled at him.

Venir sauntered back toward the table and noticed the three women leaving. He watched his defeated opponent—the self-proclaimed farm boy—ogle the women with one swollen eye closed.

It wouldn’t surprise me one bit,
Venir thought.

The farm oaf smiled, then shook his head and stumbled back to his table. Sis glared and gestured back at him.

“
Hey, what’s all this blood?” Venir said with a slur. “And who drank my grog?”

“
Don’t ask.” Melegal got up. “I’m going home.”

“
Me … did you recognize them? The Motley Girls?” Venir asked,

“
Yep,” he said.

“
And?” Venir folded his arms across his chest.