by Deck Davis
“Well, why would I? We’re divorced. It was all done fairly in the Ardglass town hall. We agreed a settlement; he got our gold savings, and I got to keep the farm. But the stupid bugger drank all of his gold away with that ragtag bunch of apes that he calls friends. And now that his gold is gone, guess what? He thinks I should let him have the farm. He’s always messing around with things to try and drive me out, and I suppose he must have gotten too close to my thrips.”
What had started as a quest to rid a farm from thrips was now turning into a domestic dispute, and Joshua wasn’t sure that this kind of thing was in the remit of the heroes’ guild. Still, something bothered him.
“So, the thrips aren’t pests?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why you keep them?”
“Well, I can’t support children just by growing carrots. Thrips are valuable. They-”
Benjen stood up. “This better wait,” he said, nodding at the window. “We have visitors.”
Joshua stood up and walked to the windows and looked out onto the farm. There, at the edge of the carrot field, were seven men. Five of them carried swords, while two had big leather gloves on their hands. Rope was tied to the gloves, and at the end of the rope, way up in the air, were two birds of prey.
At the centre of the gang was Carlisle. His swelling had gone down a little now, and Joshua could see his face clearly. He didn’t like what he saw; Carlisle had a mean look on his face.
Beula joined him at the window. “Gods, the idiot is back. And he has feagles, too. Do you see them?”
“What does that mean?”
“Feagles hunt thrips. The bugger has tried to destroy the thrips nests several times, but he’s never been brave enough to get too close. He thinks if he destroys my thrips then I’ll give up the farm, and it looks like he’s back to finish the job.”
Joshua stood up. He grabbed his halberd, which was leaning against the metal counter, and went toward the door.
~
“What’s the plan?” said Benjen, holding his sword.
“There’s a drunken mob here to cause trouble. If there’s anything for the heroes’ guild to get involved in, it’s this.”
“We’re a little outnumbered.”
“True, but we might not have to fight; we just need to give the appearance that we’re ready to, and that we’re capable of it. Still, you better take your breastplate back.”
“I think you need it more than me, Joshua. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“And do you think I want something to happen to you, either? It’s your armor, so you should have it.”
He went to unclasp the armor, but Benjen crossed his arms. “I’m not taking it. I want you to wear it, and that’s that. It’ll make me feel better knowing you’re okay, and I’ll take care of myself.”
Knowing that Benjen was stubborn as hell when he made up his mind, Joshua relented. He took the breastplate off.
“I told you, I’m not taking it,” said Benjen.
Joshua nodded. “I’m wearing four layers of clothes. If this does come to a fight, I won’t be much use if I move slower than an obese troll.”
“What about the thrips?”
“Carlisle is the bigger worry right now.”
With that, he stripped out of the extra layers of his and Benjen’s clothing until he was in his shirt and trousers, and then he fastened the breastplate back on.
“You lads be careful,” said Beula. “Carlisle and his friends are like rats when they’ve had a drink. Nasty as hell, and they go for the eyes and neck.”
“We’ll be fine,” said Joshua, though the confidence of his tone didn’t match the nerves in his stomach.
Beula marched into the kitchen and she opened a cupboard. When she rejoined them, she was putting a glove on her right hand. It was a thick leather glove with metal wire wrapped around the fists, and little spiked barbs stuck out from it. “I’ve dealt with Carlisle before,” she said. “He’s cocky, but this ought to shut him up. Fropty, keeps the kids inside.”
“Pah,” said Fropty the demon, with a slightly submissive edge to the word. He seemed to have a dozen different tones to put on the single pah sound, changing its meaning each time.
The three of them left the farmhouse, with Joshua leading the way. Outside, there was a chill in the air, though in his homemade thrip protective suit, he only felt it on his face.
Carlisle and his gang of thugs marched across the field. One of them kicked at a carrot, smashing a wedge out of it.
“You buggers stay away from my carrots,” shouted Beula.
The two makeshift armies met in the centre of the field, and Joshua took a second to size his opponents up. Carlisle and his buddies were older than Joshua. Two of them were taller, and most had bellies rounded from years of drinking beer. Benjen matched them all for size and unlike them, his belly wasn’t a balloon of fat.
Despite their lack of physical prowess, they had mean looks on their faces. Joshua’s negotiator class was useful here; it helped him size people up, and even at level 1 it gave him the slightest edge in reading a man’s face.
Carlisle was here for real trouble, not just to make threats. His face was set hard and nasty, and in his micro-expression Joshua read that he wasn’t just here to scare Beula away from her farm.
No, he’d probably decided that scare tactics were useless, since it seemed like they’d been feuding for a while now and he hadn’t managed to drive her away. Carlisle had the look of a man who was beyond threats, and he was here to act.
In the faces of the other men, Joshua’s negotiator class fed him a mix of information. Some were here just to support their drinking buddy, and the ale in their bellies had given them confidence and a nasty streak. They didn’t have as much invested in this, but their drunkenness might make them to do things they normally wouldn’t.
Beer had that effect – it heightened people’s emotions, be they good or bad. With Benjen, beer always exaggerated his cheeriness, and his smile would beam and he’d boom out songs about imps and heroes and goblins.
For other men, though, beer brought out their dark side. This was going to turn ugly, and the odds weren’t on Joshua, Benjen, and Beula’s side.
Joshua just needed to convince one of them that this was a bad idea. Once one of the group turned back, others might follow. They were only brave as a group, so the smaller the group, the less bold they’d be.
After looking at each of them, he focused on the man who, according to negotiator, appeared to be the most reasonable of the mob. He was a bald man with a puffy face. His clothes were finer than his friends’, and he had ink on his hands. Although he was standing next to Carlisle, he wasn’t as drunk, nor did he look ready for a fight.
Joshua let negotiator wrap around his words. “You’re wondering what you got yourself wrapped up in, aren’t you?”
The bald man screwed his forehead up. “Well…”
Carlisle nudged him. “Ignore him,” he said, his tongue no longer as swollen, but still slurping over his words a little. “Get your knife out.”
“I didn’t bring it,” said the bald man.
“You didn’t think to bring a knife?”
“I thought we were just going to scare Beula a little.”
“No. Oh no, it’s gone way beyond that now. Damn you, Kenn, I can’t believe you didn’t bring a knife. Haven’t you been in a mob before? Has anybody got a spare knife for Kenn?”
The mob mumbled to each other. The feagles on the end of their ropes flapped in the air, and one of the squawked.
Joshua looked at Kenn, the bald man. “You don’t need a knife,” he said. “If you had one, could you even use it? You’re not a fighting man, Kenn. I can tell. You’ve got more sense than that.”
“Well, I-”
Joshua knew he had him now. He did what any negotiator would at this point; he took a chance.
“What about your wife and children? They think you went for a few beers. What happens when
this gets out of control and the town guard knock on the door of your house to tell your wife that she’s lost a husband, and they tell your children their father isn’t coming home?”
He waited for his words to sink in, hoping that his guess had been right and that Kenn had a wife and children.
As he did, he realized something; Kenn was wearing a wedding ring. As well as that, there was a tiny fingerprint on his jacket, just below his right armpit. It was a food stain the size of a child’s finger.
Had negotiator sub-consciously fed those little scraps of information to him? Perhaps the class was more useful than he’d realized. It wasn’t just handy for bartering down prices of goods.
The man to Kenn’s left passed him a dagger, which was barely bigger than a letter opener. Kenn pushed his hand away. “No,” he said. “I’m going. Sorry, Carlisle, but this isn’t worth it.”
As Kenn turned to leave, Joshua heard a voice in his mind. It was faint, as if the voice was a distant memory starting to stir, or like the wind whispering into his ears.
He knew what it was - his class was talking to him. It was his negotiator perception skill.
The words took visual form in his brain, and he could see them hovering in his mind.
Negotiator levelled 2 attainted! You are now ranked competent in the negotiator class.
Novice Lie upgraded to Competent Lie 1/10
Novice Perception upgraded to Competent Perception 1/10
Novice Calm upgraded to Competent Calm 1/10
When using negotiator skills you will now see a significant improvement.
Class-only skill unlocked: Sow Distrust – Competent 1/10
[Novice: Turn one opponent against another.]
He hadn’t realized that he’d been so close to levelling, but then it had been such a long process that he’d stopped paying attention months ago. After all, his mind had been on other things.
But, if it had taken him so long to get to level 2, how long would it take to become a level 5 master negotiator? Was that even something he wanted? He knew that master negotiators could then choose new class that weren’t available to others who hadn’t achieved mastery in a psychological class; ones such as diplomat or trickster. Did he want to do that?
That decision was far down the line. Even getting to level 3 – journeyman would take a conscious decision to pour all his efforts into it, and he’d need to think about it later.
There was something about levelling up, though. About the voice talking in his mind, and the words forming, and the rush of energy as a new skill settled inside him.
It was addictive. He knew that straight away. This feeling…he needed it again.
Being that this was the first time he’d ever achieved level 2 in a class, Joshua was almost giddy. He wanted to rush back to the guild and consult the negotiator class book under his bed and see what benefits competent lie, calm, and perception would bring, as well as read examples of other negotiators applying the sow distrust skill.
There was no time for that now, and he needed the warm feeling to flush out of him so he could keep a cool head. The situation with Carlisle and his mob was balanced on the tip of a sword, and the slightest wrong step would turn this into a fight that the odds suggested Joshua and Benjen wouldn’t win.
Carlisle broke the silence. “Seven men and two feagles,” he said. “Against-”
“It’s six men, I’m afraid,” said Kenn. He gave a nod to a couple of the other members of the mob, and then he trundled away from the field.
“Turncoat,” said one.
“Don’t want to see your bald head in the tavern ever again.”
“Wise choice,” said Benjen, watching Kenn leave. “Who else is gonna join him?”
Joshua felt his increased negotiator abilities swell in his head. It was a feeling of vibrancy, almost as if someone had coated the synapses of his brain in a confidence-enhancing glue. It was the knowledge that whatever he said, even if he didn’t believe it himself, it would come out convincing.
He didn’t need to lie this time, though; he just needed negotiator to add authority to his words.
“Beula told us about your divorce,” he said to Carlisle. “The farm belongs to her. You took the gold in your settlement, and if you’ve already drunk it away, then tough luck.”
“What would you know? You’re a stranger.”
“Yes. So, I can see this from a less heated point of view.”
“You never told us you got the gold, Carlisle,” said one of his mob.
Joshua looked at the man who’d said this. He was the youngest of the mob, with long hair combed into curtains that fell on either side of his face. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect time to show some doubt.
Carlisle’s losing them, thought Joshua.
He needed to strike now, before Carlisle regained control.
He activated sow distrust. This was a strange feeling; almost a sour one, as if he’d eaten something bad. He felt this sourness spread up to his throat, where it burned like acid reflux, and then he tasted it on his tongue.
Sow distrust tasted metallic and bitter, and he felt like he had to spit the words out.
“Carlisle’s dragged you into a fight, and he doesn’t care what happens to you,” he said. “All he cares about is the farm, and if you get hurt in the fight, then so be it. What about if he actually took control of the farm? What would he do? Sell it and then drink it all away again? Is that the kind of cause it’s worth getting hurt over?”
“I don’t know…” said the teenager.
“You’re young, like me,” said Joshua. “You don’t need to tie your future to a bunch of nobodies like these guys. In fifteen years from now, you can walk into the tavern in Ardglass and you’ll find them sitting there in the exact same seats, except by then I’m guessing most of them will be divorced, and they’ll have liver spots on their faces and they’ll struggle to go for a pee without wheezing.”
“Don’t listen to him,” said Carlisle. “You can’t trust his words.”
“He’s the only one making any sense here,” said Beula, joining them, with her barbed glove on her left hand.
Joshua heard a buzzing sound. He turned and saw that not only was Beula joining them, but her dozen thrips were above her in a line formation, with their bulging eyes and bulbous bodies, and their stings sticking out.
The feagles went wild now, flapping and trying to tear away from the ropes holding them in place. Their handlers gritted their teeth and wore tense looks on their faces while they fought to keep control.
“Feagles beat thrips any day of the week,” said Carlisle, eyeing Beula with hate.
“Aye, maybe,” she said. “But it’s a dozen versus two.”
“And its six men versus two westerners who’ve probably never had a fight in their lives, and one orc cow who’s been asking for a beating for years.”
Joshua ignored Carlisle’s provocations and focused on the youngest of the mob again, making sure sow distrust worked its effect on his words.
“We don’t know what’s going to happen here,” he said. “You could get hurt. Or you could hurt someone else. Either way, it’s the start of a path you won’t be able to go back from. Don’t leave your future in the hands of no-marks like these. Turn around, go home, and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day, and you can still make something of yourself. If you come to the heroes’ guild, we’ll have honest work for you.”
“Yeah, kid,” said Benjen, using the word despite only being 4 or 5 years older than him. “An honest work will keep your conscience clear.”
“Who’s this guy?” said one of the mob. “A priest?”
“What do you say?” said Joshua, looking at the teenager.
The boy brushed his curtain hair back, and Joshua saw that he had a fresh purple bruise on his right eye, and a faint one on his left. Judging him purely by his thin frame, Joshua didn’t think he was a fighter. These bruises hadn’t come from drunken fights, like a lot of lads his age.
<
br /> No, if he had to guess, he’d say that this boy’s bruises came from his home. Maybe from his father, possibly even from his mother.
“Well?” said Benjen. “Are you stupid enough to throw in with a bunch of drunks who don’t care about you?”
“Or do you want to make something of yourself?” said Joshua.
The teenager nodded. He turned and walked away from the mob. As he did, Joshua’s sow distrust skill increased to competent 2/10.
Carlisle grabbed his collar and yanked him back. “Where the hell are you going, lad?” he said.
The teenager tried to squirm out from his grip. Joshua felt his cheeks flush red. Watching Carlisle manhandle the teen was making him angry, and he realized he was gritting his teeth.
“Leave him,” he said.
“Or what?”
The mob was tense now. He had already convinced Kenn and the teenager to leave, which brought their mob down to 5 men and 2 feagles. The odds were better, but still tough.
Even so, he could see in their faces that they had edged beyond the point where more words would help. His competent perception showed it to him now; he saw knuckles tighten over axe handles, and he heard the men’s breathing grow shallower as adrenaline sparked in them.
The men who were still here were too loyal to Carlisle for Joshua’s negotiator class to work, and Carlisle himself was too full of hate for Beula to turn away.
It was going to be a fight.
Chapter Twenty-One
It started with Carlisle pointing a stubby finger at Beula, who was standing beside Benjen now. Carlisle shouted something, but his tongue was still a little swollen, and the fury – evident by the spit flying from his mouth – mangled the words.
Despite that, his mob seemed to have gotten the message. On either ends were two men holding feagles; these were birds of prey, much like eagles and hawks but pure black and usually bred for their aggression.
Joshua looked at the birds, who were fifteen feet in the air and flapping against the ropes tied to their feet and around the two men’s gloved hands. As he watched the animals strain for freedom in the sky, his zoologist class began to give him useful information. This came to him through a class skill called creature sense.
