"You play it right, and you could be," he said.
Somehow, he seemed to think he was catnip for women. He had the look of delusional confidence on his face.
"Keep your hands to yourself, little man." I threw in 'little man' to be a jerk to the guy on purpose. I was pissed he'd smacked Tara's ass. She didn't care for it either.
"Not that I'd even feel it from you," she said, "but there's no way you're getting any of this."
The double verbal smackdown evidently pushed his buttons hard enough to set him off. His smug expression shifted to rage. He rose as dramatically as he could, even shoving his chair down with his hand—apparently since he'd failed to knock it over when he stood, as he had intended.
"Maybe I ought to teach you two a lesson." He jutted his stubby hand at both of us as he spoke.
I was puzzled. The guy came up to my solar plexus, if that. His arms were putty, and he didn't have a weapon on him, as far as I could tell.
"Wow." It just came out. What the hell is this guy thinking? Somebody get some meds for this Napoleon complex. I was pretty sure I could curl him with one arm—one of my huge barbarian Guardian-of-Carnera arms! What the fuck?
"Look guy," I said, trying to diffuse the situation so Tara and I could get on with our business of talking to the bartender, "she's with me. Got it? We'll drop it, but keep your hands to yourself next time. Okay?"
"Everything alright?" Alara yelled from our table.
I turned to call back to her. "Yeah! Everything's fine!"
I turned to face the handsy jackass again, but a pile of bricks walloped me in the face…at least, it felt like a pile of bricks. I staggered back a few feet and grabbed the side of my head, slowly shaking it off.
"Den!" Tara called out.
I moved my jaw and stretched the skin around my nose to make sure nothing felt broken. I seemed to have no more than rapid-onset headache and a good amount of bruising coming my way soon.
How the hell did he?
I regained focus in my eyes and looked for the man, but the little punk was mostly hidden behind the two behemoths who clearly were with him. One of them had sucker punched me. The one on my left grinned, slightly raising his arm from his side. His fist was still clenched. Bingo. Pile of bricks.
I looked at Tara to make sure she was still okay. She hurried to my side.
"Get back," I said, feeling my adrenaline swell. "I need to have a word with these gentlemen."
She moved behind me, and the people seated at the tables around me and Napoleon's two thugs retreated into whatever space they could find between the other tables.
"Be careful, Den," Tara said. The sound of her voice flowed over me like honey. The fact I wasn't just fighting for myself seemed to kick me into high gear. I felt a charge course throughout my body. I knew that energy had to go somewhere.
Both of the little man's enforcers matched me in size, but I wasn't worried. I scowled at them. "What are you waiting for?" I jutted my chin up briefly, as if to say it was their move.
They hesitated for a moment. Then the thought flashed through my mind that one or both of them might have a weapon of some sort. I realized I'd left my sword leaning against my pack behind our table. The possibility of dealing with them on these terms didn't scare me, but I still hoped they'd come at me unarmed.
They did.
The one who'd clocked me a moment ago, stepped up and took another swing at me. This time I was ready, and whatever juice Alara's priestess magic had filled me with flowed throughout my body. I moved with blinding speed, ducking the man's clumsy attack. I stepped into the gap and drove a body blow into him. He doubled over as the air rushed out of him.
His buddy pushed him aside and moved up, thrusting his leg out to kick me while I was still leaning forward. His heel struck my chest, but I caught hold of it at the same time, softening the blow. He got off balance when I kept a good grip on his boot. I twisted it with a snap while rushing toward him. After I heard the crack from his ankle, I pushed his leg away with both hands, sending him flying onto the floor ten feet away from me. His head struck the legs of a couple of chairs before he came to rest half underneath a table, which was abandoned just in time.
The first guy hadn't learned his lesson. Right after I took the other guy out of commission, the one I'd dealt the body blow threw an uppercut. I barely got out of the way. I felt the side of his knuckles graze my ear. I twisted and came down hard with my right fist against the side of his head. He hit the ground like an oversized stack of dropped college textbooks—falling heavy and spreading out in all directions upon impact.
"Ow! Shit that hurts!" Something sharp pierced my side, just above the waist of my leather loincloth. I instinctively recoiled from the attack, stumbling into a chair beside me. I grabbed hold of the side of the table to brace myself and saw little Napoleon shit-head holding his bloody dagger. He was grinning, but I could see the blade was only a couple inches long. Fitting.
I pushed myself up to stand and placed a hand over the wound, which hurt like hell, but evidently hadn't gone too deep.
"You little!" Tara practically screamed the words at the guy, then, with a move which would've made a chorus line girl proud, she did a high front kick to the little bastard's face. He flew back onto the table behind him. It hurt a little when I laughed at seeing the three people at that same table lifting their drinks out of the way of the now unconscious handsy little man.
Tara came to my side and hugged me. I couldn't help but wince a little when she brushed up against the dagger wound in my side, but I welcomed her embrace nonetheless.
With her still in my arms, I glanced around to make sure there weren't any other attackers. A few people raised their mugs in an apparent gesture of respect for me and Tara.
"About time someone put that little shit in his place," an elderly gray-haired man said from a nearby table.
There were several comments of agreement. I heard clapping from across the room, which had previously quieted down while most people watched the fight. I glanced to our table where the clapping sounded. It was Cormac, standing beside his chair, looking at me with a big grin—still clapping.
Monica, Nithia, and Alara were looking over to Tara and me too. Alara was standing with her staff in her hand. I guessed she had been ready to join the fight, but it started and ended too quickly for her or Cormac to get involved.
I saw one of the waitresses leaning over to talk with a couple of men who were still seated but had moved themselves and their chairs out of the way during the scuffle. One of the men nodded to her and then both men got up and proceeded to lift the unconscious dagger-wielding little thug from the atop the table he'd landed on. They carried him to the front door, which someone opened for them. Then they took him outside.
I slid my hand between Tara and me to put some pressure on the wound from the dagger. It still didn't feel like the blade had gone too deep, but there was a growing aching feeling radiating into me from where the dagger struck. My knees got a little weak and I started having trouble seeing.
"Den!" Tara tightened her grip around me as I shifted my feet to stay upright.
I glanced at the floor ahead of me and saw a blur of someone dragging away one of the two brutes I'd taken down. I had a quick thought of that being good because it cleared the area for me. I saw the floor zooming toward my face, then I felt a powerful impact against the whole front side of my body.
Chapter 30
"He's waking up!" My vision was still coming back, but I could tell by her voice it was Nithia standing over me. She gently pressed herself against my chest. I felt her breasts squeeze against me and I drew in a whiff of her sweet scent. She lifted herself off me, and I felt a sense of mild disappointment. I was still alive.
My head felt sore, mostly on the front though. I had a general achy feeling throughout my body. But I blinked my eyes open and my vision quickly returned. Nithia stood over me—her buxom chest a welcome sight matched evenly by the beauty of her face as sh
e smiled at me.
"I'm glad you're back," she said.
"Yeah." I glanced to my sides and saw I was in another room. Alara and Tara were to my left, just behind Nithia. Monica was to my right. I saw Cormac seated just past her. It was quieter where we were than the main room of the tavern. I couldn't see much of the room, but I spotted some black iron pots hanging from a rack about ten feet away. There was an erratic flicker to the light in the room and I could feel a radiating warmth. Big fireplace, I thought. "Where'd I go?" I asked, still trying to make sense of what happened.
Nithia chuckled. "Well, you went straight to the floor. That's where."
My head cleared more and I began to piece it together. I reached for my side to feel the wound from the dagger, which I realized had been poisoned. I felt a clump of damp mushy something there. I lifted my head slightly and looked down at it.
"It's an herbal compress," Nithia said. "It probably saved your life."
Alara stepped up to me. "She said it would draw the rest of the poison out before long."
I gave her an inquisitive look. "She?"
Alara moved aside and I saw an older woman wearing a faded yellow apron which strained to keep her plump waist and chest gathered in. She had wavy gray-white hair that came to the tops of her shoulders. She reminded me of a school lunch lady.
"No probably about it," she said. "If I hadn't used momma's old recipe to patch you up, you'd be feeding the worms by now."
Feeding the worms? Geeze, lady.
"Thanks." I nodded to her slightly.
"You're welcome. I'm glad somebody put that little shit in his place. He and his hired hands think they run the neighborhood. Well…" she pulled a grin high enough to wrinkle almost every inch of her face. "He probably doesn't think that anymore."
"How long have I been out?" I remembered why we were in Pertlass, and I hoped my mishap hadn't wasted too much time. It'd be a shitty rescue attempt if the damsel in distress died or disappeared while I was passed out on the floor from a bar fight.
"Not long," Alara said. "Cormac carried you in here a few minutes after it happened."
"Thanks, buddy," I called out to Cormac, who was still sitting across the room. He raised his arm so I could see him wave to me.
Tara gently touched the medical compress on my side. "Jan says this will make the poison harmless. Doesn't take long."
Jan? I hope I didn't bring a lunch lady to Galderia by mistake. I assured myself I hadn't, knowing there was no way I'd ever fantasized about her—not into that sort of thing.
"Thanks, Jan," I said, repeating my appreciation for her help as a reason to say her name—to do an official greeting, sort of.
"Happy to help, Den," she said. Evidently the girls had told her my name while I was out.
I sat up and realized I'd been laying on a long stack of flour sacks. Explains the discomfort in my back. One of the sacks must've been slightly open or had a hole. I had flour on the back of my arms. I dusted myself off and realized I no longer felt the effects of the poison.
"Wow," I said, glancing at the herbal mush on my side. "That stuff really works."
Alara turned to Jan. "And he is good to get up and about? You said he'd be good as new. Right?"
Jan stepped next to me and smacked my bare leg with her chubby hand, which was awkward. She made a point of doing it as close to my manhood as possible without actually inflicting any damage. "He should be up for whatever you women have in mind. Doesn't take long to clean that poison up."
Tara chuckled, either from hearing what Jan had said or how far up my thigh she slapped me…or maybe from the look on my face.
"Actually we did come here with a purpose," I said, quick to change the focus of the conversation. "Maybe you can help us…some more."
"I'm happy to help a fine strong man like yourself." She glanced to Alara, Nithia, Tara, and Monica. "I'm sure you girls don't need my help though."
"Uh, no," I said. "That's not what I meant."
Jan chuckled. "I know it's not. I just wanted to see that expression on your face again."
Tara giggled.
"What can you tell us about the tower in town?" I asked, dusting some more flour off of me.
The jovial expression which had been on Jan's face since I woke up suddenly disappeared. "You don't want to have anything to do with that place," she said.
"Yeah, I figured as much," I said. "But what can you tell us about it? Is it heavily guarded?"
Jan stepped back and looked at each of us with a suspicious eye. "You thieves?"
"No," Alara said.
I shook my head. "No. We're the good guys."
Jan seemed to calm down. "I guess that makes sense." She walked over to a chair beside an oversized heavy oak table with some bowls on it and took a seat. She looked at the floor for a moment before turning her gaze back up to us. "Pertlass hasn't been the same since it was built."
The girls and I gathered around her, pulling the other chairs in toward her and sitting down. Cormac was already sitting on the other side of the table. He didn't bother to move, though Jan's back was to him.
She looked at each of us to make sure we were paying attention, then she began to tell her story. We listened for the next twenty minutes, as she told us what Pertlass was like many years ago, when she was fourteen working in the very same tavern, cleaning up spilled drinks and running plates of food to customers. She went on to describe a town filled with happy people—families, shopkeepers with big dreams, and travelers who'd come to town from far away to enjoy the many festivals Pertlass put on throughout the year. "The port was filled with small fishing boats back then," she said. "My father had one. He'd take me out in it with him every week and we'd bring home dinner."
She told the story with a good flair and I could see the memories made her emotional. I felt sympathy for her. She clearly missed her father. I could relate, though it had been so long since I lost mine I didn't often think about it.
She went on to describe some of the friends she had when she was a young woman. She made life in Pertlass seem idyllic and carefree. I was sold. I wanted to live there, but the fact she was telling us it used to be that way implied things in Pertlass had changed…for the worse. I knew the tower…or whoever was responsible for it, whoever lived there, was responsible for what had happened to Pertlass. She was building toward that reveal, I was hoping she'd get to the part about the tower before too long. She obviously had been telling stories for a long time. I knew my English Lit professor, Ms. Thompson, would approve of Jan's technique. Man is she hot! I was thinking of Ms. Thompson, not Jan.
A few minutes later she got to the point, the tower. It had been built ten years ago, and shortly thereafter Pertlass became a haven for thieves, vagabonds, and dark-hearted mercenaries. The festivals ceased when one of them ended in a full-scale street war—basically the Galderian equivalent of the kung-fu and machete gang war in the alley in Big Trouble In Little China. I’m pretty sure kung fu wasn't involved, though.
She went on to tell us how a man named Ruja Kurg—whose name made Cormac and Tara sit up—built the tower after coming across the Sea of Ronak with a small but ruthless band of mercenaries. They seized a number of buildings at the center of town, killing the few who dared to stand against them. Then they brought in workers from across the sea—probably slaves, from the way Jan described it—to begin construction on the tower. They quarried stone from mountains south of Pertlass and finished the project in just under a year. From the time Ruja set foot in Pertlass, he began setting up more and more criminal enterprises—extortion of shopkeepers, forced prostitution, death matches to settle disputes and to provide entertainment for him and his men, not to mention profit on the wagers put down on the fights.
"Pertlass barely survived," she said. "Some families lost everything and moved on…or simply disappeared. I remember the Bobbins." She pressed her lips tightly together and sniffled. Then she shook her head for a moment. "That poor family lost everyone, everyone exce
pt the man." She looked up for a second, as if trying to remember something. "Seni. That was his name. He lost his wife. Didn't have any children, though. He owned one of the shops Ruja took over. Tried to get it back for over a year, but Ruja sent him a message. Not sure why he killed his wife and not Seni. He's just evil. Ruja. Poor Seni lost it after that. People say he just wandered off into the woods one day. Haven't seen him since."
"That's horrible," Nithia said. She was right. What I was hearing made me saddened and angry. How could this happen? Then I remembered something someone once said, 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' I didn't blame the townspeople, though. If what Jan was saying was true, they didn't stand a chance against this ruthless character. I felt the strength within me, almost as if it stirred to act, like it was being called…like I was being called.
I glanced at Monica to see how she was taking all of this. Earth had its fair share of despots, but Austin, our home town, didn't have to deal with problems like this…at least as far as I knew. The only kingpins in Austin were the politicians and some bad-apple police—but most were decent enough. And last I checked there wasn't a dark tower in the middle of town acting as base of operations for an extortionist slave-running murderer. Dobie Tower and the riverside Hilton were innocent on all counts, as far as I knew. Monica looked disgusted, but not traumatized or in shock. I guessed she had always-on news channels to thank for her ability to deal with hearing things such as what Jan was telling us.
"Hasn't anyone tried to stop him?" Tara asked.
Jan looked at her. "Oh, yes. People have, but Ruja's men are seasoned fighters and the people of Pertlass are merchants, farmers…friendly people. But things settled down a few years ago…at least for us."
"How so?" I asked.
"Ruja and his men slipped more into the shadows. He's rarely been seen outside his tower compound in the last three years. And most of the time his men are off somewhere—people say leading roaming bands of mercenaries, doing to other places what they once did to us."
Dennis the Conqueror: A Harem Fantasy (Sword and Sorority Book 1) Page 22
