Satana nodded.
“What’s the wager?” she asked shrugging away from the slimy man and stepping out from the crowd to a line, ten feet from the target.
“Whatcha got?” He asked, looking her up and down, “Ya virtue?” he smiled, “or ya money?” She narrowed her eyes at him, “Money it is. How much ya bettin’?”
“I have gold?” She announced and the crowd erupted in laughter at her claim.
“Gold! She says!” The man laughed along with the crowd, “She thinks she got gold between her legs for sale!” That made the men laugh all the more, “Ya too rough a gal, to be sportin’ gold down there!” he said pointing at her crotch.
Satana snatched the daggers from his hand, the crowd oohed instantly.
“I’ll pay three copper just to get a looksee at her ninny!” someone behind her yelled.
“Drink for every hit!” she growled, glancing over her shoulder at the crowd, trying to see who made that comment.
“Yer on!” he answered, “She’s gonna a buy a round for the house!” he announced to the crowd, who were rowdy with laughter, “Let’s see if she can pay for it with her golden ninny!” He stepped out of her way.
Satana held one dagger in her fingertips by the blade, staring down the target on the wall and ignoring the drunken men around her. Men quieted, watching her carefully. She let fly the first dagger with such little force, it appeared as though it would not even make it to the target. The crowd was surprised with the slow flight that ended with the dagger perfectly stuck in the wall, at what would have been the targets heart. The crowd was wowed. Then Satana let fly the last two daggers, one after the other, in a quick succession, landing on either side of the first dagger. The crowd erupted in cheers and Satana was sprayed with ale, as men clashed there mugs together, celebrating her perfectly executed win.
Katlin joined Dracon at his table, watching Satana’s success from across the bar.
“She’s a hard one, isn’t she?”
Dracon glanced at Katlin briefly, then around the bar for where Grik had gone off to.
“What’s your game, Katlin, what’s with this Razor-tooth? If it’s just money you’re after, why didn’t you just ask for it?”
“It’s not the coin, my friend. He’s a means to an end, an invitation.” Katlin said, his eyes searched the crowd for something, or someone.
Dracon looked around to see what he was looking at, then realized he wouldn’t know, even if he saw it.
“Invitation to what?”
Katlin looked across the table at Dracon, considering how much he was going to tell him.
“After the first part of the plan is successful, we’ll discuss the second. Until then, eat and drink as much as you like, it’s on me.” Katlin answered, eyeing Dracon and wondering if he was going to press the issue.
Dracon took a drink from his mug, relaxing in his chair. He didn’t really care, it was a welcomed distraction, the adventure with the half-elf. They would have never found Rethland if not for him. Dracon said nothing more, instead, he surveyed the crowd, finally spotting Grik, who was playing a dice game of some sort with another dwarf and a few men. They seemed to have become fast friends during their wagers and drinks. Dracon scanned the rest of the bar examining the groups of different races who sat together. They wandered away from their groups, only to engage in games or buy drinks, then returned to check in with their own kind. He spotted a group of half-orcs who were already eyeing him and whispering amongst themselves, they made no effort to be discreet. One stared at him outright. He had tusk like teeth, jutting out from behind his bottom lip. One was bent and twisted, a scar along his lip, same side as the twisted tooth. He was shirtless but wore a furry blue leather vest. His shoulders and arms were tattooed with tribal designs akin to his clan. Many of the half-orcs around him had similar designs, either tattooed, or sewn into their clothing. He was the largest of his group. He was mesmerized by the sight of Dracon, staring at him intently, while the others in his group talked and pointed.
“Friends of yours?” Katlin asked.
Dracon was reluctant to look away from the half-orc first, after all, he wasn’t afraid, nor would he shy away from a fight, as a matter of fact, he would relish one. No, he would not be the first to look away. The bartender approached the group of half-orcs, getting their attention away from Dracon, even the large one reluctantly looked away. Dracon chuckled, wondering how long that stare down would have gone on, before a fight broke out. He considered if he was as ugly to the half-orc, as the half-orc was to him, then he remembered his own scarred face. It made him suddenly self-conscious about his appearance. He heard Grik call out in dwarven tongue, celebrating a victory. He was hopping in place and pointing at every competitor around the dice table, one at a time. He, apparently, was doing very well at the game, a couple of the losers left the table, dejected, while others swiftly filled the empty seats, ready to try their luck.
An elven scout walked in the front door, getting Dracon’s attention immediately. She wore green leather armor and had a bow on her back, a longsword at her side. She was a thin, delicate elf, who looked as fragile as a twig. She stopped just inside the door, letting it shut behind her. No one paid any attention to her, except Dracon. She stood just inside the doorway, scanning the bar. Her eyes darted around. Dracon could tell she was assessing threats and taking a head count. Katlin turned in his seat to see what Dracon was looking at and spotted the raven-haired beauty at the door. His lips curled into a smile and he swung one arm over the back of his chair, an obvious attempt to let her know he was looking at her. She looked at Katlin then Dracon, as she scanned the area around them. She returned her attention to Dracon, assessing him more thoroughly than she had any other patron. She stared at him for a long moment, then turned back to the door, pushing it open. A very large half-orc walked in, he had a single tusk jutting from his lower jaw. It was capped with metal, sharpened to a point, like a blade. He was followed by an entourage, men and half-orcs alike. The elven scout trailed the group after they passed her. The half-orcs that had been eye-balling Dracon, erupted in cheers upon spotting the groups arrival to the bar. Eventually, everyone in the bar turned their attention to the group and a chant started.
“Razor-tooth! Razor-tooth!” The patrons of the bar rose to their feet and surrounded the large muscular half-orc as the chanting went on.
Razor-tooth held his hands out and tilted his face upward, like he was enjoying the sun on his cheeks. He nodded, giving the crowd a slow turn while accepting the accolades from his fans. The cordoned off area where the fights were held, immediately opened to allow Razor-tooth and his entourage to enter. Drinks were brought to him and his group promptly. They were treated like heroes. Dracon noticed the elf followed among Razor-tooth’s group. He wondered if she was with them of her own free will. Grik’s earlier explanations of how half-orcs came about popped into his head. She did not look incapable of escape; he knew elves and their abilities. If she wanted to escape, she could have. It only piqued his curiosity as to how she found herself in the company of orcs.
“That was quite an entrance.” Satana said sitting back down at the table.
Grik made his way back shortly after Satana. Dracon looked at Satana and could see her face was red and her eyes were a bit glossy.
“Are you drunk?” He asked making Satana giggle.
“I’m really good at throwing daggers for drinks, who knew?” She broke into a laugh, then immediately tried to compose herself, clearing her throat, trying to be serious, “Did you get a good look at him when he came in?”
“He’s big.” Dracon said.
“Aye, he is,” Grik agreed, “But can he be took?”
“We will see, won’t we?” Dracon asked in return, then turned to Katlin “When does it start?”
“I’d say about an hour; they usually like to play a bit before they start taking on all comers. No later than nightfall, I’m sure.”
“They?” Grik asked.
“Yes, no one wants to fight Razor-tooth, others get to fighting until someone shows up that doesn’t know any better, usually another orc. Or, until someone drinks up enough courage.” Katlin informed them.
It was indeed an hour before the fighting began, coinciding with the nightfall. Katlin wandered the bar and made his way over to where Razor-tooth and his group were talking to a variety of nefarious looking individuals. The she-elf scout was nowhere to be seen; finding her and striking up a conversation was Katlin’s true aim. Dracon and Satana moved to the other side of the tavern, joining everyone else to watch the fights. Two men started off the nights fighting. Each one held the others forearm. A referee tied them together from elbow to elbow, so neither could escape the other. They stood facing each other, preparing for the fight, as their arms were wrapped together. Once secured, the referee wrapped a white sash around one man’s shoulder, for betting purposes. He announced each of the men to the crowd and where they were from. The crowd was electric and yelled bets across the bar to one another. The front of the tavern had all but emptied, filling the area where the fights were taking place. All the other games ceased. The main attraction had begun.
“Ready!” The referee yelled and the crowd erupted in roars, throwing bits of food and debris around in their exuberance, it was riotous!
“One!” The entire bar yelled in unison.
The two men nodded to one another, then the man with the white sash reared back and punched the other man square in the face. The blow spun the man’s head, almost dropping him to the ground. If they weren’t tethered together, he would have definitely hit the floor. He staggered, then straightened up and shook his head. Then, he reared back and returned a blow of his own. The crowd once again erupted in cheers when the other man took the blow and remained standing. The referee grabbed the tied arms of the men, looking them both in the eye, one at a time, then asked if they wanted to continue. Each nodded ‘yes’ and the crowd roared their approval.
“Two!” The crowd yelled, again, in unison.
Another blow came from each man, this time back to back without a pause.
“Three!” The crowd yelled, then immediately roared their disappointment when the man without the sash suddenly dropped to a knee, unable to continue.
Half the crowd erupted in celebration, winning bets, while the other half voiced their displeasure with the loser. It was chaos for the next twenty minutes as the crowd either paid, or collected, their winnings.
“You don’t belong here.” A voice over Dracon’s shoulder turned his attention away from the fights.
The raven-haired she-elf in green, stood just behind him, pressed up against him by the crowd. Dracon could smell her scent she was so close.
“I recognize your eyes, you are more than the others here, you are a man of war, a leader, a general maybe?” she spoke loudly, still only barely able to surpass the voices of the raucous crowd.
Dracon turned back to the fights, unable to get a good look at her, she was pressed so tightly against him. He considered if she was trying to rob him and took a quick mental stock of himself to see if he could feel any fingers fishing around in his pockets.
“I understand you’re going to face the champion, it would be foolish, a waste of your time.”
“Is that right?” Dracon asked over his shoulder.
“It is,” she said, Dracon could feel her hand slip between his arm and ribs, then grab him like she was his woman, “I can help you, if you take me with you. I can get you the invitation you seek.”
He could hear a desperation in her voice. Dracon backed away from the fights, followed closely by the she-elf, who clung to him through the crowd. Satana spotted them moving away from the fights and followed. Dracon led the she-elf back to his table where there were fewer people and less noise.
“Tell me, what are you talking about?”
“You don’t belong here,” She said, “I am Rayna, I can serve you, Dark Lord, I promise to serve you in any way you deem appropriate. I offer you my sword, my bow.” She took a knee before him.
Dracon watched her confused. Satana burst out a laugh, causing Rayna to look over at her.
“Dark Lord?” Satana chuckled, then her faced slowly changed when she remembered Grik referred to him as the Dark Lord he wished to serve. Could it be a coincidence? He did favor a lot of black in his clothes, the thought of that made her chuckle again.
Dracon lifted Rayna by her elbows back to her feet.
“I don’t understand?”
“You are a Dark Lord, rising, I recognized it when I looked in your eyes.” She said looking him in his face.
He narrowed his eyes; it wasn’t the first time someone said that to him. Maybe he was dark now? Maybe Venalina’s death made him dark? Made him care very little for what people called goodness, or what others held dear. He lost a lot that made him full of hate and anger, but was he dark? Evil? His Unholy Reaver would agree with the she-elf. In fact, Dracon could hear it hum with glee at her words. He winced at its howl in his head, the sword he could never be free of, the sword that beckoned him to feed it life. To kill.
“You serve that half-orc, what do you want from me?” Dracon asked, shaking the Unholy Reaver’s influence from his head.
“I do not serve him. I am paid to watch over another man’s property, that is all!” Rayna said, “I will get you the invitation you seek! If that is what you seek? Our kind should stay together.”
Satana stepped closer, having heard enough.
“And what kind are you, then? The two of you?”
“I have to go.” said Rayna, abruptly returning to the crowds around the fight.
“What was that about?” Satana asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I kinda feel like you do.”
“Satana… am I a dark lord?”
“Really? Murder, treason, war! Ours is not a life full of light, Dracon. We have always walked a path in the shadow of death.” She said, “I say, so what? We are free of worrying about how we look to your subjects. We are killers, we’ve always been killers. I, for one, embrace what I am. I’m good at it! So are you! You are not a king anymore, we answer to no one, we have no nation to mold, or look after. That time is over for us. It takes a special kind of person to kill for a living, people would call that evil. We are that kind of person.”
“You want me to be a Dark Lord?”
“You already are!” She laughed.
Katlin appeared next to them.
“It’s time to get ready.” He announced, “They want the lady and her champion. Razor-tooth just found out he has a challenger and is sufficiently intoxicated.”
“Send Grik out for them, let’s get this show started.” Dracon ordered.
Satana left instantly. Dracon made his way back to the fights alongside Katlin, who continued on to talk to the bartender. It didn’t take long before the crowd began chanting for Razor-tooth, who was getting himself worked up into a lather, circling the center of the fighting floor.
“This is my arena!” He roared, “Any who challenge me will taste this floor, and sleep a long sleep!”
The half-orc rewarded the crowd with another lap around the fighting ring with his arms up, a goblet of ale in one hand, goading the crowd to continue screaming his accolades.
Talila entered the bar and stopped just inside the door, looking around and taking in the sights of the rough, loud tavern. She had never been in such a filthy place, only hearing about them in stories Dracon, Satana, and Grik, traded across the fire at night. Katlin was quick to point her out to Lars, who was instantly enamored with her. Grik ushered her through the crowd to the side of the ring where Katlin and the bartender stood.
“Back up, give the lady some room!” Lars growled shoving a few of the men around them to make space for the approaching pair.
Everyone in the bar was dingy and grey, compared to Talila’s clean, brightly colored, red dress. No one in the bar wore clothes that remotely resembled clean, dullin
g whatever colors they may have originally been. She lit up the bar, though she had dark tanned skin, she glowed, almost white in comparison to the dirty faced patrons and staff of the bar. Even the most expensive whore felt like a donkey’s ass in comparison to the Lady Talila Preswynn. Not a woman in the bar did anything other than look upon her with jealousy and envy. Many women wiped their faces, suddenly feeling very, very, dirty.
“My lady, this is…” Katlin started.
“Lars, my lady, Lars Oskin.” He introduced himself, taking her hand and lowering his head to kiss it.
He paused, just over her knuckles, and took a deep inhale then smiled, pursing his lips to kiss her hand. As promised, her scent was intoxicating. She snatched her hand back before he could lay his lips on her. He lingered just long enough to lose his chance. Dracon pushed through the crowd to her side, joined by Satana. Lars looked Dracon up and down.
“You’re ready I take it?” He asked Dracon, then turned his attention back to Talila, “My lady, do you have your wager with you? I don’t mean any disrespect, the night is in full gallop and we like to keep it moving, at a brisk pace, the entertainment that is.”
“I understand, here,” Talila said and held up a small bag of coins, then handed it to lars, “Where is this so called, champion, of yours?”
“Would you like an introduction, my lady?” Lars asked looking across the ring at Razor-tooth.
Talila followed his gaze to the half-orc, then walked across the ring to Razor-tooth without Lars. He saw her coming and stood with his hands on his hips and his chest out arrogantly. Razor-tooth was surprised to see a lady approaching him, but he would give her a show, regardless her status. The crowd quieted watching a lady, so rarely in their midst, inspect the tavern champion. Razor-tooth leered at her as she circled him, then walked back across the ring. He grunted lustfully at her as she walked away, in an attempt to make her as uncomfortable as he could.
“This pathetic thing is your champion?” Talila asked the crowd who laughed at her disparaging remarks, some cheered ‘Razor-tooth’.
Dracon and the Edge of the World Page 4
