Protector's Curse

by Keith Walsh

  Callis was about to offer a response but Gallant spoke again. “Although I can imagine what the bond must be like,” he said. “I mean, when I lost sight of Amber today my heart leapt and panic filled me. If a child I only know can have that effect on me, I can only imagine what losing my own daughter would be like. Let alone a wife too,” he continued. “What about you? Do you have anyone waiting for you back at your village?” Gallant asked. Callis shook his head. “No, but that’s all I meant. That I can imagine it would break most men.”

  “Aye,” replied Gallant, silently berating himself for taking things so literally. “To be honest,” said Callis, shifting his weight on his blanket, trying to get more comfortable. “I got the impression that had your condition not been so serious you would have gone straight through my companions and I,” he continued, fixing his eyes on Gallant. He met the look and his eyes narrowed for a moment, not sure if he liked where the conversation was headed, but then he remembered that the man meant him no harm and he caught himself and brightened a little.

  “Let me be clear,” said Gallant, his tone serious. “I meant you and your companions no harm but aye, I would have gone through you like a knife through butter. Had my wounds not been so severe and you not stepped aside…” he paused for a moment as he thought about the best way to put it. “Well, let’s just say it would not have been pretty,” he finished, pursing his lips. Callis sounded a nervous laugh. “Of that I have no doubt,” he said. “Normally if I heard such a statement when I knew six men faced one I would consider it arrogant or boastful but for some reason when I look at you, I believe it,” he added, smiling.

  Gallant allowed himself a return smile despite meaning exactly what he said. “I doubt we would have been much of a challenge for you anyway,” shrugged Callis. “None of us are particularly skilled in combat,” he continued. “Don’t be so sure Callis,” replied Gallant. “I meant no boast or arrogance by my statement, but six armed men – skilled or not – should never be taken lightly.”

  Callis threw a few more sticks on the fire. They hissed and crackled as they hit the flames, causing thick smoke to rise into the still night air. Gallant dodged his head out of the way as the smoke stung his eyes. “Sorry,” said Callis, noticing the giant’s discomfort. “I should have searched harder for completely dry wood,” he admitted, half-smiling. “No, it’s fine,” coughed Gallant, waving more smoke away with his hand. “It always seems to find its way to someone,” he added.

  “That’s true,” replied Callis, smiling fully now. “Getting back to what we were talking about – had you been awake for my fight with Jasper I’m sure you could have disarmed us both as easily as a father takes a wooden sword from his child,” he continued, thinking back to the fight and how amateurish it had felt.

  “I fear that had it got to that point,” replied Gallant, “disarming any of you would have been the last thing on my mind,” he continued with an apologetic look. “Once my temper flares, something comes over me that feel’s… unnatural,” he confessed, his eyes looking to the fire before flicking back to Callis.

  Callis seemed unmoved by the admission. “I’m sure that’s the same for all of us,” he replied. “When I lose my temper nothing gets in my way and I feel like I can do anything, but that’s usually followed by shame when I finally calm down,” he continued. “No, it’s not like that,” said Gallant shaking his head, clearly disappointed by Callis’ reaction.

  Callis realised that his response had upset the giant and that had not been his intention. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone serious. “I did not mean to be dismissive of your feelings Gallant. It’s just… having a temper is perfectly normal and I would not consider it a reason to be confident in taking on six men. In fact, I would consider it a hindrance. I mean, sure enough rage can grant you great strength and a resistance to pain but it also robs you of rational thought. Hardly ideal in a fight,” he continued, throwing a hand out towards the giant, inviting his opinion.

  Gallant glanced at it then focussed back on Callis. “You’re right,” he replied, noting the surprise on Callis’ face, the man obviously expecting more of an argument. “In most cases I would consider losing one’s temper to be a bad thing, especially in a fight…” he paused, not sure how to describe what he wanted to say. “But?” asked Callis, pressing him, confident that the logic of his argument could not be challenged.

  Gallant noted the somewhat arrogant defensive posturing of Callis and decided it best to end the conversation. He was in no mood for an argument and it suddenly dawned on him that he didn’t even know the young man – so why was he so concerned with his opinion? “But nothing,” he answered finally, noticing a smug expression appear on Callis’ face.

  “Perhaps it best if we try to get some sleep,” said Callis, positioning his body to lie down, obviously making some effort not to revel in what he considered to be a victory. “Aye,” replied Gallant casting a protective glance to the still sleeping Amber before following suit. As he lay there, his hands under his head he thought, you didn’t win anything kid. I wasn’t trying to argue with you, I wanted to open up to you. There is something dark within me and although it comes in the guise of help when I am in danger it takes a lot from me – it changes me into someone I don’t want to be. He let out a sigh. “Goodnight Gallant,” he heard Callis whisper. “Goodnight,” he replied, closing his eyes.

  Sleep came quickly.

  Chapter 10

  “Look at him,” said Grott, tavern keeper in the town of Tinnisvale, pointing to the slumped figure in the corner near the entrance. Beth followed her boss’s finger, already knowing whom he would be pointing at: a sullied stranger. Her boss was a stout man with a bushy red beard and sporting a limp. “A waste of space that one,” continued Grott.

  “Leave him be,” said Beth. “I’ll look after him,” she added reassuringly. The man had come to the tavern earlier that day and wasn’t known to anyone. When he first came in and asked for lodging he seemed perfectly respectable and Grott had been delighted to see someone with class asking for a room for the night in his establishment.

  However by the end of the evening it became apparent that this man was no different than any of his other regulars, drinking himself to oblivion, shouting and swearing. However, come to think of it, he was different in at least one way – he didn’t partake in fights. He screamed and shouted, slamming his tankard on the table but whenever anyone challenged him he just shied away, grumbling to himself. “Bah, why do you have such a soft spot for these losers Beth?” questioned Grott, still eyeing the slumped figure distastefully.

  Upon hearing the question Beth stared at Grott waiting until he gave her his full attention and then she smiled. His irritation instantly melted. She was so beautiful and handled the customers with such amazing grace. Never losing control over a wandering hand or a coarse remark. She seemed to revel in the attention while at the same time giving off an air of a woman not to be taken lightly. It’s a talent, thought Grott.

  “You didn’t think him a waste of space when he arrived,” said Beth with a raised eyebrow. “At the time he seemed very upper class,” admitted Grott. “A nice change for these parts,” he added before moving away to pour another tankard of ale for a customer. “I think he’s handsome,” said Beth following after him. “There’s just… something about him.”

  “Oh yeah,” replied Grott, casting a mocking look and smiling slyly. Beth caught the look and shoved him. “Not like that!” she said her cheeks reddening a little. “It’s just… oh, I don’t know,” she trailed off.

  “He seems out of place here,” chipped in Grott, passing the freshly-poured tankard of ale to the customer and taking payment. “Yes, yes,” said Beth. “That’s exactly what I wanted to say,” she continued, staring at him. Grott could feel her eyes upon him but ignored her, choosing to scan the tavern bar instead. “You always do that,” she said, grabbing a hold of his shoulder and pressing against him. He savoured her brief touch knowing he could never recei
ve any more than that, being much more her senior.

  “Always do what?” he replied, knowing full well the answer and giving that fact away by grinning at her. Beth humoured him. She knew he enjoyed her company and was willing to tease without it ever leading anywhere. “Know what I’m thinking,” she said smiling, her hand resting on his forearm. Grott placed his hand over hers and looked straight into her eyes. “Well,” he said. “It’s just as well you don’t know what I’m thinking,” he added with a cheeky grin. “Now be off with you and see that loser to his room before I show his rear-end my boot,” he finished, patting her hand.

  She smiled warmly at him and walked from the bar to see to the stranger. She had asked him his name on several occasions but he wouldn’t answer, instead he tossed a coin on the table and waved her away. She found it unusual that he only ever used his left hand, always keeping his right out of sight. As for his curtness, it didn’t bother her as she was thick-skinned and strong-headed. She had to be to work in a place like this. Although the fact that she found him attractive helped in her tolerance of his grumpy demeanour.

  Grott threatened to throw him out but the man just tossed more coin at her boss and his threats became empty. She remembered him saying “That one’s trouble, but I’ll be damned if his coin isn’t flowing. Still, you stay away from him.” It was a request she blatantly ignored, much to Grott’s annoyance. Reaching the table the stranger sat at she pulled herself from her thoughts.

  “Right, come on,” she said, standing above the slumped man. “Let’s get you to your room, eh?” The stranger just grumbled at her but made no effort to move. He began to search his pockets with his left hand for what she presumed to be a coin. “No,” she said sternly, moving to lift the man. “Throwing more coin my way won’t work this time. I’ve been told to see you to your room and that is what I intend to do.” As her hands touched the stranger he pulled away aggressively and grunted at her. She doubted he could speak in his current state, even if he wanted to.

  “Look,” she said. “I have been good to you and I’m the main reason why you haven’t been thrown out of here tonight, so please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be,” she continued, making a second attempt to grab hold of and lift the man to his feet. Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears however as he pulled away from her again, this time managing to blurt something out that she could only guess meant ‘leave me alone.’

  He continued to search his pockets while ignoring her efforts to move him until he triumphantly tossed a handful of coins on the table, sending some of them spilling to the floor. His body slumped forward and he pushed some coins towards her with the fingers of his left hand, using his body to shield his right. The action seemed too much for him, and his head dropped to his arms and remained there, his breathing deep and even. “Oh for God’s sake,” said Beth, realising the man had fallen into a slumber. She bent down and picked up some of the fallen coin from the floor but upon rising noticed a few unsavoury regulars were eyeing her. Don’t even think about it, she thought. This coin is not yours or mine.

  These men were the notorious Manson brothers, and it was unwise to display your wealth when they were looking. She threw them an icy stare, and realising they had been caught they feigned disinterest, returning to their conversation. Beth turned back to the stranger’s table and collected the rest of the coin before making her way to the bar. On her way she could feel eyes upon her but ignored them.

  “Well?” said Grott upon her arrival. “Well nothing,” replied Beth brushing past him to place the coin she had just collected into the lockbox on the counter. Grott moved to her side and watched as she deposited more money then was needed for the entirety of the stranger’s day of drinking, let alone his lodgings. She looked briefly at Grott, then her eyes flicked to the Manson brothers again, then back to the stranger.

  “He is too careless with his wealth,” she said, still eyeing the man in the corner. “Others are starting to notice. Others that are not afraid to cause trouble,” she continued, switching her attention to the Manson brothers again. Sure enough they were looking straight at her and mumbling conspiratorially amongst themselves. Grott followed her gaze and when the brothers saw him staring at them too, they just smiled and waved at him. But the look in their eyes failed to match the ruse of their friendly gesture.

  Despite his senses telling him there was going to be trouble Grott smiled and waved back, no stranger to keeping up appearances. The brief exchange over and with both parties failing to fool the other, Grott pulled Beth to the side and she allowed herself to be handled without objection. “They are looking to cause grief all right,” he whispered, watching how the brothers now eyed the stranger. “I don’t think they will try to rob me or the tavern but your strange friend over there may be in trouble. I’m guessing he is in no shape to defend himself,” he continued, looking at Beth now.

  Beth forced a cynical laugh. “He couldn’t defend that table right now,” she replied, her eyes flicking between the stranger and Grott. Her boss sighed. “We need to get him to his room,” he said, while acknowledging a customer who had just stumbled to the bar, clearly annoyed at having to get his own drink. He glared at Beth, obviously wanting service. Beth caught the look and returned it with one of arrogant disinterest. Under her gaze the customers resolve failed and he looked away sheepishly.

  Grott saw the exchange and grinned. Beth sure has a killer stare when she is not impressed with something. “I tried to get him to his room but he won’t have it,” said Beth, returning her attention to Grott. “I need to serve this fellow,” replied Grott, scratching his head and moving away from Beth towards the restless customer. “Leave it with me a little,” he added, “I’ll sort it.”

  Beth didn’t answer him, too busy eyeing the Manson brothers again. There were six of them in total although only four sat in the tavern that night. Jake and Samuel Manson were part of the Town Watch and a primary reason why the others in their family seemed to think they could get away with anything, but they were on duty that night and usually wouldn’t make it to the tavern until near closing, if at all.

  Mark, Matt, Jack and Paul where all seated in the tavern and eyeing the slumped stranger. Jack and Paul tended to stay out of trouble until coerced by their older brothers Mark and Matt. Jake and Samuel stayed loyal to their siblings regardless of guilt, their positions in the Watch making them powerful allies. Roughing up witnesses was their favoured approach. One thing’s for sure – if they decide to make trouble for you, it will not end well, Beth thought, looking to the sleeping stranger. With that thought in mind she decided to try to persuade the man to his room again and headed for his table.

  “Sir,” she said, shaking the sleeping stranger gently, “Sir!” He did not stir at first and she shook him a little harder. This time he mumbled something at her but didn’t raise his head, instead he turned it away from her and snuggled into his folded arms. “Sir, please,” said Beth, pushing at the man’s right shoulder. He did not move and she leaned in close to him to speak directly into his ear. “You are attracting the wrong attention,” she said. “Sir, I am trying to help you.” This time the man raised his head and turned to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with sorrow, his cheeks flush. “No one can help me,” he slurred.

  His breath stank and Beth recoiled, standing promptly. “Do you need a hand with this one Beth?” said a voice from behind her and she recognised it as Matt, the oldest of the troublesome Manson brothers. She turned to find him approaching her and she smiled at him. “No thank you Matt,” said Beth, blocking his approach to the stranger. “It’s kind of you to offer but he’s harmless,” she continued, gently caressing Matt’s bicep. “He’s just had a little too much to drink is all,” she concluded, smiling warmly. Matt eyed her coldly before shifting his weight to look directly at the stranger. The man tried to stare back at him but his head swayed and dipped.

  “Hey you!” shouted Matt at the stranger but there was no response. I know yo
ur kind, the man thought to himself. I have met many like you throughout my life and normally I would deal with you easily but I am nothing now. The stranger struggled to focus on the man that had shouted at him. “Leave it Matt,” interrupted Beth. “Please.” Matt ignored Beth’s pleas.

  “Throwing your coin around the way you do will get you in trouble round here,” Matt continued. People in the tavern were starting to take notice, nudging each other and pointing, hopeful for a fight. Grott made to move from behind the bar but his path was blocked by a smiling Mark Manson, the second eldest of the troublesome brothers.

  “Four tankards of your best ale please Grott,” said Mark, still smiling, but his eyes suggested that his polite tone was not entirely honest. “I’ll see to your ale in a moment Mark,” replied Grott, returning the smile and making to push past him. Mark stood firm, gently nudging Grott back a step with his shoulder. “You’ll see to it now,” he said, the smile gone. Grott’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the younger man standing in front of him and his mood darkened. “Do not shove me again,” he said, feeling his heartbeat quicken and his temper rise.