“Hold! Hold!”
The barkeep shouted at the top of his lungs, forcing back the eager crowd.
“I must check the blades!”
The contestants surrendered their blades, one at a time. The barkeep first inspected the sword of Tonio with a keen, smoke-reddened eye. The barkeep wiped it down and returned it to the somber faced young warrior. Venir watched as the barkeep’s fingernail revealed a small residue of white candle wax at the tip of his blade. Yes!
“The warrior from the City of Three is the victor!” declared the barkeep.
The crowd booed and hissed. More shouts of encouragement came to the aid of Tonio.
“You can do it Tone!”
Venir received a couple of pats on the back, as well as insults such as “son of a trollop” and “inbred cattle molester”. He thought he had heard them all, but had not. He felt an odd sense of pride.
While the barkeep replaced the last candle, Melegal continued placing more bets. The rogues hands and lips worked the gamblers like a master magician. Slender fingers flashed up and down, beckoning for more. Venir could see that icy glimmer in his friend’s eyes. It was one of those nights. He prepared for the final round. Focus. Focus.
Tonio spit in his direction.
“Luck! I haven’t been beaten in two years and I’m not about to end my streak with some cretin like you. I’m the best and you won’t ever beat me again.”
Venir glowered back. Something about the Royal went under his skin, into the bone. Win or not, he wanted chop the young man’s head off. One slice.
“For Bone!” the Royal shouted to his mouthy cadre decorated in pompous clothes.
“Bone—Bone—Bone …” they chanted.
Venir eyed the flame. Tonio gripped his blade as the sweat began to bead on the man’s creaseless forehead. The smoke and sweat smothered the tavern air. The barkeep stepped back and raised his arms high as the chant’s subsided.
“Go!”
Shing!
The thick white candle top hit the floor, still burning.
Tonio looked at the candle with his jaw on the floor. The crowd gasped, many rubbing their eyes. The Royal’s sword was half drawn in its sheath. Venir waited for the young warrior’s eyes to meet his. I still got it.
He stood there with his thick arms crossed over his broad chest, smirking.
“Looks like you lost your streak—boy!”
He wanted to laugh, but held it back.
“Keep practicing! You can only get better!” he said, turning away.
Tonio was shaking with rage, drawing his sword until his brethren dragged him away, kicking and screaming.
“Cheater!”
Melegal was collecting money from several scowling faces as the wary barkeep gave him a dumb look, gathered the candle stand and walked away. It wasn’t long before the crowd went back their drinking and swindling, while Tonio and his ilk slunk further away. Venir sat down before a fresh mug of ale, grinning from ear to ear.
“Pretty good, huh Melegal,” he said with a wink.
“Did you have to draw that fast?”
“Ah … he’s a cocky one, even for a Royal. He needed a lesson. Who knows, maybe it’ll do him some good,” he said, gulping from his mug and wiping the froth on his sleeve.
The thief shook his head.
“I doubt it. Not those Royal types, they’re all rotten to the core!”
Venir knew it was true. The Royal’s were a vengeful bunch. But so was he.
“Yep, so why pass up an opportunity like that? Nothing like a little fun at their expense, they’ve had plenty at ours.”
The thief’s face only darkened.
“Uh … anyway, how’d we do?” Venir said.
“Better than usual, these guys have deeper pockets than the crowds we’re used to. Let’s get a couple of drinks and then get out of here. I’m leery of the Royals and the City Watch …”
The room got smokier as the evening wore on, but Venir wasn’t ready to leave. The ladies were very courteous to big winners. Even Melegal’s stiff expression began to soften as painted nails ran through his hair.
The tavern was full of drunkenness, raunchy jokes and coarse laughter. Arguments, broken pottery, and the occasional whiff of vomit wafted in the air. He watched the beefy bouncers escort debilitated men outside by the scruff of their neck, with a solid kick in the pants or worse, except the Royals. It was beginning to feel like home, and Venir ignored the edgy tone in Melegal’s voice as he felt no need to heed the warnings.
He didn’t worry, instead he relished in the plush palm of the comely confines. He became loud and rowdy, racing other men in drinking contests. He bought escorted women drinks, recited piss poor poetry, offered flirtatious words and even bought a drink for a thirsty-looking dog. Most didn’t mind his bold behavior, but others began to grumble. Still, free drinks made many friends no matter where you were.
He had the remaining dwellers attention as Melegal slunk further from the table. In a secluded corner, the younger Royals had further isolated themselves from the crowd. Their heads were down; staring over Venir’s way using venomous whispers. The Royals of Bone never took losing very well, even worse to a complete stranger from another city. He saw Melegal motion his way, Time to go. He frowned as a beauty twirled her finger in his ear.
The rogue was about to get up when two voluptuous ladies in short silk dresses pressed their full bodies into his wanton face. They whispered discreet pleasures in the rogue’s ears that raised goose bumps on his arms. Venir was just as titillated by the small throng of women offering their irresistible wares. His mind was paralyzed as the more favorable contestants sat on his lap. He and Melegal wear overwhelmed by the women’s arousing splendor and he soaked it in. The Outlands and Royals were the furthest thing from his thoughts ….
A small pack of young men stormed towards his table and the women scurried suspiciously away.
“Hey!” Venir said as if he’d been woken from a dream.
The intoxicating women were gone and replaced by a pack of pampered bullies.
“What now ladies?”
One Royal with shifty eyes spoke.
“Hey, Tonio, challenge him to a real man’s game! The strength test!”
The words of a new challenge energized the deadened crowd. Unintelligible shouts of encouragement rang out from all corners, shaking the crystals that dangled from the chandeliers.
“What do you say?” Tonio asked. “Care to put your money on a real challenge?”
Venir looked over at Melegal who was shaking his head. He knew the Royal wouldn’t take no for an answer and let his pride and poor judgment speak for him.
“I don’t know, boy,” he slurred, “I’d be afraid I might end another one of your streaks!”
“Ooh!” The crowd liked it.
Tonio tore off his shirt, revealing a sleeveless leather jerkin with gleaming studs.
“Let’s see what you say after you eat the floor—mongrel!”
Venir staggered up, pointing and winking at one of Tonio’s friends.
“Let’s go then, you double-cur-eating momma’s boy!”
But no one laughed.
The crowd was so excited that Melegal struggled to keep up with the bets. Still, the reluctant thief was salivating as his grey eyes gleamed of silver. The roars rose to a deafening crescendo as the men squared off.
Two of the biggest men in the room stood chest to chest. The Royal was a towering athlete, with powerful shoulders and iron cut arms. The younger man’s chestnut eyes glared down into Venir’s. Fresh agitation began to stir inside him. How many faces like this tormented him many years ago?
Venir wore a heavy hooded smock with white wolf-fur shoulders, typical of a man from the City of Three. The unique garment made his shoulders appear inhuman in size as his stout frame stood like an anvil amidst the Royal. The onlookers sized up the pair of giants, and many coins shuffled in Tonio’s favor.
Tonio was almost spitting as he thumpe
d his chest.
“You’re going down. I’m the best and you’re going down hard!”
The barkeep stepped between the two large bodies and spoke loud.
“No kicking, biting, head butting, or tripping! Your hands must be locked on the other’s upper arms at all times. Whoever forces his opponent on his back—wins!”
An audible gasp filled the room as Venir removed his hooded smock. He wore a black sleeveless jerkin that exposed his hulking arms.
“Great Bish!” someone said.
The bets began to shift again. Tonio’s friends began to look around and at one another.
“Take up your positions!”
Venir locked up his hands on Tonio’s arms. Tonio showed a surprised look when he clamped his large hands onto his unyielding bicep. He felt the man squeeze his scarred gorilla-sized arms that he flexed in kind. A look of worry filled Tonio’s face. The muscle wouldn’t even give way to a squeeze.
He locked onto Tonio’s powerful, unscarred arms, gripping right below the biceps, and held them tight. He could hear Melegal taking more bets. His blue eyes blazed into the man.
“Are you ready?” the barkeep shouted.
He nodded as Tonio stared at him in anticipation.
“Last chance to save some money boy.”
“Never!”
“We’ll see then!”
The barkeep shouted.
“Go!”
Venir pulled his arms in a terrific upward tug, drawing Tonio in close. In the next instant he was being shoved back, boots digging for footing on the planks below. The young man was every bit a strong as he appeared to be. Venir fought for his balance.
The crowd hooped and hollered at the thrilling sight of the two men going head to head.
Venir was being twisted and jerked, back and forth, like a stubborn child. Tonio moved with speed, balance, power and was proving a difficult match. Venir’s mind was slowed and groggy, but he held on.
He’s good. Bone!
He was shuffling back and forth as the two danced like bears, knocking over tables and chairs. The crowd filled his ears like thundering horses. He was in a lull, his body trying to awaken as he battled to shove the aggressive man back. One slip, he would be on his back.
Venir was slammed backward into the bar.
The crowd screamed.
The young warrior’s friends, full of fire and liquor, chanted obscenities at his back. The Royal of Bone was looking good, but Melegal continued the betting.
Venir looked up at his opponent, just in time to see the man spit snot in his face. His blood bristled. The time for the charade was up. He took the offensive, his large hands squeezing so hard that the blood almost stopped flowing into Tonio’s arms. A fresh look of surprise overcame his opponent. He half-jerked the young warrior’s arms out of their sockets. Tonio was biting his lip the deeper he squeezed.
The younger warrior tried to pull away.
“No!”
“Yes—boy!”
A rivalry between the two men developed. The Royal fought back with skill and natural athleticism against his ironed power. Hatred seemed to grow between the two as they tossed back and forth. Venir was awake now, the droll of alcohol flushed out in battle. He felt the Royal’s limbs fade as his renewed. The crowd was going wild.
The match was taking longer than he had anticipated. What started out as a simple skim was now a full-fledged battle. He could feel the man’s labored breaths on his neck, while his own lungs were beginning to burn. He short stepped the man back and forth, and Tonio was weakening, about to give.
The Royals forehead walloped him in the nose. Blood trickled down Venir’s face, its redness covering his chin and dripping to the floor. His eyes watered from the pain. The sight of blood drove the men and women into such frenzy that the head barkeep stood atop the bar waving a large oaken club in his hand.
Venir growled and snarled; half-man, half-bull, and all warrior. Enough was enough. With arms locked on Tonio like a vice, he drew the young man in close.
“Down you go!”
He crossed his exhausted opponent’s arms and pulled him in tight, turned his hip under the man and lifted Tonio’s entire body over his own head. He slammed the Royal into the hard oaken floor.
CRACK!
The air exploded from Tonio’s mouth and he laid out cold.
Silence filled the room.
The crowd looked at him, the man who executed a move none had seen before. It was a contest that would be remembered for a long time in the Chimera.
Tonio was limp, yet breathing. As they lifted Tonio from the floor, Venir noticed it was the busted planks on the floor that had cracked, not the warrior’s back.
Too bad.
Venir watched them go, holding a rag to his nose that a patron handed him. He was exhausted and had a headache. He sat back down and watched his friend retrieve their winnings from many hapless faces. The crumpled heap of his opponent and his companions disappeared out of the back of the Chimera. For some reason he wished he would have killed the man.
Melegal sat down beside him.
“Want me to fix that?” he said, pointing at his nose.
“Huh? Oh, no, I wouldn’t want you to get dirty,” Venir replied.
Venir pinched is hands over his nose and with a nasty crunch he shoved it back into place. Tears were streaking down his eyes.
“Is it straight?”
“Straight enough … like it matters.”
It was well into the morning now as he sat in the tavern which had begun to clear out. A couple of ladies had made their way back to the table and Venir was beginning to feel better.
“Gee Venir,” the rogue said, “it almost looked like you weren’t in control of that whole bout. It could have cost us.”
He felt those sharp eyes on him, but knew his friend would be okay now that some ladies were in the nooks of his arms.
“That kid surprised me is all I can say. I have a broken nose to show for it. But don’t worry, Me, I won’t be so careless next time.”
“Don’t worry, big boy,” said the buxom honey-blonde women that hung on his bruised arms. “We’ll take care of you.”
They all headed into the empty streets of Bone as he sang a rousing tune. He was shushed by Melegal.
“Fool, you’ve made enough noise down here tonight.”
Somewhere in the shadows, eyes watched them go, following every staggered step. The Royal games had just begun.
CHAPTER 22
The heavy rains washed the stagnant filth back into the sewers of the city. People filled the streets with buckets and soap, storing fresh water and washing off weeks of the sandy grime that caked them. Rain was a rare blessing in the city centered in the Outlands as baths were not a commodity of the impoverished.
Sheets of the warm drops drenched a man whose pride had cost him a broken nose a few nights ago. Dark, wet and drunk he sloshed through the flooding streets singing a warriors song. People shuffled away as the belching man bustled past them, telling them to get out of the way.
Venir was on his own, doing what he wanted, escaping the pursuits of the Outland world. He wanted to live another night like his last. Women, song, drink and dance—the best his remaining coin could buy. He smiled as rain dripped over the hard lines of his face. There was more fun to be had.
His friend Melegal had opted out of the return to the Chimera. The rogue had little influence in talking him out of it. His mind was set and he would go back, win the crowd and share his tales of glory. Have at it, the thief said as he slid away. Pah! He didn’t need a baby sitter if he were only among the city bred children.
He whistled a tune he had heard somewhere earlier in the dreary day. He hoped to bump into some of those people he thought he’d impressed a few nights earlier. He no longer wore the special hooded smock from the City of Three. The significance of that never entered his alcohol influenced mind. He looked like nothing more than an oversized commoner in the garb of a layman. His mind w
as on more of that premium dark grog, and maybe a bottle for the road. His dry mouth began to water despite the soaking rain. Maybe someone would want to buy him a bottle, he thought, laughing out loud. He wouldn’t stay too long. He would shake some hands and soon be out of there, without any trouble. It was the least he could do.
Dripping wet, in a tattered brown cloak and muddied boots he stomped inside, oblivious to the glares. He couldn’t have been more out of place if he had a dead cat strapped to his head. It was early, the tavern quiet and only a handful of commendable types and others filled room. Frowns looked up from their food, then down again, muttering amongst themselves.
He went up to the bar and barked out an order for some of that dandy grog.
“Good evening!”
The same pock-marked barkeep from nights earlier nodded, pouring the grog in a polished rock cut tumbler that he placed on the bar. Venir took it in his hand, sipped it, nodded at the smoking barkeep, and drained it.
“Ah!” he said, clonking the empty tumbler back on the surface.
Behind him another patron scurried into the back, head looking back and forth. The barkeep nodded as the patron slipped away. Venir didn’t notice, only watching the man’s meaty forearms pour more dark amber fluid into his cup.
“Thanks, Sam,” he muttered, tossing the man a large silver coin that more than covered his tab.
“No problem, Mister,” the barkeep replied, sweat beading his brow.
The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals Page 10
