by Ben Stivers
Wolf had once dropped an overripe melon while walking down the street. The man’s skull made the same squish.
Behind that challenger another plowed, a huge brutish rascal with only one good eye. He carried a broadsword over his head, intent on striking downward on Wolf.
Wolf dodged to the right of the man’s stroke and jammed the pommel of his sword into the man’s one good eye. The man made a strangled sound and assumed retreat. Wolf did not let him. In a flurry, he pierced both lungs with both analace at once. Dropping one sword, he grasped the blind and suffocating man by his jerkin and shoved his blade through the man’s breastbone. Using both hands, he shoved down, releasing steaming entrails in a splash.
Shanay met her two attackers at the steps by leaping to their right onto a tabletop. Their attempt to trap her in a narrow position on the stairs fallowed. She continued onward to land on the balls of her feet on the floor as the table tipped over behind. Her blue eyes warned her attackers that she did not fear them. That, however, did not deter them. They came around.
In one hand she gripped her sword, and in the other, a long dirk. Her sword blocked the first man’s vertical swing, but he forced her to leap left to avoid a simultaneous swing by his partner. They had anticipated her and not lined up one behind the other when she had descended the stairs. Continuing left, she spun, gashing the neck of a man who charged behind her. A flick of her wrist, she hurled her dirk into the breastbone of the man who had become misaligned behind his comrade. He staggered back, tripped over a dead associate, struck his head against a dull table edge and then the floor. He did not get up.
The mercenary who had continued to parry her remained unfazed by the death of his companion or the slash to his neck. To the contrary, he focused completely on trying to free his sword from hers.
She feinted backward, allowing their weapons to disentangle. He rushed toward her, feeling the advantage had drifted his way. As he thrust, Shanay dodged right, and captured his wrist with her left hand, turned toward his sword arm and elbowed him in the chin. He was taller, but he had been fighting with his mouth open and her elbow slammed his mouth shut and cracked half of his teeth. He careened, stunned. Shanay held onto him. No sense wasting energy.
Her sword ate his stomach and as he toppled, chewed through his lungs and then his collarbone. Sword in to the hilt, she released her grip. Her opponent fell backward, gurgling. He would die before he could stand. Rolling to the left, she raised to a knee to face whoever came next.
Arthur blocked the next man’s swing with his leather braces nearly breaking the man’s arm. When the man drew back, Arthur buried a fist in his ribs, cracking bones with an audible snap. The man wheezed heavily, dropped his sword and ran toward the entry. Arthur speared him with a throwing knife and he fell through the gates.
Wolf clashed swords with a new opponent who wielded a sword and a short axe. The man had no advantage since there were tables and chairs strewn about the room, blocking off maneuvers. He stepped back to give himself room to swing his axe.
Arthur retrieved a throwing knife, seeing the situation unfold, he shouted, “Wait!”
Perhaps they could reach an arrangement for information. They had struck deals in an odd fashion before.
The mercenary hesitated, but in the next breath a stiff twang, a short buzz, and an arrow punched through the man’s neck. He gagged, released both sword and axe and tried to grasp the projectile with both hands. A misty gurgle escaped his lips and he toppled forward.
Arthur, Shanay, and Wolf readied themselves, but sent their eyes toward the direction from where the arrow emanated. At the top of the stairs stood Adam with his bow, looking down upon the scene with fury stamped on his battered face.
“Adam,” Shanay said. She ascended the stairs and took the bow. He grabbed her and squeezed as if to keep himself from flying off the earth. After that, he wept until no more tears would come.
Outside of the Lusty Wench, Blade heard skittering sounds and humans bolted from the tavern like frightened rabbits. Not long after, a clang of steel filled the night and Lethe moved closer to Blade.
Confound Arthur! Bring the fight into the street!
Moments passed, and finally a man fell through the gates with a dagger protruding quite firmly from his back. He crawled across the porch and nearly to the street. Blade approached.
Blood oozed from the man’s mouth and dripped from his lips into the dry dirt of Ploor’s main road. He turned his eyes to Blade and in those eyes laid fear and a begging for mercy.
Rearing only once, Blade stomped his face into a lifeless pottage.
At that moment, only the dead man and the horses remained on the street. Blade tried to edge his way to where he could see inside, but another sight caused his attention to shift.
A deep green shimmer had taken to the air around the thirteen horses the men had brought to town, and within seconds they had dissolved into dust, leaving not so much as a saddle.
Chapter 7
The next morning, Wolf and Arthur counseled with one another. Before dawn broke, Shanay had escorted Adam to the tanner’s to have him fitted with suitable armor. He insisted on keeping his bow and as such, he needed protection.
“Are you taking him home with you?” Wolf asked. They both had a hot tea that Wolf had procured from two ships on two different occasions. He had purchased a crate each time, each crate holding twelve wooden boxes. Inside of each box were twelve tea bricks. Each of those bricks he had cut into twelve cubes as the need arose and one cube made a single cup of tea. He had inadvertently bought two different types, but that worked in their favor. Arthur preferred the bitter. Wolf favored the mild.
Elizabeth brought their tea and remarked, “I tried to give some to Blade, but he ignored me.”
“He is contrary,” Arthur replied, and that satisfied the young woman. She stepped around the men in the bar and proceeded to inventory.
Arthur tipped his cup up, watching Wolf’s men clean up the bodies and the mess from the evening’s encounter. They wore butcher’s clothing and said not a word to Wolf or Arthur. They worked professionally, quickly. Bodies or parts of bodies were wrapped in tied canvas, taken upstairs to the last room on the left, and then tossed out the window to roll down the roof into a large wagon that waited below.
“Not your average butchers,” Arthur observed.
Wolf shrugged. “Templars. We have honed a skill to stop leaving blood and corpses wherever we go. The practice has led to a lot less questions.”
“Dump them in the Syrillian?”
“No,” Wolf replied. “From here they go to the actual butcher. He will sell the ground meat to the sailors for half the price and they will take it away. I don’t imbibe myself, but no sailor has ever complained.”
Arthur’s face absorbed a persimmon air. “That—Wolf?”
Wolf burst into wicked laughter. “Wipe away that look. We take them to the woodlands near where the trolls used to live. Those woods are deep. No one goes there, although the trolls have passed away. We throw the bodies into a bottomless sinkhole and that is that. If someone should ever find our collection, it will not tie back here. The trolls and their legend will continue to grow.”
Both sipped at their teas. “You did not answer my question, though. Are you taking Adam under your wing?”
Arthur nodded. “That is my plan. As you may remember, I have a way of adopting strays.”
Wolf did remember. Arthur had rescued him from the life of a gladiator. Had Wolf stayed in that profession, his life would have been less than half as long.
“I am going to take them home in the spring. Once I do, I will come back. Are you up for a trip to Hellsgate?”
Wolf’s mischievous side crept into his eyes and onto his face. “I thought you would never ask. How is Shanay going to react to being left at home with Adam?”
Arthur nodded. “I need your help with that. We should find those missing horses and their gear or find out who made off with them. All of tha
t should bring a goodly sum, if only to trade in Britannia. Anything else that needs to be paid, I will cover. I need men of the trade and supplies—stonemasons—carpenters. Appoint a man who can design a decent dwelling. Gather his recommendation for however many people, wagons and materials are needed to finish a basic abode before winter. From there, Shanay has a manor house design that we have agreed on. We will add a room for Adam. He can stay as long as he wants. She can tutor him until I return from Hellsgate. After that, I will see to his training.”
“Why so many workers? You have worked on the house for, how long?”
“Too long,” Arthur replied. “We will tear that structure down before it falls over; reuse what we can to relocate down the mountain. Shanay can show the tradesmen where. Trust me. There is a reason I carry a sword and not a hammer.”
Wolf nearly spit his tea onto the floor.
Weeks passed and despite a thorough inquiry, Wolf’s contacts could find neither the horses nor their gear.
“It is as if they never existed. Nothing. Nowhere. Not even a hint.”
Arthur took the news and wiped away the concern. They had made things disappear before. That someone else in Ploor had that ability did not overly concern him.
Arthur and Shanay decided to delay their return to the Eastern Mountains until the early spring. Adam grew accustomed to Arthur, a strong and opinionated mentor. Arthur began immediately setting the boy to learning letters, mathematics and swordplay. Wolf, who became more an uncle than just another man in Adam’s life, also taught him varying degrees of knife craft and physical defense. They drafted Ploor’s master armorer to take Adam on for a month. The young man learned about the making of different types of armor, saddles, horse armor, and field repair. A smoothing settled about them.
Adam took a day from his normal duties to hike with three journeymen to gather some stones.
While they gathered the items Sisera required, the three journeymen showed Adam how to draw circles in the dirt, connect them, and fill them with hot lead. Eight repetitions of four circles they had made filled them with lead and waited for them to cool. They did not have to wait long.
The lead journeyman, a man named Stone, had taken the first item from the mold, slipped it over his fingers and presented it to Adam. “These are called ‘knuckledusters’. They can help you if you ever get in a fight. This handle portion will protect your hand from the impact—takes the jolt on the wrist. Do not use them in jest. They deal a nasty blow.”
Adam collected his set with the others and they returned to work. Adam learned quickly and Sisera had no complaint about the lad’s work ethic.
Each day Adam returned to the Lusty Wench and reported what he had learned, excited to tell Arthur, Shanay, and Wolf of the knowledge gained, both good and bad. He did not complain, and each day lifted him away from the deaths of his parents and the atrocity that the mercenaries had wrought upon his family. Still, he did not forget, and each lesson taught placed another brick in the foundation of his confidence. Future encounters would not find him unprepared.
They fed him well. Combined with constant activity, the hearty meals thickened his arms, legs and increased his overall strength and speed.
Elizabeth oversaw most of the cooking for the tavern and though, at first, he had been uncomfortable with the arrangement, she spent her spare moments teaching unarmed combat to Adam.
“You may not always have a weapon handy when trouble passes your way,” she counseled.
He learned quickly to listen. The fact that she was a woman would not prevent her from bashing his skull for making exceptions for her womanhood. His respect and their friendship quickly grew.
Shanay for her part, taught Adam the concepts of negotiation, a lighter side of personal judgment, and she added her own instructions for fighting opponents larger than himself. She, after all, stood barely as tall as he. Yet, dangerous looking men kept a wide berth from her on the street.
“Confidence and the showing thereof, is most of the work,” Shanay remarked when Adam asked her about why men did not try to warm to her on the street. Those she knew dealt with her did so with respect. Those who did not respected her from a distance. “The way you walk, the way you talk, Adam. Your facial expressions are your trademark. Your actions are your brand. Some of that you gain from who your friends are. That, however, will not help you when dealing with a stranger. They will not know your friends. They may not know you from your actions, but from the moment they meet you, they shall begin assessment. From that first meeting, their impression begins. Do not let your guard down. If people approach you with questions, ask why they asked. Don’t give up information.”
One early winter day, Shanay took Adam to the stables and introduced him to the stable’s master, Baldja. A brute of a man, he carried a stomach in front of him the size of a barrel, but his arms were thick with strength.
“Good morning,” Baldja offered Shanay. “Is this Adam?”
“Good morning to you, and yes, this is Adam. Adam, meet Baldja. He is the man who sold me Lethe. He has something to show you.”
Baldja put his large left arm around Adam’s shoulder and led him back into the stable where half a dozen young men tended to the various horses. “I manage your parents’ private stables here in town as well, lad. Have you ridden a horse before?”
The word “parents” rattled around inside of Adam’s head, momentarily distracting him before he answered.
“Only Blade and only with Arthur,” Adam stumbled, slightly embarrassed. He looked over his shoulder at Shanay who gave her approval with a smile.
Baldja led Adam to a stall where a large horse lingered, eating from a feedbag. A great grey stallion with a long black mane and tail. “This is Artex. He is a courser. Are you familiar with horses?”
The horse stopped eating, came over to the gate, and hung his head over, seemingly taking inventory of the newcomer.
“Not much,” Adam replied, reaching his hand out and first touching, then petting the bridge of Artex’s nose.
“I purchased this horse from a Templar who raised this stallion from a foal. His sire was a warhorse and his mother as well. He is seventeen hands high and can carry a large man in full armor. He is trained in battle and in need of a new owner. Are you interested?”
Interested? Adam turned back to look at Shanay who had followed a few steps behind.
Artex nudged Adam under his arm, nearly lifting him from the ground with his nose.
“He likes me,” Adam said, more a question looking for assurance.
“Yes,” Shanay replied, “He does.”
Adam patted the large horse on the neck. “But I have no money, Sir.”
“I am aware of that. Nevertheless, you have strong arms and a youthful back. You can work here every other day, visit your horse and after a month, I will deed him to you. This is a deal any of my stable hands would snatch, so expect them to be jealous should you accept.”
He held out his hand to Adam, as one man to the other, and the deal struck.
Three weeks into his stable duty, Wolf caught up to Adam as he sat down at the harbor, watching a ship squiggle her way into a slip. Two other ships rested in port and had been there for nearly a week.
“You probably should not loiter here, Adam,” Wolf warned. “Ships are known to take able-bodied men aboard outside of their will.” He stood up and Adam mirrored him. “How is Artex?”
“He is strong, Wolf. Only a few more days and he will be mine.”
“Think Baldja will allow you to take him for a ride?”
“He said I could borrow a saddle and bridle if I wanted to ride, but I have no place to go.”
“Come, we can ride together a bit.”
After obtaining a saddle and bridle, Adam showed his mastery of saddling his own horse and climbed into the saddle. Artex looked back over his shoulder at his rider and left the stall to join Wolf and his horse on the side road. Together they rode into the countryside, changing pace, and leisurely
riding. Adam felt as if Artex made sure he would not unseat his new rider.
As they arrived at a stream, Wolf stopped and dismounted. Adam did the same, holding Artex’s reins in his right hand.
“You have a good eye for horseflesh,” Wolf remarked.
“I—he—Baldja offered him to me. I did not consider another.”
Wolf chuckled. “Well, you made a good choice. Never second-guess yourself. A decision made is made. Better than no decision. Come and I will impart a lesson.”
They wandered along the stream until they reached a deep and broad pool. The stream entered the pool and a small rivulet shot out the other side, back into the streambed and then continued on its way.
“This is the lesson. Tell me what you make of it,” Wolf said.
Adam despaired, not wanting to disappoint someone quite so important. “It is the stream. Water washes down it. It runs all the way to town into the sea.”
Wolf continued to stare at the pool. “Look at the rate in which the water empties. Use this hint.”
Adam scratched his head and let the puzzle bounce around in his brain, not sure what Wolf attempted to tell him.
“Sit,” Wolf said, sitting down and patting the rock upon which he sat. Adam followed suit. “The stream trickles down to this pool, gently rolling over the rocks, going wherever it pleases.”
Adam nodded that he was following along, but the point escaped him. Wolf took the nod and continued. “What does it do on the other side of the pool?”
“It comes out that side at the bottom and goes on.”
“How fast? More quickly or slowly?”
“You can see. It is more powerful upon exit.”
“And then?”
“It spreads out and continues.”
“Faster or slower.”
“Slower.”
“Why?”
Adam thought for a bit and said, “The pool is wide where it enters, but the exit is narrow. The pool is deep and it forces the water out.”
