by A. D. Green
The brother still standing, lashed out with his truncheon at the other drunk who nimbly side-stepped and jabbed fingers into the back of his neck. He dropped, poleaxed, to the floor. The drunk followed him down, keeping his fingers pressed in hard.
“Bad man, why you try hit Mao eh?”
Renco grinned. Master Hiro stood over the brute, whose arm was still held back and up, locked at elbow and wrist. Any sudden movement and Renco knew he would dislocate a joint or break a bone. He’d experienced it himself on more than one occasion and it was a singularly unpleasant experience.
Sensing movement behind, Renco spun bringing his hands up in a defensive move Mao called sweeping claw. Mao had names for everything. He never landed his strike however instead Lett flew into his arms.
“By the trinity Renco, you saved us,” she cried.
Bemused Renco hugged her back enjoying the warm sensation of her soft body pressed against his. Lett pulled away, her blue eyes, studying him. With a curl of her mouth she kissed him quickly on the lips. Before he could blush, Lett released him and rushed to her father who was just now picking himself up off the ground.
“Oh hoo, so Mao do nothing,” Maohong grumbled from where he sat on the man’s back. “Renco is hero. Renco get kiss from pretty girl. Mao just get comfy seat.” He laughed, pleased with himself. The man being sat on looked furious but could do nothing about it. Mao had used the same pressure point on him once so Renco knew he was all but paralyzed.
Luke Goodwill hugged his daughter. “I’m alright Lettie, did he hurt you?” he asked.
“No Da, I’m fine,” she said, “Look at you though. They’ve put a tear in your knee.”
“Master Bard, I see you are unharmed. Would you like to press charges against these men?” Hiro asked, turning to Luke Goodwill.
“Thanks, but it’d do no good. Lord Chadford is gone to Rivercross and I suspect these men come from Lorsten Harris, owner and proprietor of the Black Stag and the local magistrate.” Luke Goodwill explained. “I fear it’s time for us to move on.”
“Yes, a feeling I share,” Hiro replied. He kicked the brute’s fallen truncheon out of reach. “What is your name and who is your master?” Hiro asked increasing the tension a little on the man’s wrist to encourage him.
“Surtis… agh… Surtis Mannick,” the man cried. Then as Hiro applied a little more pressure gasped, “Lorsten…I work for Lorsten Harris.”
“Well Mannick,” Hiro said, “I will let you go and we’ll not speak of this again you and I. It would do your reputation no good if word got out that you and your men were bested by two old men and a boy.”
Renco said.
“Do we have an understanding Master Mannick?”
“Yes… fuck…, just let go of me arm,” Mannick groaned.
Hiro released and stepped back, watching.
Sighing in relief Surtis Mannick grasped his arm with his good hand and rubbed it. Glaring up at Hiro he clambered awkwardly to his feet.
Mannick was a good head taller than his master but he looked fearful nonetheless. Renco suspected that fear would soon turn to anger. He’d seen it before. Once the fear left he'd feel shame which would drive him to anger and he'd take his retribution out on someone. It was the way of all bullies.
Belying his age, Maohong jumped to his feet like a young man, cackling away to himself. His recently vacated seat rose gingerly moaning, his whole body numb. The sound chimed with the brother who was in turn groaning and writhing still in the dirt.
Looking at the downed man, Renco smiled to himself. He’d have a sore head and black eyes to go with his broken nose come the morning.
“Well then off with you all,” Hiro announced.
Mannick moved to pick his cosh up from where it lay.
“Best leave that where it is, neh,” Hiro cautioned. “I'm sure if you return at the morning bell it’ll still be here.”
With a dark look Mannick glared at Hiro then moved to his fallen comrade, dragging him up none too gently. The man cried out but Mannick ignored him, shoving him towards the gate at the side of the inn. The other brother hobbled along behind looking uncomfortable still.
Hiro waited until they were gone. “Right we’d best pack and head out,” he announced.
“What!” Maohong cried. “Master promised a warm bed for Mao.”
“Catch us up then,” Hiro replied. “I for one will not wait for those thugs to come back with twenty men. I might have to hurt a few then.” Hiro headed for the inn’s backdoor. “Renco saddle the horses.”
“Hold sir, if you please,” Luke Goodwill called after Hiro. “If I may ask, where are you bound?”
Stopping, Hiro turned slowly to face the bard. His eyes drifted to Lett then back to Goodwill, assessing what he saw. He sniffed. “Here and there.”
“Sorry, your business is your own,” Luke said. “I appreciate your help and, forgive me if I intrude, but we head to Redford. For the harvest festival,” he explained. “Might be you’re headed that way? It’s just we’re on the Grim Road and there’s safety in numbers.”
“Forget Redford. There is trouble in the north. Fighting,” Hiro replied.
Luke raised his eyebrows at the news, his face keen with interest. “Fighting you say? Have you travelled from the north then?”
“No.”
“Then how came you by this news? And fighting between whom exactly? I’ve heard nothing.” It was true to say that bards were often the bearers of news, travelling as they did. That an old monk, his flute wielding servant, and the mute boy had heard some tidings he had not clearly piqued his interest.
Renco felt Lett’s eyes on him and tried to ignore it.
Hiro snorted.
Renco complained.
Normally master’s word was final; that he debated with him was a wonder.
“Renco, you’re an idiot,” Hiro declared.
Aware that Lett and her father looked on Renco, hung his head, face red with embarrassment.
“Master Goodwill, we travel north. You may travel with us if it’s your wish but I leave tonight.”
Luke smiled. “It is and I thank you again. Perhaps I could teach the boy the lute, help keep his hands busy whilst we travel,” he sa
id, flicking a glance at his daughter. She was grinning like an idiot at the boy who beamed back at her like a puppy.
“Indeed,” Master Hiro grumbled, looking between the youngsters.
“Come Lett, we need to pack, harness the wagon and pick up our coin,” Luke said. Then, addressing Hiro once more, “We’ll meet you here in half a bell.” Nodding his thanks he walked briskly past Hiro and into the inn, Lett trailing along behind.
“Mao thinks it’s her hands that need to be busy eh Renco.” Mao laughed. “Way girl look at you, oh yes,” he chortled.
Renco didn’t mind Mao’s jibe. He was going to spend time with Lett, maybe all the way to Thorsten. He walked to the stables to saddle the horses and prepare Happy, whistling as he went.
Maohong and Hiro watched Renco’s retreating back and cheerful disposition before sharing a look; one amused, the other troubled.
Chapter 36
: Bonding
the response was instant and in her head like a thought.
Nihm felt a spike of fear and confusion. She didn’t understand where the thought came from or anything it had said. Well, except for the bit about not knowing where she was. That the thought was not hers should have been unsettling but strangely Nihm didn’t feel threatened by it.
it responded.
Nihm replied.
it repeated.
it repeated.
Sai confirmed.
Nihm pondered Sai's answer, not entirely happy with it.
It was decision time then. Not that Nihm felt she had much choice. The last thing she remembered was a man throwing a knife at her and pain like she had never felt before. The agony so intense it felt like every part of her body was on fire. Then nothing. Then darkness.
So really she had no choice. Was she alive or dead? Was this some hell or afterlife or was this one big dream? There was only one way to find out.
Chapter 37
: Battle Plans
Mar-Dur, clan warchief of the White Hand, was camped two days south of the Blue Lakes with one of his war hosts. They travelled as they always did, in tribal groups. Tribes ranging from a thousand strong to tens of thousands were spread out over the ancient forest cutting a path through it a dozen leagues across.
It had been slow going. It was much harder moving through a forest, with its gorges and gullies filled with undergrowth, than the vast tundra’s of the north that they called home.
He growled in frustration thinking on the reports of his scouts; reports that had forced his hand. Leaving him no choice but to order his vast war host south against the human settlements.
He cursed that fool Krol. The Blood Skull had broken agreement and attacked the settlement called Redford. By all accounts it was an easy victory and his rage burned all the more for it.
That the Blood Skull had drawn first blood had caused him some trouble. He’d been forced to kill Naris-Dur, leader of the Suawamih, in a leadership challenge. The Suawamih were one of the five pre-eminent tribes of the White Hand and the loss of their leader had not gone down well with them. And all because they sat at the Blue Lakes whilst the Blood Skull won victory and glory in the field.
Mar-Dur smiled, remembering the fight, feeling the cuts on his arms and legs. They were deep and pained him greatly. Pain he relished. Already crusted over, the scars would be a worthy addition to his body. It had been a good fight, one the tribes would talk about around camp fires for many cycles. Naris-Dur had been formidable and the victory had given him much pleasure and great prestige, enough to silence any further challenge, for now at least.
“Chief, Grimpok comes,” Muw-Tukh the first of his Hurak-Hin stated.
Mar-Dur saw Grimpok approach. His scarred face and tufted white hair instantly familiar. Grimpok led the scouts and forward elements of his war host and Mar-Dur hadn’t seen him for a ten turn; he must have important news to bring it himself.
