Most of the many tables were occupied, so the companions made their way to the bar area. Surprisingly enough, the pair of elves did not get as many looks or stares as Whill had expected, nor hushed whispers, though he did notice one gruff-looking man nudge his buddy at the sight of Avriel. Whill was surprised when a rush of resentment welled in him as he saw the way the man eyed her.
The bartender was a tall and lanky fellow with short, pitch-black hair and a thin mustache. He had a proud nose and eyes like a starless night. But the smile he wore put one at ease instantly—that is, until he spoke. The man had a loud voice, even for the noisy bar, and something in the tone made it sound as if he were talking down to everyone, whether or not that was his intention. Rhunis beat on the bar a few times and the bartender walked over, smiling wide with every step.
Rhunis gave the man a nod. “Is old Harlod not working tonight?”
“No, not tonight, nor any night, for that matter. The old bird retired, said he had enough of the bar life. Bought a boat, he did, said he was gonna spend the rest of his days lazin’ away at sea. Used to be in the navy, I guess. Anyway, Parpous Hellious bought him out ’bout a month ago. I just tend bar. Name’s Dirk, by the way, Dirk Magirk.” He extended his hand. “An’ you must be Rhunis the Dragonslayer, hard to mistake the nasty scar there. You’re quite a legend in this city.”
Rhunis didn’t shake the man’s hand, but instead he motioned to his five seated friends. “I’ll have a pint of Torey brown ale. Give my friends whatever they want, on me.”
Dirk looked down the row at the seated companions, past Whill and Abram, briefly at Zerafin and Avriel, and finally set his gaze on Roakore, whose chin barely cleared the bar. Dirk swaggered down to the dwarf. “And what can I get ya, master dwarf? A few thick books to sit on, perhaps?”
Abram shook his head at Whill. “Here we go.”
Roakore leaned in closer to the bar. “I’ll take a pint o’ whatever Rhunis ordered, an’ a shot o’ black rum.”
Dirk chuckled and began to ask the others for their orders when Roakore interrupted. “And know this, ye gangly dragon turd. Make a joke about me height again an’ ye’ll be lookin’ me face to face as I beat ye with yer own legs.” He laid one of his four hatchets on the bar.
Dirk gulped so hard his prominent Adam’s apple seemed to jump. The rest of the group gave a hearty laugh. Whill and Abram both ordered the same brew as Rhunis. Whill recognized the barrel of Dragon’s Brew by the insignia, but he dared not bring it to Roakore’s attention. The elves both ordered water, which earned them both a queer look from Dirk. Before the barkeep could get the water, Roakore stopped him.
“Hold on, Dragon Turd!” Roakore set his gaze on the elves. “Now, ye two have healed me scratches without me permission. The least ye could do is share a pint o’ ale against your will.” Avriel began to speak but Roakore interrupted. “Eh, eh, before ye go tellin’ me some tree-huggin’ tale ’bout keepin the body clean, consider it yer duty as an ambassador. Ye wouldn’t want to be pissin’ off dwarf royalty, would ye?”
Zerafin chuckled, and Avriel pulled a straight face. “Very well, then. Mr. Magirk, We shall have whatever our friend here is having.”
Rhunis turned to Abram and Whill as he took a drink. “Something here ain’t quite right.”
“What do you mean?” asked Abram.
Rhunis shifted closer. “I’ve known old Harlod since I was old enough to order a beer, and this story of Dragon Turd’s just don’t make sense. Harlod loved this bar. He used to be a slave, and when his master died some thirty years ago, he freed Harlod and left him this bar. I can’t see him selling this place to no one for nothing. I think I’m gonna need to have a talk with Parpous Hellious.”
“You think maybe it was a gambling debt?” Whill asked. “Was Harlod that kind of man?”
“No, he was not, and he had no vices to mention, either. No, knowing who Parpous is, I’d say that Harlod gave over this place quite against his will.”
Abram took a drink and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. “Who is Parpous Hellious?”
Rhunis scowled. “He is guild master of the largest thieving guild in the city, the Black Hand. And here he is now.”
Parpous entered the pub with a swagger, followed by an entourage of thugs, twelve in all. They made their way to the largest table in the place and with a look cleared the seats. The tables’ former residents, along with all others in the bar, obviously knew who he was, and moved accordingly.
Parpous was a large man, at least six-foot-five, with a barrel chest and a scarred face he no doubt was proud of. He was a creature of the streets, a cutthroat who had not only survived more than forty years among the scum of the city, Rhunis said, but had risen to the top of the heap. The two men seated to his direct left were his second and third in command, Torell and Malthious. Both of their lives had been saved more than once by Parpous, and as many times spared. They were loyal to the death.
The band finished a song and instantly broke into the ever-popular “Kiss My Eldalonian Arse.” The bar erupted as all in attendance sang along. Roakore slammed down his beer, belched loudly, wiped his beard, tossed back his shot, ordered another, and stated with wild eyes, “Now this is me kind o’ music, ha ha!”
“And this will be a wild night,” Abram muttered. To that Whill could only smile and hold his glass up in a cheers.
Whill took a drink of his ale and eyed Rhunis, who rarely took his eyes off of Parpous. Parpous’s cronies had no doubt noticed the attention and had surely informed their captain. Whill could only imagine what this might escalate into, but rather than being apprehensive about the confrontation, he welcomed it with excitement. He laughed to himself as he imagined what Zerafin might say about that. Then as if by magic, Zerafin, who was to his left, spoke.
“You cannot stand the thought of injustice, especially towards this former slave, and have been all day long fostering great anger about Tarren’s family’s fate. You want nothing more than a reason to release your inner rage.”
Zerafin proceeded to take a drink casually, as if he hadn’t just read Whill’s mind.
“I thought you said you never invade someone’s mind without permission. I wasn’t projecting to you.”
“One does not have to be a mind reader to know your thoughts at this moment, Whill. They must simply pay attention.”
A barmaid came over with a tray full of drinks. “These are from the generous Parpous.”
Everyone waited to see what Rhunis would do, even the ever-thirsty and seemingly carefree Roakore, for all had heard Rhunis’s story, and all stood by their friend. Rhunis accepted the drink with a nod, so the others did the same. Parpous nodded also and drank from his own glass. The motion caused his sleeve to fall back, exposing many jeweled bracelets to match his many rings. Rhunis slammed down his empty drink and rose from his seat. Before he could take a step, Whill stood. “Should we join you?”
Rhunis eyed the companions one and all and simply nodded. Avriel looked at her brother for a moment and grabbed Rhunis’s hand before he stepped forward. “I must inform you, Rhunis, I sense a being below us, in the basement. He is old, frail, and in much despair. Possibly it is your friend.”
Rhunis’s eyes flashed. “Will you trust me on this and do as I ask?”
“Yes, of course.”
The band had finished their latest song and told the energetic crowd they would be taking a break. More likely, Whill thought, they could tell what was coming and decided it wise to take their valuable instruments somewhere safe.
Parpous watched Rhunis come toward him, and the man opposite him gave up his seat. Parpous stood and extended a hand to Rhunis. “Ah, Rhunis the Dragonslayer in my pub—what an event, eh, boys? It is an honor, friend.”
Rhunis shook Parpous’s hand but did not smile or say anything. He simply let the air go stale.
“Yes, well, then, please do have a seat.” Parpous motioned with his hand while his eyes scanned the companions. Rhunis sat, and P
arpous went on. “What brings you, great Rhunis, to my pub—to my table, for that matter? What is the honor?”
“Your pub? As I remember, this is and has been for many decades Harlod’s pub. Or have I been away so long?”
Parpous gave a crooked, gold-toothed smile. “Indeed, my friend, you may have been away too long. I now own this here pub. Bought it from the old man not a month ago. He said he wanted to spend the rest of his days sailing the wide ocean. Said he’d had enough of the bar life.”
Rhunis leaned closer. “That’s odd, because I’ve known the old man for many, many years, and I know that he despises the sea. No wonder, being that he spent three months on a slave ship after being taken from his murdered mother’s arms and brought here from the outer lands. I also know that he loved this place more than any other on earth. So answer me this, Parpous, why do you lie to my face, and why do your men tense their sword arms at the sound of the truth?”
Parpous chuckled, and his cronies followed suit. The big man clapped his hands together. “Rhunis, my friend, you are a clever one, but I assure you, the old man gave over this bar to me and I am now the owner. And I intend on keeping it that way.” He leaned closer also and his smile faded. “What do you say to that, friend?”
Rhunis breathed deep as he leaned his head back. “I say you let the old man loose from the basement, give him back his pub, and never bother him again.”
Parpous flinched at the mention of the basement. “May I remind you that I have dealings with the king?”
“And need I remind you that I do as well? Dealings with the king! You are talking to one of his commanders. And by the king I order you to do as I’ve said, or you will pay dearly.”
Parpous’s nostrils flared. “Is that a threat?”
“Not really, but how does this suit you?” Rhunis stood and planted his white knuckles on the table. “If you do not do as I say, I will cut your arm off and beat you with it!”
Roakore chuckled. An instant later the room erupted. Parpous thrust a dagger at Rhunis, but before the blade connected Rhunis grabbed his arm and twisted it violently. Roakore took hold of the table with his powerful hands and sent it crashing into the seated entourage. Though Parpous had only shown up with twelve, it seemed that many of his men were in the bar as well. They attacked the companions from all sides, some with fists, others with a blade. Whether they were ignorant of a dwarf’s strength or simply stupid, they soon discovered the truth. Roakore sent man after man flying as he laid into them with his powerful punches. Those that attacked him did not soon get up, if they got up at all.
The elves too made short work of those before them with their strange dance of kicks, dodges, and punches. Whill and Abram fought side by side and tried to keep up with the three. All the while Rhunis and Parpous exchanged blows until finally Rhunis bested the man and sent him crashing to the floor, his nose and jaw apparently broken. The crowd hardly noticed until a howl split the room and everyone stopped.
Rhunis, true to his word, had chopped off Parpous’s arm with his sword, and was now beating the man mercilessly. Parpous’s men froze.
“Call off your cronies or I’ll kill you where you lie!”
Parpous spoke through broken teeth. “Do as he says!”
Everyone watched as Rhunis raised the man off the floor and shoved the severed arm back into the socket. He motioned to Avriel. Parpous whimpered with pain. “Now listen closely friend,” Rhunis said. “You have a choice: keep this bar for your own and I shall feed your arm to the dogs, or you keep your arm and give the pub back to Harlod. Which will it be?”
“My arm,” Parpous said, almost inaudibly.
“What was that?”
“My damned arm!”
“Very well.” Rhunis turned to Avriel. “Heal it, my lady.”
Avriel took hold of the bloody arm, paused to ensure that it was set right, and then closed her eyes. Blue tendrils of healing energy burst forth from her hands and wrapped themselves around the wound. After a moment it was over, and both Avriel and Rhunis let go of the man.
Parpous eyed his arm with wonder, as did all in attendance. The crowd gasped and cursed in awe. Rhunis pointed at Parpous. “On your honor, if you have any left in you, and on that of your men, you must now swear to leave Harlod alone, to never bother him again as long as you live, nor any of us, for that matter. You will go about your days happy you did not die here tonight, and if you seek any form of revenge, you will pay with your souls.” He looked at Avriel. “Curse them with rotting disease should they break their oath.”
Avriel suppressed a smile and raised her arms to the heavens. “Olda thenn hendo drelancer hilgo dor!”
Parpous and his men all stared wide-eyed at Avriel. Rhunis broke the spell. “Now swear it on your lives!”
“I swear, I swear!” Said the fearful men.
“Now get out of here!” Rhunis ordered.
As the men scurried for their lives, Roakore burst into laughter. “Heh! This man knows how to party! What pub we goin’ to next?”
Just as Avriel and Zerafin had sensed, Harlod was found bound and gagged in the basement. Rhunis released him and brought the weakened man upstairs. His grey hair was caked with blood, his clothes tattered, and his body too thin. Rhunis called to the barmaid. “Fetch some hot tea, please. And heat up some stew.”
Avriel was already tending to the old man. Blue tendrils of energy mended his many wounds and gave the old man the strength he would need. His eyes cleared and his grimace turned into an amazed smile. “Tell me I have died and gone to the heavens. An elf maiden here, in my pub!” His eyes fell upon the companions and Rhunis. “Rhunis, my old friend! Such company you keep. Elves, dwarves—tell me I am dreaming,”
“No, my friend, this is no dream. How do you feel?”
“Twenty years younger.” He looked around the trashed pub. “Now what in the blazes happened here?”
Whill woke from a dreamless sleep, the morning breeze from the open balcony door caressing his cheek. The air was cool but welcome, for it soothed his slight headache. Tarren stood within the balcony archway, staring out onto the courtyard. Whill watched him for a few minutes and decided that the boy probably had been there for some time and would not move any time soon. Whill rose from bed and pulled on his pants. He tried to make a bit of noise as not to startle Tarren when he approached him.
“Beautiful morning, it is not? Good day for sailing.”
He hoped that Tarren had not folded himself into an inner shell of despair and self-pity. If his spirit had been broken, he would no longer laugh, no longer speak so jubilantly, would no longer see any good in the world. Whill had seen it before, in men and in women, and in children. But his fears were put to rest when Tarren looked up and nodded. He did not speak, he did not smile, but this small acknowledgment was enough to tell Whill that he would be alright. He would cry, he would lose himself to despair time and again, he would curse the heavens. But he would not let the cruelty of the world defeat him.
Whill smiled to himself and put a hand upon Tarren’s shoulder. For a long time they watched from their perch as the courtyard bustled with activity. To the west were many soldiers, marching, sparring, and practicing archery. At last Tarren spoke.
“I want to learn how to fight.”
“And you will, Tarren. You are now officially part of the royal family of Eldalon, be it as it may, you will be taught a great many things. You will become both a scholar and a fighter. But all in good time.
Tarren looked up into Whill’s eyes. “I want to start my training today.”
Whill met his gaze. He understood, and he nodded.
Whill honored Tarren’s wishes and let him begin his training. He then met Zerafin in the garden once more for his own training. He found the elf in the meditative pose he’d used the day before. Whill copied his pose and let himself fall into a state of relaxation. For more than fifteen minutes he meditated, awaiting Zerafin’s instruction.
Open your eyes, Whill.
Whill looked around but saw no one, only the lush, empty garden. Zerafin was gone.
All living things are made of energy ,from the frog to the squirrel, from the flower to you and I. Today your training is to pinpoint my location.
“How do I…?” But Zerafin did not answer. Five minutes came and went. “How do I…?” he said louder.
You start by keeping quiet. I am addressing you through your mind. If you wish, I can hear you as well. Simply think what you wish to say, and focus on me…project.
Whill closed his eyes and thought of Zerafin. How do I…?
Much better. To find me you must first decipher the beings around you. Close your eyes and focus on the energy that flows within and around yourself. See with your mind.
Whill did as he was told and imagined that he could see the energy around him. For more than ten minutes he could decipher no more than the blackness beyond his eyelids. Then he saw something.
I see swirling light, Zerafin. It has no color I can place, but rather it is all colors, swirling into itself all around me.
Good, Whill, very good. What you see is your own life force. In essence, it is you. Now focus your attention outside of your own life energy. Look beyond it. But do so slowly, and do not be startled.
Whill focused on his own life energy and then slowly peered past it, through the clouds of swirling light to the world beyond. He gasped as the energy of the garden hit him all at once. An ocean of swirling colors and light met his mental gaze and blinded him. In the confusion he opened his eyes.
I warned you not to be startled, Whill. But take heart in knowing that all elves open their eyes at first sight. This we call Aquilla Tel. You have done that which takes many elves hours to achieve. Do you require a break?
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 110
