Beyond the Hell Cliffs (17 page)

“She’s going to be pissed about this, won’t she?” Helkree laughed. 
“As if she didn’t already have enough to be jealous of.  How old do your women have to be before their breasts come in?  Or do they?”

“She has breasts,” Raegith replied, looking Helkree over again.  “Maybe not mountains like yours, but they’re there.  Besides, it’s not that kind of partnership between us.  She is a sister to me
.”

“She looks more like a brother.”

“Let’s get back to camp,” Raegith said.  “I’m not in any shape to keep watch at this point.”

Chapter 15

The group reached the first outpost before midday
, just as Fibbitch said they would.  Helkree continued to provide them with stories and lore that might have been made up for the absurdity of it and Fibbitch rolled his eyes or shook his head every few minutes with each presentation of facts from the Rathgar.  Her every gesture opened the cloak enough for anyone looking to get an eye-full, but by then everyone was quite accustomed to her nudity.  As they reached the outskirts of the small village, Helkree became less animated and drew her cloak close about her.  With her hood up, she was silent and withdrawn; a completely different person than what they were used to.  Raegith surmised that Helkree was not as welcome among civilization and was probably an outcast like Onyx had been.

The outpost was not as Raegith imagined.  He had the expectation of a bustling village overpopulated by hideous creatures and vile cretins; of a place governed by chaos, where just being there was living dangerous
ly.  He thought there would be huge spires that dripped blood and lesser beings being tormented in the streets.  The books he had read painted such a horrendous picture of what the inhabitants of Greimere were like, that Raegith had naturally inserted things from his nightmares into the land.  To his surprise, the outpost, which was considered a major population center by Helkree, was more like an impoverished ghetto.  Very few buildings looked structurally sound and most of the houses were nothing more than flimsy, huts made from salvaged material slapped together.  The entire place was not much bigger than a medium Twileen village and the smell of decay hit them well before they reached the outskirts.

As they
neared the first houses, an enormous Rathgar in leather and mail armor approached them and motioned them to a halt.  He was a dark green color and looked very menacing, but his expression was a simple one and he seemed very confused about the company before him.  He recognized Fibbitch and tried to ask him about his company, but Fibbitch waved him off without speaking.  When the Rathgar refused to let him pass, the Gimlet sighed and produced a shiny, black coin and held it up to him.  The Rathgar grabbed the coin and eyed it closely before smiling and waving them on.

“Fibbitch better get reimbursed for that opal once Pasties are brought to Empress,” Fibbitch grumbled.  “Fibbitch get us somewhere to sleep and the Happy Hole some clothes.  The inn up here a bit…”

“I’ll meet you there this evening,” Helkree said softly.  “I’ll not have some Gimlet scavenger putting me in his debt when I can see to myself
well enough.  Raegith, can I see your pack for a second?”

Helkree reached into his pack and pul
led out a leather water skin.  She pulled the cork on it and sniffed the top, before smiling and replacing it.  Raegith gave her a questioning look and when she smiled and winked back, he realized what was in the skin.  His back tingled a bit at the memory, but she was off through the village before he could say anything to her.  What would have happened if he would have pulled that skin out to drink from?  He hoped she would have warned him had she seen him attempting that, but did not put a lot of faith in her integrity.

Fibbitch
got them a room in the inn, which looked to be the sturdiest building in the post.  Fibbitch insisted that they all lay low while he retrieved some food for all of them, but Raegith was too curious.  When Fibbitch was gone for too long, Raegith opened the door.  Against the protests of Zakk and Ebriz, Raegith pulled up his hood and ventured out into the tavern area.

To his astonishment, there were very few male R
athgar in the tavern.  Women dominated the population inside and everywhere Raegith looked, a female form was eating or having a drink at the bar or singing in the corner.  There were others besides Rathgar.  A short, slender woman in the corner sat at a table with similar-looking folk.  Her skin was dark grey and her white hair was shaved on one side and hung long over her face on the other side, revealing pointed ears, like a Twileen’s, only much longer.  When she looked around, her violet eyes glowed faintly.  Another female looked as if she was wearing a brown fur collar about her neck, but it was in fact a mane that ended at her collarbone.  Her hair was short and spikey and she wore leather clothes that hugged a figure that reminded him of Zakk’s. 

In fact, the only male he could see inside the tavern was a very large warrior at a table surrounded by women.  The Rathgar was the biggest man Raegith had ever seen, even larger than Boram.  He was heavily scarred and his gut pushed out some and lacked definition, but he was still a fierce sight.  His grey hair was shaved into a single strip down the middle of his scalp.  He was laughing and drinking from a large, wooden mug and all of the women were fascinated by him and nearly fighting each other over their proximity to the man.  Raegith felt a surge of jealousy at this sight.  All he had ever really wanted in life was right there in front of him. 
The fantasy that was filling his mind as he stood in the middle of the tavern faded and he realized that the fearsome Rathgar warrior was staring right at him.

The large man had stopped what he was doing and ignored the women at his side to glare at Raegith and the prince froze, trying to force air back into his lungs.  The man raised his massive arm and slowly beckoned him.  Raegith realized what a ridiculously horrible idea it was to enter the tavern at that moment.  Maybe it was because of his confidence after killing the
Grabber or maybe he was just becoming way too comfortable in the Greimere, but it did not occur to him how dangerous his presence in that outpost was until just then.  Now it was too late and the large Rathgar was beginning to look agitated at his hesitation.  Taking a deep breath, Raegith stepped forward and almost tripped.  He righted his feet and forced himself to look calm as he approached the big man.  He did not even know how to properly greet people in the Greimere.

“You’re not a woman,” he said in a voice that sounded like a mountain crumbling to the ground.  “If you were, no one in this bar would have paid you any mind, despite your odd look.  They wouldn’t know a Saban if they saw one… but I would.”

Raegith tightened every muscle in his body just to keep his bladder in check, but the man did not move to strike him.  Some of the women halted their bickering to look at him, hearing what the warrior had just called him.  Raegith saw fear on their faces, even in their own land.

“I’ve seen your kind before, youngling,” the man continued.  “I’ve
put plenty under my axe, but on a grassy battlefield.  Never have I seen one here… in the Greimere.  Why am I seeing one now?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess…” Raegith said, managing not to stutter.  He motioned to the women crowded around the warrior.  “… but I probably didn’t need to point that out to you, did I?”

The Rathgar just stared at him, unmoving and Raegith wanted to close his eyes so he wouldn’t see the deathblow coming.  Then the Rathgar chuckled.  It was a single chuckle, almost as if he were clearing his throat.  Then he did it again and pounded the table, nearly sending Raegith through the roof with fright and scattering the women around them.  The Rathgar’s laughter filled the bar and he wiped his face, his composure lost.  He pointed at the chair opposite him and commanded Raegith to “sit.”  Then he whispered to one of the dark-skinned, white-haired beauties and slapped her playfully on the ass as she strolled to the bar.  She wore such tiny clothes that Raegith could see the bounce of her butt cheek and he found himself watching it all the way to the bar.

“I’m too curious to kill you, youngling,” the man said, pulling his attention back from the girl’s rear end.  “You’re an enemy to everyone here, yet you’re days deep into this territory, by yourself and you’ve got the balls to wander into a tavern with nothing more than a large hood and a prayer that no one takes a long look at you.  I can honestly say that I never thought I would see this.”

“Well, if we’re both being honest then, I’m not as brave as you might think,” Raegith replied.  “I just couldn’t pass up a bar full of women, even with the threat of gruesome death.”

The Rathgar laughed even more and the women around him began to ease in their tension some, but still regarded Raegith like a deadly serpent coiled before them.

“I am Brimgor, Saban.  Take off your hood and greet me.  No one here will bother you while you sit at my table.  They expect me to do it, but I don’t give a shit what they want.”

Raegith removed his hood and several of the women whispered to each other.  “My name is Raegith and I deeply appreciate your hospitality.”

The women chattered even more at that.  One even reached out to touch his hand before Brimgor slapped it and waved her off.  The girl, who was one of the fur-collared types, retracted her hand, but kept her eyes on Raegith and even started to smile a bit when he returned the glance.

“You’re not Saban after all,” Brimgor remarked, leaning forward and inspecting his face.  “You’re something else, but still from the north, I assume.”

The dark-skinned woman returned and placed a wooden mug full of black liquid in front of him, but a safe distance away from him.  When Brimgor motioned to him, he reached out and slid it closer to him.  Brimgor grabbed his own mug and extended it towards him.

“Rack your mug, Raegith
the Grass Haired and drink with me,” Brimgor commanded.  “Then tell me why you’re really here so far from home and why you speak my tongue so well.”

Raegith reached his mug out to touch to Brimgor’s, but the big man leaned forward ran rammed his mug into it, sloshing some of the liquid out and jarring Raegith.  Then he laughed and tilted the mug up for a long drink.  Raegith did the same and almost hurled.  The liquid was stout and harsh and burned his throat as it went down.  He coughed and sputtered and the blood rushed to his head, making him dizzy.

“Yes, enjoy it, Raegith of the Grass Hair,” Brimgor howled.  “Like everything else in this land, it’s rough and full of hate!  Come, don’t hold back tonight!  Brimgor is in a mood for drinking!”

At three mugs of black ale, Raegith
had spun a severely altered version of his story to Brimgor and anyone else who would listen, explaining how he had been freed from his prison and fled to the south with his friends, running into the Gimlets and being visited on the cliffs by the Dragon Queen.  As his head began to float on the strong alcohol of the drink, his tale became more elaborate and more came to the table to listen.  Raegith reveled in the company and several of the women at Brimgor’s side joined Raegith’s side at the Rathgar’s bidding.  After the tale, Brimgor taught him a drinking song which turned into an anthem half the inn participated in by his fourth mug.  By the time Fibbitch found him and dragged him off to his room, Raegith was on his fifth mug and was convinced he could see the future.  By then, Brimgor had passed out on the floor of the bar, nearly crushing the petite woman that was under him at the time.

Morning came quickly and Raegith
felt as if someone was driving an axe blade through his skull.  His mood was not helped by the scolding he received from Zakk, who did not appear to have had as awesome of a night as he had.  He found and consumed a mug of water and a half loaf of bread, which he promptly puked up ten minutes later.  As far as he knew, Helkree had not returned like she had told him, but before they could wonder where she was, three Rathgar in armor and drawn axes broke down his door and leveled their weapons at them.  Raegith was hauled out of the inn and brought before a light-skinned, rather slender Rathgar with white hair and a contemptuous expression.

“
I heard from one of my informants that there might be a Northerner in Knot’s Outpost,” the Rathgar said in a soft, pondering voice as he eyed the prince curiously.  “What was even more interesting was that the Northerner was not shackled or attempting to hide in what is obviously enemy territory, but getting drunk and singing songs.  As you can understand, I had to meet such a brave… no, not brave; unbelievably stupid man.  Who… and what are you?”

“I am
Raegith, of Rellizbix and I am quite ill this morning, so you might want to back up in case I vomit on your nice robes.”

“Alright, Raegith,” the Rathgar said.  “My name is
Veles of Fang and I am this post’s Overseer, appointed by her imminence, Empress Kalystra.  I am in charge of everything and everyone in this outpost and I demand to know the ‘how’ and the ‘why’ regarding your presence this far into Greimere.  I am prepared to have my men strip the flesh from your bones an inch at a time, starting with your eyelids, until I receive a satisfactory answer.  Now how would you like to start this?  With the truth, I hope.”

“I was hoping to travel to the Citadel,” Raegith replied.  “At that point I hoped to gain an
epiphany that will give me all the answers that I do not currently have to give to you…  Basically, I don’t know what I’m doing here.  Hey, did you happen to see some little black critters with beady eyes and villainous grins?  They can vouch for me.”

“I see,”
Veles replied with a small smile as he turned to the guard to his right.  “Alright Dornan, as I said, we’ll start with the eyelids.”

Zakk squirmed in the grip of one of the guards, clearly uncomfortable being at the mercy of soldiers again.

“Hey, wait, just because it sounds absurd doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” Raegith pleaded as the mean-looking guard approached him with what looked like a pair of pliers.  “Ask the Gimlets who brought me here.”