Shadow Of The Mountain (32 page)

The sun had set, and Lanard played his flute before a lit fireplace. There were other patrons within the tavern as well—three traveling companions with burdensome packs and an older couple holding a babe. A handful of loners lingered at open tables, and even Hagart, the silver-haired sailor they’d met the day before, again held his spot at the end of the bar, weathered hand clenched to his mug.

Most would be on their way out of the coastal cities. They were probably here to get a final taste of Brock’s fried potatoes before the long journey east. Tenlon wished he and Desik were going with them, mounted atop their horses…

Darkfire, he thought! But damn, Tenlon missed that stallion. Never before had such a mount existed. Such speed, such power! To ride him even once was a supreme gift and Tenlon prayed he would soon be granted another chance.

Behind them Gerta and Gemma darted, filling up pitchers of ale and flagons of wine, delivering plates of food or cleaning up after a table’s departure.

As time wore on, he and Desik drank and talked. Tenlon talked mostly, and he did learn a little about the warrior. The man was once married, but his wife had passed through the Veil a few years earlier, and there had been no mention of children. They owned a cottage and several acres of land outside Soran Valley, just a day’s ride west of Corda, but the warrior said he hadn’t been there in years and had no intention of returning.

“Have you boys found a ship out of here yet?” Brock asked them, replacing Desik’s empty mug with a full one. Desik grinned and shook his head.

“No such luck, but we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

The meaty tavern keeper wiped down the bar with a damp washcloth, snapping the end of it against Hagart’s mug before the old sailor lifted it up for his area to be cleaned.

“Not sure of the manner you arrived in Ebnan, but I’d recommend you heading out soon as you can,” Brock said. “Gerta and I are leaving the day after tomorrow, heading east. After that you’ll need to find another place to rest your head.”

“Do you have a ship?” Tenlon asked.         

“Nah, Gerta won’t go out in open water anymore. My wagon’s having some work done and then we’re moving out. Boarding up the Fox for the first time in over twenty years.” He looked around sadly. “Now, what I should do is burn this place to rubble before we leave so none of those black-eyed curs will ever set foot in my alehouse.”

“Let’s burn it tonight,” Hagart offered with a raise of his mug, looking around. “I’ve always wanted to burn this place down.” Brock’s laughter was genuine, booming throughout the high ceilings.

“That’s because you owe me a ridiculous amount of money.”

“Not anymore,” Hagart reminded him with a wink.

The tavern had slowly emptied over the last hour, with only Hagart and the older couple with the newborn remaining. Gerta and Gemma moved around to the tables, wiping them down and replacing the spent candles with fresh ones.

Gaining Brock’s attention, Desik tapped the rim of his mug, indicating a refill. Hagart ordered another as well.

Brock turned around to the keg propped up on the counter and began to fill the warrior’s mug, shaking his hips in a strange dance to accompany Lanard’s most recent song. Merely watching someone of his size move in such a fashion made Tenlon smile.

A foamy spitting sound came from the barrel of ale, accompanied by a muttered curse from the bartender.

“Gerta!” he called, looking up at her reflection. “Ale’s gone belly-up!”

“You’ll have to see if Hallaway has anything you can nab. Chardell never came through with our delivery this week. He probably tore out of here days ago.”

“Piss-stain!” Brock muttered, dropping Desik’s half-full mug on the bar and removing his apron. “I guess I’ll go find out how bad Hallaway wants to shank me in the ass for a keg of the brown. Give me a hand, Hagart? The wagon’s elsewhere and there’s not much for you to do until we get more ale.”

The sun-weathered sailor finished his mug in one swallow and rose unsteadily. “I’ll be wanting a few more once we return, but I think…” he swayed before securing himself with a hand on the bar. “I think I could do for some air.”

Tenlon watched the two disappear into the kitchen, laughing loudly at something before hearing a heavier door out of sight close behind them. Lanard had returned to the corner, his flute filling the tavern with a gentle melody. Gemma and Gerta worked together to finish lighting the remainder of the tavern’s candles and lanterns.

Gemma knelt next to the couple, making faces at the babe until he squealed with delight. The child grabbed her extended finger and made to put it in his mouth, and Gemma laughed sweetly before rising, continuing to speak with the couple.

Tenlon liked her laugh. It was musical, fluid. He could listen to her laugh forever.

Minutes later the Fox’s entrance swung open at their back, letting in a surge of cool air. Tenlon thought it might be Brock returning with a barrel of ale under each arm like sacks of sugar and Hagart in tow, but instead two different men entered.

The apprentice watched them walk to a table nearest the fireplace, feeling ice water run down his spine. One blond-haired and the other dark, they were both bearded and tan with bare arms of thick muscle. Their boots were dust covered, their chests large beneath overlapping layers of hardened leather, iron plates, and ringmail, with swords and curved daggers at the hip of each.

Tenlon knew right away what these men were: brigands, gangsters, thugs, whatever name you wanted to pin on them would suffice, so long as it embodied a violent purpose toward others. These men were coastal pirates.

“You should say something,” Desik offered.

“What?” Tenlon asked, aghast at the prospect of uttering even a single word to the newcomers.

“To the girl,” the warrior nodded up toward Gemma’s reflection. She was placing clean dinner mats on each table and centering the candles. “Upon seeing her the other day I think your jaw dropped so low it hit the bar on its way to the floor.”

“Oh,” Tenlon said, watching her once more. He could hear her humming along with one of Lanard’s songs. She was…he couldn’t even think of words for her. She was perfect.

“No,” he said finally. “No, I don’t think so. What would I say? And she wouldn’t…She hasn’t even…”

Desik began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You!” he said as if it couldn’t be clearer. “You took part in the largest battle in history, rode a king’s horse through an army of were-beasts, and now you’re afraid of talking to a girl!”

“Please keep your voice down!” Tenlon cast a quick glance in her direction. “It’s just that…I don’t think now is the right time. She‘s busy working…”

“Woman!” one of the men bellowed behind them, giving Tenlon a start. Even Lanard’s melody took a sharp spike before returning to soft and smooth.

Tenlon slid to the side, watching the men from the corner of his eye.

The dark-haired one was leaning back in his chair, filthy boots propped up on the table. The blond was sitting with his legs stretched out, picking at a nail with a pointy dagger.

“We are thirsty!” the dark bearded man called out with annoyance.

Gerta stopped what she was doing and pulled a flagon from behind the bar and two clay goblets. Moving to their table, she put the mugs down and filled them with wine.

“What’s this?” the blond one sneered, leaning forward and looking into the cup. “We didn’t ask for this. We didn’t ask for anything, come to think of it. Just that we’re thirsty is all. Do you remember asking for something, Gil?”

Bearded Gil shook his head.

“It’s wine,” Gerta said smoothly, smiling goodbye to the couple with the babe as they made a hasty exit.  The tavern’s rhythm had shifted.  “The ale ran dry, but more is on the way. Would you like some spiced potatoes while you wait? My husband prepares them quite well.”

 “Come on,” Desik nudged Tenlon back to the bar, subtly pointing up to Gemma’s reflection. She was still laying placemats while keeping an eye on her mother. “She’s a little rosebud. And I daresay her pickings around here are getting slimmer by the minute. Why not have a run at her?”

“I can’t very well just walk up to her, can I? What would I say? Hello?”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss it. Many of the finest relationships I’ve had with women started with a simple hello.”

Tenlon glanced up at Gemma in the mirror again. She was worried; he could see it in her face. The Fox’s new arrivals were worrying him as well. They reeked of trouble.

As if to confirm his fears, black-bearded Gil wrapped a bulging arm around Gerta’s waist and pulled her toward him.

“I like this place,” he said, using his free hand to finish his wine in one swallow.

Gerta gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Glad you boys is happy,” she said cordially, trying to spin out of his grasp. “I think I hear the ale coming in through the back.”

He wouldn’t let go of her.

“Where are you getting to, tiny lady?” Gil asked, forcing her to sit on his lap. “You should stay here awhile. I think I may be…Yeah, I think I’m getting a little tight in the trousers!”

Both men had a good laugh from that one. Tenlon began gnawing at his lower lip as he watched.

Gemma dropped her tablemats and started toward them, but her mother’s hand waved her off.

“My husband will be returning with the ale in minutes,” she told him, demeanor still pleasant. “He’d not want to find us in such a state.”

“A few minutes?” Gil asked with surprise, his hand reaching around to the front of her dress. “Well, that ain’t so bad. And I can figure at least one or two states he’d like to find us in even less.”

Lanard’s flute went quiet.

“Stop it!” Gemma yelled at them. “Let her go!”

“Are you seeing this?” Tenlon asked, turning all the way around to face the men.

Gerta was struggling to break free of Gil’s grasp, kicking out at the table and knocking a mug off to shatter on the floor. The tavern grew loud with their laughter and Gemma’s pleas for her mother’s release.

“You’re really not going to talk to her?” Desik wondered in disbelief, still with his back to the turmoil behind them. “You know, it’s going to eat at you if you don’t at least try. There’s nothing worse than that. When you see the perfect girl and let her go without even trying.”

“Desik!”

“Sometimes it bothers you for a few days, other times for years.” The warrior shook the thought off as if it were too painful to even speak of, taking a sip of ale. “You never can tell in the moment how long it’ll last, but it’ll become a little scab you pick at as you get older.”

Lanard placed his flute on a nearby table and moved to the men. “Excuse me! The lady clearly doesn’t want you--”

The blond man rose quickly and delivered a right hook to the musician’s face. Tenlon winced at the blow. Lanard was hit so hard that the purple hat snapped off his head as he flew backwards, leaving behind a brown feather that flipped through the air where he had stood. Gil almost lost his grip on Gerta, he was bursting with so much laughter.

“No!” Gemma cried out, rushing to the table. “Stop it, you lugs! You’re hurting them!”

Gerta was thrown to the ground then, landing hard against the wood floor. The dark-haired man grabbed Gemma, hauling her onto his lap.

“Now
this
,” he said, trying to run a hand through her hair before she slapped it away. “This is more like it! You are a tight little doe, aren’t you? I could get used to this.”

“Desik!” Tenlon said, his heart rate climbing. The warrior must know what was happening behind them. He always knew what was happening.

Gemma spat in Gil’s face.

“What?” Desik asked, turning around to glance at the commotion.

Gemma was now struggling to break free of the man’s clench while her mother slowly climbed to her feet. Lanard was still flat on his back next to the fireplace, motionless.

Desik was about to move away from the bar before he stopped. “You know, you could use this.”

“What?” Tenlon was nearing a state of shock. “I could use what? I don’t want to use anything, I just want them to stop!”

“Now is your chance!” Desik said to him, pointing a thumb at the struggle over his shoulder. “Lady in distress? Haven’t you ever read the nighttime stories? I could think of no better way to meet a girl than to come to her aid in a time of need.”

“
Let me go
!” Gemma cried out over the men’s laughter.

“Lady in distress?” Tenlon was exasperated. “Did you see what they did to the flutist?”

“Yes, I did actually. And if you are his following act, I’d recommend you refrain from using your face to block a punch. Even though Lanard executed it perfectly, there are some drawbacks to such a technique, as you can see.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Probably. I’ve been drinking most of the day.”

Tenlon moaned in frustration. “Can you help them? Please?”

Desik turned around, belching under his breath. “It never ends with you, does it?”

Gemma screamed under Gil’s grip, thrashing wildly.

“Desik!
Please
!”

The warrior placed his mug on the bar and took Tenlon’s. “When the time is right,” he said, finishing the ale, “yell out:
gather your boyfriend, and piss off!
Think you can handle that?”

“You want me to yell out what?”

Desik elbowed Tenlon away from the bar, spinning him around to face the men. “And try to say it with some salt, yeah?”

The next thing Tenlon saw was Desik heaving his mug across the tavern. The whole motion of it was so fast, his arm just a blur. And it really was a great throw, maybe fifteen paces over two tables. The mug hit the standing blond man directly on the forehead with a loud crack, bouncing off his skull as he fell backwards like a cut-down tree.

The room turned still and silent. But for the twitch of a boot, the blond pirate wasn’t moving and Tenlon almost couldn’t believe it had happened.

Then he noticed Gil’s stare burning into him so hot it made his blood boil. A bearded, grizzled, armed-to-the-teeth, very pissed-off Gil was looking directly at him.