The Legends of Ithan Book 1: Ghosts & Fire

22

   A skull and crossbones flag outside a noisy tavern told Sandros they had reached their destination even before Marcus announced it. They walked through the swinging oak doors and Sandros was wary. The tavern was so loud he wasn’t sure how the four walls could contain all the noise. It reminded him of the hungry lions he had fought against in the Galdon arena. Each time he had faced those lions he was sure it would be the last and yet somehow he had always been the victor. The old slave, Jaco, had said he believed Sandros was touched by the gods, but Sandros refused to believe such nonsense. If he had been touched by the gods then why was he even a slave in the first place. When he would tell Jaco this, Jaco would just shake his head and say, “Not all things in this life are for our understanding.“ Remembering the old slave brought that nagging guilt back. Sandros wished there could have been someway to have saved the old man. He hadn’t deserved his fate.

            Suddenly a fight broke out near him as one man seemed to be calling the other a cheat and a liar. Sandros watched as one man went for his dagger but before any blood could be shed a sassy orange-haired female came between the two.

            “I’ve had enough o’ t’ lot o’ ya. Get out o’ me tavern!” she said as she drug both men to the door of the tavern and shoved them out into the streets of Rega. She then glared at the two men that stood dumbfounded in the street. “When ya tink ya can be peaceable then ya can come back in, but til then stay out o’ me tavern.”

            She turned then and dusted her hands off like she had just tossed out a pile of garbage. Her hair was a fireball orange, close cropped, much like a boy, but there was no mistaking her as anything but a female. She had a black beret on her head that had a long white feather jutting from the side of it. She wore a high-collard black and gold shirt that crossed over her shoulders with thin straps and cut low in the front with flared tails in the back. She wore skin tight black breeches that had small crisscross patterns cut into the side of them showing the skin of her thighs. She wore heavy black boots and a long dagger at her side. She had a commanding presence as the men in the tavern all made way for her as she walked back to the bar. Sandros wondered who this woman was that commanded the respect of an entire tavern filled with drunk men.

            He and Marcus made their way warily to the bar where she had her back to them as she restocked the supplies on the shelf. Suddenly a great shout sounded throughout the tavern as the drunk men finally noticed Sandros and his one eyed companion. Marcus began grinning from ear to ear as men cheered him and slapped him on the back heartily.

            “Well, well, well,” the orange-haired woman remarked as she turned around from the shelves. “It’s been a few days, Cap’n.”

            “The usual, if you don’t mind, Bethia my sweet. One for me and my friend.”

            “I’m not yer sweet an’ its money first an’ drinks later tis time, Cap‘n. We’re wise ta yer dirty tricks here at t’ ole’ Jolly. You’ve got a tab that‘s longer then me arm.”

            “What!” and Marcus looked crushed. “You’re denying the great-the one and only-Captain of the unsinkable Destiny. I’m a living legend and well beloved by your patrons, as they so graciously demonstrated when I walked in. Isn’t there some sort of lee-way you can use to see me some drinks?”

            Bethia rolled her eyes, “Money first, Cap‘n, or I’ll have ta toss ya out, livin’ legend or no.”