On Death's Honor

Chapter 40: The Man in the Bar

That didn't mean I fancied getting into a fight, so I made my way over to the nearest inn before someone concluded that fortune favored the bold. As usual, the place was packed with commoners and travellers alike, sharing ale over dimly-lit tables and food made from whatever the locals could find. A few curious looks were tossed my way until the patrons determined I wasn't anything much different than them, quite the contrast to the attention outside.

"Lot of work 'round here for people like you," the bartender greeted, a middle-aged man with narrow, cat-like amber eyes and a greenish hue to his otherwise tanned skin. He towered over the bar itself by a good few feet, with deep, crooked scars marring the left side of his face and down his neck - in other words, not a guy to get into a fistfight with.

No, not cat-like, I corrected myself, glancing back at those strange eyes. Snake-like.

Oh shit.

I forced a grim smile to my lips, sliding myself up on one of the stools. Don't say anything stupid, Wrenva.

"Just looking for a place to sleep," I returned, struggling to maintain a steady face as I nodded in his direction.

"Hmm," the bartender grunted. "You a sell sword or a Bounded dog?"

"Mercenary." Not technically a lie - I served the Circle through contract. Misdirection, I suppose.

The man eyed me, reaching beneath himself to pull out a mug to fill it with whatever the house was serving. Probably ale.

"You have their scent on you," he said lowly, sliding over the mug. Discretely, I noticed a partly forked tongue press against his teeth. I took the liquid, but didn't bother attempting to drink. Not until I met his eyes.

"As I said," I repeated, slowly raising the mug to my lips. "I'm here to sleep, not business."

Not ale; mead.

"Hmm." He grunted once again. It was beginning to look like the natives here hated the Circle as much as the Circle hated them.

I can see why. Any unassuming Circle member would take one look at this man and try to dismember him on sight. I'd only ever studied this city through maps and stories. I knew not everyone was completely human, but I certainly was not expecting a man who looked as if he was part snakra.

How did that even work?

"I am also looking for a man," I relented, because clearly he was not buying my story. "He's a Caster. No idea what he looks like, but I was told he could . . . help me . . . with something." I reached inside my pocket, pulling out a few gold coins. "What you smell on me is a curse bestowed from the Circle bastards. I was led to believing that he could help me rid of it."

I extended my sword arm out until it was within easy reach of the hybrid man, never once looking away from his face. He could yank my arm from its socket. Bite my hand clean off the wrist.

Hold me in place and attempt to suck my brain out through my nose, although I wasn't quite sure if his tongue was formed enough for that. Regardless, whatever he should attempt to do, I'd be hard pressed to stop him with my sword being on the same side as my free arm.

The stoic expression he bore did not waver, however he did move to gingerly grab the coins from my hand without touching too much skin. I took that as a good sign.

"What kind of curse?"

"The kind that could make me explode." Of course, that was if the Circle Council decided that I was an enemy and wanted to take the spirin back. He didn't need to know that, however.

"Sounds unfortunate."

Oh no.

I didn't even bother to attempt to get out of the way when his hand shot forward, clasping my extended arm with an iron-clad grip. Enough force was used that the counter complained loud enough for a few onlookers to suddenly quiet down. I gritted my teeth, all too aware of the rough, scaly flesh digging into my arm.

"I'm not an idiot, girl," he growled, dragging my arm out. I had to lean forward to keep it intact within its socket, which meant I now had a good chunk of my upper body exposed. "Only one sort of stranger that looks at me like that."

"You clearly have never been around the coast," I snapped.

"You reek of them!" He tightened his grip on my arm. Any more strength, and he'll more than likely crush it.

"I am not here for business," I repeated. "For fuck's sake, I don't recommend going around threatening everyone you assume are part of the Circle, either."

"What are you doing here?"

Slowly, I reached down into another pocket with my free hand. I hadn't had the time to capture the pleasant little dark orbs of magic (that were technically illegal to use) to help me out of this one, otherwise I would have broken the glass against his skin and let him experience what it felt like to have pure, unblemished chaos seeking to drag him into the darkest pits of hell by now. However, I did have a special bit of Gnome Fear, a concealed liquid that, when exposed to air, blew up into a toxic gas that'd suffocate anyone in moments.

Anyone who knew what it was would flee upon sight. As long as I could hold my breath, it would buy me enough time to get out of this wonder of an inn.

"I told you. I just need help-"

"Oh, Sednip, at it again, are you?" Called out a strangled cheery voice. "Sixth one this week."

"Get outta here, boy," the snake-man said without looking away from me. Awkwardly, I turned my head to see a young man standing at the door, casually waving towards a few other patrons despite their obvious lack of enthusiasm. It was too dim to get a proper look at him, but he was a bit on the lean, scrawny side - the typical appearance teenage boys got before the eventual buildup in their twenties.

"Father wanted me to tell you that Aislyn is poking around the Pits again."

The man holding me grunted.

"That damn girl," he muttered. He glared at me. "If you ever come after me or mine, I will skin you alive and feed you to the fucking dogs."

"Note taken," I nodded, then winced when he released my arm.

"Golmere," he bellowed out, heading to an open doorway that I assumed led to the kitchen. I eased my grip around the vial of liquid in my pocket. "Manage the bar. I need to fetch your sister . . ."

Whew. That might have costed me what little luck I had left. Pointedly ignoring the curious onlookers, I rubbed my arm and turned to look at my unintentional rescuer.

Indeed, the boy couldn't have been older than maybe fifteen, even if he was a bit on the tall side. Fresh-faced, bronze skin, and a head full of thick, curly blond hair that reached past his ears. And human. Yet that didn't seem to rob him of the casual confidence that carried over in his strides as he walked up to greet me.

"Don't take him personally," he said. "He likes to scare newcomers shitless."

"Not a very good tactic," I replied. "One of these days, he's gonna do that to a Circle member that won't even tolerate breathing funny."

He paused, giving me a curious tilt of his head.

"Are you Circle Bound?"

"Not by choice, believe me." I waved away the next question he was about to throw at me, taking the moment to stand. "I'm looking for a Caster. You don't happen to know where any are around here, do you?"

"Sure do. You looking for anyone in particular?"

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to speak his name or not. It's not venom, Wrenva. Besides, I'm sure plenty of people knew him.

"Beamol," I said softly, then cleared my throat. "I am looking for a Caster by the name of Beamol. Do you know him?"

I might as well have told him a night's worth of drinks were on me, judging from the wide grin that fitted his face.

"Yeah. That's my uncle."

~ 2120 Words ~