Sword - A Book of The Damned

Chapter 8

The bell above the door rings out through the store, filling the cramped space as the sound bounces off every item on the shelves. Artos moves his feet silently and motions for Dec to stay back and out of sight. He puts a finger to his lips then turns from the shopkeeper to focus on what's to come.

"Decker, you fat bastard, where are you? Come and see us, eh?"

"What do... you want?" Dec says from behind one of his shelves, his voice muffled slightly.

"Ah, he speaks, eh? Where are you, Decker. Come out and see us, will ya?"

Dec coughs and shifts in his hiding place before speaking up again, "WHat do you want?" he says more clearly this time, his voice almost with a hint of defiance.

And all the while, Artos creeps forwards watching and waiting for his moment. His feet slide across the uneven floor as if he were made from water. His fists clench and release as he prepares. His mind clears, the image in his head is of the soft white beach looking out over the crashing waves lapping at the shore. His eyes pick out three men making their way through the front of the store.

"Come on, Decker. Don't be difficult, you know what happens if you don't play ball."

"What do you want?" he shouts it this time, his voice bounding through the store like a tornado.

"Ooooh, the fat shopkeeper has some balls then?" The other two men snigger behind him.

"You tell him, Kain. Tell the fat bastard," says one, his voice lower than Kain's.

"Ha! Yeah, tell him, Kain, tell him. Make him squeal," says the other, his words coming out in a jumble, like rocks grinding against a river bed.

"Alright you two, pack it in. We don't wanna scare the fat oaf, do we?" Kain laughs. "Come on, Decker. We've come for what you owe us."

"He won't be paying you anything," Artos says softly, but his voice carries through the store as if he was standing next to them, whispering in their ears.

"Who said that?" spits Kain, his hand going to the hilt of a sword strapped to his belt. "I don't like repeating myself," he says through clenched teeth. "Who said that?" Kain peers forward, his eyes searching for the source of the voice. His hand clenches around the hilt and he pulls it up an inch, the scrapping of wood and metal almost inaudible in the cramped store.

"I wouldn't do that, not if you want to live."

"Where are you? Come out and play if you have the balls, eh?"

"Showing steel will get you a quick death. That, I promise."

Kain shifts from one foot to the other, his head swivelling around as Artos throws his voice like a ventriloquist to opposite corners. "Where are you, you yellow-skinned fuck? I'm gonna gut you like a spilt back of beans."

"No, you won't. You're too slow." His voice comes from the left. "You can't see me." This time it comes from the right. "Boo," his voice quiets to a whisper but it comes from directly behind him.

Kain turns on his heel, his sword halfway out of its scabbard when he comes face to face with the other two tribesmen. "Did you—" he is stopped short as a smooth blade materialises at the nape of his neck and a thick hand grabs hold of his head.

"What did I tell you? Too slow." Artos whispers, but loud enough for the other's to hear. His face only inches from Kain's he can smell the sweat-stained clothes and the dusty aroma of long travelling in the dunes. "Now, unless you want my other statement to come true, I suggest you drop your blade back into its scabbard." He pulls his dagger in a millimetre for effect drawing a tiny bead of red from Kain's neck. It has the right effect, Kain lets go of his hilt and the discord slides back down with a small click. "Good, now listen. You two," he eyes them. "Outside, middle of the street and keep your hands out." He nods, "Go!"