Just before the crack of the Trumpet Gun, a fair young elf flipped the table vertical, ducked and hid behind it. Shots were fired and flashes of light lit up the dim interior. They hit the table top. The wood splintered. But the elf was in luck. It did not break. The wood was good. The shots were mostly absorbed, lodged deep into the woody grains. The others ricocheted. They went on to hit the ceiling lamps, which cause a momentary fire panic when the gas container exploded and rained fire onto the floor, the counter, the glassware, a few bottles of expensive liquors and some made it to the walls, the floors, the ceilings and one managed to hit an unlucky beastman, right on the upper left side of the head just missing the ear. What followed were a messy spatter of brain stuffs all over his immediate companions and also on the foods and drinks. Half of his head were gone, empty, with his still-wholly-intact left ear dangling from the earlobe. His dear friend, Rika – damn, that exquisitely beautiful Rika – put her hand on his shoulder like all passionate lovers would do if one’s beloved’s head was blown up but in one deft movement, she cut that ear away with her hidden razorblade, caught it in her palm and swiftly put it in her vest pocket. Her tablemates who were all too preoccupied by the brain mess, did not notice a thing. By the way, my friends, the word ‘dear’ here unequivocally means expensive. And thus, you can conclude that the now brainless, almost headless and very dead beastman is quite a wealthy animal. Rika doesn’t like cheap male of any breed.

The violence now drew the interest of all the patrons in the bar. Before that, they were invariably drinking and eating, and generally having a splendid time. But when a good show seemed imminent, they immediately stopped and tuned in; eyes opened wide and ears focused. The massive smokes from the gunshots were now slowly dissipating away, revealing a gang of lizardmen, the perpetrators, all four of them, still seated at their table, in comfortable postures smoking their fat blunt of weeds whose smokes were spiralling upwards in that crazy Brownian way. They were delighted and rather proud of what they had just done. Lizardmen and elves were not in good terms. Like all neighbours, they had their traditional squabbles and small wars. It was a never-ending business, pitched and closed over and over again for hundreds of years and thus qualified the word ‘traditional.’ Their smoking guns were still pointed at the elf in a direct line. These were large barrel shotguns made by the dwarves. They emit that distinctive sound when fired, rather like a big wet fart. They can fire a large amount of shots, and at close range, the gun is lethal. It is a well-known that it can make a big hole in a wall, big enough for a dwarf to walk through upright. Of course, you can discount a bit from these specifications because a dwarf isn’t that tall to begin with. And also, it gives out a lot of smoke mostly because of the smoky powder the dwarves use.

Taking the opportunity given by the lizardmen, who in their mirth, forgot to reload, the elf jumped up. He stepped on the edge of the table to get more height. Elves are the agile kind and in relation to their height, they can jump or hop several times higher. When he almost reached the ceiling, he did a half-somersault. Pushing his legs against the ceiling, he dived towards the lizardmen who were now busy reloading their guns. He flung his left arm forward and a barrage of needle-sized arrows shot out from his sleeve, heading straight at the lizardmen.

But these creatures, although dim, were no weaklings. Three of them quickly seek refuge at the neighbouring tables while the fourth, who happened to be the gang leader, scrambled under the table. The arrows hit the table top and disappeared deep into the wood with loud thudding noises.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

Having re-orientated himself while firing the arrows, the elf landed on that same table and with a soft nudge of his nimble feet, he hopped to another table. He then hopped from table to table looking for a better angle. Finally, he found one. He fired a second barrage. The arrows flew in a much lesser decline and looked likely to hit the ass and the tail of the gang leader.

As if by instinct, the lizardman suddenly knew of the danger. He saw it with his own two eyes, as if a dark room had suddenly been lighted up. Someone had just turned on the lamp and he saw everything, even his own reaction. He quickly scrambled to the top of the table to save his tail. Lizardmen are also agile beings. They cannot jump very high, but they sure can scramble and clamber and climb, as fast as any monkeys. And they are strong swimmers too.

Seeing that his main antagonist had now re-surfaced, the elf fired a third barrage of arrows from his sleeve in mid-air. The lizardman’s sharp eyes saw the glint of the incoming arrows and scrambled back under the table. Once again, the arrows missed.

The elf was infuriated. “Stop hiding, you sleazehead!”

“You’re just too slow, boy!” replied the lizardman.

The elf drew out his slender sword which was sheathed within his belt and darted toward the lizardman who then gave a big yank and the table went flying towards the elf. With one huge downward cut, the elf split the table in two. The wood broke apart and pieces of the table flew in all directions. The lizardman drew out his weapon, a broadsword but with only one zigzag sharp edge. It looked very much like a saw. They called it, the Sawtooth. As the dust settled and the noises from the spectators died down, the two of them stood facing each other in a kind of standoff; the elf with his sword and sleeve arrows and the lizardman with his sawtooth and a large barrel gun. The elf was in a fury while the lizardman was smirking. He was obviously in a very good mood.

“That’s enough. Stopped.” A dull unenthusiastic voice sounded. “The two of you are wrecking my place.”

His voice, though low, was heard across the bar. It came from a dark corner further down from the bar counter, well hidden and away from the general area. No one could see him but everyone heard him as if the voice was speaking to each and every one of them. They all looked carefully at the corner: a large shadowy figure was seated within the darkness.

“Have you not read the sign, boy?” he said it in a slow, dull and monotonous way, like he had said it a million times already. But the elf did not seem to understand. “Look towards the counter and look up.”

The elf was taken aback. He was unaccustomed to take command and he did not like being called a boy or being treated like one. But he looked towards the counter anyway. Above the counter, there was a bright sign, hung from the ceiling and with big blocked colourful letters. It said:

No fights, no blood,

no dead bodies, AND

no outside food.

The lizardman, after hearing the voice, positively smiled and lowered down his sword. His stance weakened. His compatriots slowly came out from under the tables. Their eyes and snouts were sniggering. The boss has spoken, they thought. Now, let’s see how you deal with him.

“That doesn’t concern me. I’ll pay for the damage, but only after I’m done with him. And if you have a problem with that, you can settle it with me later,” said the elf.

“Hmm. An impudent one I see. And pompous too. And rich…. But, tell me, how do you propose to ‘do’ him?”

“I’ll cut him up to a hundred pieces.”

By now, the whole tavern quieted down. Anyone who had ever come to this tavern knew exactly who the boss was. The good show that they were all anticipating was becoming more interesting. They had not seen the boss taking care of business himself for a long time. Usually, it was Vamuk but he had not been around lately. The female missed his handsome masculinity dearly and the male, a great drinking counterpart.

“Cut him to a hundred pieces. Why not, to a thousand pieces? Why not? Maybe you’re not up to it,” said the boss getting slightly amused. “Or, cut him to one piece, perhaps. That’s easier. But then, that will not be cutting. He’s already one piece. My fault. My language is certainly not my best ability. But anyway, what makes you think you can? Do you foresee that Lizzy here will just stand there and let you cut him up? His tail would probably grow back but not the limbs. And it would hurt. And do you know what I think? I think it is equally possible, perhaps even more probable, that he will cut you up, maybe to ten pieces. That is my logical deduction.”

“Then, we will just have to find out, don’t we,” replied the elf.

“Not so bright, I see,” he replied languidly. “But you are just a young boy and a young boy is always like that. Stupid and cocky at the same time. And that’s a troublesome blend. Tell me, have you been secretly cutting up dozens of lizardmen? I certainly haven’t heard about it. A young elf, cutting up lizardmen. Ha ha ha... If you have, maybe then you can be cocky about cutting up lizardmen. But you have not.” His voice suddenly turned serious. “And you should realize it by now. Self-preservation demands it. You can’t do a thing to Lizzy here. Can’t you sense that already. He is … above you. So, how can you be cocky about the whole idea of cutting him up? It’s inexplainable. Unless, your stupidity is so gargantuan that it is the explanation itself. Look! This is not a game without consequence. You do know that, right? Lizzy here can have you for lunch. I think he hasn’t ordered any lunch yet. The proper thing to do now is to apologize and ask for forgiveness. Compensate. Then, perhaps, you can walk out of here with your hands and legs intact.”

Never in his young life had he apologized for anything. And certainly not to a lizardman. And definitely not under the dictate of some shadow. The elf stared into the dark corner. Elves’ eyes were better than most. He saw a great dark figure, with a rather fury face, seated there with a pair of caprine horns sticking out of his head. He was leaning back, with arms crossed and legs on the table, relaxing and perhaps enjoying the show.

“Like I said, we will just have to find out. And stop talking, you old goat. You’re wasting my time,” said the elf obviously annoyed.

Suddenly, two red dots flared up in the darkness. “No, no, no. You are wasting everybody’s time. They should be eating and drinking. And I should be making money from the eating and drinking. Just because of your rash behaviour, everything is put on hold. So who is wasting whose time? You see, I own this place. So, I basically own everything. And I mean everything! You have now destroyed one of my tables, made holes in many places and you killed one of my guests. You see the one to your right, with his head blown off. That’s Bilfur. Do you know how much that will cost me? Not just about disposing his body. I am now deprived of all his future spending. Do you have any idea how much he spent here? You can ask Rika. She definitely has one less client now. And poor Bilfur. He came for some drinks and food, stay for a night perhaps and of course, for the intimacy of the seductresses. But look what happened. He got his head blown off. And not out of his own volition. Your stupid fight killed him, destroyed my table and lamps and the precious liquors and you put holes into my walls. Do you think that is right? Who do you think you are, boy?”

“In case you have not noticed, that’s not my gun.”

“You flipped the table that cause the shots to rebound. And most importantly, you started the fight. So you’ll be responsible. That’s the rule of the land. You threw that steak knife at Lizzy first. You could have struck him blind. For what? Because he smirked at you, sniggered at you, jeered at you? Hell, he can shout vulgarity at you. But you do not throw a knife at someone for that. Rules are rules. They must be observed. You started it, you’ll be responsible for it. Everybody who walks on this land must adhere to it. Furthermore, there is also my sign. So my boy, you will pay. One way or the other.”

“And you have the most idiotic logic I have ever heard, …” He wanted to finish the sentence with some vulgar words but somehow, he did not. The voice from the dark corner had something in it that made him unpleasant, a foreboding of some sort. It was better not to push things too far.

“Whatever.” The voice regained its earlier dull monotone. “You have the talk, but you don’t have the stuff. You should train some more before wandering into these dangerous territories. My bartender over there will get you the bill. You will pay for the table and also for the work to repair all the damages. You will compensate me for the loss of my business arising from the death of poor Bilfur. And you will compensate Bilfur, for …, well, he lost his life, but not to Bilfur personally obviously since he’s dead. So …”

“Are you for real?” the elf cut him off. “Asking me to pay for this and for that….and the dead beast? And pay to whom? To you? And what about him?” the elf asked indignantly pointing at the lizardman. “It was his gun. His shots.”

“As I have said, you started it. You pay for it,” the boss said casually. “You will pay the whole sum to me. I will hold Bilfur’s money in escrow until some pedigree of his comes along. But honestly, I doubt that he has any offspring, hehe. Not that he’s weak in that department, that is. Rika doesn’t like weak male.”

“What!” The elf was in complete disbelief.

“What ‘what’?” the boss exclaimed. “You’re no that dumb are you? Just which part you don’t understand? It’s already settled. It’s done. I have said it. You pay up and you walk away. Lizzy here will not hold any grudge on you. At least, not here. Whatever happens outside of here is none of my business.”

“You think you can just dictate everything.”

“Ermm…” The boss took a while to reply as if he was having some trouble processing what the elf had just said. “Yeah.” Then, he laughed. “Of course I can. I am the boss. I can do whatever I want. This is not some dodgy cheap joint that you find along the road, you know. You can’t just come in here and chop up my furniture and leave. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“What if I don’t pay!”

“What if you don’t pay? Now that … that will be very interesting, very interesting indeed.” The boss said it slowly, word by word, and with a broad smile and since he was within the darkness, no one saw how menacing this smile was.

On hearing that, the other patrons literally stopped breathing. In their minds, they thought the same thing. You don’t mess with the boss. Everyone, inclusive of those who had never been here, knew that. The boss had a reputation. Clearly, the boy was out of his league. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into. He was nuts. They all thought that he would be killed today. Some on the softer side pitied him. He was so young and so handsome. He had his whole life still out there waiting for him. But instead, he was going to waste it all here. He should have just paid up and be on his way. If he had too high a standard to be apologetic, then just pay more. But instead of that, he dashed towards the lizardman with his sword thrust out, the tip of which was aimed at the snout, all in one piercing motion. The elf wanted to thrust through his snout. He thought that he could deal with that goat in the darkness later.

“Hmm…. ”

No one really saw anything for sure. It was all too fast; so fast that everything was a blur. All they saw was that a blurry figure intercepted the elf and in a blink of an eye, the elf flew backwards, his body were carried by a momentum while his feet were on the floor trying to break the flight. Screeeeeecccchh! If his legs were not strong enough, he would have crashed and rolled on the floor like a tumbling rock.

A big creature about 9 feet tall, big and wide, with a pair of massive horns protruding sideways from the forehead and arching up like a hook, and with a pair of deep black eyes and brownish mane, now stood in front of the lizardman. He was wearing a dark brown suit with white shirts and a skinny bow tie and matching pants in the fashion of the coastal human. In his right hand was the elf’s sword. The blade was clenched tightly in his fist. The sword did not cut him. Perhaps, his skin was too tough.

“Such a flimsy thing. Can you really cut with this?” said the creature while examining the blade as it swayed from side to side. “Aaah… I forgot. You’ve just cut my table in two. It’s obviously very sharp, no doubt.” He then flung the sword over to the counter. It made a couple of spins in mid-air and thrust itself into the counter-top. The sword stuck there, oscillating from side to side.

“Now, pretty boy. You can walk out or you can fly out.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The elf stood as steady as he could. The door was behind him. His legs were shaking and he had difficulty breathing. He could see the boss now. He was a big creature. No, he was more like a monster. He was at least two heads taller than the elf and his shoulder was thrice wider. The elf was intimidated. Never once in his young life he was but this time, he was. He tried his best not to show it but he was sweating. Beads of sweat rolled down his lovely cheeks. What should he do? The exit was just behind him.

The slender built of an elf was no match for the boss. The elf probably could make up the deficiency with speed but it seemed the boss was way faster. At the moment when the creature approached him just now, he felt the creature’s big hand on his hand with the sword, twisting it, and nearly crushing it, forcing the sword away from him. Then, the elf felt a punch at his right side, right at the rib cage and the impact sent him flying. The impact was so great that he could not breathe. He thought that his right lung had collapsed or that the ribs had shattered and punctured the lungs. Instinctively, the elf re-orientated himself during his flight backwards so that his two feet could touch the floor. And he used the friction between his soles and the floor to break the momentum. It was a good move, spectacular move, a proof of good training, but that took a lot out of him.

Beads of sweat emerged more and more on his forehead. He was dripping with sweats but he could breathe a little easier now. The pain had eased a little. He was still not sure about what he was going to do but he needed to do something, fast. He did not want the boss to sense his weakness. Perhaps, he already knew. But as an elf, it was necessary of him to retaliate, to fight back – an elf must always know what to do. He could not apologize. He could not run away, although the door was just temptingly at the back of him. And so he did what was left for him. He flung both of his hands forward to release the arrows. But the boss was lightning quick. Before the elf’s hands could reach the position to fire, the boss was already in front of him catching both hands in mid-path. The elf could feel his immense strength through his grips. He could not move, even a little. He could not even move his legs or else, he would have kicked the boss at the groin. The downward pressure exerted by the boss was so great that it bent his knees. If the boss exerted some more, the elf would have collapsed and knelt before him. Such overwhelming strength. Total moral collapse. The elf was stunned, unable to react. Never had he faced someone like him. In fact, he had never faced anything worthwhile to speak of. How could he? He had never left the realm of the elves, not until now. He was in a greenhouse. He stared at the big dark eyes and it was like staring into a volcano, a deep dark hole filled with red drifty monstrous silhouettes. Conversely, the boss must have seen the fear and the helplessness in his eyes.

The boss delivered another punch right to the chest and sent the elf flying through the door. He flew all the way to river which, as convenient as it seemed, was only a stone throw away, now, an elf throw away, in front of the tavern. It saved him from a very hard landing. For sure, this failure would not go down well. And to be defeated in such a helpless fashion was inconceivably humiliating.

The last thing he could remember was crashing into the river and a sudden chill attacked his whole body. The river water was icy cold although the water had flowed a long long way from the icy mountains of the north. The impact knocked him unconscious. In fact, he was already semi-unconscious when he was hit on the chest. When he hit the river, he went straight to the river bed. Bam! And that finished the job. The current carried him along flowing westwards, bumping and rolling on the river bed and occasionally knocking on the boulders. He would have drowned if not for the amphibious patch on his neck. Almost all elves wear the patch when they go anywhere near the water. It helps them breathe by extracting the needed gas much like the fish gills and send them through the skin. This transdermal patch was one of the secret knowhow of the elves that was never shared or sold or given to any other races of the Great Plains. The patch was placed next to the main arterial going up to the head so as to keep the thinking process going. It was not enough to keep the whole body alive and the elves needed to come up for air just like the turtle. Hence, the name Turtle Patch. But now, our unconscious elf was in a dangerous situation. He was drowning. The brain would survive, for a while at least. Eventually, he would need to come up for air. If he did not wake up in time, his body would slowly die off and when the heart died, the whole body would go with it.

Back in the tavern, the boss told the servant to clean up the mess. “Come on, come on. Clean it up. Quickly. Get it going, again. Oh, what a mess. I didn’t know Bilfur had so much brain.” He placed his hand on his horn and tenderly caressing it as he watched his servants sweeping and mopping up the mess.

“So, my apology to everyone. Your pleasure was interrupted by that … overly passionate elf. Now, that he’s gone, we can all carry on. Please. Continue on. Music please. One round for everybody. On me. Thank you. Thank you.” The boss bowed.

After the music started to play, everyone was relieved. They cheered. They clapped. They laughed. They complimented each other. The boss did not burst into flames and consumed everything. The usual noise of the tavern slowly grew back and things went back to normal.

Satisfied, the boss turned towards the bar counter to get a drink and he saw the gang of lizardmen. And suddenly, he smiled. “And you? What a nice job you have done?” the boss said. The lizardmen were stunned and the music immediately fell silent. It was a dangerous thing when the boss smiled. No one could tell for certain whether it was a real smile or a fake smile. And if it was a fake smile, what kind of fake smile? Was it a fake insincere smile gave out to brush someone off or a fake hostile smile that were meant ‘I will murder you later!’? It had drastically different implication.

The attention of the rest of the patrons now fell on the lizardmen. They were in the spotlight for the second time tonight. It was a great rarity. One of the lizardman standing behind the gang leader who was looking at the boss with eyes opened wide, replied, “… nothin boss … we did nothin.”

“Of course you did. You provoked the boy,” the boss said rather sternly.

“No we didn’. We‘re just starin,” the same lizardman replied.

“That’s provocation.”

“That … that’s nothin boss,” the lizardman pleaded. “Everyone is just starin, boss. The other day, that catwoman snarled at me,” said the lizardman. She looked back with a murderous stare. “You see that boss, those killin eyes ... But that’s just her, starin. We didn go over and cause problem for you, boss. It’s just … starin, boss.”

“Hmmm...” The boss seemed to like the bumbling stammering lizardman. “That’s provocation too. You must know,” said the boss, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. He bent towards them to tell them a big secret, “Elves are sensitive.”

The boss resumed in a more jubilant tone, “Keep that in mind. But now,” the boss turned towards the crowds and put up his hands like the conductor of the orchestra and announced, “one extra round for our lizardmen. And show them some respect.”

The crowd cheered again and clapped. But their eyes were all on the boss. Suddenly, the lizardmen who were usually lowly regarded felt an instant elevation of status; they were commended upon by the boss. They nodded and bowed to the crowd. They made victorious hand gestures. They showed their bulging biceps. They thought, they could get more lucrative jobs now.

As the boss walked away, he whispered to the lizardmen in quite a showy profound manner, “Good work.” He winked at the gang leader.

He went over to the counter and sat down. “Keeping up the good show?” the bartender asked.

“Hehe, get me a bottle,” the boss replied smiling.

The bartender was well over his prime, balding and wrinkling, and with a growing belly, not bulging but growing. He was still properly attired in suit and ties and gave the boss his favourite drink: a bottle of Sea Breeze, a type of hard liquor that had a name that gave the wrong impression. It was made and then shipped over the sea from the Land-Beyond-The-Sea. He drank the whole bottle in one long gulp.

Soon, Bilfur’s incident was completely forgotten. Apart from the brain mess that still troubled some of Bilfur’s gang and the neighbourly patrons, the rest continued from where they had stopped. The bar, where, a while ago, there was a ghastly incident, was rowdy once more. It was like it never happened.

Even the dead Bilfur’s gang was settling down, eyeing each other. They all knew that the leader had died and there would be a vacuum. The future of their careers in the criminal world and their livelihood were at stake. Who would be the next leader? How many of them would have to die in their little civil war in order for one of them to get his ass on the big chair? Bilfur’s gang was not a small petty gang. He had about fifty beastmen under him. The one’s here were Bilfur’s most intimate staff. And there were still the leaders of the other factions to deal with. These questions and the many variations of them played out in their heads over and over again for the rest the night. They seemed to have forgotten about dear Rika. What she had to say about all these?

Soon, Rika left the table silently and gracefully as her movement was always graceful, trying desperately not to draw any attention to her beautiful self, presumably to go to the washroom to freshen up after one’s lover’s head was horrendously blown up, for she was one immaculate person. But no one thought for a second that she would shed a single drop of tears for poor Bilfur. Rika was a seductress, a mercenary and a killer. Bilfur and Rika were in a money-power relationship. One could say that they had a symbiotic relationship where they got what they both needed from each other. She disappeared into the corridors that led to the washroom and the stairs to the upper floors with her vest in hand and she never came back. Even her last disappearing self was graceful – her snaking bare back naked all the way to the butt crack, free for all to see through her plunging backless black dress and her long slender legs flashing through that dangerous thigh split that went as high as her tiny little waist and no doubt, these captivating sexual-hormone-provoking images were all caught in the eyes of the bartender.

“Aaah… That’s satisfying.”

“Do you mean the bottle or the incident?”

“Hehehe, the incident, of course. One more. And thanks for the Provoke. It worked like a charm. Hehehe.”

“Why the fuss?”

“Haven’t you noticed?” the boss asked as if surprised by his lack of attention.

“That he is noble?”

“Yessss. He carries the air, doesn’t he.”

“Quite flagrantly.”

“And the Butterfly Dance? That is not the beginner level type. The way he jumped and hopped, he’s well trained. But his other skills, ermmm… they are sufficiently lacking. Not up to par. Not up to par at all.”

“I was quite surprised that he could break the momentum of your first punch.”

“Nah... I was just playing, giving him a little taste. But you have to give it to the boy. The way he flipped in mid-air was quite remarkable. Just like a fish in water. And I can confirm that he’s a noble. Take a look.”

The boss took out a little drawstring coin purse from his inner coat pocket and threw it on the table. It was dark green with a tinge of purple. “Here. I took this from him as a compensation for my losses. I was so quick, these lightning hands,” the boss said while admiring his gigantic hands, “he didn’t even feel it. See what you can find out.” He took a swig and half of the new bottle was empty.

The bartender, peering through his small oval glasses and over his crooked nose, opened the purse with his dainty fingers, long and slender, and poured out the content. There were a dozen or so gems of all sorts: diamonds, sapphires, rubies, amethysts. There were also some gold and silver coins. “He is indeed rich. These coins are minted by the dwarves. Looks like the Kingdom of Guruns. But this purse,” the bartender took up the purse, put it in front of his eyes to examine the fabric, felt the texture by rubbing his dainty fingers on it, and then showed it to the boss, “this purse itself is worth a lot more. It’s made from the Stone Linen, and the linen itself was made from Stringified Gemstones. From the colours, I would say, a blend of Amethyst and Emerald. Perhaps, a little Turquoise for the shade. Only the elves know how to do it.”

“Making stones into linen. Is it not enough to have them around their necks and fingers and foreheads? They must wear them now.”

But the bartender noticed another thing, a more interesting thing. There was an emblem weaved on the lower portion of the purse. It was a symbol of a four leaves connected at the stems and arranged perpendicular to each other, rather like the diagonals of a square. It was brilliant white possibly weaved by using Stringified Diamond.

“This is the Four Leaves, the insignia of the Council of the Elders. This boy is not just any noble. He belongs to one of the Elders,” said the bartender, now looking up at the boss, “or at the very least, closely related to the Elders.”

“The Elders, huh. The old and the wrinkled. And, what about this yellowish sword? I haven’t seen this type before.” The boss was looking at the elegant slender sword. The blade was thin tapering all the way to the point. And it had a rather pronounce central ridge running lengthwise from the four-point star cross-guard to the point of the sword. The four-point star had a hollow centre, which was another four-point-star only smaller. The bartender put down the purse and drew the sword from the counter top. It was light and comfortable to hold. He tossed and flipped it around, watching it carefully as it spun like a wheel through the air, and then caught it back at his palm. The bartender could not resist a smile. He then perused the blade and the point.

“I’m no swordsman. But this is one fine blade. Yes, I’ve heard about them.”

After collecting his thought, the bartender continued, “They started making this type of sword about one or two thousand years ago, around the Age of Gweynir. But not many were made. It seems that they had very limited stockpile of this alloy. You see, this sword is one whole piece. From the pommel to the point,” said the bartender, holding it horizontally at eye level so that the boss could see, “it’s one whole piece of the exquisite alloy, forged continuously. When straight, the sword tends to stay straight and you can slash and cut and thrust like any other sword.” The bartender made a few cutting stroke, cutting the air into cubes. “The balance is near the hilt. For movement control. Nimble. Good for thrusting,” and the bartender demonstrated a few thrusting moves. “The point and the blade are very sharp. It’ll cut through any low grade metal like fruits. So, the force of percussion doesn’t really matter. Very well calculated.”

“On the other hand, when it bends, it can bend all the way.” The bartender demonstrated that by holding both ends and bending it till the point met the pommel, forming a big ‘O’, and after that, went over it to form an even smaller ‘o’. When he released the point, it sprung back and within a few oscillations, it stabilized and became straight again. “And not just that, it can be twisted.” The bartender demonstrated that also by making the sword into a spiral, the shape of an elongated spring, and formed a few non-connected oval ‘o’ and then bending those ‘o’s.

“Remarkable. What’s that alloy again?”

“No one knows. But they stopped making them about five hundred years ago. No one knows why. Probably, they had run out of the metal alloy, or at least, one of the integral ingredients. No one knows the recipe. I think the elves themselves may have lost that as well. Now, they are exceedingly rare. I have not heard of anyone who had seen it in the past fifty or a hundred years or so. I’ve certainly not seen one myself.”

“Since it’s so rare, as you’ve said it, who would have them?”

“Back then, these swords were usually made specifically for someone, someone of the upper echelons, like the noble families, or war heroes who would usually end up being ennobled. They were not made to be handed out to the troops. Now, they were handed down more like a family heirloom,” said the bartender.

“And this boy has one. That makes him part of these families.”

“And the boy has some status in the upper hierarchy of the elves.”

“Well, he might just be a prince or a princeling. This calls for a celebration. A prince of the Council here in Rock Bottom. That’s worth something. Perhaps, I could use him or trade him for something.” The boss took another swig and emptied the other half. “Give me another one. Hahaho”.

“But I’m intrigue,” the boss continued. “No, I’m piqued. What’s he doing here? Why do they send a blundering young boy? They have some scheme. I’m sure of it. And the boy is somehow connected to it. And the infuriating thing is that, they think that, by sending a mere boy like him is enough to take us on. Who do they think we are? Morons? Simpletons?”

The bartender was thinking about the same thing too. They should have sent someone with a bit substance.

“What can he do here? Or, is the blundering merely an act? To put us off guard. Or that, he is really blundering and there’s no scheme. Oh…. I’ll be really mad if he has no scheme.” The fiery eyes of the boss flared up once more. “Put a bug on him. I want to know what he’s up to. If we play it right, we might just get something out of this farce, anyway it goes.”

“So that was why you signalled me to Provoke him?”

The boss looked at the bartender with a vague smile. His eyes became dark again. The fire was extinguished. “Why, you have nothing better to do. Hehehe. Poke a little and there’ll be surprises. Besides, it’s getting boring around here. You should get out and get some sun or fun. Not that I like the sun very much.”

And very suddenly, his manner became cold and focused. His eyes narrowed to a slit. “Now that you have mentioned it, I suspect that the boy … is the son of Haleth. I got the same feel when I hit his chest.” The boss clutched his fist, held it up, looking at it and continued saying, “He’s wearing that Scale alright.”

The eyes of the bartender suddenly grew, and uttered slowly, “Then, the situation changes. What do you want to do sir? It’s dangerous for an elf to be around here these days. They no longer have any hold across the river. There are bandits running around everywhere. The caravans were robbed a few times this year. Even our own consignments were robbed. The boy can get killed very easily. And there’s the Bilfur’s gang too.” The bartender hinted at the group seated at the back of the boss. “They will seek revenge, or compensation more likely.”

“Of course, do something we must,” said the boss. His mood darkened.

“If a young prince from the line of Haleth gets killed, there could be wars. And we are right at the frontline,” said the bartender calmly as if nothing was able to disturb him.

The boss caressed his horn again, thinking hard. “Shouldn’t their scheme cover all these? These knuckleheads. We are criminals. We’re supposed to make money. We are supposed to commit crime. We are not supposed to be here to protect their asses. Doing good deeds? Bah! What is this land coming too. We shouldn’t be troubled over such trivialities. Stupid fools. Growing more foolish as they grow more lavish.” Both of them fell silent, thinking about their options, thinking about their next move.

After some inundating contemplations, the boss said, “Wars are good. Let it happens if needs be. There’s always money to be made in a war. But we cannot be at the centre. And not till I get what I want. But before that, I’ve to go to Westhill. They are lagging behind. I don’t know what’s taking them so long. The delay is getting worse and worse. In the meantime, perhaps Lizzy over there can be of some help.” The boss cast a sideway glance to the lizardmen who were now celebrating their success: clinking their beers and then downing them, slapping each other backs, guffawing and at the same munching their meats (they ordered a whole pig) – such careless mirth, it was the envy of many.

“The lizardmen are so simple. Just kill the bastards and get paid. Pay them more. They will oblige. I asked them to fool around with the boy just now. And I praised them fabulously,” jested the boss. “I like the young one. You know, the one that speaks out. He got some potential.”

The bartender nodded and smiled. Simplicity is the mother of all happiness.

“And get some news from Vamuk. I want to know how he is managing our little problem. And hold on to the sword. I sense that it still has some part to play.” The boss took the final swig and finished the bottle. As he drank, he gazed at the bartender with his half-closed eyes. Like usual, his manner was benign, his air harmless, his emotion nonexistence.

But he knew, beneath every calm surface, there lurked a crocodile. He wondered whose head he wanted to snap off.