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Chapter 14: Switch
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“Laws are the pleading weak’s desperate entreaty to the mercy of the strong. A monarch has no use for law. Obedience is the precondition of survival.” ~ Eri IV, Of Providence and Pain.
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Huck pulled open the door to the Firestone Inn and strolled inside. The scents of hot food and alcohol wafted through the air, filling Logan with heady warmth. A curious lack of noise they’d noticed from outside was explained upon their entrance.
A ring had formed around the center of the inn’s large dining room, people standing in a loose circle. Some cowered and looked towards the door, while others glowered at the scene unfolding before them. Tension filled the air and Logan heard shouting from inside the circle beyond the press of bodies.
“Fuckin’ krat piece of shit-”
A shout and a cry as some blow that Logan couldn’t see landed.
“Know your fucking place,”
A whimper and a distinct cracking sound as small bones shattered.
A man cried out, an agonized wail that tickled at the walls of something repressed, hidden away deep inside of Logan. The crowd shouted, clearly not in favor of whatever was happening but for some reason not interfering. Huck’s face went hard, and he put a hand on Ryan’s back. They walked closer, pushing apart the shoulders in front of them and breaking into the circle of wary bystanders.
They gained vision of the scene as a greave-encased shin slammed into the jaw of the man on his hands and knees on the floor. Huck pushed forwards, stepping inside the circle of onlookers, his voice rising in protest.
Another man they hadn’t noticed, standing menacingly just inside the circle watching the crowd, grabbed him by the shirt. The man twisted, throwing Huck to the side where he collided with a surprised woman who raised her arms to protect herself, catching Huck’s back. Logan felt Ryan bristle, the boy tensing beside him. The man who’d thrown Huck, presumably a companion of the aggressor in the circle, punched a gauntleted fist into Huck’s stomach, doubling him over, then drew a sword from his belt.
“We warned you, dumb fucking cunt bastard, now you’re dead too,” the man sneered, snarling as he stalked towards Huck, sword readied at his side.
Bad. I should do something.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
A dagger materialized in Logan’s hand. He took a step forwards. Mikey screamed at him, something about danger or being careful that he wasn't giving enough attention to comprehend.
Where’s Ryan?
The man fell to a knee as he screamed, clutching his leg with one hand, and swiping in front of him with his sword in another. A small dagger was imbedded up to the hilt in his leg, just above the patella. Blood seeped into his grey pantleg, already dripping onto the floor, staining the dirt and stone below.
His swing hit nothing but air. Ryan ducked under the arm, his knife slicing armpit and shoulder as he moved behind the kneeling man. The arm fell limp, sword clattering on the floor; he’d severed nerve and tendon.
They were facing Logan. Fluidly transitioning from ducking and sliding to standing, Ryan grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked the man’s head backwards, placing the blade of his knife against the man’s neck, under his right ear.
As soon as the blade touched skin, Ryan began dragging it across his throat. The man stopped screaming, neck forcibly stretched back, eyes fixated on the ceiling, helpless to prevent his death. The knife had only moved an inch or so before Ryan paused, locking eyes with Logan. He asked his hunting partner, his senior, a soundless question. Logan jerked his head to the side.
Ryan released his grip on the man’s hair and kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling forwards onto his face and crippled arm, where he lay quivering.
The whole fight had only taken a handful of seconds. Once Ryan had begun, his motions were seamless and fluid; calculated, nothing rushed. Like a well-rehearsed performance, he’d clinically disassembled the man’s defense and come within moments of reaping his life.
He’d have killed that man without hesitation if I had nodded. His face never changed, just cool calm and collected, Logan thought.
He didn’t feel positively or negatively about what he’d witnessed and learned. In a way, he’d expected it. They’d been fighting together under the threat of death for weeks now. They didn’t really talk about it, but they had a mutual understanding of each other that was somehow deeper than any Logan had ever experienced.
Ryan made the knife disappear under his clothes and ran to his father, who was standing in a hunch, nursing his side. Logan moved over to them, angling himself protectively towards the center of the circle where a band of six or seven thugs had gathered around their fallen companion.
The man they’d been beating, fingers broken and face a mangled disaster of torn flesh and blood, crawled slowly, forgotten, escaping into the relative safety of the ring of onlookers who were now watching intently, tenser than ever. Some fled quietly through the Inn’s doors, hopefully to find and return with guards.
Logan hid his dagger and removed his shortsword and a shield he’d purchased from Jugo earlier that day. He stood in front of father and son, the shield on his left arm held at half-ready in front of him and sword gripped casually by his waist. He said nothing as he watched the group in the ring’s center, shuffling, weapons drawn.
The group’s leader, the man that’d kicked the “krat,” moved to its front, facing the trio. Oily brown hair hung to his collarbone, and a full, proud beard covered his chin and lips. The scar running parallel across his forehead and down his cheek outside of his right eye shifted as his face contorted in rage.
He drew in an angry breath, about to speak, when a booming voice bellowed from outside of the circle opposite the exit.
“Who the fuck, who in Nor’s holy fucking name dares to interrupt my cooking?”
Despite everything, Huck snorted; a rueful smile growing on his face.
A gap formed in the crowd, revealing a stocky woman standing on a high bar-top, a thick meat cleaver over her shoulder and a hand on her hip. Lustrous red hair leapt into the air and tumbled down around her shoulders as she jumped from the counter to the floor and strode powerfully towards the gang.
“My useless husband is the captain of the town guard, but I’ve got plenty of time to make some ‘accidents’ happen before he gets here, so I suggest you see yourselves the fuck out unless you want to lose some limbs; I could use new ingredients for my shepherd’s pie.”
The leader’s face paled, whether at the threat of being turned into an entree or at the imminent arrival of the guard captain Logan didn't know, and his companions looked at him uneasily. Unable to find anything to say in retort, he turned his head and spat, then stalked away, the group of thugs following closely behind. Two in the back supported the injured one over their shoulders, giving dirty, venomous looks to Logan, Ryan, and Huck as they passed.
The woman stood, looking after them stoically as they left.
The door slammed shut behind the last man, and she turned her gaze on the trio, looking first at Huck, then Ryan, then Logan.
The stern expression faded from her homely face, and she smiled warmly.
“Hi there Huck, little guy, you two look well. Who's your friend?”