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Mister Garth
Lord Glen & Mister Garth
Part II
-Deal with the Devil-
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> Damned be those that make deals wit the Devil to Abrakas gullet
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>
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> -Pirate saying-
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> Circa 190 NC
Someone had put a small table under a thick fig tree, tied the end of a hemp rope from a dense branch laden with green fruits and secured the loop at the other end to a man’s neck. The man himself of unimpressive stature. He had his hands tied behind his back and was standing on top of that table, several fallen plump figs next to his expensive black boots.
Half of them had splashed open and spilled their guts out attracting bugs of all sizes.
The condemned pirate did his best to avoid stepping on them.
The figs, not the bugs.
Which was one part weird, the other crazy.
Glen stopped amidst the modest crowd watching the scene unfold standing in a semi-circle, his eyes mostly on the ring leaders. A well-shaven solemn-faced Issir dressed in priest’s grey and black robes and a double-amputee heavy-set pirate, both limbs replaced with peg legs, just below the knee.
The tied up and about to hang pirate captain was the one speaking at that moment, finishing up what had probably been a very long ‘last words of the condemned’ drunken diatribe, judging by the crowds impressive yawns and barely subdued reactions of discomfort.
“…allow yer minds be fooled by the likes of ‘Nine Lives’ ‘n his ilk ehem…,” The pirate spat down at this before continuing. “…and hang a habitually innocent man. Since none of ye can claim I’ve done any worse than anyone present, then we’re all equally guilty, or equally innocent. Savvy? If the likes of me dangle in dis port, then make more nooses me lovelies, alas Abrakas shall judge ye all accordingly—”
“Abrakas don’t giv’ a rat’s arse about yer ramblings ‘n nonsense!” Someone yelled having had enough, cutting him off midsentence.
“Aye! Buss me arse! Dog’s spawn!” Complained another. “Dis fucker be talkin’ for a darn hour!”
The crowd agreeing, but for one small person that tried to protest loudly, but was grabbed from behind and pummeled senseless into the ground by a group of five.
Right, Glen thought smacking his lips.
“The Gods have spoken!” The austere looking man wearing a weird black top-hat said, raising his sinewy arms. “Let us proceed while we can still see our noses’ tips, so we can all go about our nightly businesses.”
“Which gods?” The about to be hanged captain protested desperately. “Yer a blasted atheist Van Fleet!”
The crowd almost erupted clearly split at this, with a good number agreeing with his words.
“Not one member of the brotherhood supported yer claims,” Van Fleet replied scrunching his narrow face not liking losing the crowd. “The one ye had with you, firmly repudiated every word ye sputtered!”
“Ye promised him me ship! He’ll sell his mother for less!” The young man countered, sounding girlish in his worry. Glen could understand that. Fear can strip a man from his essence and snip his balls. With an audible sigh, he shoved a man away from him impolitely channeling Gimoss and stepped forward. Hands hooked on his waistband, chest pushed out.
“Ah, I’ve heard enough,” Van Fleet admonished the tied up pirate. “Salty Reed, kindly kick the table from under him—”
“If I may stop ye right there,” Glen said loud enough to be heard, voice hoarse from breathing the desert air for months, “And make a counter proposal, friends.”
Van Fleet whipped his head around, a nasty scowl on his mouth for getting so rudely interrupted at what was probably a well-rehearsed finale.
“What? Who in Abrakas toes art you?”
“Can’t say if art is involved,” Glen deadpanned not well versed in the local dialect, over the mostly made of pirates crowd’s loud ‘arrs’ and curses. “But skill aplenty I assure you. Name’s Mister Garth. I have a proposal to make.”
The little square had turned silent. A stunned silence, the kind that rarely lasts for long.
Be quick, Glen thought and searched the rooftops for Flix’s small shadow.
“A proposal?” Van Fleet said, curling his lip upwards. “Can’t it wait after the event?”
“It can’t.”
“What did he say?” A young pirate asked having difficulty understanding Glen’s Common.
“He wants to parley,” replied another. An older pirate that had learned many jargons after years of plundering all manner of folk.
“Is he family?” The first one probed, but no one had an answer to that.
“What’s with the blades?” Pointed a third, the crowd’s murmuring slowly increasing in volume.
“Enough! Allgods darnit!” Van Fleet silenced them again and turned to him. “Yer a member of the brotherhood perchance, Mister Garth?”
“Yes… but not your brotherhood,” Glen replied with a small pause and stared at him knowingly. Van Fleet narrowed his eyes confused, so Glen added to help him out. “Does it matter? My proposal is beneficial to all you fine folk present here.”
“What’s yer proposal Mister Garth? We’re running out of sunlight,” Van Fleet snapped impatiently.
Glen had absolutely no idea how to save the pirate captain. The biggest problem being, he didn’t want to really ‘save’ him. Glen didn’t give a rusty copper about this ruffian’s life. But he did want information from him.
So absent anything less he went with that.
“This man knows something I need. Killing him now doesn’t help me,” the crowd protested initially, but then quieted down again seeing he hadn’t finished talking. “So to compensate ye for the inconvenience, I’m willing to pay you to get him off yer hands.”
Van Fleet stood back and grabbed his leather waistband almost like Glen was. He examined him carefully in silence.
“What happens after you learn what ye need?” The man with the double peg legs asked.
That was easy.
“I’ll kill him myself,” Glen replied without batting an eyelash. He glanced towards the condemned man and the rascal gave him a lewd wink, half his face painted black. “It’s a delay not an exoneration,” Glen added with a confused frown and the tied up pirate ogled his own eyes shocked at Glen’s words.
“What shall we get, say… we be willin’ to accommodate yer needs?” The man asked him, probably another captain, Glen decided.
“Fifty Gold Eagles, paid immediately.”
The man puckered his mouth. He was well in his forties, but hadn’t a grey hair on his head.
“That’s a good offer Van Fleet,” he finally said.
Of course it is.
I can buy a stable with that kind of coin.
“Bah, I don’t know Dayton,” Van Fleet replied. “I don’t like this.”
“What’s not to like?” Glen intervened. “I get him, learn what I want, then he’s dead and you gents get paid gold. And you’re off to yer business now saving time. The night beckons…” The latter Alix’s favorite line, which appeared to bring part of the crowd to his side.
“Lots of good reasoning there,” Captain Dayton agreed.
“May I have a say in this process?” The waiting to be hanged pirate asked.
“Ye may not. Nine Lives?” Van Fleet asked looking towards the crowd. “Ye should get a cut out of this.”
“I don’t see why he should,” Captain Dayton argued, but Van Fleet was adamant.
“What are we? Crooks? He gets a cut ‘No Knees’ Dayton!”
The apt named captain stilled his… peg legs. “I respectfully disagree,” he hissed.
Oh, for cryin’ out loud! Glen almost rolled his eyes exasperated.
“I’ll pay him as well, not out of yer share!” He suggested, his soul hurting deeply. Glen was burning through his stash of coins too fast to even count.
“What are ye lad? A travelling bank?” Van Fleet argued not convinced. “Throwing coin around like that?”
“It’s that guy!” Someone shouted haunted, as if he’d seen the devil. “Oh shite!”
“What guy?” Van Fleet asked and Glen would love to learn all about that as well, but he knew when to push to close a deal.
“Fifty Gold Eagles each!” He roared and this silenced the crowd finally.
“Each captain?” Dayton asked greedily, just to be sure. “That’s more to yer likin’ ‘Honest’ Fleet?”
“That seems fair,” Van Fleet agreed, a skeptical look on his face. “Nine Lives?”
Eat turds and die.
Who's that?
A man with a leather patch covering an eye stepped forward, currying an unresponsive kid on his shoulder. There was a lot of arse on that kid. Glen almost lost his shit recognizing the shifty figure of Stiles, the shock of seeing him there almost unraveling his plan and killing them all.
“I’ll take it, me fellow broth’rs,” Stiles said a greedy smirk on his mouth, apparently not recognizing Glen standing across from him. “We still have a crew to raise,” seeing the looks on the other captains’ faces, he added quickly. “The proper way, without rattling any of yer feathers.”
Ye son of a wayward goat, Glen fumed, but kept his tongue in his mouth.
“Excellent then,” Van Fleet decided and stared at the darkening skies. “Cut him down, keep him tied up. Mister Garth, I presume you have the gold with you?”
“That would make me an idiot. You’ll get it in two hours,” Glen responded calmly. “Name the place. I’ll bring the gold, ye bring the prisoner. A simple exchange. With one caveat.”
Van Fleet nodded.
“Name it.”
“That dude is present,” He said eyes wild and pointed at a frowning Stiles. The man opened his mouth to argue, but Van Fleet stopped him.
“Nine Lives?”
“Him.”
Van Fleet smacked his lips, austere face relaxing a bit.
“It’s a deal.”
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Flix tossed him the Peleg –the narrow bladed, curved shaft Zilan throwing axe- and Glen caught it, turned the finely crafted weapon this way and that, the blade gleaming in the light of the torches.
“Why?”
“It’s a street,” Flix replied simply, while checking on his grip-less throwing blades. The Gish carried every type of blade one could imagine on him. His harness as heavy as a boulder, which showcased the strength the assassin concealed behind his small stature.
“Do you need a blade too?” Glen asked Gimoss and the corpse showed him the shovel he’d taken from one of the workers. The details on that exchange murky and Glen didn’t have the time to delve on them. Gimoss had removed the wooden shaft and slotted an iron rail in the ring of the iron tool, almost two meters in length. The custom made shovel weighing a ton and completely dull, more a sledgehammer than a cutting weapon.
Outwardly.
“I need this to unearth the goat’s bones!” Gimoss thundered mightily, never shying away from a loud yell at any time and Dunstan who’d heard all the horror stories from Metu, eyed him apprehensively.
“We’re about to make a trade,” Glen explained patiently. “Not much digging will be needed.”
“Hah… haha… Ahahaha!” Gimoss guffawed tauntingly.
“Is he—” Clint tried to say, but Glen stopped him raising a hand.
“Don’t. Never address him directly, or otherwise.”
“Aye, Chief,” Clint said quickly and stepped away from the silently seething corpse. The fact they were stopping work for the night, downright insulting to him.
“You should work them down to the bone!” He blasted unable to keep it in. Gimoss was referring to the workers Lon had sent them earlier. They had arrived before Glen had finished with the pirates. The former thief sighed and glared at him.
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“Let’s finish this first dammit! It’s fuckin’ important!”
Gimoss swung once with his shovel to see if he could smack Clint on the head, but the brigand had wisely moved away enough and he went wide.
But not by much.
“Pfft, no it’s not. Ye fools are just trading like cunts!”
Glen puffed out and stared at the dark empty main road, leading to the port. They had agreed to meet halfway, which meant in turn they were now standing in the middle of Eikenport. The abandoned part per se.
“I’ll get up there,” Flix said and Glen nodded.
“Get the torches mounted, I want the spot lit!” Glen ordered his lackeys. “We will stand some way back.”
“What’s this captain like?” Dunstan asked, after securing his torch on a broken wall. Nesande’s Shade and Oras Eye were sending some light down, but not enough and the eerie silent ancient street was rife with shadows.
“Slender… ish,” Glen replied. “Fancy dressed, painted like a two bits whore. Shifty looking.”
“Sounds like a good fella,” Dustan commented and Glen checked to see whether he was serious, or not. He couldn’t tell and by the time Glen turned his head around, a group had appeared coming towards them.
A decent group. Glen counted four torches, the two pirate captains, Stiles and the prisoner, accompanied from at least ten pirates of various looks. Some of them inebriated and fairly decently armed.
Actually, they were armed to the fucking teeth, Glen thought furious, the fact they were also well-prepared escaping him.
What is dis shite?
Does no one trust their fellow man in this fuckin’ place?
“Ah, the mysterious Mister Garth. True to his word,” Van Fleet said, stopping about five meters away, just at the edge of their lit up spot. “Is the heavy sack at yer feet, what I think it is?”
“Hundred and fifty gold coins,” Glen rustled. He’d counted the darn things thrice, not to give more than the chunk of flesh these troglodytes were skinning off of his person! “Is the captain living?”
“The fake Vale? Aye,” Van Fleet replied and grabbed Vale by the collar. “He asked for a pint o’ grog to help him through the long wait, afore his just demise. Tied him to a barrel for the time was late and I think he managed to glug down half o’ it!”
Glen nodded, staring at the barely standing upright pirate captain. The fake ‘Vale’ seeing his scrutiny turned his face and grinned shiftily.
Hmm.
“Send us the gold, Mister Garth,” Dayton said, a giant cutlass hang down his meaty thigh.
“Start the prisoner my way, Captain Dayton,” Glen countered.
“Same time?” The pirate haggled and Glen yielded.
“Same time. Dunstan, take the sack to them.”
Dunstan hefted the sack on his shoulder with a sad sigh and turned to walk towards the waiting group. With a shove Van Fleet send Vale stumbling forward, his hands tied before him with a leather cord. Glen wiped the sweat off of his brow, his eyes smarting, body all tensed up. Vale took his time faltering at each step and constantly making comical faces, thin brows joggling, between half-winks and stares of desperation.
“Fuck is the matter wit him?” Clint murmured in Glen’s ear, the moment dragging.
“Him? That’s a fucking ripe cunt ye buffoon!” Gimoss roared and started laughing like a man fresh out of the asylum.
What is this fool doing?
“Shut up damn you!” Glen blasted him and Van Fleet spoke right after, voice measured and calculating, loud enough to be heard over the corpse’s chuckles.
“There’s a nasty rumor makin’ the rounds in ‘em good-folk taverns’,” the pirate captain said in his heavy jargon looking at Glen under heavy brows. “About a vile magus that birthed a god-darn Wyvern in the desert,” Glen flinched at the next words, his right hand lacing to his sword’s handle. “A cannibal and a corpse-lover that pays to get fresh bodies in Jelin gold.”
What the actual fuck? Glen frowned and Stiles took a step back, a blade in his hand. Everyone had their blades out it seemed. Dunstan stopped a meter from the pirates realizing something was afoot and Vale that had reached them, paint running down his face and panic in his eyes, all but collapsed between them.
“Never heard of him!” Glen growled and unsheathed his father’s sword. “Are we sharing tales now?”
“Tales birth truths every day. Hence how we heard of you,” Van Fleet retorted. “After Triage, every tavern speaks the story. We don’t do business wit child killin’ monsters Mister Garth.”
Fuck.
“There were no children killed!” Glen protested reaching for the sword he carried on his back and several things happened in quick succession in the next moments.
“Lies sprout out o’ the Demon’s mouth!” Someone yelled, the man from the square that had recognized him earlier, the former thief realized.
“Damned be those that make deals wit the Devil… to Abrakas gullet!” Van Fleet decided, voice dripping with righteous indignation and unsheathed a forward curved sword Glen had seen among Flix’s arsenal. The Gish had called it a Kopis, an Imperial Hoplite’s side weapon. The one the Pirate Captain carried intricately curved, blade a dull grey and the shaped grip a vivid-white ivory.
Vale turned his stumble into a dive on Clint’s feet, intent on grabbing a knife he carried on his belt away from him. The prisoner got his hands on the knife, but Clint managed to stand his ground and backhanded him right at the ear sending his hat away.
Dunstan dropped Glen’s sack of gold, the moment Vale’s pained –rather girly- shriek rang down the street and turned to run away. The pirate nearest him made to slash at his back, but got a bolt in the face and died a moment later with a muffle nobody heard.
Everything turned to chaos after that.
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Dunstan made it almost to their side, as the pirates behind him charged at them after the initial shock. Glen grabbed him by the collar and turned him around the right way, but almost got his hand chopped off by a nasty cutlass the first of the arriving pirates swung at him. Glen let go of Dunstan’s collar and stepped aside, a spurt of blood that sprayed the pirate in the face momentarily blinding him.
Dustan dropped on his knees, side of his torso ruined, several ribs cut and pointing out of his torn and bleeding flesh. Glen went for his second blade again, but decided against it seeing two pirates rushing him without thought and sidestepped instead.
The first pirate blocked his friend from attacking him, but turned around quick enough for Glen’s sword to cut him right at the face. The longsword’s point opening him up like a trout from chin to forehead. The man went down, gore spraying everyone near him and there were many.
Glen ducked under an iron sickle, custom made into a strange sword, slapped a long knife down with the flat of his blade and sliced his opponent left ear off, when his own blade came up. A good part of the pirate’s cheek went along with the severed part of flesh and the man’s eye deflated grotesquely.
Fuck.
Glen parried the blood-covered man’s cutlass away, slipped in the gore under his feet and almost went down. The man that had missed his chance earlier made to stab him in the back with his sickle, but caught the sharp end of a shovel with his neck and lost his head in the process. Half a foot of spine as well. The pirate’s head flew in the air, mouth still left open in wonder, spreading blood over them and landed on the cracked wall still standing at their right.
Good grief ‘n misery!
Glen charged the man that had killed Dustan next, now in the process of duking it out with a livid Clint, a panicked Vale below their feet trying to get away walking on all fours alike a giant cockroach. He had managed to free his hands somehow. Flix killed the pirate Glen was going for with a well-placed bolt through the neck and sent the cursing thief towards the waiting Van Fleet instead.
Gimoss deciding this was taking too much time away from actual work, walked purposefully towards the larger group of pirates that bloody shovel resting on his shoulder.
“You dump cocksuckers!” The corpse rebuked them. “Rebellious spoiled foodstuff!”
Glen reached the pirate captain, faked a right slash and almost opened his chest up on the return, but Van Fleet dodged and sent another of his lackeys his way. The pirate stumbled forward, but Glen was in rhythm now, his blood fired up and the skill of his opponents clearly lacking severely. He blocked the man’s blade with his, twisted his wrist bringing his blade along and sliced the pirate’s thumb resting at the guard off, the man wailing like a pig getting sluggishly slaughtered with a wooden knife.
“Hah!” Glen guffawed and kicked the clumsy return away with his boot. It sent the blade flying, as his opponent was unable to hold on to it. “Will ye give up?” He taunted, dancing around the wounded man energetically and almost died to Dayton’s large butcher-like weapon.
Cursing through his teeth Glen twirled away, a bit of panic setting in, just as Gimoss got knifed in the ribs, his shovel useless as he’d buried it earlier like a spear into a -probably dead now- hapless pirate’s sternum and couldn’t get it out in time.
“Ah, stupid dull shite!” The corpse bellowed scaring the living daylights out of his opponent still holding on to the knife. The desperate pirate started shoving and moving the blade around as much as he could to cause the maximum amount of damage to the living corpse. The wound created grotesque and the sound of flesh tearing and bones cracking wraithlike. Gimoss watched him struggling for a short moment and then reached with a rot infested hand and grabbed him by the nose.
The pirate screamed, but it came out all wrong, as the corpse had pulled down once hard and then heaved upwards with inhuman strength detaching the fleshy protrusion from his head. It took a large flapping piece of face-skin away as well, what was left behind a sobbing mess, the man’s screams chilling. Gimoss silenced him quickly -thankfully of sorts- shoving his fist deep into his skull through the small initial opening and extracting a handful of his bloody mushy brains out.
“Ah, there it is!” The corpse declared sounding pleased for whatever reason.
Glen was busy defending against the deceptively fast Dayton in the meantime, the pirate captain’s heavy weapon numbing his arm every time their blades connected. Dayton swung again and Glen sidestepped this time, slapped the blade aside with his vambrace and then chopped the pirate’s captain sword-arm off right at the elbow.
Dayton groaned sending spittle on his face and Glen kicked him hard right at the belly in retaliation, doubling him over. He made to finish him off, but Stiles stepped forward sneakily and tried to knife him in the gut. Glen cursed, baulked away from the nasty curved blade, a wild scowl on his face.
“What in the slovenly fuck?” He cursed stepping away from the ruffian he’d saved back in Altarin. “Ye revoltin’ ungrateful cretin!”
Stiles blinked, then paused in turn and gawked at him as if he’d seen a ghost. “Milord?” He asked. “Ye live?”
“Die ye vile creature!” Van Fleet bellowed, before the former thief could answer. Glen rolled on the ground, the pirate captain missing him for a hair. “Get him Nine Lives, we have him!” He urged the stunned former manservant, apparently turned to piracy again.
Van Fleet charged him again a determined look on his face. A scowling and thoroughly pissed Glen rose up, dirt, blood and pieces of flesh on his new armour. He breathed once deep through the nose eyeing the charging pirate Captain and swung wild, just as Van Fleet swung at him in turn, the former thief forgetting Emerson’s lessons.
> Luthos chuckled.
Glen’s sword met the exotic Kopis right at the middle, sparks erupting all over their faces and broke in half. Van Fleet’s blade continued undaunted towards him and Glen had to react spastically, despite his utter shock. He dived, forehead smacking Van Fleet in the chest, his sword missing Glen, but for the pommel that caught him on the shoulder pad.
Van Fleet cursed, but it came out muffled and stumbled back a couple of feet furious. Glen twisting away as well in full panic, holding on to a handbreadth of blade left above his sword-guard.
What in Luthos name?
“Imperial steel,” Van Fleet growled, his mouth curling upwards. “Yet, the demon lives.”
Ye fuckin’ cheater, Glen cursed taking a step back quite rattled. His left knee shaking a bit. He went for the Peleg this time, despite knowing fuck all about fighting with it.
“Get him Nine Lives,” Van Fleet ordered, but Stiles didn’t react. “What the…”
“You move an inch,” Flix was heard from atop the collapsed roof, crossbow in his hands. “You’re done.”
Van Fleet glanced towards the small-bodied Gish, but he couldn’t see much in the darkness of the ruin, but for his long shadow. He then eyed the rest of the street, bodies scattered everywhere, severed hands and heads. Gore on the ground, blood on the cracked walls and discarded weapons. Mostly from his men.
The majority of them dead. Dayton trying to staunch the bleeding and another poor soul barely standing upright, looking at the corpse slurping on his friend’s brains in the middle of the street.
The latter part disturbing for all.
“It appears we are at an impasse,” Van Fleet said, but took a cautionary step back ruining his own argument.
“Nah,” Glen replied flipping the Peleg once and catching it deftly, all fake bravado, as he was still shook from what had happened earlier. “I’m good for another round.”
“You can have the impostor,” Van Fleet offered.
“I’m nothing of the sort!” Vale protested, suddenly livelier than he was a moment before.
“Shut up!” Both Glen and Van Fleet rebuked him.
Glen nodded and the pirate captain returned his nod with one of his.
“Until next time, Mister Garth,” Van Fleet said with a toothy smirk.
“Sure,” Glen retorted with an even toothier grin than his. “Take the invalid wit you. He’s running out of blood ‘n limbs.”
In his mind this was the best pun of the night.
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“You okay there Clint?” Glen asked the sniffling brigand.
“Aye, Chief. It’s just that I knew ‘Greedy’ me whole life ye see,” Clint said standing up.
Glen stared at the still warm corpse of Dunstan. The look of horror on his face disturbing.
Uh.
“Right. Ahm… well, take pride in the fact ye avenged the one responsible for his untimely demise,” Glen consoled him lamely. Truth be told, he wasn’t certain the one responsible was truly dead, but the right thing to do here is lie to the man, he decided. “Now, since we’re on borrowed time. Grab that rascal Vale, tie him up proper again and bring him to our place.”
Glen looked at Stiles next.
“Where’s Fikumin?” He asked. “Where are the others?”
“Didn’t go wit them,” Stiles replied. “Got lost after the attack.”
“Yer lying.”
“Not really. It was chaos, Glen.”
“Name’s Garth, mister Stiles.”
Stiles nodded. “Thought as much.”
“See ye remember it,” Glen warned him. “I haven’t finished wit you. Ye go with Clint. Stay away from the Mastaba, if ye know what’s good for you.”
Flix had approached him in the meantime.
“Why stop the fight?” Glen asked him.
“Would you have allowed me a shot?” Flix asked. “To finish it quickly?”
“Nah,” Glen replied and glanced in the old Gish’s face. “Yeah, I get it.”
“He had the advantage,” Flix elucidated.
“Imperial steel?”
“A named weapon. That was ‘Reaper’ the Kopis,” Flix explained. “The color of its blade is unique.”
“You know he had it?”
“The Van Fleet are Issirs that never stopped pirating, since the days of Reinut,” the Gish said. “They are the most influential faction, along the Attertons’,” he paused and stared at the subdued pirate getting his hands tied up, before adding. “And the Vales’. Pirate royalty in a sense.”
“Hence this impostor’s tale wasn’t well received,” Glen agreed with a sigh.
Flix kept his eyes on the scarf-wearing small-bodied pirate for a moment longer than necessary. He licked his lips then and furrowed his washed out brows mid-move surprised. The Gish checked the empty road, then the ruin they were standing next to, curiosity oozing out of him and his tiny nostrils sniffing at the night air.
“What is it?” Glen asked him. “Are they coming back?”
“Not yet,” Flix replied deep in thought, as if something was bothering him. “But we should move.”
Glen didn’t have to be told twice.
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They left the others move ahead and rode at the rear to watch for any pirates following them. Sure one could find out where we’re staying, Glen thought. But I won’t make it easy on them.
Flix was riding next to him silently.
“You’re worrying me friend,” Glen told him. “We got the captain and Stiles. We’re going to find out what happened to my friends.”
“Wasn’t Stiles a friend?” Flix asked him.
Glen sighed. He had his father’s broken sword in his hands. The memory of the Kopis going through the blade and coming at him haunting.
How do ye fight that?
A fool can kill you.
“More like a manservant. I spared him from execution,” Glen explained.
“A slave,” Flix said, looking ahead.
It didn’t sit well with Glen.
“It’s not as simple as that, Flix.”
“Ah, but it is, Garth,” Flix replied. “Don’t worry I understand,” Glen grimaced, the Gish gave him a reassuring smile, again frowning in the middle of it. He turned on the saddle and stared at the empty dark street behind them. Then at both sides of the ruined buildings that were looming over them, hugging Eikenport’s main artery and leading back to their base.
“Flix, you’re making me nervous. What has you worried, friend?” Glen asked him again.
The old Gish chuckled at that and stared at his tanned, bearded face. The dark never bothered his old eyes much and Glen’s amber eyes were gleaming like warm gold in the light of the moons anyway.
“Not worried,” Flix replied with an embarrassed grin. “Ehm, aroused… it’s been years.”
Glen frowned, scrunched his face this way and that and something jumped out of the shadows and landed on the saddle right behind his back. He made to reach for the Peleg, his muscles screaming and adrenalin surging, but remembered he’d a broken piece of sword in his hands and hissed frustrated.
His body locking up, when the point of a sharp blade touched the soft skin below his right ear.
Oh, that’s just plaguin’ great! Glen groaned inwardly, super frustrated.
“Tell yer Gish to lower that shit, else me digit might spasm,” Jinx whispered in his ear, tip of a tongue tasting his sweat. “Tis a chronic condition. Can’t help it.”