Chapter 19: Beers and Brawl

Jace “Quickshot” Leál

Ayla went back to the Golden Pony, while I joined Bear for a beer. He’d asked me to pay him back this way after he stepped in to stop people from hounding me for recruitment. It seemed like a small price for a moment of peace.

The Lucky Strike Tavern was one of the first establishments in Tempest, back when it was just a fledgling settlement made up of survivors and repurposed scraps salvaged from ruins. Its name came from one of the early nicknames of the town after the first settlers discovered a natural aquifer while mining nearby ruins, making it the ideal place for a permanent settlement.

Its rough-hewn exterior, constructed from weathered planks of wood and mismatched stone blocks, was half buried in the city that had grown around it, and required us to descend a short flight of stairs to reach the tavern proper. A heavy, iron-bound door like something stripped from a bunker, creaked loudly as it swung open.

Inside, the dim light from oil lanterns cast flickering shadows across the room, highlighting the eclectic decor, which included artifacts and trinkets hanging from the walls which were a patchwork of scavenged tiles. Overall, it was kind of nostalgic.

“Trevor!” Bear barked at the barkeep as soon as we were through the door. “Pour us a couple of Tornado Blondes. Off the tap; none of that cheap canned shit.”

Trevor was the second dwarf I’d seen in Tempest. He was missing a forearm, with his white shirt tied in a knot at the elbow. There was a glass mug under his arm, which he was polishing with his good hand. He must have been standing on an elevated platform that ran across the floor behind the bar, because he stood eye-level when we sat down.

“Coming right up, boss.” Trevor gave the mug a deft flip and caught it, then poured a pair of bright golden beers from the modified tap that let him easily handle one-handed. It was a perfect pour with a nice head. “Enjoy.”

The tavern wasn’t too full in the middle of the afternoon, just a group of adventurers huddled in the corner and a pair of old men drinking an amber liquid at the end of the bar.

“I’m surprised you took me up on the beer.” Bear said. “Thought you were all lip service when I named the price for getting the word out there that you were a sonofabitch who people oughta leave alone.”

I tipped my mug back. The fizzy yellow liquid went down cool and swirled slightly as it went down—just like a tornado. It was a weird sensation but not unpleasant. A strange way to use magic, sure, but there were worse ways too.

“Don’t pretend like you did me a favor. Aren’t you just going to do the same now you’ve got me alone and tied to my beer?”

Bear slapped me on the shoulder. Friendly, not hard despite his obvious strength. “Guilty as charged, brother. It’s a pain. I'm that dwarf bastard’s favorite errand boy. At least it pays well.” He looked up at Trevor, whose eyebrow was arched so high it met his hairline. “No offense to dwarves, Trevor. Just to employers in general.”

Trevor nodded, mollified. Like any good barkeep, he resumed polishing glasses.

“Let’s get on with it. The sooner I refuse, the sooner we can enjoy the suds in peace.”

Bear shook his head. “You’re something else, man. It’s no wonder the governor’s obsessed to get you on the team.”

“I didn’t know I was that important.”

He shrugged, an awkward gesture with his bulging shoulders. “Not many Branded around these days. They say most went mad after the Shattering. It’s a shame about Marcus.” Bear took a swig of his beer but I could feel his eyes studying me sideways. He wasn’t convinced I had nothing to do with Marcus’s death. “Tell me true, is that sonofabitch really dead?”

I gave a slight nod. “Food for carrion eaters.”

“Shit. Must’ve been an epic battle.”

I winced. I was never keen on reliving a fight. Especially one where those I fought alongside were dead. Moreso since I’d been the one to kill them.

Bear noticed my discomfort. “Alright then. The offer is this—” He told me how much coin and resources Prospero was willing to expend to entice me to join.

“Not interested.”

“Ha! You’re cold, man. Didn’t even bat an eye.” Bear finished his drink and waved a hand for Trevor to serve another. “You know that figure is the upfront investment. The reward for success is ten times that. You sure that’s how it’s gonna be?”

I didn’t bother saying more. He could tell I wouldn’t budge. Instead of pushing the subject any more, he took a moon clip from his jacket pocket and set it on the bar. There were six runecarved bullets in the caliber of my gun. They buzzed with a kind of magic I wasn’t familiar with. The sensation was like eating something that sucked the moisture from your mouth as soon as you bit into it—like an unripe potato.

Bear pointed at the clip. “It’s the last I’ll say about it. This is a gift from me. If you change your mind, these bullets are guaranteed to kill a greater spirit. Our teams all have a lot more than that, but I got a feeling if you’re up against the fucker, you won’t need any more.”

I considered refusing. Accepting a gift often comes with an implicit price.

Like he read my mind, Bear said:“Before you turn ‘em down, you should know that these bullets are rare as hell. They’re the governor’s own design. Anti-magic bullets. Even if you never come across the spirit…”

I asked the barkeep for a spare hand towel and wrapped the gift in it, then pocketed it in a belt pouch. I didn’t want to touch them with my bare hand. “Does Prospero know about this…gift?”

Bear stretched languidly. “Nope.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

“Hope you never need ‘em.” Bear knocked on the bar. The barkeep took that to mean he wanted a couple more beers rather than a ward against bad luck. Good naturedly, he offered to buy that round for me too.

True to his word, Bear didn’t bring up my joining his expedition again. Although he did tell me about his party’s plans, it felt more like just keeping a friendly conversation going rather than something with an ulterior motive. They were setting out tomorrow, and planned to travel south to do some monster culling, then work their way northeast until they reached the Sybiline Mountain Range, where the darkling and his greater spirit were said to reside.

It was the opposite route we would take escorting Renn and her father. One of the biggest contributors to our decision to take the escort job was that we would be traveling north to the border towns. It was the perfect opportunity to both learn the lay of the land, as well as potentially make contact with the elves of the plane. Ayla and I agreed that if she could, she would go with them and my oath would be fulfilled. Then I would be free to complete my contract with Renn, and afterwards, continue my journey beyond the basin to Hope’s End. I had already made a call from the Sending Office in Tempest to let them know I was delayed. The mayor of Hope’s End was just pleased I had made it across the Waste safely and informed me that their gunsmith was still alive and kicking. So long as I could make it before the end of the season, it would be alright.

Soon, it was time to go. Surprisingly, I enjoyed Bear’s company more than I thought I would. He knew not to pry into my past, and I knew not to pry into his. We were just two people whose lives revolved around violence sharing a beer and amenable company away from that violence. Though, as opposed to me, I got the sense Bear enjoyed the thrill of danger.

And Bear could sense my aversion to it. As I got up to go, he indirectly asked me about it. It caught me off guard; I didn’t expect a deeply philosophical question out of the big man. “What are you looking for out of this life, Jace? Clearly it isn’t money.”

I meant to blow off his question by answering with something trite and superficial. Instead, the truth spilled out of me like water from an overfilled cup. “A life far away from killing—someplace quiet to die.”

Bear’s affable smile became solemn. “Then, may you find it, brother.” We clasped arms.

Of course, the gods of irony decided that would be a perfect moment to laugh in my face. As I got up from my barstool, the group of adventurers that had been in the corner now stood, arms crossed arrayed in a line in front of us.

I recognized their leader in the center. He was Two-Pistols—I’d forgotten his name—the crackshot whose speed and accuracy record I had obliterated at the shooting range. Incidentally, he’d been one of the people who tried to recruit me into the guild, and his party. Recalling our exchange, I also remembered that I hadn’t been very nice to him.

I’d been downright rude. He approached me after I’d already suffered numerous people asking the same thing. In fact, he was the one I nearly got into a fight with and the inciting incident that led Bear to intervene on my behalf. That said, the kid’s arrogant attitude hadn’t helped.

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“What ho, gunslinger. Bear. Fancy meeting y’all here.” Two-Pistols knuckled his nose. His narrow face, sharp nose, and slick-back hair made him look like a bird of prey. “Boys, ain’t it nice?”

Three on his right. Four on his left. They all voiced agreement in the way henchmen do for their boss—slimy and ass-licking.

Bear scoffed, then growled humorlessly. “What’s crawled up your ass, Altivo?” He gestured at the group. “Why does it look like you’re looking to start something?”

Two-Pistols—Altivo—spat on the floor between us. “That’s between me and that bastard next to you.”

Bear crossed his arms and widened his stance. Somehow, he managed to make himself look even bigger than he already was. “You’ve got nerve, picking a fight in front of me. You sure this is how you want to die? Something wrong with your head?”

The slick-haired man raised his hands like a man surrendering, but not with the face of one. Then gestured to me. “You talk for this friend now? My, my—you two lovers on a date?”

Bear’s fists clenched and he nearly took a step forward, stopping when I put a hand on his arm. “Easy.” I sighed. “Let me.” The big man leaned back on the bar, eyes screaming bloody murder.

“As you wish.”

“Pisto—I mean, Altivo.” I held my hands palm up. “If this is about my being rude to you before, I apologize. I took out my frustration on you.”

Altivo’s initial surprise morphed into mocking laughter. “I didn’t take you for someone who cowed easily.” He took out a thin cigar and flicked open a lighter to light it.

“No smoking.” The sound of a scattershot pumping loading a shell was impossible to ignore. We all turned to see Trevor, finishing his one handed pump with the stock of the gun braced on the bar. The barrel may have pointed up, but by the way he handled the weapon, anyone could see he knew how to use it.

Frowning, Altivo put away the thin cigar.

“Clearly, you idjits plan on fighting.” Trevor sounded like someone who’d gone through this situation before. In fact, he’d sounded more upset about someone smoking in his bar than fighting. “Fucker who damages my collection on the walls gets a dose of buckshot to the face. Loser pays for any other damages. No guns, no knives. No one dies. On my mark once everyone’s agreed.”

Oh—Trevor wasn’t angry. He was looking forward to it. He set the rules so things didn’t get out of hand, and kept the scatter shot on display as a threat of punishing anyone who didn’t adhere to them.

Bear shot me a questioning look. “How ‘bout it, pacifist? No shame in bowing out. I can give ‘em their lesson all on my own.”

Shaking my head, I cracked my knuckles. “No chance. I like Trevor’s rules. I got nothing against a bit of sport. I’ll take the right, you take the left?”

Bear grinned. “Next round of beer’s on whoever knocks out the most teeth? I got an itch to win something after your woman kicked my ass at the range today.”

“Nah. Don’t want that weighing on my conscience. First to disable his four wins.”

“Ugh… Fine.” Bear grunted.

I took off my hat and placed it on the bar, then I raised my fists, feeling a familiar rush of adrenaline. “Ready when you are barkeep.”

Trevor’s voice was pregnant with unbridled glee. “Three…two…one… Go!”

Even before Trevor finished his countdown, Altivo dashed forward swinging a wild haymaker meant to catch me off guard. I expected as much, and stepped into the arc of the punch. I blocked and caught his sleeve with one hand, then hooked my other arm under; turn and squat; lift then rotate—resulting in a perfectly executed throw.

I caught a brief glimpse of Altivo’s confused expression as the world around him spun without him having a clue why. Then slam! His back hit the ground.

That knocked the wind out of him. It also surprised the rest of the attackers targeting me. I sprinted wide of the bully with a ponytail on my far right. I needed him to give his companions his back and make them have to go around him.

Ponytail was quicker than expected, launching a swift kick at my midsection. I caught it under my arm, ribs creaking from the impact, then drove forward aggressively. He stumbled back, knocking over a table and chairs on his way down.

Bully three had a pink, patchy birthmark over one eye, number four had round cheeks and an enormous fat nose. Birthmark and Fatnose came at me at the same time.

Birthmark lunged with a straight punch aimed at my face, while Fatnose charged in low, arms spread for a double-leg takedown. The takedown was the greater threat. I sprawled hard, shooting my hips back and dropping my weight on his shoulders. In a perfect world, he would have let go and fallen on his face. Instead, he kept a grip around one of my legs, making my life difficult while Birthmark got a few free punches at my head and ribs. I caught one in the ear that ruptured the cartilage on my upper ear, and another that cut my cheek. His ring was a weapon in its own right.

My knee connected with Fatnose’s signature facial feature, nose flattening against my knee with a sick crunch. Blood spurted like a popped water balloon. With him out of the way, I was able to bat away one of Birthmark’s punches and connect a set of punches to his sides, one of which I felt dislocate a rib, then I created distance with a push kick. The man crashed against Ponytail—who had just picked himself up off the table he knocked down—and they both went down together.

I backed away, putting one of the two support columns in the tavern between me and my attackers so I could assess the situation.

Fatnose was rolling on the floor hand to face and out of the fight, but Birthmark, Ponytail, and Altivo were all on their feet and spreading out to crowd me.

Meanwhile, Bear’s fight was a chaotic mess, and far more brutal. Apparently, even if we weren’t competing with each other on who could knock out the most teeth, he’d taken up the challenge anyway. At just that moment, he rammed his attacker’s face into a table, knocking out an entire row of top teeth and shredding the man’s lips. Teeth spilled from his mouth and one was even embedded in the table. The man gave a choked cry before falling unconscious.

I would have considered it overkill if it hadn’t been obviously justified. As the man fell, he dropped a jagged bottle he’d smashed and turned into an improvised lethal weapon.

The rest of Bear’s opponents had bloody brows, noses and split lips. They got their licks in, but Bear was so big, he’d just shrugged off blows as he focused on laying down the pain. Of his four, one was toothless and unconscious. One suddenly backed away nursing a broken wrist, and the last two were circling but wary as they all caught their breath.

The difference between a real fight and fiction is how quickly they end. This one was already coming to a close and if it had been a minute I’d be surprised.

In reality, there isn’t the stretched out choreography like you read in stories and see in plays. While it isn’t easy to knock someone out with a single punch, that’s not usually what ends a fight. A bit of pain is enough to do that. The most efficient way to end a fight when the aim isn’t to kill, is breaking a wrist or kneecap. But I was holding back—unlike Bear; my goal was simply blowing off steam.

Altivo and his men who were fighting out of some overinflated sense of pride had no such qualms. Altivo ordered Birthmark and Ponytail to grab a chair. The latter did so, while the former refused.

“I’m done, Al.” Ponytail said, clutching his dislocated rib.

“Chicken shit.” Altivo growled.

Bear’s exultant cry rang out just after another grunt of pain put the last of his attackers on their knees, clutching their stomach. “I win, Jace! You’re buying the next round.”

Birthmark looked around uncertainly, then up at Altivo for guidance. The proverbial table had turned and now with Bear behind them and me in front, having just crippled six of their number, I could see his will to fight crumble.

Altivo cursed again. Birthmark, rightly determining the brawl was over, set down his chair. That was the last straw for the slick haired asshole.

He took two bold steps forward and I could see the bloodlust in his eyes. His left hand dropped to his side and closed around the grip of his gun.

In a life or death situation, it was instinct when there was no choice but to draw on the Goldeneye. As soon as I’d seen the murderous intent in his eye and he touched the grip, I pulled hard on my mana. My eyes shone molten gold, and, later, Bear would say that my movement was quicker than a viper’s strike—and as someone who, he boasted, had the reflexes to catch one mid strike—Bear was left speechless.

The reality was that Altivo’s draw was fast, smooth, and without wasted movement. He’d chosen to draw left-handed to throw me off. It was a well practiced movement that spoke to countless hours of training, and in that moment of slowed time, I could appreciate, if not approve of, the hit to his pride and subsequent reaction to being snubbed when I outdid his record at the range.

In fairness to his skill, if it weren’t for my Goldeneye, I would have been shot.

I strained, and followed the ethereal projection that marked the trajectory of his gun. He meant to fire from the hip, further reducing the time for me to respond.

My hand gripped the top of his gun and pushed it aside just as it went off. My other hand quickly followed, clutching his wrist and twisting up and in an angle that would have broken it if his body didn’t adjust involuntarily. The gun came free. His arm came straight and his knees hit the floor. I released his wrist before it snapped, thinking that would be an end to the exchange, but he spun to face me and went for the other gun.

“Fuck you, you sonofa—“

I swung, striking him square in the teeth and dazing him. Moaning, he leaned forward, then spit out teeth, blood and spit. It was unsteady, but his hand still reached for his gun again.

Trevor hopped over the bar and pointed the scattershot at Altivo’s chest. “Don’t fuck with my rules, idjit. You lost.”

Finally, Altivo seemed to understand the situation he was in, and his loathsome spiteful eyes lost their blind fury and he slowly raised his hands in surrender.

The party of bullies picked up their injured and emptied their money pouches on the bar table—their tax for the damages to the tavern. Two helped Altivo to face me, and he held out his hand for his gun.

I studied the revolver properly for the first time. It was beautiful. Masterful flourishes engraved along the chrome-plate, with a polished bone handle sporting the image of a griffin carved on both sides. I thumbed the cylinder release catch and snapped it open. It used the same 8.2 Parabellum as mine.

Fortuitous.

I spied the other gun on Altivo’s hip. It wasn’t part of a set. That was good; it might have made me feel bad to take one and not its twin.

Rather than handing it over, I flipped the weapon barrel down and tucked it into my belt. “My prize.” Then let my hand rest on it, ready to draw if he showed any sign of resisting.

Blood and spit streamed from one side of his face, but he still managed a choked growl. “I’m going…to kill you.”

“Not today.”

Then the entire party limped out of the tavern with their tails between their legs. There was scattered applause from several of the patrons that had entered since I started drinking with Bear, and who had spectated the brawl.

I donned my hat and tipped it at them.

Bear squatted by the scattered teeth Altivo left on the floor. He grinned up at me with a face that said “I thought you weren’t playing.” He pointed at each one, counting, then barked a laugh. “Looks like you’re buying next time.” I couldn’t help rolling my eyes.

When I left Lucky’s I was sore, and a bit miffed the fight got out of hand, but overall in good spirits. I’d gotten a workout, and gained a suitable addition to my arsenal.