Traejan
“She can’t be serious,” Traejan tried to pull himself from Kyso’s grasp, alarmed at the turn of events. “I’ve seen Goshram take apart four men– at once!”
The old man wouldn’t let him go, gripped his arm harder.
“I wouldn’t underestimate a woman like that Trae,” he replied; voice stern, knowing.
Moments later, men and women were shouting, cheering, jostling for places in front of him, their children running about between the adults. He could hear the sounds of the fight, but he couldn’t see any of it through the wall of Panaki massed in his way. Damn her for doing this – he could have worked something out – he’d just needed more time.
Between the shifting bodies, he could still only see flashes of the violence, hear the roars of the Goshram, but saw nothing of Althea. Was she winning? Or losing?
Turning back, he saw Kyso up on a table, gripping a beam above him for balance, staring intently at what was happening. He had a wild grin on his face.
“What is she doing?” Traejan yelled. “What’s happening?” Kyso laughed loudly in response.
“She’s cutting him down to size,” he yelled back down.
“He’s three times her size!” Traejan shouted back.
Kyso turned to look back at him, eyes gleaming in a way he hadn’t seen in years, lanky white hair swinging around his bearded face.
She is Consortia, the old man mouthed.
A break opened in the wall of people, with the sound of furniture smashing against the circle of onlookers. Traejan pushing through the gap; could see clearly what had happened. Althea was on top of the big man, his boney, bloody face ground into the floor – cursing, roaring in pain.
She leaned close over him, saying something in the man’s ear. Then it was over. Goshram collapsed on the floor after a sudden, swift blow she made to the back of his head. She raised her head from the thug’s back, hair matted against her forehead, bare skin gleaming with sweat, eyes staring at nothing, mouth open as she breathed heavily. Goshram wasn’t moving.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Traejan shook his head. It was impossible. No matter what her NANs did for her–
The crowd began to break up, people pushing past him, going back to their tables. Traejan stood where he was, staring at the Consortian woman, leaning on a table, breathing deeply, her dark hair hanging lank, listless. Suddenly, two figures broke through the milling crowd shouting and swearing; long bearded hall keeper Jorhe and his brother stomped towards Althea, both of their faces red with anger.
Traejan was shocked by a sudden slap on his back, turned to Kyso, who was grinning like a maniac. He still couldn’t believe it.
“She took him down,” the old man crowed with delight. “With her bare hands – her bare hands.”
Traejan nodded dumbly, then worried, turned back to see Althea standing, talking to the bearded brothers, holding up a shining cylinder to Jorhe. Both of the bearded men gaped at the object in her hand, quickly nodded to the woman. She dropped it into Jorhe’s accepting hand.
What the streck? What was she doing? Paying the hall keepers off?
He started forwards, but Althea wasn’t finished. She picked up a chair, climbed up on it, called loudly for attention. All around the hall had turned quiet, and eyes turned to the woman. Althea turned her gaze around the room, surveying the faces, appearing cool and collected, despite the sheen of sweat on her skin. Her gaze stopped for a moment as their eyes met, then traveled on.
“All right, listen up,” she commanded the gathering watchers. Even those crouched over the unconscious giant turned to look. The only sound to break the moment was a baby’s wail.
“I am guessing from the attention,” she began, “that you are all wondering about what has just happened.”
There was a low murmur amongst the gathering, accompanied by the scraping of broken furniture as it was dragged out of the way. Althea pointed to Goshram – who was still alive, if senseless – sprawled on the floor. The group that had been poking at him had turned also to watch, listen to her.
“This unfortunate gentleman refused to accept my offer of genuine trilium for a service,” she reached into her shirt, pulled out another glittering cylinder. Exactly how much did she intend to show everybody – to give out?
“No,” she continued sarcastically. “He didn’t seem to want any of this at all. I found that a bit upsetting.”
The murmuring grew louder.
“But I know you still use equipment and technology that needs power,” she added. “And even a gram will go a long, long way.”
There were yells of agreement from the crowd.
She brandished the tiny object even higher, turned around.
“I have a whole cylinder right here,” she announced. “For those who are interested and willing to travel with me south of the Ice Line, I will be arranging a gathering. Keep your ears open. Thank you.”