Chapter 16

Murderbrook Pork

Three hours later Mikel lay in a heap in the corner of Telgil’s forge, dripping sweat, some blood, and exhausted but with his dignity intact.

“Did… You have to go THAT hard?” Mikel asked as he shoved the sword he’d been gripping aside. His wrist, fingers, and arm throbbed with the concentrated pain of multiple tremendous impacts from both Helsket and Telgil as they took turns battering him with various weapons from the forge.

Earlier, when Telgil had first displayed the wares to Helsket, Helsket had been less than enthusiastic to play. That changed when he was presented with a moving target with a pulse.

“Hard?” Helsket looked to Telgil who’d taken up repose near the opposite edge of the forge where he was busy cleaning the last blade he’d used on Mikel and the one which had drawn the deepest cut.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Telgil said as he raised the blade to the light, and twisted it back and forth to examine his work before he carefully tucked the blade away back in the wall mount where it had come from.

“That one’s going to a prince of Valtic,” he said, “The fellow overpaid for it, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him. He wanted the sword made to his specifications and no other.”

“I don’t care about that!” Mikel exclaimed as he rolled to his feet, pulling at the leather straps stuck to his body, “Just get me out of this sweaty leather!”

The leather armor, though light and flexible, had gone from comfortable and fun to wear to feeling like a stricture jacket used in hospitals. Now, as he pawed at the leather strips and brass clasps, he wanted nothing more than to escape the stifling confines.

“Here,” Helsket said as he walked over to Mikel, still brandishing the hammer he’d been using.

“Oh no,” Mikel said, scrambling away from Helsket to find his sword, “You already got me once with that.” The silver steel rose up in front of Mikel as a snake might rear up before striking and Helsket grinned.

“Ah, not quite so tired yet. Have at ye!”

The ancient, but not ancient-looking warrior, swung the hammer with all his strength at Mikel’s arm.

Although Mikel had practiced swordplay endlessly at his family's estate, that practice had been solo. The manor had been populated with servants, workers, and the like, but none dared help him train. Mikel had always wondered at that and, after a while, chalked it up to his father’s influence on the people. Although Lord Raithson had taken ill, he was still one of the most dangerous warriors on the Continent. People naturally inclined away from potentially hurting his only son, when possible.

Helsket, as had been proven, held no compunction to outright attack and held nothing back. At times it seemed as if the old warrior were trying to break bones and shatter teeth.

With a shift Mikel parried the strike, sending the hammer blow wide. Using the momentum imparted from the deflection, Mikel stepped into Helsket’s guard and elbowed him hard in the stomach.

Normally, a strike from a fit, armored teenager would have put any combatant down - Helsket though, was not just any combatant.

With a huff, Helsket stepped into Mikel’s step and with all the force of an ox, blasted Mikel back with a shoulder strike which sent him flying.

The sword clattered to the ground as Mikel slid to a halt along the back wall of the forge.

“Okay - now I’m done,” Mikel said, a deep ache seeping through his body as the combat of the previous few hours began to catch up with him. It wasn’t every day you were worked over by two extremely talented warriors with decades of experience beyond what you could ever hope to have achieved by this point in your life.

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Mikel knew this and accepted the loss with grace by holding his hand in the air and waiting for Helsket to haul him up.

The old retainer did just that, bringing Mikel face to face with him, grinning widely.

“That was one trick that always worked on your old man. He never saw it coming.”

Mikel laughed and scratched at his head where his hair had dragged along the ground when he’d slid away from Helsket’s attack.

“It was a good one. I hope you don’t go around telling my secret weakness.”

“Secret?” Helsket barked a laugh as he slapped Mikel on the back, “Your weaknesses are no secret. You parade them around like you’re proud of them!”

“Hey!” Mikel said, “That’s not right. I’m not weak! I didn’t die from you two cusswads wailing on me!”

“You hear that, Telgil?” Helsket called, “The boy wants more!”

Mikel immediately held up his hands, “No, no, no and no. I’m done. Done.” He punctuated the last word by glaring at Helsket, “Now help me out of this armor. I feel sticky and bloody. I need a shower before we do anything else.”

***

“Well, you didn’t do too bad,” Telgil said as the three men sat down to eat dinner around the smith’s kitchen table.

Though massive, the forge was only a small part of Telgil’s holdings in The Market of Dreams. Mikel was amazed to find an entire mansion contained within a single room behind the forge. He’d walked in only after both Helsket and Telgil had gone in and out several times to show him that it in fact, was safe. The incongruity of the small space housing a much larger structure passed as Mikel realized he could wait in the forge and starve, not shower and probably be sad and irritated; or go inside Telgil’s home and eat and drink like any other warrior.

Now, showered and about to eat, the relative weirdness of the mansion had passed from Mikel’s mind. Compared to the day filled with strange dwarven smiths turning into demi-gods, the Helsket-bear, homicidal priestesses, and whatever the thing Telgil had “tested” Mikel with; the idea of a larger building existing inside a smaller appearing structure was low on the weird list running through Mikel’s mind.

Whenever things settled down enough, he burned with the urge to ask Helsket about the bear he’d become. Not only had it been the most thorough display of Immaterial Magic he’d ever seen, the whole concept of transforming into a massive titan of fur-covered destruction was just plain awesome.

But first came dinner.

“That smells delicious,” Mikel said as Telgil lay a plate of steaming meat in front of him. “What is it?”

“Murderbrook pork,” Telgil said without missing a beat, “harvested yesterday and cooked today.”

Telgil slid a tremendous plate in front of Helsket, three times as large as Mikel had. The old warrior attacked the food before the plate hit the table.

Telgil set his place, sat down, and began to eat. His fork was halfway to his mouth when he looked at Mikel, “What? Don’t tell me you don’t eat pork.”

Mikel had turned white at the mention of the food’s name. He had no problem with pork… But Murderbrook pork?

“Can… You explain the name?” He asked as he poked at the pork.

It looked like any other pork he’d eaten when it had been cooked correctly. Juices leaked from the cutlets and dripped onto purplish root vegetables below, blending to form a delicious-looking gravy on the plate. Mikel’s stomach roiled in protest at the delay in feeding, but he held back against his base instincts.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Telgil said, “The name doesn’t mean anything bad.”

Mikel sagged in relief grabbed his fork and dug in with all due haste. He’d only been able to hold himself back by the barest thread.

He slammed to a halt when Telgil continued, the second bite hovering a scant inch from his mouth.

“The pig was harvested near the river where it routinely killed people and ate them. It really does give the meat a savory quality, don’t you think?”

As if to make a point Telgil popped a piece into his mouth and chewed through a thick smile.

“Mhm, good!”

Mikel couldn’t get the food out of his mouth fast enough - the idea of eating a man-eating pig didn’t sit well with him. As he struggled to wipe the taste from his tongue, Mikel knew he’d been had as both Helsket and Telgil burst out laughing.

“It didn’t eat people. Did it?” Mikel realized too late, that he’d been had.

Telgil roared with laughter before taking another huge bite of food and smiling at Mikel. He swallowed and then said, “Nope. Nothing like that. The town it was raised in is called Murderbrook. Old name. Very far out in the countryside of the Continent.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mikel said as he slid the bite of food he’d spit out aside.

“Nope.” Helsket said, “The site of an old battle. Some say back to the Sunken Folk days if you believe it.”

“I hate you both,” Mikel said as he grabbed a cutlet, and brought it to his mouth before glaring at both men. He glowered and then took the bite.

He found it delicious.

“Eating people isn’t too bad,” Helsket said with a nonchalant glance at Mikel, “It kind of tastes like pork you know. Kind of like this actually.”