Broken Blades Don't Sing (Tales of Ashkar Book One) (15 page)

Raxxil stared back incredulously, but refused to
back away. The two glared at each other wordlessly, and silence
befell the four of them. After a few moments in the stalemate,
however, Raxxil smiled sheepishly, attempting to hold back the
hysterical laughter that escaped his throat, but failed.

"Oh you think this a funny, eh?" spoke the man
again with his odd accent. He crossed his large arms over his
barrel chest. "Challenge The Ujok and I show you funny!"

The three of them looked at each other and
shrugged.

"I am the famous traveling wrestler The Ujok,
and I seek any challenger who thinks they are tough enough to face
me", continued the costumed man, taking the liberty to introduce
himself without being asked.

"We don't have time for this", said Serraemas.
He turned his back and walked away from the masked man, heading
toward the inn. As he did so, he motioned for the other two to
follow.

"I didn't know a big man like you can be such a
coward, eh?" remarked the man again, apparently taunting
Raxxil.

It worked.

Raxxil stopped, cracking his knuckles as he
grinned. He turned around and marched back toward where the masked
man stood. The fiery elementalist halted just several feet away and
crossed his arms, mimicking the other man's stance.

"Aha, finally!" said the masked man gleefully.
“A worthy challenger!” He uncrossed his arms, raised his hands in
front of him, and stepped forward with one foot. "Usually I take
fifty coin, but for you is free. I give you one free hit, too."

"All I'm going to
need
is one hit",
scoffed Raxxil. He casually strode up to the masked man, who braced
for the strike. As he neared, Raxxil lunged forward and under the
costumed man, then jabbed lightly with his right hand, his cloak
fluttering behind him as he performed the quick maneuver. The
flying fist struck the masked man in the abdomen, and the impact
sent the unfortunate soul flying in the air.

The Ujok crashed into the ground dozens of feet
away, and Serraemas was unsure whether the man was dead or
unconscious.

"That was unnecessary and will raise questions",
scolded Serraemas as his hotheaded ally returned. "We have no need
to kill indiscriminately."

"Relax, you saw that punch", Raxxil replied in
defense. "I only shut him up for a little while. Besides, he could
have followed us and meddled right?"

Serraemas elected not to answer, heading again
to the structure that the guard had directed them toward. It had
two floors, with a single door and a set of windows on the second
floor. It seemed to be the only building that still had liveliness
to it, and he heard the sound of metal clanking and the creaking of
wood. He opened the door and stepped through into the first floor
of the structure, noting that the inn also served as a tavern.

As he stepped inside, Serraemas noticed two
figures: the barkeep, and a man in tattered garb.

Chapter
9

346th Dusk of the 4999th Age of Rimas

Serraemas paused for a moment, inspecting the
tavern.

To his right was the bar with a selection of
alcoholic beverages stacked on shelves along with barrels of ale,
and a long countertop that stretched all the way to the far wall.
In the middle of the room was an assortment of tables and chairs,
and to his left was the staircase that he presumed led to the
bedrooms of the inn.

He then examined the lone figure, who sat atop a
stool at the bar with a metal stein in hand. The man had a long,
thick beard that was brown with a few greys. His hair was the same,
flowing past his shoulders messily. He had a bold nose, thick
brows, and a scarred face. The man seemed to be in his fifties, but
Serraemas knew appearance didn't always coincide with age. The
man's garment was ruined with several tears and marks, and he
carried a large tan sack.

Serraemas motioned for the other two to take a
seat at one of the tables, then walked over to where the man was
seated. He sat upon the stool next to the lone man, although the
latter seemed oblivious to their presence. Instead, the bearded man
took a swig of his drink, slammed the stein on the counter, and
stared at it blankly.

"Please don't slam your drink, sir,” said the
barkeep. “There are people asleep upstairs." He then turned to
Serraemas. "What will you folks be having tonight?"

"Just water, and some food for the three of us",
said Serraemas as he pointed at Raxxil in particular.

The barkeep did as he requested and quickly
served up what Serraemas asked for, then did the same for the
others. A soft cheer from Raxxil signaled his approval of the warm,
nutritious meal. In fact, Serraemas could even hear his hotheaded
ally's stomach rumble from where he sat.

Serraemas shifted his gaze to the left and
stared at the bearded man intently for several moments, but the man
continued to look down. It seemed as though he was lost in
thought—or he was just avoiding interaction purposefully. Serraemas
watched intently as the man brought the stein to his lips, finished
the rest of his drink in one gulp, and then set the stein down
softly.

"Another round", Aramal said in a deep, guttural
voice.

"Yes, sir", replied the barkeep, serving the man
another full stein of ale. After that, silence befell the
room—except for Raxxil's munching, of course—leaving everyone to
their thoughts.

"Ale is a great way to drown out one's past",
Serraemas said, breaking the silence and glancing at the stranger.
The man didn't answer, and after several moments, Serraemas turned
his gaze down at his own plate. He grabbed the piece of cooling
bread and took a bite. Surprised, he found it to be quite fresh and
delicious—a rarity amongst small villages serving strangers.

"Then why are you drinking water?" asked the
stranger, finally acknowledging their presence. He took another
swig of his ale.

Serraemas paused for a few moments pensively,
placing his hand around his drink and swishing its contents
lightly. "Our experiences shape and cultivate us, culminating into
who we are today, and who we will be in the future. To try and
forget them is to try and forget ourselves."

Aramal let loose a soft chuckle. "What does it
matter? We are meaningless and insignificant. Our choices are
pointless, and we all meet our end regardless of what we wish."

Serraemas shook his head. "That is where you are
wrong. Those with that mindset are ignorant. They are sheep, living
their lives blissfully unaware of what exists around them, and
unable to change their course. If you believe your existence is
meaningless, then—"

The bearded man turned his head toward Serraemas
and grimaced. The man's brown eyes held anger. "You think you know
shit, little boy? You don't have a clue. You haven't seen what I've
seen. You haven't been through the struggles, but you will. Then
you'll understand."

Little boy?

Serraemas’s eye twitched slightly and he curled
his hands into fists, though returned the man's gesture with a
blank expression and said nothing.

Aramal quieted, then turned back to his ale and
took another gulp.

"You just proved me right", replied Serraemas
calmly.

"What?" demanded Aramal harshly.

Serraemas kept his stare. "You just claimed that
I haven't experienced what you have, therefore I do not understand
what you do. In other words, your experiences have changed the way
you perceive the world around you, and ultimately, yourself."

The man grumbled something unintelligible, then
chuckled to himself. Instead of replying to Serraemas directly,
however, he chose to remain silent, and fixated on his drink once
more as if Serraemas did not exist.

"A man such as yourself is no sheep, that much
is certain", said Serraemas, continuing to eye his target
carefully. "But… you're bitter and hopeless still."

"You still don't get it", said Aramal without
turning his attention away from his drink. "Our actions, our lives,
this world... none of it matters. We will all be forgotten when we
wither away into nothingness, so you best just do whatever the hell
you want because we're just insects under the boot of death."

Serraemas remained quiet.

Aramal turned to Serraemas and gazed deep into
his eyes. "People die all the time for bullshit reasons. Innocent
women get forced into slavery and fornication. Children are
murdered. Wars are fought under the pretense of righteousness. No
matter what we do, we are still a part of the nature of our
humanity, part of the machine, so just ride it out doing whatever
you want while you can."

"You're right", agreed Serraemas. "We are
insects, but it isn't the boot of death that crushes us. This
hopelessness that bars us from changing the world around us is
exactly what has been placed upon us in order to continue this
cycle. That is why we stay insects."

"Yeah", said Aramal. "I used to be like that. Go
out into the world and do something. Fight. Change. Make a
difference. That was when I was naive and held hope. But after
battle after battle, I realized that it was all for naught."

Serraemas took another bite out of his food and
sipped his drink. "Then why do I see purpose in your eyes? Surely
with your outlook you would be drinking the rest of your life away
in a tavern, gambling and surrounded by wenches like a man with no
hope would."

Aramal contorted his face in a scowl, but
refused to comment further. Instead, the bearded man looked over
his shoulder at Raxxil and Erendil. They still sat patiently, and
it seemed that Raxxil was finished with his meal given that his
loud and obnoxious munching had ceased. Both of them stared back at
the stranger intently. Aramal turned back to Serraemas and eyed him
for a moment before looking down at his drink.

Serraemas noticed that the man now seemed
nervous, wary at the presence of the three newcomers—a wariness one
garners moments before partaking in bold, often reckless action. It
was the slow moments of calculating and pondering, running a series
of scenarios in a desperate attempt at finding a modicum of insight
that would reveal the best way to proceed. It was often followed by
either death or deep regret.

“Do you intend to strike him down now?” asked
Zaranet inquisitively.

“No, not in front of the barkeep”, Serraemas
replied to his elemental within his own mind, “And not before he
has done nothing to paint him as anything but a weary, innocent
traveler.” He continued to study the man intently, but it seemed as
though the latter had receded back to his former secluded demeanor.
Whether that was simply a ruse, however, Serraemas was unsure.

Aramal sat up and reached for his sack.
Serraemas tensed reflexively, but the man only pulled out a handful
of coins. He set them down onto the counter, and quickly headed for
the door without a word.

“Shall I set up a room for you, sir?” asked the
barkeep.

“No”, replied the stranger as he opened the
door, rushing outside and out of sight.

Serraemas stood from his seat as well, looking
over to where his companions sat. He nodded at Raxxil, who was
quite ready and eager. His hotheaded partner got up and also moved
toward the door. Serraemas then looked at Erendil, but was
surprised to see that the towrth seemed absorbed in his own
thoughts and completely disconnected from the outside world.

"Erendil", Serraemas called, but received no
response. Not even a silent acknowledgement.

"Leave him be", resonated Zaranet. "He must be
in this state for good reason."

Serraemas paused briefly, then reached into his
pockets and placed what he owed on the counter before following
Raxxil out the door. Once outside, he looked around and noticed
that their target was headed north in a brisk pace. If Aramal had
caught on, he would surely attempt to escape.

Serraemas turned to Raxxil, who was looking at
him expectantly. "Let's take him ou—" He paused before he finished.
Something wasn't quite right. Serraemas looked around again, noting
a change in the air around the village. He focused his gaze, and
discovered that the moving shadows from earlier were, in fact, not
a trick or a figment of his imagination; the cackling fires of the
torches illuminated ominous and malevolent shadows around them.
They coalesced into humanoid shapes of pure darkness with glowing
red eyes. Just as quickly as they appeared, they converged on where
Serraemas stood.

"Forget these, I'm going after him", announced
Serraemas as he gripped his staff with his right hand and brought
it to his side. He exploded into a sprint, chasing after the
stranger that continued to flee from the elementalists. The man
looked back, noticing the advances of Serraemas and Raxxil and
turned to face them.

"I'm waiting", taunted Aramal, crossing his arms
as a horde of his minions arose from between them. They snickered
and laughed malevolently, their eyes flaring at Serraemas.