Clash of Heroes: Nath Dragon meets The Darkslayer (7 page)

CHAPTER 16

Like the underlings, Nath skulked through the jungles, avoiding the winding paths. Hours into the trek, he hunkered down and waited. A deer with black horns and a black tail pounded right past his location, and two more, smaller ones, followed.

Alert, Nath coiled up behind a fallen rotting tree and bent his ear. Someone came up the path. The lively sounds of the woodland dulled but did not fully descend. Shifting in his position, he found an opening through the vines and branches that gave him a better look at the trail.

The soft clomping of shod horses became more distinct through the brush. A jangle of metal rattled against the bodies of the horses. There were three riders. Two towering men, one in front and another in the rear, with a stout, black-eyed man in the middle. They were unlike the men he had slain. They didn’t wear heavy armor, preferring a lighter protection. Their voices were rugged and somewhat jolly when they spoke. The chatter was constant when without warning, the one in the lead, a powerful, light-headed man, halted.

Nath sank deeper into the brush. His keen eyes caught a steely blue glimmer in the hard eyes of the lead man, who scanned the forest.

“What do you see?” said the man in the middle—who loaded his bow.

“I don’t see. I sense,” the brawny warrior replied.

Nath was far away, well beyond the line of sight of the underlings he’d banded with. His own senses were uncanny compared to those of the others. He’d figured that much out in his travels. Now, far down the hillside, he was certain the warrior’s stern gaze was right on him. It sent a shiver up his scales.

He can’t see me. I know he can’t see me.

Holding his breath and not blinking, Nath didn’t shuffle in the slightest.

Finally, after several long moments, a black-tailed deer burst out of the foliage and bounded through Nath’s view.

“Did you see that?” the archer said. “A black horn! I want that black horn!”

“You aren’t going to get it before me!” said the black warrior.

With a whip of their reins, the two men in the rear galloped up the hillside after the deer. That left the leader alone with a large dog. His eyes glided over Nath’s spot once more. With a snap of his reins, he moved on up the trail and out of sight.

The dog looked right at Nath, shook its tail, and went off after its master.

Nath unloaded his breath. He wasn’t certain why his heart had almost frozen in his chest, but it had. Perhaps he was uneasy, being a stranger in such a strange land. From his spot, he waited until the night fell hours later before he ventured forth again. Picking his way through the forest, he found the trail in the bush where they had chased after the deer. About a mile into it, he found a grove where the black-horned deer had fallen.

Reaching down, Nath touched the blood with his fingertips and rubbed them together.
Impressive.
He hadn’t figured the men capable of hunting down the incredibly swift deer. Not in such rugged terrain. They had proved him wrong. They had proven themselves formidable, and formidable men know things.

Tracking them, he cruised through the black jungle like a great lurking cat until the glow of a fire caught his eyes. He sniffed the air. The scent of cooked meat watered his mouth. Laughter and joking caught his ear.

Who are these men? I must know.

***

Like a shadow, Nath followed the men on their short journey. They made their way to a fort made from tall trees, and he heard them call it Outpost Fourteen. The establishment was big enough to hold a garrison of about a hundred men, and Nath could hear every conversation in the place if he chose to.

The travelers returned the horses and gear here and told a tale of fallen men and underlings a day’s walk away. Their leader, called Venir, grumbled and argued with the soldiers in the fort. He pressed them for help, but the soldiers seemed desperate and had nothing to offer.

According to the conversations Nath overheard, times were becoming grim for the men. The underlings had the upper hand on things. Not so long ago, the underlings had had a major victory at another fort called Outpost Thirty-One.

After parting ways in a gruff manner, the party of three men headed east several leagues, out of the jungle into a flat plain of high grasses and crooked trees. Deep down in the belly of the valley stood a shamble for living that the men he followed called Two-Ten City.

CHAPTER 17

It was dusk when Nath waded through the loose livestock and ventured into Two-Ten City. He stowed away his sword high in the trees and donned a traveling cloak that Oran had packed for him. He also stuffed on a pair of leather gloves. The tips of his nails poked through, and he shrugged. Hooded, he traipsed into the city, stooping a little low and moving slower than normal. There was a half built wall of stone that only surrounded parts of the city. There were watchtowers, too, three-stories tall, scattered about. Some had men in them; others had no one at all. People hustled about, paying Nath no mind at all and hassling one another over this and that.

A boy bumped into him, tipped a burlap cap at him, and said, “Excuse me.” He was an ugly half-orcen boy with devious eyes and a sweaty, piggish nose. He had his free hand behind his back, and there was nothing Nath liked about him. The boy backed away and had started to turn his back when Nath said, “Stop.”

The boy, with Nath’s coin purse in his hand, took off at a dead run.

Nath closed in on the boy in two strides, seized him by the collar, and lifted him up from his feet.

The boy fidgeted and squealed. A small crowd gathered. Nath clamped his hand over the boy’s mouth and said into his ear with a dangerous tone, “Be silent.”

“Mrph!” the boy said. He bit Nath’s hand hard. His beady eyes widened.

Nath didn’t feel a thing. He snatched his purse out of the boy’s grip, stared into the boy’s eyes, and offered a stern warning. “Don’t steal.”

The orcen boy rolled his eyes.

After setting the struggling boy down, Nath shoved him away.

The boy turned, spat at him, and ran off, saying over his shoulder, “You’ll pay, golden eyes! You’ll pay.”

Shaking his head, Nath shoved himself through the crowd of onlookers. They were a mixed lot of men and women, poorly dressed and grimy. Teeth were missing. A few were of the orcen breed, at least in part. Most of the others were human: durable farmers, tradesmen, and merchants in colorful robes with tassels on the hems. There were some smaller people too, cheerful and curious, trying to get a peek at his face behind his hood.

Coin purse tight in his grip, Nath made long strides for the heart of the city. Before long, he found himself with his back against a barn.

Night had fallen.

Aside from the livestock that had moved on, the dusty streets were still busy. The people milled about from building to building, conducting as much business at night as they did in the day. Surly characters walked about with wine bottles to their lips. Greasy-headed men in long robes chanted strange songs. Women pushed carts filled with pouches of snuff. There was a lot of cursing and spitting.

Nath’s nose crinkled. There were bad attitudes and smells and plenty of colorful conversations as he waded through the streets for a couple of hours. He picked up a lot about the people, but while still a bit familiar to the extent he could surmise what was going on, everything was foreign to him. There was not a doubt in his clouded mind that he’d never been here before. And nothing the people talked about jostled his memory, either. He was as alone and in the dark as ever.

He tracked down the sound of a hammer banging on metal, and before long, the wide-open layout of the city led him to a black smithy. Thick-thewed men stood inside, pounding hot iron on an anvil. One person in particular was startling in size. His head almost hit the rafters and was the size of a barrel.

That must be one of those ogres Oran was talking about.

From across the street, leaning on a porch post of the general store, Nath fixed his eyes on the molten metal and the flying sparks in the haze. There was something familiar, comforting about it that set his senses at ease.

But the rumbling of his stomach snapped him out of his thoughts.

A woman passed by carrying a tray full of little sticks with morsels of meat on them. He rubbed his stomach and smacked his lips. His throat was dry. It was time to dive into something. The underling food that Oran served was tasteless and unfulfilling. Walking the dirt-packed streets again, Nath searched for a tavern where it would be easy to be inconspicuous.

It wasn’t long before he came across a loud and bawdy place. On the porch, a sign dangling on chains swung in the brisk winds. Nath couldn’t read it. Beneath the sign, an old woman in a rocker beckoned for him with a crooked finger and a lusty glimmer in her bright eyes. She sipped from a clay jug on her lap and wiped her mouth with her bony hand.

Nath averted his eyes and headed up the stairs and onto the porch that wrapped around the disheveled building with uneven planks.

Men with tankards milled about. They smoked from pipes and on sticks made from wrapped-up tobacco leaves. He fanned his face and started for the front door then stopped, turned, and laid his hands on the nearest rail. Facing the bustling city, something became more apparent to Nath. Many faces were concealed. Footsteps soft. Some were in groups and pairs, but there were many loners. Then it became abundantly clear why so many places weren’t locked up for the night and the people worked all the time.

It wasn’t safe to ever leave your store untended.

When do these people rest?

He glanced up at the yellow moons in the sky. An unsettling and eerie feeling came over him.

One thing is for certain: this is not my home.

Shoulders slumped, he pushed through the swinging doors and went inside.

CHAPTER 18

The tavern was smoky and filled with the rank odors of sweat and bad wine. Fires burned in metal cauldrons throughout the torchlit room, and a bar stretched from one side of the misshapen tavern to the other. People of all shapes and sizes—soldiers, merchants, cutthroats, and drifters—huddled, chatted, and argued together. Several more were all alone, heads down and destitute. Everyone was oily with sweat.

A buxom woman in cheap and skimpy clothes sat on Venir’s lap and poured him another tumbler full of grog. It brought a broad smile to his lips, revealing his strong white teeth. He tickled her ribs, bringing forth a giggle. She kissed his neck. “Tell me more about your adventures.”

“I’d be glad to.” Clasping the clay tumbler between his thumb and fingers, he drank it down. “Ah!” He clomped the tumbler on the table, rattling the nest of empty jugs and glasses. One bottle teetered off the table and smashed on the floor. “Oops.”

“Do you mind?” said an irritated, rail-thin man who also sat at the table. He was pale, with more pepper than salt in his hair. Even though he wore long sleeves and a vest that was very contrary to the weather, he was the only one who didn’t show a drop of sweat from the humid room. He eyed the busted jug on the floor. “There was still plenty of lousy wine in there.”

Venir plunked a silver coin on the table. “This is for your wine.” He plopped down another coin. “And this is for your whining, Melegal.”

The coins disappeared in the thief’s slender hands. “So you’re going to pay me for my whining? Excellent! I’ll be a wealthy man before the night is through.” He started counting on his fingers and folding them down one by one. “Let’s see. This place stinks. The people stink. The women are a far cry from comely—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Venir said.

The woman sitting on his lap asked of him, “What does
comely
, mean?”

“Er,” Venir said, eyeing Melegal’s curious eyes, “unpleasant. Yes, you are far from unpleasant.”

She smiled at him, pinched his chin, and said with a purring voice in his ear, “Well, I can’t wait to show you how pleasant I can be.”

Venir patted her on the rump. “You could start by grabbing us another round of drinks.”

She popped up out of his lap. “I’ll be right back.”

Venir watched the sway of her hips all the way to the bar, eyed Melegal, and said, “You thought you had me with that one.”

“Well played for a lout.” Melegal started cleaning his nails with a tiny razor-sharp thumb knife. “But judging by the current company in this room, it falls far short of astonishment. And your bouncing woman, I don’t think she can even count all the digits on her fingers.”

“Don’t you mean the digits on her hand?”

Melegal frowned.

Venir continued, “Besides, I don’t need her to count.”

“Simple favors for simple minds.”

“Hah! Don’t give me that, Melegal. Where’s the woman you’ve been keeping company with? Is she out howling at the moons tonight?”

Melegal slumped over the table. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh, don’t pout. You’re just mad that Billip and Mikkel and I made a nice score.”

“In what, underling metal? That’s hardly a catch. Besides, I’ll wager Billip’s share right out of him sooner than later.” Melegal’s eyes glided over the room. “Where are your bumpkins, anyway?”

“They needed a nap. Ha.”

“And you don’t? You look like you haven’t slept in days.” Melegal’s eyes made a closer study. “Make that months.”

“I get plenty of winks. Those two whiners are the ones who dragged me back into this city. I was quite at home in the bush.”

“It must be wonderful being so restless all the time.”

Venir tilted his head toward Melegal. “Restless? I’m as at ease as I ever was.”

“Which would be never.”

“You jest.” Yawning, Venir stretched his long sinewy arms out and put them behind his head. “See what you made me do? Bone, everything was fine until you showed up and began your griping. You spoil the mood.”

“Speaking of Bone, I think it’s time we returned back there.” An orc bumped into Melegal’s shoulder, and a dram of ale splashed on his tunic. The wry rogue gave a shove back. “Watch it, pig swill!”

The orc, brazen and hairy, turned, glared down at Melegal with yellow in his eyes. “What was that, human?”

“He said, ‘Watch it, pig swill,’” Venir replied.

The orc caught Venir’s deadly gaze, blinked a few times, turned, and walked away.

Melegal rested his elbows on the table. “We need to get back to the City of Bone, Venir. I’ve had all the stink I can handle. No matter where I go here, it’s like living in a stable. I can’t stand another day of a place where the people stink worse than the animals.”

“I’ve got unfinished business still. And my blood still boils at the thought of those bloodsucking Royals,” Venir said. He craned his neck. “Say, where is that woman and our ale?”

Melegal shrugged his scrawny shoulders. His steely eyes surveyed the room. “I can’t imagine she abandoned you to consort with more favorable company.”

The bubbling woman was nowhere to be found. Not at the bar. Not anywhere that could be seen from where Venir sat with this back to the wall. A few minutes passed. “By Bish, do I have to fetch my own swill in this place?”

“Says the man who cannot stand the Royals,” Melegal said. “Please, Venir, don’t exert those tender muscles and strain that fragile mind. Allow me to fetch the swill for you.” Melegal scooted his chair away from the table and departed.

“Such a wisearse,” Venir said.

The grump returned with a pair of jugs and set them down on the table. He had a rare grin on his face and twisted delight in his eyes.

“What is it?” Venir asked.

Sitting down, the thief touched his chest. “It seems that I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?’

Pouring himself a goblet of purple wine, Melegal said, “It seems there is more favorable company after all.”

Venir’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

“Your woman, that hefty wench that filled your lap, she consorts with another as we speak. Seems it’s a good thing you have good old Melegal the Rat around to fetch your drinks.”

Venir got up. “Where?”

“Back against the wall, where the deep cauldron burns.” Melegal took a sip. “He’s quite fetching.”

A head taller than most, Venir rose up on his tiptoes. On the other side of a crowd sat a man with flame-red hair. And Venir’s woman, one of many, hung on his every word.