Guards and reservist tended to frequent Ixia’s taverns. Friendly and not-so friendly scrimmages would erupt from time to time, but with so many guards around all the matches stayed clean.
With everyone in position, the bait had been set. Now all Ari and Janco needed was the fish, but, so far, Rye had failed to appear.
“… no one is faster than me,” Janco said. He slammed his beer mug on the bar, splashing yellow liquid onto his neighbor’s arm.
“With what? Your mouth?” someone called out as snickers erupted.
“No, he’s the fastest pants wetter in all of Ixia,” another voice added. More laughter.
Janco reached for his mug without looking and knocked it over, dumping the contents into the same man whose sleeve he had doused. The Lieutenant stood. He towered a foot over Janco.
“Okay big mouth.” The Lieutenant growled. “Time to prove yourself.” He pulled a broadsword from his scabbard.
The top of the bar was cleared off, and everyone stepped back. Silence descended. The Lieutenant hopped onto the top of the narrow bar. “Come on.” He gestured rudely to Janco.
Janco scratched his head. Ari silently encouraged his partner to move. While fighting on top of a bar was rather unusual, he knew Janco could adapt.
“That certainly explains it,” Janco said as he joined the Lieutenant.
“Explains what?”
“The stains.” Janco pulled his sword.
“Stains?”
“I thought the brown stains on the wood had been caused by beer, but now I know they were caused by fear.”
The Lieutenant’s face creased in confusion. The man wasn’t smart enough to make the connection. It didn’t matter though. Once Janco moved, the Lieutenant had bigger worries.
Ari thought the narrow surface would hinder his partner. Janco enjoyed side-stepping his opponents. But Janco made creative use of the bar stools and unarmed the larger man in two moves.
“That’s pathetic. I’m beginning to think I’m too good for this town.” Janco continued to gloat to an obnoxious degree. Even Ari wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. The rest of the Lieutenant’s buddies lined up to teach the new guard a lesson.
With Janco busy, Ari scanned the crowd, keeping an eye out for Rye. The wait staff carried trays full of mugs to the patrons now the bar’s surface was being used. A few people scurried from the bar with their eyes lit and animated expressions on their faces. Ari hoped they would spread the word about Janco’s challenge.
Janco threw one of the reservists into the group of spectators. A wild delight shone on his face as cheers and jeers rose to deafening levels.
Ari rubbed his hand over his eyes. His partner would be near impossible to be with after tonight. To keep his gloating to a minimum, Ari hoped someone would give Janco a close match.
The tavern’s door swung open and a group of men and women tramped in. By the way they strained their necks to catch the action at the bar; Ari knew they came to watch the show. Before the door shut, a hand pushed it wide.
The fish arrived. Rye swaggered into the room as if he frequented the place on a regular basis. His casual and semi-bored expression failed to match the lines of tension in his neck and the vice-like grip on his sword’s hilt —Pemba’s hilt. The shape of the scabbard unmistakable. After finding a good position to view the fighters, Rye studied the action.
Ari didn’t waste time. He knew Rye would soon see through Janco’s disguise. His partner controlled his fondness for bursting into a fighting rhyme, but his quick jabs and graceful footwork would give him away.
Ari dipped the hollow metal tip of a dart into sleeping potion. Inserting the dart into a blow pipe, he aimed, drew breath and puffed.
Pemba appeared to jump from the scabbard. In a flash of movement, the scimitar deflected Ari’s dart. Rye’s hand may be clutched to the hilt, but it was obvious by the stunned open-mouth gape the man had no idea what had just happened.
Loading another dart, Ari tried again. No luck. Pemba blocked again, and now Rye’s gaze locked on Ari. He drew his weapon and stood as Rye strode toward him.
“Resorting to an ambush, Ari?” Rye asked. “Ambushes are for the scared and for the weak. You’re smart to be scared.”
“And you’d be smart to address me as sir.” Ari slid his feet into a fighting stance. He glanced pass Rye’s shoulder, hoping Janco had noticed them. His partner continued to fight an over-muscled guard, completely unaware.
“Looking for reinforcements?” Rye tsked. “First an ambush and then you want to gang up on me. That’s not fair.”
“And wielding a magic sword is?”
“Did you figure it out on your own? Or have you hooked up with that Sandseed hovering about?” He inclined his head toward the back door. “I hope you’re not depending on him for plan B. He’s a bit… scattered right now.”
Oh boy. A horrifying image of Bour chopped into pieces filled his mind as a cold fist of dread clutched his heart. Ari knew he couldn’t match Pemba by himself. “Since you like fair. How about you put the scimitar down and use a regular sword? We could have a nice fair fight on the bar.”
A brief flash of panicked helplessness flamed in Rye’s eyes before the cold killer stare returned. “Nice try, but you’ve set the mood. A fair fight would be moot at this point.”
“Fine. Then I’ll call for help, and you’ll have to fight every guard and reservist in the bar.”
“Go ahead.” Rye gestured to the crowd of people. “Half of them are drunk. They will hinder you more than help you, and Pemba will enjoy cutting into their skin as much as she will savor drinking your blood.”
He had a point. Ari didn’t want to endanger any one else. “Outside, then? Me and you?”
Rye smiled. “I’d thought you’d never ask.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Janco had seen Rye enter the bar, which meant their plan to entice Rye there had worked. But from the brief glances he could afford, he knew Ari’s treated darts had missed Rye. Janco countered another lunge from his opponent. The clang of steel rang in the air and vibrated up his arm. The tired arm. He had been fighting one man after the other on this narrow bar for over an hour. He needed a break.
Only one way to get a break. Lose a match. A blow to his pride. A blow to his ego. He hesitated until he spotted Ari and Rye leave the bar through the front door. Which wouldn’t normally be a problem; however Rye carried a magical scimitar called Pemba. Ari couldn’t counter Pemba alone. So much for his pride.
Janco knew his opponent planned to unarm him with a thrust and parry combination. The guy wasn’t too bright. He had tried that move six times before and it failed each time.
Suppressing a sigh, Janco allow his opponent the upper hand. He dropped his sword in defeat, then raised his arms and said, “Congrats, you won. Guess I learned my lesson.” He swept up his sword and hopped off the bar. “Gotto go, fellows.”
Amid cries of outrage, Janco dashed out the back door. The Sandseed magician who had traveled from Sitia to reclaim the scimitar, and who had recruited Ari and Janco to help, was supposed to be guarding the entrance.
Janco skidded to a stop. Deep slices criss-crossed Stripey’s prone form, exposing muscles and bone. He bent over the Sandseed and closed the dead man’s eyes. The lifeless gaze was scary, but what truly terrified Janco was the absence of blood. Not a drop oozed from the cuts, no splashes on the Sandseed’s clothes, and no puddles on the ground. Pemba had absorbed it all.
Magic. Janco spat in disgust.
