ghosts followed, filling his head with pleas for help, though of course he had no idea what to do.
“Stokely Silverstream!” Melnik called, though of course he was a long, long way from the inhabited reaches of the complex.
The ghosts seemed more than willing to follow him, though. Indeed, when he turned and started to run, he kept glancing back to make sure he wasn’t too greatly outdistancing them, only to find that they were pacing him with ease.
The realization that he couldn’t escape them if he wanted to unnerved Melnik more than a little, but the ghosts had spoken the name of the ancient homeland, and Stokely Silverstream needed to hear it, too.
“Just keep fillin’ her, or I’ll put me fist into yer eye so hard, I’ll wiggle me fingers out the back o’ yer head,” Athrogate said, and all around him, particularly Genesay the barmaid, knew he wasn’t likely talking lightly. She moved fast to refill the dwarf’s glass.
“Here now, don’t you go talking such to Genesay,” a man sitting next to Athrogate said.
“It’s all the fine, Murley,” the bartender said, and with every word, she kept her focus on Athrogate, who sat there simmering with rage.
The dwarf took a long and deep draw, draining his flagon again, and he looked at Genesay and pointed to the mug, then slowly turned to regard the man at his side.
“Ye wouldn’t be flappin’ yer jaw at me, now, would ye?” he asked.
“Show some manners to Genesay,” Murley insisted as he stood up and squared his shoulders to the dwarf.
“Or?”
“Or I’ll…” Murley began, but he trailed off as a couple of his friends moved up to flank him, both grabbing him by an arm.
“Let it go, Mur,” one said.
“Aye, don’t you be playing with this one,” said the other. “Mighty friends he’s got. Black-skinned friends.”
That took a bit of bluster from Murley, and Athrogate realized that everyone in the tavern was looking at them then.
“What’ve me friends got to do with anything?” the dwarf asked. “Ye think I’d be needin’ help in putting the three o’ ye to the ground?”
“Good dwarf, your mug is full,” Genesay said.
Athrogate turned to regard her, grinning at her attempt to distract him and deflect the conversation.
“Aye, so it is,” he said, and he picked it up and swung his arm, launching the ale at Murley and his two friends.
“Now fill it again,” he told Genesay.
Murley snarled and pulled free of one of his friends, who fell back as the ale washed over him. He took a step toward Athrogate, but the dwarf just smiled and glanced at the man’s belt, at the curved sword he had strapped to one hip. It seemed a pitiful weapon indeed against the mighty twin morningstars Athrogate kept strapped across his back.
“Ye might get it out,” Athrogate teased. “Ye might even stick me once afore yer head makes a fine poppin’ sound.”
“Aye, don’t fight him, Murley!” one woman called from the other side of the tavern. “His weapons are full of magic you cannot match.”
“Oh, but you’re a tough one, dwarf,” Murley taunted. “You hide behind the damned drow elves and you hide behind the magic in your weapons. Oh, but I’d love to catch you without either, and teach you some manners.”
“Murley!” Genesay scolded, for she had seen the same play before, and knew the pirate Murley walked dangerous ground.
“Bwahaha,” Athrogate laughed, but not with his typically boisterous exclamation. It was just a sad, soft sound. He turned to his mug, which was still empty. “Fill it!” he barked at Genesay.
“Dwarf!” Murley shouted at him.
“Ah, but ye’ll get yer chance to shut me mouth,” Athrogate promised.
The moment Genesay put the filled mug in front of him, he scooped it up and quaffed it in one gulp, then hopped from his barstool and faced Murley and his two companions.
“Ye think I’m hiding from ye, do ye?” Athrogate said. He grabbed the buckle of his harness and flicked it open, and with a shrug let the vest and his morningstars fall to the ground behind him. “Well, here now, boy, ye got yer wish.”
He took a step forward and staggered, having drained more than a dozen mugs that night.
Murley broke free of his companions and rushed forward, and before the dwarf could catch his balance, the man unloaded a heavy right cross into Athrogate’s face.
“Bwahaha!” Athrogate howled in response.
He ignored the left hook and right jab that followed, lowered his shoulder, and charged at Murley.
The man spun to the side and almost got away, but Athrogate caught him by the wrist. The dwarf couldn’t stop his forward momentum, though, having overbalanced, and he continued ahead, falling to the floor and dragging Murley along behind him. Murley didn’t lose his footing, though, and although Athrogate’s strong grip must have felt as if it was crushing his left wrist, the man moved over the prostrate dwarf.
Up on his right elbow, twisted back to the left and with his left hand holding fast to Murley’s wrist, Athrogate had no defense against the man’s right arm-no defense other than his hard head. He took a hit and pulled Murley’s wrist closer, took another hit, and when Murley tugged back, he let the pirate retreat to the full extent of both their arms.
But then Athrogate yanked the man back with frightening strength, and as Murley fell into him, the dwarf’s whole body snapped up, driving Athrogate’s forehead right into Murley’s face. Murley groaned as his nose exploded under the impact, but he kept his wits enough to dive over the dwarf.
And so did his friends, the three of them burying Athrogate where he lay.
All around the bar, onlookers cheered the three pirates on, for many had felt the bite of Athrogate’s heavy fists over the last few years, and some had felt the bite of Athrogate’s teeth, as well.
And indeed, it looked as though the dwarf was finally getting his due, with three strong men atop him, pinning him and pounding on him.
Athrogate curled and twisted, finally getting his feet under him, and the crowd quieted. Somehow, impossibly, the dwarf stood up, taking the three brawlers with him. He began to thrash even more wildly then, keeping them off balance and denying them any real footing. Athrogate set himself squarely and bulled ahead, driving the three men in front of him.
“Bwahaha!” the dwarf roared.
A group of patrons at a round table began to scream and dodged aside as the dwarf and his cargo barreled in, splintering wood, sliding chairs aside, and dropping mugs. Metal and glass crashed to the floor along with the dwarf and his three passengers.
Athrogate came up swinging, a left hook that slammed one of the brawlers in the ribs and lifted him off his feet. The man landed two strides back and stared at the strong dwarf in disbelief, then crossed his arms over his broken chest, curled up, and fell over.
Athrogate wasn’t watching. He towered over the second of the fighters as the man made it to his knees, and from on high, the dwarf twice snapped his forehead down into the man’s uplifted face. The man would have crumpled on the spot, but Athrogate had him firmly by the front of his vest, and with a great heave, the dwarf brought him up to his feet and even higher. Athrogate clenched tighter with his right hand but let go with his left, snapping his hand down over the man’s crotch and heaving again, bringing the thug up horizontally over his head.
The third man got up with the help of a chair and without wasting a moment, slammed that chair across Athrogate’s back with enough force to send splintering wood flying every which way.
Athrogate staggered forward but managed to turn as he did, to see the pirate advancing, a chair leg held as a club. The dwarf threw his helpless passenger at his friend, but the third rowdy proved nimble, and ducked. He didn’t even wince as his friend went crashing down into yet another table full of mugs and plates.
With a roar, the man continued on, launching a series of vicious swings as he bore into the dwarf. Athrogate
