the coming war, so they headed out into the country.”
“You said people were going missing though,” said Rik.
“They are. Men walk out of a tavern at night and are never seen again. Never make it to their home or business.”
“Maybe they fell in the river,” said Weasel reasonably. “Man gets drunk, gets to thinking how hard life is, sometimes dark water can be very appealing.”
“A lot of folk have suddenly found life very trying then,” said the vendor. “And some of them seemed happy enough with their lives. Young Pavel’s wife just bore their first baby and he was pleased as punch.”
“What do you think is happening then?” asked Rik.
“Don’t know,” he said, “but it started after those easterners arrived a week or so ago.”
“Did it now? You reckon they are up to some mischief.”
“It would not surprise me,” said the vendor. “Slavery most likely. Easterners use humans as slaves on their estates.”
Rik thought of the superb Lord Jaderac. It was hard to picture such a Terrarch having a sideline in kidnapping drunks from a tavern as part of the slave trade. Maybe this was all just a story. Kharadrean humans did not like the Sardeans and with good reason. They lived in fear of their giant neighbour spreading its rule to their own land for a very long time.
“They might be using them for dark sorcery,” said Weasel with a wink to Rik that the vendor was in no position to see. It would not do any harm to start blackening Jaderac’s reputation, Rik supposed.
“I would not put it past them,” said the vendor with a shudder. “You said you saw a ghost in the woods,” he said, obviously wanting to change the subject.
“We saw one,” said the Barbarian. “Glowing in the dark it was.”
“You saw one? For sure? Up close?”
“Close as we two are now,” said the Barbarian exaggerating somewhat. He proceeded into a meandering version of their encounter that seemingly held the vendor enthralled. Rik knew that a new chapter would be added to the local tales of the Serpent Men before this day was out.
He gave his attention to the small ships on the river. They were of all kinds from small taxi boats poled by their owners, to sailboats belonging to merchants. It was the massive river wyrms that fascinated him. They towed rafts even in the deepest parts of the flow, their bodies half out of the water, and their long serpentine necks towering almost the height of a house. Rik had heard that these wyrms were the largest of their kind, and needed the water to help support their huge weight. Seeing them he believed it.
Massive as they were though, the Tower made them look small. Its cold shadow covered the town, hinting at the presence of Elder horrors within. Rik told himself it was just his imagination, but he could not help but feel intimidated by the sheer size and scale of the alien structure.
The Barbarian finished his boasting as a fine drizzle began to fall.
“Time for beer,” said Weasel. “Time to get out of this rain.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said the Barbarian. “Although in the northlands we would not call this rain.”
“What would you call it?” said Rik.
“Light summer mist.”
As soon as they came through the Inn’s door, Rik felt as if they were making a mistake. The place was crowded, and it had been the noise that attracted them, but now that he was inside, he could see that a couple of tables were crowded by blond haired men in black uniforms. All of them had the cropped hair, flat noses and high cheekbones he had come to associate with easterners. He looked at Weasel who looked at the Barbarian who shrugged. “I fancy a beer and no ten of these blue-nosed bastards is going to stop me having one,” he said.
Under the circumstances, Rik could not back out and leave his friends, much as he would have liked to. Besides, the bouncers looked big and efficient. There were three of them visible, and one of them had a leather wrapped cosh in his hands. Perhaps things would not come to blows, he thought. He took one look at the Barbarian and he thought, and perhaps pigs will grow wings and fly.
Weasel grinned confidently at the locals, and got them seats at a table. Half a dozen young apprentice lads were already there. Weasel ordered drinks for the whole lot of them, a transparent ploy to the get the townsmen on their side if trouble broke out. Within minutes he and the apprentices were chatting away like old friends, while the Barbarian met the menacing glares from the Easterner’s table with ones of his own.
It was Rik’s first beer in a long time and he took it slowly, savouring the taste and feel of the bubbles on his tongue. The Barbarian leaned forward, pointed a sausage-sized finger at him, licked some froth from his walrus moustache and asked; “So what’s it like, shagging one of the Elder Race?”
Rik looked at him. Was it possible the big man was really jealous? That might prove a dangerous thing if it were the case. He considered for a moment, and said; “None of your business.”
The Barbarian laughed. “Fair enough. Got to hand it to you though, Halfbreed. It did not take you long to get over little Rena. Probably just as well now that she’s moved in with the Lieutenant.”
Rik felt as if someone had just twisted a knife in his gut. “I don’t give a toss,” he lied. “Anyway, I’m not certain she has moved in with him.”
“No- she’s just a few tents away so if old Hookhand fancies a quickie he can nip across. Must have nerves of steel that girl. I don’t fancy doing it with someone with a hook. I shagged a bar-girl in Harven once who had a wooden leg. That was an interesting experience.”
“You might have got woodworm,” said Rik.
“Dangerous when your head's made of oak,” said Weasel.
“Ha-bloody-ha. She was a nice girl, actually. I felt sorry for her.”
“How did she lose the leg?”
“Wyrmbite. Worked for a merchant and one day one of his river wyrms just felt peckish. She was fired.”
“Worse things happen at sea,” said Rik. He did not want to think about all the people whose bad luck he had seen back in Sorrow. It inevitably brought his thoughts back to Rena, who had lost her family in the last plague outbreak.
“You’re a cold bastard sometimes, Halfbreed,” said the Barbarian. “Although you’re right- worse things do happen at sea. I remember when…”
A shadow fell across the table. Rik looked up to see a massive easterner standing there. He was almost as big as the Barbarian and it looked like his nose had been broken and badly set several times. He had a cauliflower ear and his eyes had the puffy quality that bare-knuckle boxers sometimes got.
“You want something?” said the Barbarian. “A knuckle sandwich maybe?”
“I want to propose a toast,” said the Easterner, obviously drunk. “To the Queen-Empress. May she live a thousand years.”
“Well, you’ve done that now,” said the Barbarian. “Maybe you should run back to your friends before they miss you.”
“You will not drink her majesty's health?”
“Certainly,” said Rik. “To Queen Arielle, rightful ruler of the Terrarchy. May she live a thousand years.”
He raised his stein, and then tossed its contents into the Easterner’s face. The Barbarian whacked him in the testicles with his closed fist. As the easterner crumpled, Rik brought his stein down on his head.
“A waste of good beer that,” said the Barbarian, as he picked the fallen man up bodily, lumbered across the room and tossed him at his mates. With a whoop Weasel and the apprentices rose and joined the fight.
The Barbarian hefted a bench, and used it to belabour some of the Easterners. Not a bad idea, Rik thought, picking up another stein to use as a weapon, and wading into the fray. In a moment all was a chaos of blood and beer and broken teeth. Ahead of him he saw a black-clad man. He ducked and lashed out with a kick, catching the man on the shin. While his foe was distracted, he smacked him with the stein. The Easterner went down as if pole-axed.
Rik glanced around and saw that the Sardeans were withdrawing, carrying their unconscious friend's with them as they made a fighting retreat. He helped pick up the man he had just downed, and along with one of the apprentices carried him to the door and threw him out into the mud.
A moment later there was a rousing cry of victory. The Purples were defeated. The Scarlets and the Kharadreans victorious. The Barbarian raised both hands above his head in a prize-fighters gesture of triumph.
“Time for some serious drinking,” said Weasel.
