The bartender was a tall and lanky fellow with short, pitch-black hair and a thin mustache. He had a proud nose and eyes like a starless night. But the smile he wore put one at ease instantly-that is, until he spoke. The man had a loud voice, even for the noisy bar, and something in the tone made it sound as if he were talking down to everyone, whether or not that was his intention. Rhunis beat on the bar a few times and the bartender walked over, smiling wide with every step.
Rhunis gave the man a nod. “Is old Harlod not working tonight?”
“No, not tonight, nor any night, for that matter. The old bird retired, said he had enough of the bar life. Bought a boat, he did, said he was gonna spend the rest of his days lazin’ away at sea. Used to be in the navy, I guess. Anyway, Parpous Hellious bought him out ’bout a month ago. I just tend bar. Name’s Dirk, by the way, Dirk Magirk.” He extended his hand. “An’ you must be Rhunis the Dragonslayer, hard to mistake the nasty scar there. You’re quite a legend in this city.”
Rhunis didn’t shake the man’s hand, but instead he motioned to his five seated friends. “I’ll have a pint of Torey brown ale. Give my friends whatever they want, on me.”
Dirk looked down the row at the seated companions, past Whill and Abram, briefly at Zerafin and Avriel, and finally set his gaze on Roakore, whose chin barely cleared the bar. Dirk swaggered down to the dwarf. “And what can I get ya, master dwarf? A few thick books to sit on, perhaps?”
Abram shook his head at Whill. “Here we go.”
Roakore leaned in closer to the bar. “I’ll take a pint o’ whatever Rhunis ordered, an’ a shot o’ black rum.”
Dirk chuckled and began to ask the others for their orders when Roakore interrupted. “And know this, ye gangly dragon turd. Make a joke about me height again an’ ye’ll be lookin’ me face to face as I beat ye with yer own legs.” He laid one of his four hatchets on the bar.
Dirk gulped so hard his prominent Adam’s apple seemed to jump. The rest of the group gave a hearty laugh. Whill and Abram both ordered the same brew as Rhunis. Whill recognized the barrel of Dragon’s Brew by the insignia, but he dared not bring it to Roakore’s attention. The elves both ordered water, which earned them both a queer look from Dirk. Before the barkeep could get the water, Roakore stopped him.
“Hold on, Dragon Turd!” Roakore set his gaze on the elves. “Now, ye two have healed me scratches without me permission. The least ye could do is share a pint o’ ale against
Zerafin chuckled, and Avriel pulled a straight face. “Very well, then. Mr. Magirk, We shall have whatever our friend here is having.”
Rhunis turned to Abram and Whill as he took a drink. “Something here ain’t quite right.”
“What do you mean?” asked Abram.
Rhunis shifted closer. “I’ve known old Harlod since I was old enough to order a beer, and this story of Dragon Turd’s just don’t make sense. Harlod loved this bar. He used to be a slave, and when his master died some thirty years ago, he freed Harlod and left him this bar. I can’t see him selling this place to no one for nothing. I think I’m gonna need to have a talk with Parpous Hellious.”
“You think maybe it was a gambling debt?” Whill asked. “Was Harlod that kind of man?”
“No, he was not, and he had no vices to mention, either. No, knowing who Parpous is, I’d say that Harlod gave over this place quite against his will.”
Abram took a drink and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. “Who is Parpous Hellious?”
Rhunis scowled. “He is guild master of the largest thieving guild in the city, the Black Hand. And here he is now.”
Parpous entered the pub with a swagger, followed by an entourage of thugs, twelve in all. They made their way to the largest table in the place and with a look cleared the seats. The tables’ former residents, along with all others in the bar, obviously knew who he was, and moved accordingly.
Parpous was a large man, at least six-foot-five, with a barrel chest and a scarred face he no doubt was proud of. He was a creature of the streets, a cutthroat who had not only survived more than forty years among the scum of the city, Rhunis said, but had risen to the top of the heap. The two men seated to his direct left were his second and third in command, Torell and Malthious. Both of their lives had been saved more than once by Parpous, and as many times spared. They were loyal to the death.
The band finished a song and instantly broke into the ever-popular “Kiss My Eldalonian Arse.” The bar erupted as all in attendance sang along. Roakore slammed down his beer, belched loudly, wiped his beard, tossed back his shot, ordered another, and stated with wild eyes, “Now this is me kind o’ music, ha ha!”
“And this will be a wild night,” Abram muttered. To that Whill could only smile and hold his glass up in a cheers.
Whill took a drink of his ale and eyed Rhunis, who rarely took his eyes off of Parpous. Parpous’s cronies had no doubt noticed the attention and had surely informed their captain. Whill could only imagine what this might escalate into, but rather than being apprehensive about the confrontation, he welcomed it with excitement. He laughed to himself as he imagined what Zerafin might say about that. Then as if by magic, Zerafin, who was to his left, spoke.
“You cannot stand the thought of injustice, especially towards this former slave, and have been all day long fostering great anger about Tarren’s family’s fate. You want nothing more than a reason to release your inner rage.”
Zerafin proceeded to take a drink casually, as if he hadn’t just read Whill’s mind.
“I thought you said you never invade someone’s mind without permission. I wasn’t projecting to you.”
“One does not have to be a mind reader to know your thoughts at this moment, Whill. They must simply pay attention.”
A barmaid came over with a tray full of drinks. “These are from the generous Parpous.”
Everyone waited to see what Rhunis would do, even the ever-thirsty and seemingly carefree Roakore, for all had heard Rhunis’s story, and all stood by their friend. Rhunis accepted the drink with a nod, so the others did the same. Parpous nodded also and drank from his own glass. The motion caused his sleeve to fall back, exposing many jeweled bracelets to match his many rings. Rhunis slammed down his empty drink and rose from his seat. Before he could take a step, Whill stood. “Should we join you?”
Rhunis eyed the companions one and all and simply nodded. Avriel looked at her brother for a moment and grabbed Rhunis’s hand before he stepped forward. “I must inform you, Rhunis, I sense a being below us, in the basement. He is old, frail, and in much despair. Possibly it is your friend.”
Rhunis’s eyes flashed. “Will you trust me on this and do as I ask?”
“Yes, of course.”
The band had finished their latest song and told the energetic crowd they would be taking a break. More likely, Whill thought, they could tell what was coming and decided it wise to take their valuable instruments somewhere safe.
Parpous watched Rhunis come toward him, and the man opposite him gave up his seat. Parpous stood and extended a hand to Rhunis. “Ah, Rhunis the Dragonslayer in my pub-what an event, eh, boys? It is an honor, friend.”
Rhunis shook Parpous’s hand but did not smile or say anything. He simply let the air go stale.
“Yes, well, then, please do have a seat.” Parpous motioned with his hand while his eyes scanned the companions. Rhunis sat, and Parpous went on. “What brings you, great Rhunis, to my pub-to my table, for that matter? What is the honor?”
“
Parpous gave a crooked, gold-toothed smile. “Indeed, my friend, you may have been away too long. I now own this here pub. Bought it from the old man not a month ago. He said he wanted to spend the rest of his days sailing the wide ocean. Said he’d had enough of the bar life.”
Rhunis leaned closer. “That’s odd, because I’ve known the old man for many, many years, and I know that he despises the sea. No wonder, being that he spent three months on a slave ship after being taken from his murdered mother’s arms and brought here from the outer lands. I also know that he loved this place more than
