Thomas lunged forward, dropping the mace as he landed on his jailor’s chest and started punching. A right hook, then a straight left, a straight right, then he grabbed Boris’ hair with his left to get better leverage, pulling back his right fist with a feral grin.
Two men suddenly tackled him from behind, yanking him up and off his enemy, and Thomas went wild, his fury at the interference to his justice roaring to life.
He braced himself and yanked, digging deep and using strength he’d thought long lost as he brought both arms forward, smashing the restraining soldiers together. Their heads sounded like bells as their helmets crashed into each other.
The man who’d been holding his right arm let go, staggering and mildly concussed, and Thomas reacted with the speed of a man used to fighting for his life.
He punched the left guard savagely, his fist actually denting his target’s helmet, and he sent the man flying.
Thomas spun, tucking his foot under the mace on the floor, and flipped it up into the air, reaching out almost casually to intercept it before screaming in pain and collapsing to the floor as his collar sent a wash of agony pouring through every muscle.
“Impressive!” came a voice from above him, and Thomas gritted his teeth, forcing his eyes open. It was the Paladin, standing over him, the Restraint Stone for his collar held in one hand. Thomas growled, his fury fully awakening, and he fought through the pain, dragging himself forward, determined to reach the Stone, only to have more soldiers pile on him. They yanked his arms back, and he raged at the terrible feeling of manacles being locked back into place.
He strained against the irons and the pain, but as the world began to turn black, he saw the Paladin smiling down at him in approval.
“We can use that anger, son. With a little training, and some reins in place, you might be an asset to the Church of Nimon yet.” He turned to a corporal that quickly stood to attention under the Paladin’s gaze. “Take him to the infirmary; get him healed up and evaluated. I think Sergeant Nix’s squad was one short. If so, see what he can do with him.” He turned back to Thomas and gave him a fatherly smile of approval before sneering down at Boris, who lay half beaten to death, with his arms broken and skull fractured. “Oh, and someone clean this shit up, Nimon has no need of scum like this on his doorstep!”
Chapter One
“Do ye be awake, laddie?” a voice called from nearby, and I jerked upright, my brain going from fast asleep into panic mode as my knees hit the underside of the table I’d been sprawled over, drunk. The impact sent me flying back down to bang my forehead on the table in a splash of spilled booze.
“Arghhhh!” I cried out sharply, pushing back from the table and tangling my legs with the stool that was bolted to the deck. I fell sideways, my flailing arm tearing free a coat from a stand to fall on me as I collapsed to the floor, slumped against the wall.
“Bwahahaha!” The laughter rang out, echoing around in my skull as I grabbed my head.
“Oren?” I grunted.
“Aye, laddie! It be me,” he replied, still laughing.
“I hate you,” I muttered, tugging the coat off my head, and glaring up at him. He stood leaning against the door to the Captain’s Cabin, shoulders still shaking as he snickered, and I winced at the bright morning sunlight that streamed in through the great windows that took up one side of the room, reaching from the floor to the upper deck.
“Ye could have let me use the captain’s quarters! Ye did’na even use the bed!” he said in reproach, gesturing to the undisturbed bed as I looked around the room.
The night before came back to me slowly. After the fight for the Tower was over, I’d gathered everyone together for a wake, and in traditional Northern style, it’d ended up as a party somehow. I vaguely remembered that Oren had found some rotgut in the ship we’d captured, and the combination of a battle won and the knowledge we were safe, for a few days, at least, had resulted in a lot of drinking.
“Aye, well… sorry, mate,” I muttered, rubbing some life back into my legs as I looked up at him. “Any particular reason you snuck up on me like that?” The note of irritation was clear in my voice.
“’Snuck up’? I banged on th’ door twice! Thought mebbe you’d been murdered! Or mebbe ye found an elf maid in yer bed and were making th’ most of being th’ hero!” He laughed, giving me a bawdy wink.
“You thought I might have an elf maid in my bed, so you walked in? Dude, seriously… we need to talk about boundaries...” I muttered, grabbing the wall, and hauling myself upright. I stood unsteadily as I looked around again, my memories of last night blurry and fragmented.
The room was ostentatious for a warship, even for the captain’s quarters, with gilded lamps, a large table with ornate tableware, a double bed, and multiple decanters displayed in what had previously been a locked cabinet.
I vaguely remembered jimmying the lock with a dagger while shitfaced, and a crystal cut decanter sat in the middle of the table I’d fallen asleep on. I noticed a piece of parchment curling up from underneath the decanter, stained with booze and covered in what looked like chicken scratch.
“Aye, well, only one way to be sure!” Oren said, unrepentantly shrugging. “So…ye said to be here early, that we had plans to make?”
“Yeah…” I said, wracking my brain as I tried to remember what I’d been thinking when we’d last spoken.
I looked
