A New Dawn Coming

Chapter Eight

“Jahlenea’s tender arse, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The card player rose from his chair, confronting his would-be thief. His breath was rank and pushed Faux back a step. He had thick greasy hair, cut close in some places with long patches sprouting off in others. His thin, watery eyes stared at a point over the half-elf’s shoulder.

“As it happens, you’re in luck!” Faux replied glibly. “When your friend there got excited and shoved everyone back, not only did I manage to catch you from falling, but happened to keep your pouch from falling to the floor. I’ve kept all your hard-earned coins from spilling across the tavern.” He leaned in, risking the man’s sour breath. “With the crowd this big, I’m sure not everyone is honest. I doubt you would have gotten them all back.” He held the coin pouch up for the man to see the results of his daring rescue.

The man peered at him. His bloodshot eyes wandered across Faux’s face before settling just above his other shoulder.

“I thinks yer a lying elvish bastard.” He jabbed a finger into Faux’s shoulder to emphasize his point.

“Bash his teeth in!” one of the men at the card table urged.

“Cut ‘is c**k off and shove it up ‘is arse!” another suggested, egging his companion on.

A rising tide of quiet whispers sprung up around the common room as the assembled crowd were began to take notice of the exchange.

“I assure you,” Faux replied, trying to end the altercation before it escalated any further, "I had no intention of taking your coins. You look to be the sort of gentlemen people don’t cross. Me most of all. Please, I managed to grab your pouch before it hit the floor, nothing more.”

The man hesitated. The alcohol coursing through his body was making it hard to focus on the half-elf’s words.

“I’ll tell you what,” Faux pressed on. “A show of good will. Let me buy you, and your friends, a round of drinks. No harm done. A misunderstanding. You can get back to your cards and I’ll have the drinks delivered for you.” Another confused look crossed the man’s face before he finally nodded.

“Aye then, but none of that shite that son of a b***h Gustfer keeps propped on the counter. Tell him we wants the good brew, the one he keeps under the counter, near the kitchen doors.”

“Consider it done. A most wise choice.” He held out the coin purse, dropping it into the man’s outstretched hand.

“Shut up, bugger off, and get me the drinks! If I catches ya near me again I’ll bash your skull!”

Faux nodded and backed away, spinning on his heel. He dodged a couple of more patrons before landing at the bar next to Aboleth and the giant man he was talking to.

“Making friends lad?”

“Misunderstanding over a coin purse. I think they’re just looking for a fight and decided to try and bully the half-elf.”

Aboleth gave him a searching gaze before nodding his head.

“Besides, it’s smoothed over now. I’ll buy them a round and everyone’s happy.” He signaled to the innkeep, who he assumed to be Gustfer. He acknowledged Faux with a curt nod and yelled to Jenni.

She bounced up to the bar, flashing another brilliant, toothy smile in his direction. “What’ll it be this time?”

“A round for my new friends, at the card table,” he said jerking his head in their direction and returning her smile. “The ‘good stuff’ apparently, from the keg by the kitchen doors? This ought to cover it I think.” He dropped two gold marks onto the counter with one hand. The other, discreetly tucked several more into a hidden pocket within his cloak. He didn’t get the full coin purse, but managed to keep the thug talking and distracted long enough to slip out a handful before handing the pouch back.

“Aye, that’ll cover it and then some!” her eyes bulged at the thick coins laying on the bar.

“Well then, I’d like you to have the rest. For everything you’ve done tonight.”

Jenni blushed as she scooped the coins off the bar. She darted away, flicking a quick look over her shoulder. Faux turned to the dwarf as he laid an empty ale mug on the counter.

“How’s it looking for a room?” Faux asked.

“Not good. Every room is booked, some have two and three to a bed. Doesn’t look like we’re staying here. Guythalamew here, has offered to let us share a horse stall with his horse in the barn.”

Faux looked over the dwarf at the gigantic man standing next to him. He easily towered another half head over the half-elf, with shoulders so broad it looked as though he’d have to turn sideways to fit through a doorway. His barrel chest and thick arms threatened to bust from the thin but well-made shirt he wore. A large broad sword hung from one hip, a worn leather grip jutting out of the plain scabbard. His solid block of a face housed piercing blue eyes, and was framed by close cropped blonde hair. Those eyes bored into Faux as he sized up the half-elf in turn.

“You can call me Guy. Always happy to help a man of the cloth. Sorry it can’t be more than a patch of hay in a barn. Streaker’s a mild-mannered beast though, he won’t mind the company.” Faux paused at the prospect of a night in a barn with a horse for company. Compared to how things had been looking a few short hours ago, it was still a step up. Even if it wasn’t the gigantic four poster, and down filled mattress, he’d been imagining.

“Anything is better than a puddle under a tree in weather like this.” Faux nodded towards the big man. To Aboleth he asked, “Did you find out why the place is so busy to begin with?”

“Aye. Tis a fall harvest festival. An occasion thankin’ Jahlenea fer her bounty, and to ask for her continued protection and mercy. It’s a time to drink and celebrate, before settlin’ down for the few weeks of hard labour, harvesting the fields. I haven’t been out here durin’ this time of year before. Tis a blessin’ to be a part of it!”

“Brings in everyone from the village, and every hut and hole in the ground from miles around.” Guy added.

Faux signalled to Gustfer for another ale before turning to Guy.

“You don’t look to be the typical out of town farmer, here for the party.” He nodded at the sword swaying from his hip.

“I’m not. Merchant guard. Came in a few days ago. After my employer sold his goods, he somehow couldn’t come up with the coin to cover my pay. Filthy liar!” He turned and spat on the floor. “He stashed the coin and made out like he came up short. Gave me promises as empty as my coin purse about how he’d pay in full once we returned to Whitereach.”

“So, what’d you do?”

“Took the wagon and the rest of his goods. He appealed to the councillor on grounds that I was robbing him. He set us up for a proper hearing. Listened to both our stories, and told the bastard he could pay what was owed, or I was entitled to the goods in compensation.” Guy took a deep swig from his mug and hammered it down on the counter, causing the aged wood to creak in protest. “He skipped out of town the next night. Took his horse and left the cart and junk behind. I’m waiting for another merchant or trader to come by so I can dump all this s**t off. Councillor says passersby aren’t uncommon, could take a few days, but eventually someone’ll show up.”

Faux nodded, taking a long pull from his own ale. He’d had his share of deals gone bad.

Gruff voices started shouting. A loud squeal, followed by the scrape and crash of chairs being shoved back, drew everyone’s attention. The ring of swords pulled from sheaths, cut through the noisy common room like lighting from a clear sky. He turned to see that the card players were all standing, weapons drawn, shoving and pulling at the panicked revelers, snatching coin purses and whatever valuable items they could see.

The only people armed in the tavern, besides the six thugs, were the three of them. Guy had a hand resting on the pommel of his sword, while Aboleth had produced a heavy, elaborately worked Warhammer, from somewhere under his clerics robe. With a resigned sigh, Faux drew one of his rapiers. So much for a quiet night.

“Be wary lad,” Aboleth said, as he and Guy fanned out into the common room, pushing their way through the throng of people to confront the gang of card players.

He’d started to follow behind the other two, when one of the men came around the bar. He was dragging the struggling innkeeper behind him by the torn collar of his shirt. His other hand was brandishing a narrow, sharp looking dagger. He brought the knife to the terrified man’s throat, yelling at him to open the lock box under the bar.

“Pour all the coins into the sack old man and I might let you live.” He kicked a gruby cloth bag towards the lockbox. A twisted, ugly scar poked out from under his long greasy hair, running the length of his face and crossing his nose before tapering off at his chin. He’d been one of the men yelling encouragement to the man Faux had tried to rob.

Faux placed one hand on the bar top and leaped over.

“The bloody money!” the tough was yelling, spittle flying from his mouth. “I want you to open the godsdamned lock box and fill the sack with the coins. What is it, are you deaf or just stupid?”

“Easy now,” Faux said, sauntering towards the two men, his rapier held loosely at his side. “Why don’t we all relax a little bit? I’m sure our friend here would be happy to get you the money, but it’s not so easy with a knife at your neck.”

“Bugger off elf! This is no business of yours. Better yet, why don’t you lay any coin you have on the bar and get the hell out of here! Or maybe you’ll let me come pick it off you. I’ll enjoy spilling your guts even more than taking your coin.” He grinned at Faux, crooked and yellowed teeth peeking out through thin, pale lips.

“Half-elf actually,” Faux corrected, “But easily mistaken. Since you’re interfering with my next drink, I’d say you’re making it my business.”

“I don’t give a s**t if you’re a boil on Fallen One’s ass”, the thug cried at him. “Clear out of here or I’ll run the bastard through and dig for the key myself!” He pressed dagger tight against the man’s throat, a small bead of blood bubbled up, running along the tip of the blade.

“I’ll get ye the money!” the panic-stricken innkeeper shrieked. “Please master,” he directed at Faux, “let me get him the coin. Tis not worth dying over.”

As Faux opened his mouth to reply another of the would-be thieves came around the end of the bar. His lanky brown hair hung awkwardly over his face, a scar running through his hairline forcing it out in an unnatural direction. He raised a battered long sword with pits of rust along its edge in Faux’s direction.

“I’ve ‘ad enough o’ dis shit.” His eyes meet Faux’s and bored into them with a burning, feverish intensity. With a tug of his arm he dragged a struggling Jenni from behind him by the hair, shoving her in front. He lifted one foot and kicked the back of one her knees. Her leg to buckled and she fell to her knees in front of him. He laid the worn blade on her shoulder, its dull edge scraping her neck. “Now lay yer fuckin’ blade down and git yer ass out o’ de bar. Ya do it right now, or I’ll be taking de wench’s head off, and den ‘yers. Just like Seamus should ‘ave done when ye put yer mits on ‘is coin purse.”

As Faux considered this unfortunate new development, the common room behind him erupted into madness. The dull din of background noise was penetrated by a sharp, high-pitched squeal, that ended abruptly. A split second of stillness settled on the common room, like an early spring frost.

“Oh shit.” Someone said in a breathless voice.

Then all hell broke loose. The room was full screams and feet stamping, chairs were overturned, glass was breaking and boots thundered across the floor boards, making it sound as if a full regiment of heavy cavalry were galloping through the inn’s common room. A massive, unintelligible roar, that Faux believed might be Aboleth, drowned out everything as if an avalanche had come smashing through the inn. The familiar clash of steel on steel quickly followed, the sharp clangs rising above the clamour.

It was just the type of distraction Faux needed. As the bandit holding Jenni turned to see what was happening, Faux flexed his wrist, releasing the dagger he had strapped there from its spring loaded sheath. In one smooth motion, his left hand plucked the rapier from his right as the familiar feel of the dagger’s handle flowed into his waiting palm. With a flick of the wrist, the dagger was on its way. Tumbling end over end, it crossed the distance, the blade striking the thug holding Jenni just under an eye.

He howled and stepped back, his hands darting to his face, releasing his hold on the barmaid. She shot forward like a hare being released from a slip, darting past Faux as he reached out a hand to draw her past him.

The other thief spun to see what happened to his companion, his mouth hanging open. The innkeeper shoved him into the wall, and dashed around the corner into what Faux assumed was the kitchen.

Faux paused, looking over his shoulder at the attractive barmaid. All the mischief had vanished from her wide, trembling eyes. She was shivering, alternating between wrapping her arms around herself, or reaching out with one shaking hand to touch the half-elf’s back. Tears were brimming in her eyes. He sighed, remembering his last night in Estermont. Always the bloody hero.

He turned back, focusing on the two bandits who were recovering. The man who Faux had hit with the dagger, was walking towards him, sword raised. Blood flowed freely along his face and dripped onto his shoulder. The dagger had slashed through the eyeball, leaving a hideous looking gash. His companion was a half-step behind, dagger held high, tensed and ready to pounce.

The bloody bandit lunged at Faux, an animal like snarl hissing through his teeth. He made savage cuts and blood thirsty lunges, fighting with a rage and savagery that made it hard to counter in the enclosed space behind the bar. Any time he parried the blows away, and had an opening to duck into, the other bandit would s***h or jab at the half elf, driving him further back, another opportunity lost.

Finally, the thief gave him an opening. He raised his sword high, and with two hands brought it down in a vicious cut, trying to split the half-elf from his neck to his groin. Faux stepped to one side, letting the sword whistle past him, the wind whooshing across his face. The floorboard exploded into a mass of flying splinters as the sword bit deep and lodged there. Faux stepped in and delivered a vicious elbow to the man’s throat, crushing his wind pipe. He crashed to the floor in a crumpled heap, his mouth working like a landed fish as he tried to suck air through his ruined throat.

The other bandit seized on his opportunity as well. Lashing out with his dagger, it bit deep along Faux’s shoulder, driving him back against the bar. He staggered into the counter top, almost falling before Jenni caught him from behind, helping him regain his balance. Blood blossomed along the jagged hack in his flesh, running freely along his arm and down his side.

The thug grinned as he stepped over his choking comrade, pulling the sword from the floor board. The flickering lantern light reflected off the pitted steel. Faux backed off, his left arm hanging at his side, the other holding his rapier steady in front of him.

The thug took a wild hack, bellowing a roar. Faux parried the swing to one side. Rolling his wrist as he did so, he reversed the parry to slide his blade along the exposed underside of the thief’s wrist. Severed tendons made his hand go limp and useless while his life’s blood began gushing from the sliced veins. The sword clattered to the ground as he yelped, clutching at his wrist. Faux lunged, a savage thrust powered by his own pain and bloodlust, driving the point of his rapier through the man’s chest. The sword sank to the hilt, the crimson tinted blade bursting through the man’s back.

He stood dumbfounded, staring at the half-elf, until Faux placed a boot against the man’s chest and shoved him backwards, pulling the blade free.

Faux stood straight, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, and looked out into the common room. Aboleth was swinging his heavy hammer into the last standing attacker. Faux could hear the bandit’s ribs cracking and popping over the loud thud the hammer made as it crushed his chest. The blow lifted the man off his feet, driving him backwards, spilling over a table and sprawling to the inn floor in a crumpled heap, unmoving. Guy stood along one wall, sword in hand, his eyes alert and surveying the battlefield that the inn had become.

Considering the various positions of their bodies, none of the rowdy card players were still alive. They weren’t the only bodies though. A couple of well dressed men lay in growing, dark red pools on the floor. One of the serving girls, a grisly looking gash along her throat, lay unmoving as well.

Faux was tackled from behind as Jenni rushed him. Throwing her arms around his body, she spun him around, sobbing into his chest. Her grip sent flares of pain along his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth, awkwardly pattingher back with his good hand.

Aboleth tottered up to the bar and looked over at the pair Faux had dispatched. He nodded to the half-elf. Spatters of blood were sprinkled across his white clerics robe, and drops fell slowly from the head of the ornate hammer that was hanging from his hand.

“At least ye don’t just carry those for show,” he pointed at Faux’s rapier. “Are ye hurt? The lass?”

“I think she’s fine.” Faux continued to stroke the hair flowing along her back. “I got a scratch, nothing serious I think.”

“Let me have a look.”

Aboleth came around the bar while Faux pried himself away from the sobbing barmaid. Taking the wounded arm in one hand, he pulled back a part of Faux’s slashed shirt to look at the gaping split in the flesh. He nodded to himself, then closed his eyes.

“Blessed Mother, I offer homage as a lowly servant. In your name, protectin’ the innocent did we fight and sustain injury. By your blessed will, may you aid the faithful and make flesh whole, so that we may continue to honor you in defense of your children.”

A tingling sensation started simultaneously at his toes and the very top his head. It washed over his body, scouring away minor aches, bruises and cuts. As it reached his shoulder, he stared, fascinated, as the skin pulled together and began knitting right before his eyes. The sharp sting of pain vanished as the wound closed, leaving behind not even the tiniest trace of a scar. As Aboleth stepped back he flexed the arm, lifting and raising it, amazed how it felt. He gawped at the dwarf.

“How did you do that?”

“Twasn’t me lad. Was the Blessed One herself. I offered a simple prayer on your behalf, and she deemed you worthy of the healin’.”

“So it was like magic then?” Faux said, an air of disbelief in his voice.

“Nay lad. Not magic. That’s unpredictable and no good for healin’. It only causes destruction. This was the work of a god. I let her know ye’d be needin’ it is all.”

Faux paused, searching for words, as his debt to the dwarf continued to climb.

A shrill wail pierced the inn, as Jenni noticed the other serving girl lying in a pool of thickening blood on the floor of the common room. She fell to her knees a few feet away, sobbing uncontrollably. Gustfer knelt next to her, tears streaming unchecked along his stony face as he stared at the dead girl.

“We tried to talk them down.” Aboleth said by way of explanation, his voice heavy. “But they were itchin’ for a fight. When they saw Guy and myself holdin’ weapons instead of cowerin’ they got their backs up and pressed harder for a scrap. When I told ‘em I wouldn’t fight one of Jahlenea’s children over a coin purse, he grabbed the girl from the crowd of people tryin’ to get out and ran his blade along her throat. Asked me if I’d fight now.”

“Guess he got his answer,” Guy drawled, striding up to the other two.

“I don’t think he liked it much,” Faux said.

“Thank you, masters.” Gustfer was standing a few feet away looking at the three of them, wiping at his face. “Them bastards was looking for this. It would have gone this way whether you were here or not. Thanks to the Blessed One you were here master cleric, or they might have killed more of us. And you sir, for saving my Jenni. She’s not my own daughter, but I treat all the lasses like they were. I know ye couldn’t have done nothing for Prisaine, poor girl. Deserved better she did.”

“No thanks necessary, Gustfer,” Guy clapped the man on the shoulder. Surprisingly tender for such a large man. “At least they won’t be doing it again.”

“Aye,” Aboleth said. “The Fallen One touches some men easier than others, turning hearts to evil. A blight upon us all.”

“My thanks again, masters, regardless.” He looked to Faux and Aboleth, a sheepish look on his face. “The two men on the floor were sharing a room together. They won’t be needing it now I don’t suppose. You two are welcomed to it, if you don’t mind prospering off someone else’s misfortune.”

“I’m okay with that,” Faux said. He didn’t know the two men, and couldn’t have prevented their deaths anyway. After the twists and turns of this day, he’d be more than thankful for a real bed.

“No man reaps fortune but off the back of another,” Aboleth quipped. “I’d be happy to take the room, after a prayer for their souls as they enter the Blessed One’s embrace.”

“Room number eight,” Gustfer said, as a crowd of townsfolk began gathering at the tavern’s door. A few brave souls stepped back into the common room. Some stopped to stare in astonishment at the c*****e, a dazed look etched across their features, while others were breaking down and descending into grief over the dead townsfolk. More wandered around the common room, offering to help, but not knowing what to do.

“I need to go and put some order to this rabble, and get Prisaine to the church for Iolder to take care of.” With a quick shake of their hands, Gustfer was hustling about the room, bellowing orders.

Guy wiped his sword clean with a rag hanging over the bar before turning to the dwarf and half-elf.

“Was an honor to fight beside you two. But that’s all the excitement I can handle this night. Until the morrow!” He offered a sloppy salute to the half-elf and dwarf, then turned on his heel and walked towards the hallway containing the rooms.

“I guess there isn’t much more for us to do either,” Faux said staring the dwarf.

“Not for me lad,” Aboleth said looking over Faux’s shoulder. He grabbed a full pitcher of ale from the top of the bar that had somehow survived the brawl, and took a long pull before heading towards the hallway himself, jug in hand.

Sensing a presence, Faux turned around, meeting Jenni as she walked up behind him. Her face was scrunched up and grief stricken, tears had left thin salty tracks glistening along her cheeks. She offered him a weak smile, a hint of its former splendor.

“I want to thank you,” she said, her voice low amidst the din as the townsfolk began cleaning up the common room. “If you hadn’t of done what you did, I might have ended up like Prisaine.” A large sob wracked her body and she hugged herself tightly, a fresh deluge of tears streaming over her cheek bones. Her moist eyes looked into his. “You saved my life. There is nothing I can do to repay you.”

“I’m not looking for repayment. You’re alive and unhurt. That’s enough for me. I wish I could have somehow helped your friend too.”

She leaned in and took him into a deep embrace, clutching him tight about his shoulders. One small sob coursed through her body. She let him go and stepped back, looking into his eyes one last time, before turning and walking over to Gustfer, who wrapped a protective arm around her.

Faux took one last look around the common room. His eyes roamed over the overturned chairs, benches, and tables. The spilled drinks, the stoic, and the weeping, townsfolk. The tangy smell of fresh blood tickled his nose. It didn’t seem to matter where he went or what he wanted, the violence was always a hairsbreadth away. He sighed, picking up his backpack by the fire, he slung it over his shoulder. He tossed his now dry cloak over one arm and followed Aboleth down the hallway.