Hired Blades

Reunion-2

I sit up straighter to welcome my visitors and gesture towards the empty seats, but they don’t want to sit down.

“What the hell?” Handsome demands, pretty grouchy considering I just sent him wine.

“May I inquire what this is about?” Baldy asks in a neutral tone, still trying to catch my gaze.

It bothers me, so I look at Handsome instead.

“I was bored,” I answer with a shrug and take a sip of wine, hiding my smile behind the cup.

Baldy looks like he was hit with a shovel and it turns out he does have emotions after all. He looks so disappointed I almost feel bad until his disappointment turns into a slow rage fueled by shame. I think he thought this was a test of some sort that he passed with flying colors and it came as a shock that I did it on a whim for entertainment.

Handsome on the other hand seems to find his balance. He sizes me up and I smile sweetly at both of them, waiting for their reactions.

Baldy becomes indignant, and I’m lucky if he doesn’t try to poison my wine. Now that I think of it, he does look like an alchemist with his waxy, hairless skin and slightly bluish mouth. Maybe snake-men do not exist after all.

Handsome grins at me with what looks like seventy sparkling white teeth. He understands a joke, or more probably he finds me attractive. I can pull off the arm-candy disguise because I look the part. Although my thick wavy brown hair is now pulled back into a simple ponytail, my slightly almond-shaped brown eyes give an exotic tinge to my pretty face. My exercise-toned body is blessed with ample curves most men seem to like, and my dress hides the multitude of scars that would ruin the feminine image. Yep, Handsome has other things on his mind, meaning he’s not a threat at the moment, but if I don’t want to spend the entire night tediously guarding my drink, I will either have to conciliate Baldy or knock him out. The latter sounds less tiresome, but if he drinks alone in this joint, he must be tougher than he looks.

“Milady, this was quite a distasteful prank,” he says in a slightly whiny tone, but he looks ready to forgive. Okay, let’s get this over with.

“I am very sorry if I disturbed your quiet contemplations. It could have worked out well, for several good friendships were born around a glass of wine.”

I keep quiet about the multitude of fights that also broke out over drinks. I’m sure he would benevolently forgive me if I would ask how I could make it up to him but I can’t go that far, after all, I did nothing wrong.

Baldy wrinkles his forehead as he measures my placating words against my defiant gaze and finds that they don’t match. His eyes wander over my weapons and I almost see the wheels turning inside his head as he arrives at the same conclusion I have about people drinking here alone. Oh, crap, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid, for him to walk away thinking I’m a threat. I stifle a sigh and force myself to say the words with a matching apologetic smile “Would another glass of wine help you forget this unfortunate incident?”

He thinks about it for a long moment, but he finally generously accepts.

“Well. Khm. All right. I guess no unredeemable slight was done.”

I feel an almost unbearable urge to smash his head into the table, but if I let it go now, I’ll never have to deal with him again. It’s worth the sacrifice, so I wave the bartender over and buy him yet another drink. Baldy returns to his table but Handsome stays and sits down. That’s presumptuous. I don’t want his company. I look at him with raised eyebrows.

“That guy, am I right?” he starts the conversation with a derisive smile gesturing in Boldy’s general direction. How original. I keep staring at him. I’m irritated because my planned fun turned into boring diplomacy.

“It was a good prank” he continues. It wasn’t.

“It would have been much better if the two of you fell in love,” I answer with a cynical smile.

His face darkens. Hmm, homophobe much?

“I like you better, sweetheart,” he replies, and I lose the last morsel of interest in him.

Not because the creepy bald guy is not his type, but this cheesy ‘sweetheart’ combined with the cheap line extinguishes the spark created by his good looks.

“Sorry, I’m waiting for someone,” I answer with a similar cliché.

He doesn’t deserve better.

“Oh, come now, you invited me for a drink let’s not let it go to waste,” he insists.

Thank all the gods, especially Unpredictable Nimiron, one of my drinking buddies chooses this moment to step through the door. I smile, first just relieved to be able to get rid of Handsome but as I watch Bear’s towering figure with his always messy dark hair and beard I’m surprised to find how truly happy I am to see him. We were never close, but I guess training together at the Fort bound us for life. I watch him look around, assessing the threat, dismissing some people, noting others. I smile and wave when he looks my way, before the question, whether I want to be left alone with my suitor could even cross his mind.

“Hi Honey, I’m so glad to see you,” I greet him when he gets within hearing distance.

Bear’s eyes widen in bewilderment, for he is not my ‘Honey’. Even if we were lovers, which we’re not, I would never call him that. Tough-as-nails bodyguards don’t call each-other cutesy pet-names unless they’re spoiling for a fight. His frown deepens as he tries to figure out the reason behind my odd behavior, but by the time he reaches our table he arrives at the right conclusion.

“Who’s this guy?” he asks morosely.

“I don’t know, Honey, he just sat down and tried to pick me up,” I select the most relevant elements of my brief acquaintance with Handsome.

“Get lost, she’s with me,” Bear says threateningly.

His huge stature and rumbling deep voice add emphasis to his words. Handsome is a tough guy, he can’t back down, but he also doesn’t want to take on the huge mercenary in a fair fight, so he tries to take him by surprise and punch him in the gut using the momentum of standing up. It takes more than a weak try like this to surprise Bear. My gigantic friend turns sideways and leans minutely backward, letting the hit sail past him. Handsome misses him by a hairsbreadth. Was this luck or did Bear become this efficient? It’s impossible to tell. Meanwhile, Bear pushes Handsome seemingly gently forward and his shove sends him crashing head-first into a nearby table, spilling the beers of three soldiers, who jump to their feet knocking their chairs into other men, and finally all hell breaks loose.

I grab a chair and jump into the fight, careful to protect my face, for it is hard to play arm-candy with a black-eye. I search for Baldy, but he scurries upstairs, towards the guest rooms. It’s his loss if he wants to miss out on the fun. There are other fishes in the sea. I smash my chair on the back of the nearest guy. He drops where he is and his former opponent starts for me, after all, one nose is like another if you just want to punch something, but then he realizes I’m a girl and lowers his arms, confused. I take offense at that. I always hated being treated differently. I punch him in the gut and push him hard at someone who in turn throws him over a table that collapses with a loud crash.

I look around for opponents. Half the fighters are still on their feet and the door opens to reveal a newcomer. A sudden smile spreads across my face at the sight of Dancer’s slender figure. His lean frame deceived many men, who paid dearly for underestimating him. He’s the polar opposite of Bear. Both men are tall and they both have brown hair and eyes, but the similarities end there. As opposed to the delightfully messy Bear, Dancer’s always clean-shaven and never has a hair out of place. While Bear is a huge mountain of muscles and usually looks menacing, Dancer is so wiry it borders on thin and he smiles a lot, adding to the illusion of harmlessness, but looks are deceiving, he is wicked fast, precise, controlled yet unpredictable, and quite deadly. He assesses the scene with a quick glance and after making sure we’re fine, he joins the fight enthusiastically.

He grabs a jug out of the air, preventing it from hitting the amazingly still singing bard, and smashes it against the closest fighter’s head. He leans away from a hit, grabs a chair leg that lay peacefully on the ground amidst the chaos, swipes a man’s leg with it, then hits a third guy’s yaw as he stands up. He does all this in one amazing, beautiful, fluid motion in a blink of an eye. Unfortunately, I have to stop marveling at his graceful elegance, because someone smashes something incredibly hard on my back. The air whooshes out of my lungs and the world temporarily turns black. I kick backward as a reflex drilled into me by years of training, and I feel my leg connect with something soft that might even be the man who hit me. After the kick, I momentarily seek shelter under a miraculously still standing table to catch my breath. I find myself face to face with a kid rummaging through the bags left unattended by the fighters. I’d bet he’s the son of the bard because they act with similarly self-possessed nonchalance. I nod at him, impressed, and he smiles, relieved I don’t want to break his arm, then scurries away.

I look for Dancer from the safety of the table. He seems to find the work-ethics of the singer commendable and, as the born and raised bodyguard he is, he takes it upon himself to protect the bard from all harm. In the short time it took me to hide he managed to clear a largish area around the singer and he uses his trusty chair leg to joyously bat away every object flying their way.

Fewer and fewer people are standing and the fight becomes less lively. It’s time to scram before the city watch arrives to arrest everyone for the disruption of peace. Bear knocks Handsome out, just to finish what he started, then we leave in a hurry.

As we run out of the tavern, laughing, we see Blade, the last member of our crew, approaching. He quickly connects our desertion of the place with the chair flying through the window in our wake, so he turns on his heels and starts jogging in the direction we’re headed. It looks almost as if he’s running from us because he keeps glancing back worriedly over his shoulders. By the time we catch him up, we laugh so hard we can’t breathe. We slow down to a leisurely walk.

“I know a good joint,” Blade, the scar-faced, broad-shouldered, blond mercenary says as if it hadn’t been years since we last met.

“I knew one too before these two thrashed it,” Dancer answers with pretend indignation pointing towards Bear and me.

“Hey, I had to save Wildcat from a jerk!” Bear protests.

“That’s cool. If a damsel was in distress, the joint had to be thrashed,” Blade nods in approval.

“Where do you suggest we go?” I ask, trying to prevent further discussion of distressed damsels.

“Well, we could go to the Blue Boat, they have excellent beer, or…” he holds a dramatic pause to make sure he has our undivided attention “or we could go to the alley behind the Mad Dog to watch the turtle race.”