The Darkslayer: Book 01 - Wrath of the Royals (13 page)

Things began to simmer in his gut. The face of the spoiled man before him reminded him of so many of his transgressors from before. He focused on the candle’s burning light.

The barkeep shouted.

“Go!”

Venir yanked his sword from the scabbard, swinging hard as the candle fell onto the floor. The Royal pumped his arms and blade up high. The crowd chanted.

“Tonio! Tonio!”

In unison, Tonio the Royal thrust his sword in the air.

Venir handed his sword over to the barkeep, who eyed it, wiped the blade down and returned it back to him. He sheathed his weapon with a disappointing grunt.

Melegal was almost smiling as he pressed the betting odds with the excited crowd. The barkeep wiped the waxy residue off of Tonio’s blade and handed it back.

“One for the Royal—Tonio!”

It drew another raucous cheer from the crowd.

Tonio pounded his chest and sucked in several quick breaths as waited for the next signal. Venir eyed the Royal as the candle was replaced.

Pretty good.

He rubbed his hilt again and closed his stance in a bit further. The crowd quieted as the barkeep raised his hand.

Quick. Quick. Quick.

“Go!”

Blades licked out faster than the alcohol-glazed eyes could see. The top of the burning candlestick fell to the floor. The crowd looked about, muttering about who had won. Many voices spoke up for the local favorite.

The contestants surrendered their blades, one at a time. The barkeep first inspected the sword of Tonio with a keen, smoke-reddened eye. The barkeep wiped it down and returned it to the somber faced young warrior. Venir watched as the barkeep’s fingernail revealed a small residue of white candle wax at the tip of his blade.
Yes!

Venir received a couple of pats on the back, as well as insults such as “son of a trollop” and “inbred cattle molester”. He thought he had heard them all, but had not. He felt an odd sense of pride.

While the barkeep replaced the last candle, Melegal continued placing more bets. The rogues hands and lips worked the gamblers like a master magician. Slender fingers flashed up and down, beckoning for more. Venir could see that icy glimmer in his friend’s eyes. It was one of those nights. He prepared for the final round.
Focus. Focus.

Tonio spit in his direction.

“Luck! I haven’t been beaten in two years and I’m not about to end my streak with some cretin like you. I’m the best and you won’t ever beat me again.”

Venir glowered back. Something about the Royal went under his skin, into the bone. Win or not, he wanted chop the young man’s head off.
One slice.

“For Bone!” the Royal shouted to his mouthy cadre decorated in pompous clothes.

“Bone—Bone—Bone …” they chanted.

Venir eyed the flame. Tonio gripped his blade as the sweat began to bead on the man’s creaseless forehead. The smoke and sweat smothered the tavern air. The barkeep stepped back and raised his arms high as the chant’s subsided.

“Go!”

Shing!

The thick white candle top hit the floor, still burning.

Tonio looked at the candle with his jaw on the floor. The crowd gasped, many rubbing their eyes. The Royal’s sword was half drawn in its sheath. Venir waited for the young warrior’s eyes to meet his.
I
s
till got it.

Melegal was collecting money from several scowling faces as the wary barkeep gave him a dumb look, gathered the candle stand and walked away. It wasn’t long before the crowd went back their drinking and swindling, while Tonio and his ilk slunk further away. Venir sat down before a fresh mug of ale, grinning from ear to ear.

“Pretty good, huh Melegal,” he said with a wink.

“Did you have to draw that fast?”

“Ah … he’s a cocky one, even for a Royal. He needed a lesson. Who knows, maybe it’ll do him some good,” he said, gulping from his mug and wiping the froth on his sleeve.

“Better than usual, these guys have deeper pockets than the crowds we’re used to. Let’s get a couple of drinks and then get out of here. I’m leery of the Royals and the City Watch …”

The room got smokier as the evening wore on, but Venir wasn’t ready to leave. The ladies were very courteous to big winners. Even Melegal’s stiff expression began to soften as painted nails ran through his hair.

The tavern was full of drunkenness, raunchy jokes and coarse laughter. Arguments, broken pottery, and the occasional whiff of vomit wafted in the air. He watched the beefy bouncers escort debilitated men outside by the scruff of their neck, with a solid kick in the pants or worse, except the Royals. It was beginning to feel like home, and Venir ignored the edgy tone in Melegal’s voice as he felt no need to heed the warnings.

He didn’t worry, instead he relished in the plush palm of the comely confines. He became loud and rowdy, racing other men in drinking contests. He bought escorted women drinks, recited piss poor poetry, offered flirtatious words and even bought a drink for a thirsty-looking dog. Most didn’t mind his bold behavior, but others began to grumble. Still, free drinks made many friends no matter where you were.

He had the remaining dwellers attention as Melegal slunk further from the table. In a secluded corner, the younger Royals had further isolated themselves from the crowd. Their heads were down; staring over Venir’s way using venomous whispers. The Royals of Bone never took losing very well, even worse to a complete stranger from another city. He saw Melegal motion his way,
Time to go.
He frowned as a beauty twirled her finger in his ear.

The rogue was about to get up when two voluptuous ladies in short silk dresses pressed their full bodies into his wanton face. They whispered discreet pleasures in the rogue’s ears that raised goose bumps on his arms. Venir was just as titillated by the small throng of women offering their irresistible wares. His mind was paralyzed as the more favorable contestants sat on his lap. He and Melegal wear overwhelmed by the women’s arousing splendor and he soaked it in. The Outlands and Royals were the furthest thing from his thoughts ….

The words of a new challenge energized the deadened crowd. Unintelligible shouts of encouragement rang out from all corners, shaking the crystals that dangled from the chandeliers.

“What do you say?” Tonio asked. “Care to put your money on a real challenge?”

Venir looked over at Melegal who was shaking his head. He knew the Royal wouldn’t take no for an answer and let his pride and poor judgment speak for him.

The crowd was so excited that Melegal struggled to keep up with the bets. Still, the reluctant thief was salivating as his grey eyes gleamed of silver. The roars rose to a deafening crescendo as the men squared off.

Two of the biggest men in the room stood chest to chest. The Royal was a towering athlete, with powerful shoulders and iron cut arms. The younger man’s chestnut eyes glared down into Venir’s. Fresh agitation began to stir inside him. How many faces like this tormented him many years ago?

Venir wore a heavy hooded smock with white wolf-fur shoulders, typical of a man from the City of Three. The unique garment made his shoulders appear inhuman in size as his stout frame stood like an anvil amidst the Royal. The onlookers sized up the pair of giants, and many coins shuffled in Tonio’s favor.

“No kicking, biting, head butting, or tripping! Your hands must be locked on the other’s upper arms at all times. Whoever forces his opponent on his back—wins!”

An audible gasp filled the room as Venir removed his hooded smock. He wore a black sleeveless jerkin that exposed his hulking arms.

Venir locked up his hands on Tonio’s arms. Tonio showed a surprised look when he clamped his large hands onto his unyielding bicep. He felt the man squeeze his scarred gorilla-sized arms that he flexed in kind. A look of worry filled Tonio’s face. The muscle wouldn’t even give way to a squeeze.

He locked onto Tonio’s powerful, unscarred arms, gripping right below the biceps, and held them tight. He could hear Melegal taking more bets. His blue eyes blazed into the man.

Venir pulled his arms in a terrific upward tug, drawing Tonio in close. In the next instant he was being shoved back, boots digging for footing on the planks below. The young man was every bit a strong as he appeared to be. Venir fought for his balance.

The crowd hooped and hollered at the thrilling sight of the two men going head to head.

Venir was being twisted and jerked, back and forth, like a stubborn child. Tonio moved with speed, balance, power and was proving a difficult match. Venir’s mind was slowed and groggy, but he held on.

He’s good. Bone!

He was shuffling back and forth as the two danced like bears, knocking over tables and chairs. The crowd filled his ears like thundering horses. He was in a lull, his body trying to awaken as he battled to shove the aggressive man back. One slip, he would be on his back.

Venir was slammed backward into the bar.

The crowd screamed.

The young warrior’s friends, full of fire and liquor, chanted obscenities at his back. The Royal of Bone was looking good, but Melegal continued the betting.

Venir looked up at his opponent, just in time to see the man spit snot in his face. His blood bristled. The time for the charade was up. He took the offensive, his large hands squeezing so hard that the blood almost stopped flowing into Tonio’s arms. A fresh look of surprise overcame his opponent. He half-jerked the young warrior’s arms out of their sockets. Tonio was biting his lip the deeper he squeezed.

A rivalry between the two men developed. The Royal fought back with skill and natural athleticism against his ironed power. Hatred seemed to grow between the two as they tossed back and forth. Venir was awake now, the droll of alcohol flushed out in battle. He felt the Royal’s limbs fade as his renewed. The crowd was going wild.