Lib Novel Page 15
Hinarax and I exchange glances, then follow him to a side door of the building. We emerge into the cool blue darkness of night and hurry across the grass to the edge of the nearby forest.
Only when we’re deep among the trees, in a clearing dimly lit by starlight, does the man with the eye-patch pause. After propping his staff against a tree, he takes out a thin stem of wood with a tiny bowl at one end. He presses something into the bowl with his thumb, takes a chip of stone from his bag, and produces a spark. Setting the stem to his mouth, he inhales, then blows a puff of fragrant smoke into the air.
“What is that thing?” Hinarax asks.
The man scoffs lightly. “Never seen a pipe before?”
“No,” replies Hinarax, with guileless curiosity.
“Well, hang me by the heels and beat my shiny buttocks,” says the man. “Thora was right. You two are odd ducks and no mistake. Foolish, too, flaunting gold coins and fine jewelry in a village market, buying information from a child with an earring that could purchase this entire village and everyone in it.”
“That’s no business of yours,” I tell him.
“But it is my business, see. I’m the one they call when oddities like yourselves show up—particularly oddities with money.”
“So you’re a thief,” I say.
He splays a hand over his chest. “I’m deeply insulted. Thieves are common miscreants—I am an artist. Besides which I’m fairly sure that the two of you are thieves, which takes us into the realm of the pot calling the kettle black—”
“We did not steal the treasure you took. We scavenged it.”
“Scavenged.” He takes another puff of his pipe. “Scavenged. Oh, I like that as a euphemism for thievery. Are you pirates then? That would explain your attire, and the treasure—although there’s still the matter of how you seem to be completely ignorant regarding the true worth of your valuables.”
“We’re not pirates,” Hinarax replies.
“And we don’t have time for this.” I step forward, pleased to find that I’m much taller than the human. “Give us the treasure, and be on your way. You may keep a few pieces, with our thanks.”
“Generous of you,” he replies. “But you haven’t answered my questions. Where did you come from? What’s your purpose in Elekstan? Do you realize we’ve just been conquered? Is that where you got your loot—from ransacking the manors abandoned by the fleeing families of the nobility?”
This human won’t stop asking questions, nor does he seem in a hurry to leave. Now that we’re free of the cell and out of the village, I don’t want to waste another minute. I’m not sure how to fight without my claws, my teeth, and my fire, but I’m willing to give it a try if it will silence him.
The red-haired man must sense the threat in my stance, because he tucks his pipe between his scarred lips and casually presses his thumb to the side of his walking stick. With a snick of metal, spikes emerge from the head of the staff. He hefts the weapon.
“I’d advise you to answer my questions,” he says pleasantly. “And speak toward my left ear, if you would. The right one’s hard of hearing.”
Like Hinarax, I’ve observed humans brawling before. They generally curl their fingers and use their balled-up hands as weapons to strike their opponent. I frown at my own hand. My fingers look unusually thick and short now that my claws have been charmed away. I could summon my claws with a thought, but that would raise more suspicions in the mind of this inquisitive fellow.
Carefully I curl my fingers, then lunge toward the red-haired man, leading with my fist.
He sidesteps and whacks the side of my wrist with his staff. Pain erupts through my arm.
“Fuck,” I snarl.
Hinarax charges in, trying to seize the staff or grapple with the man—I can’t tell which. He ends up on the ground, on his hands and knees, while the human lays a swift blow across his backside.
The man is only using the rod of the staff on us, not the spiked head. I hate that he’s showing us mercy. I despise how powerless I feel in this form.
“You can’t be pirates or brigands, because you’re terrible fighters,” comments the stranger. “In fact, it’s almost as if neither of you has ever thrown a punch.” When Hinarax and I grimace at each other, the stranger barks out an incredulous laugh. “Is this your first fight?”
“No.” I’m about to try attacking him again when a buzzing sensation quakes through my body. Once glance at Hinarax tells me he’s feeling the same thing.
“How long has it been?” I gasp.
“I thought it was seven hours but—shit—it must have been eight,” he groans.
I’m not about to lose the only set of clothes I have, so I begin tearing off my shirt and pants, while Hinarax does the same.
The stranger watches us with a shocked expression. “Gentlemen, I’ve experienced my share of good times where fighting led to fucking, but I usually prefer to know someone for longer than half an hour before we get naked—”