f4f3 | Chapter One

Chapter One:

Of a journey broken and a tale begun, of a Town With No Name, and a stranger possibly sharing that lack, of the wit of fat men and the reputed powers of Speymen and of Hounds.

The town was little more than a wide spot in the road, a broken down wall circling maybe a dozen adobe structures, some newer and even more decrepit buildings straggling their way up the shoulder of a rounded hill. If there ever had been gates, they had fallen down years past, and no one looked up as the traveller’s horse plodded in. Still, this was the very edge of the badlands. No one had come raiding for more than a century, not because there were no more raiders, just because there were better pickings a score of miles to the north.

The traveller stopped to look around, spat in the dirt, and almost hit a scrawny looking kid who was squinting up at him.

“Can I watch your horse, mister?”

The traveller half-smiled. He’d heard that spiel before, from scrawnier kids in the city. Hell, he’d used it himself, a very long time ago. The sub-text was that if the horse wasn’t looked after, well, it might wander off, get lost. It wasn’t beyond the bounds of probability that the horse might even prove to be inflammable, given enough lamp oil. Wasn’t it worth a few coppers to make sure it was being protected?

He looked around. There didn’t seem to be any would be horse vandalisers lurking in the shadows, and it was just possible that the kid was trying to be friendly – anything for a break from monotony.

“OK, give her a rub down hitch her in the shade, and there’ll be a copper bit in it for you.”

The kid grinned and almost grabbed the reins out of his hands, and he let him lead the horse over to a hitching post before sliding down out of the saddle. He grunted as he hit the ground – it had been a long day’s ride.

“Where are you heading, Mister?”

“Towards a drink, and a plate of beans. Maybe even a bed. Do you know anywhere in this town I can get all three?” “And some information, he added to himself.

“Well, my mum could have helped you out. When she was alive, that is. Your best bet is Jak-Jak’s over there.”

He jerked his thumb towards a hovel no different from the others, except for a wine jug hung over the entrance.

“Usually he only rents the beds out by the hour, though.”

A few minutes later the traveller walked into Jak-Jak’s bordello. He shouldered aside the heavy curtain hung over the gap in the wall that substituted for a door, regretting the lack of swing doors – it was a lot easier to make an entrance in the old days. But then, a lot of things were easier in the old days.

There were a few tables and chairs scattered around a big room, oil lamps burning in niches in the adobe walls. The few windows were small and high, and mosquitoes fought furiously for the best spots in the slanting shafts of late afternoon sunshine.

Another curtain, beaded this time, hung at the back of the room, and he could see glimpses of figures behind it, mostly women, mostly lounging bored on overstuffed couches that had seen better years. In this light it was hard to tell the furniture from its occupants.

There was an unconscious bum on the floor, and Erik showed that he was in a good mood by not stepping on his face on the way to the bar. He even allowed himself a smile as his heel sunk into the drunk’s groin.

The fat man behind the bar, distributing dirt around the inside of a tankard with a dirty rag, looked at him with a big welcoming smile. His eyes drifted from Erik’s sword to the money-pouch at his belt, to the dagger sheathed beside it, and then back to the sword again. One of his hands drifted below the bar, probably to rest on an iron bound stick.

“Hi Stranger, I’m Jak-Jak and this is my place. What can I get you? Beer? Rot-gut?” His eyes flicked to the curtain, “Or are you looking for a woman?”

Erik rested both palms on the top of the bar, and looked the man in his squinty eyes. “No, Jak-Jak, I’m looking for a man.”

“We can’t help you there, this isn’t that sort of joint. You could try Pedro’s in the next town…”

Erik continued as if he hadn’t heard,

“I’m looking for the same man as a whole lot of other people.”

The effort of avoiding Erik’s eyes was starting to show in the sweat on the bar-tender’s head.

“Sorry stranger, I don’t get your meaning.”

Erik thought about drawing his dagger, thought about the club that was probably beneath the bar, and smiled instead.

“Then let me make it plainer. I hear that there’s a man called BloodRaven in town. You care to tell me where I can find him? I might have a proposition for him.”

“BloodRaven? Big guy, red hair, carries a magic sword?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sorry, I haven’t seen him.”

Erik wasn’t really aware of drawing the dagger. One moment it was at his waist, the next it was pricking the fat man’s throat, and his sneering grin had gone away.

“You must do well here in town, when they’re short of a comedian. I’ll bet they tie fire-crackers to your balls and watch you dance for laughs. Now, one more time. Where is BloodRaven? And keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Wha, what makes you think he’s in town?”

“Do you believe in magic? Scrying spells, tracers, ways that you can track a man from the other side of the world?”

Jak-jak licked his lips. “You mean like the Hounds that the warlord sets on his enemies?”

“Something like that…Wait a minute, what do you know about Hounds?”

“Four of them showed up this afternoon, asking for BloodRaven all about town. They just left here before you arrived.”

“Left heading for where? Did they find out where he was hiding?”

A drop of sweat rolled on to Erik’s blade, and he felt the fat man start to nod, then think better of it.

“He’s in the stables at the back of the hill.”

“Who told them?”

“It wasn’t me, honest…Anyway, what’s he to you? Just another bully who’s luck ran out – he couldn’t be a friend of yours – his kind don’t have friends.”

“Even if he was my worst enemy, I wouldn’t turn him over to the Hounds. You know what they do with the body, afterwards, don’t you?”

“That’s not true… It can’t be.”

“Well, if you’re lucky you won’t find out. I should kill you, really, but I’m in a merciful mood, and a hurry.

You never answered my question- do you believe in magic?”

This time Jak-jak did nod, as the dagger was pulled back from his neck.

“Spells? Curses?”

He nodded again. “I’ve seen some things.”

“Then see this…”

Erik’s left hand swept round, gathering Jak-jak’s head and smashing it down into the bar and holding it flat there. Not quite hard enough to break bones, but enough to get his attention.

With his right hand he sheathed the dagger, and started to draw strange figures in the pools of beer in the bar.

“If the Hounds catch BloodCrow they will kill him. Can you imagine what that feels like? A blade in the guts if you’re lucky, drawn across your throat to let you choke out your last breath. I want you to imagine that…”

Pinned to the bar, his world filled with this demon strangers voice, Jak-jak had no choice – he felt the blade enter his belly, felt it swipe across his neck, and all the time Erik sketched weird, mystical symbols inches from his eyes.

“And after he dies, will he be thrown in some ditch until the flesh gets torn from his bones by his namesakes? Imagine that too…”

And again, the bartender had no choice, feeling himself in the grave, flesh dropping slowly from his skeleton, and all he could hear was this stranger’s voice.

“Or will it be worse? Will he never get a burial? Will the Hounds have him instead?”

And Jak-jak could see them, hear their teeth bite into flesh, feel it torn from him while he was still warm. Uncontrollably his gorge rose, and he began to wretch on the bar, still held face down in a warm and growing pool.

“Please…please… Don’t give me to them…”

The stranger’s voice was ice, now, and Jak-jak believed every word he said.

“No, I won’t do that. I told you, not to my worst enemy. But you’ll never forget how it feels to be their feast, never lose the picture, never get rid of the memory. In your bed at night, in the fields during the day. When you look at a woman. The memory will come back, and nothing will take it away from your eyes. That’s my curse, Jak-jak, that’s your reward for sending them to their prey.”

He turned and headed for the door, letting the fat man slide to the ground. He noticed that the boy had followed him into the bar, was standing with his mouth open.

“Are you really a Speyman, that you can curse a man like that? Do you believe in the Powers?”

“No,” said Erik, striding past him and not looking back. “But he does. Now, show me the way to the stables – and hurry.”