Seln hawked up a wad of phlegm and spat it across the street before entering the Tilted Tankard. The earthy aroma of kinnik was welcome as she pushed her way through the swinging double doors. She returned the door guard’s scrutinizing glare with one of her own, sneering at him despite the concealed daggers in her coat and boot.
Shouldering through the drunken throng, Seln made her way to the dimly lit far corner. A group of boorish toughs sat there playing a game of Ends, the cards scattered about the scarred table. They turned their gazes up as Seln approached and planted herself before them, arms crossed.
“You Chamma?” she asked, fixing her eyes on a big, ruddy cheeked fellow.
His surprise gave way to an amused expression, “Don’t reckon I know you.” He laid his cards down and leaned back in his chair. “Or don’t remember at least.”
“I heard tell you’re giving a hundred thalers to anyone that can drink you under. That true?”
“Aye,” he chuckled.
“Yer a brave one, miss,” one of his cohorts said. “I don’t see you drinkin’ no one—”
“I ain’t no damn miss,” Seln snapped.
“It’s twenty-five in,” Chamma said.
Seln slapped a handful of coins onto the table before dragging up a chair and taking a seat. “What’s the drink?”
“She means it,” someone laughed. “What’re you drinking tonight, Cham?”
Chamma leveled his eyes on Seln, “We’re havin’ usque.”
Seln’s stomach quivered. She’d been drinking the amber spirit the night prior, quite excessively at that. She raised a hand to a passing tavern-maid, “Bring us a bottle of usque. And none of that Porshani swill.”
The girl gave a courteous smile before heading back to the bar.
“Good taste, but you’ll be payin’ for that bottle once it’s done,” Chamma said, a silver tooth gleaming beneath his whiskers. “What’s your name then?”
“Don’t worry about who I am.”
“I like to know who I’m havin’ a cup with,” Chamma frowned. “We all do.”
The air around the table became tense. She would need to reign it back to alleviate their sudden wariness.
Seln gave an easy smile, “I like a man to buy me a drink before I tell him my name.” Right then the tavern-maid returned with a dusty green bottle and stack of wood-carved cups. Seln flipped a gold thaler onto her tray. “And it looks to be I’m the one paying.”
This brought a roar of laughter from the others, who slapped Chamma’s shoulders to goad him on. The big man was none too amused. He pounded a fist onto the table for silence, nearly sending the bottle tumbling off. Everyone watched as he took two cups from the stack and cast the others onto the floor.
Unperturbed, Seln pulled a pipe from her pocket and loaded it with kinnik from the pouch hanging around her neck, leaning forward to light it with a candle. She took a long drag and blew a cloud of smoke into Chamma’s face.
Snatching the bottle from the table, Chamma tore the cork free with his teeth and poured his cup full to the brim to drain it in a single swallow. He did not grimace or even blink as the burning liquid ran through him, the others laughing and cheering him.
Chamma wiped the back of a hand across his mouth. “Reckon that’ll give you a fair chance.”
“Reckon I’ll need one?”
Chamma placed the other cup in front of Seln and poured it. There were no cheers or raising of cups now. The game had begun, a game old as drink itself, and there could be only one winner. Lifting the cup to her lips, Seln gulped it down in one go and chased it with a long pull of her pipe.
Everyone at the table hushed. They traded concerned glances with one another. They’d bet against her, the twits.
Seln loved nothing more than proving people wrong. She’d always had a knack for it.
Chamma filled his cup and tossed it back. Seln dragged the bottle over and did the same, never taking her sights from the big man. His eyes were bloodshot, a thin sheen of sweat beginning to coat his forehead.
“Maybe I’ll let you keep some coin after this,” Chamma said, burping behind a fist. “Ain’t too bad on the eyes when you’re not scowling.” This brought a bout of half-hearted laughter from the otherwise silent table.
Seln took her next drink and held back a cough as the fire slithered its way down to her belly. She smacked her lips and spat onto the floor, “Don’t expect the same from me.”
Chamma leaned forward on his elbows, the table straining against his weight. “I like your fire, girl. Leave with me after our game here and you can keep it all.”
Seln gave him a wry smile, “That so?”
“Wouldn’t have offered if not.”
“Let’s see if you even know how to finish.”
Her sharp tongue brought more laughter from the table, including Chamma.
This was how you worked your way into the good graces of these types. You had to speak a language they understood.
Chamma rocked from side to side as he poured another, what little remained in the bottle sloshing with his unsteady hand. As he lifted the cup, his hand fumbled and he dropped it to the ground.
The table stared in quiet astonishment before erupting into whoops and cheers, forgetting their lost bets. It wasn’t often one witnessed a wisp of a woman best a man four times her size in a game of drink. Even Chamma seemed none too upset as he threw his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll be damned if you can’t hold your own.”
“Damned indeed.” Seln snorted, using a hand to scrape the coins into her open purse. “That said, I’ll take you up on your previous offer.”
Chamma’s eyebrows shot up, “Huh?”
“Nothing better to compliment a night of drink than a tussle in the sheets,” she said, trying her hand at a sultry smile. It felt foreign on her face, like an ill-fitting mask.
“Whoo-wee,” one of the men whistled. “You ought to marry her now!”
Scratching his stubbled chin, Chamma seemed to study Seln for a moment. Finally, he shrugged and shakily rose to his feet. The man was drunker than a Julmani beggar.
Seln fared little better as she stood, her head buzzing and light as a feather. Chamma held out his arm for her to take as they made their way through the crowded tavern. As they passed the serving girl from earlier, Seln slid another gold thaler onto her tray, tossing in a wink as well. The girl’s face reddened before she disappeared back among the inebriated mass.
They pushed through the double doors, Chamma’s eyes seeming glazed over now from the Keloi sleeping powder. The table had been too drunk to catch her slip the tiny vial from her coat sleeve and dust his cup as she lit her pipe.
“Where…what am I…” Chamma was dazed, staring up at the star pitched night with vacant eyes.
“You’re mine now,” Seln hissed. She wrenched his arm behind his back, grabbed ahold of his shoulder and pushed him towards the nearest alleyway.
A few citizens eyed her with suspicion before she pulled the Reeve’s crest from her coat pocket, holding it high for all to see. Upon seeing the gleaming crest-badge, they went about their night, wishing for no trouble of their own.
“Keep moving,” Seln barked, shoving Chamma forward.
“Seln Yarutsa!” a sharp voice cut through the night, bringing the Reeve to a halt.
She peered over her shoulder to see a thin form standing in the middle of the cobblestone thoroughfare, a hood masking their face. Seln caught a glimpse of a blade hilt peeking out from their cloak.
“Seln Yarutsa!” They called again.
“Show your face if you speak my name,” Seln shouted back.
She threw Chamma to the ground, then turned to face her challenger. A wide swath had formed between them, the growing group of onlookers giving them ample space to do what needed doing. Common folk loved a good spectacle, especially one that ended in blood.
The stranger raised a hand and drew back their hood to reveal a young, handsome face with a thin scar on their chin. Their eyes were intent upon Seln, a deep hate burning there.
How had Seln wronged this one? Had she taken away their father or sibling? Perhaps she had killed someone they thought didn’t need killing.
“Name yourself,” Seln demanded.
“You do not recall?” they said with a humorless smile.
Seln racked her brain for a few breaths before shrugging, “No, don’t think I do.” She glanced back over at Chamma, who lay still and dull minded from the powder.
The lad’s face twisted in anger. “I am Eurn von Kline,” he declared. “Long have I sought you for the transgressions made against our master. You have disgraced the great school of Ilama with your actions.”
The years ran through Seln’s mind like the rushing waters of a thunderous flood. Ilama. “What of it?”
“Wha-What of it? Our great master bestowed his family’s own blade upon you, you ungracious oaf. You were to continue his legacy and teachings.”
Seln had been using Ilama’s lessons and techniques to keep new recruits alive for years now. “His teachings have done more than you could know. More than just keeping a bunch of privileged whelps busy.”
Ilama—one of the last living Masters of the Blade—had found her when she was but a girl. He had forged her into a world-renowned duelist and an ambassador of his prestigious school. She’d hated every minute of it. Seln left for the Territories the moment he passed away, gray and coughing, a far cry from the stern, grizzled man she’d known most of her life.
Truthfully, he had been more of a father than hers ever was.
Seln narrowed her eyes, “Why are you here?”
Eurn let his cloak fall from his shoulders and freed his sword from its sheath with a whisper of steel. The crowd backed away, watching with wide-eyed giddiness.
“I’ve come far to reclaim what is mine,” Eurn said proudly. “I’ve come to reclaim the honor of Master Ilama.”
“That so,” Seln chuckled. She slid the concealed dagger from her coat and bent down for the other in her boot. “You won’t be finding much honor here. That’s the first thing to go.”
Eurn stared at the daggers she held. “Where is Master’s sword?”
“Sold it in Portie to settle some debts a few years back.”
Eurn’s face twisted with furious disbelief, “You sold Master Ilama’s sword? It is centuries old. It is priceless!”
“Not quite. Got two hundred thalers for it. Not bad for a useless dueling steel.”
At that, Eurn screamed and rushed forward, sword flourishing through the air to create a mesmerizing effect before darting in for a thrust. Seln was ready, catching the thin blade between crossed daggers a hair from her face. Eurn broke away to reset, eyeing her cautiously and circling to her left.
Seln took a chance in looking back at the alley to ensure her prisoner had not escaped. She feared that the commotion could pull his gang from the Tilted Tankard and make this situation messier than it was already.
She cursed. The bastard was crawling away. She could not lose hi—
Eurn took advantage of her distracted state to launch another assault, his sword lithe as a snake as he danced forward, lashing out in every direction and putting Seln on the back foot. As he came in for a rising cut, Seln side-stepped to kick him in the stomach and double him over. Before Eurn could recover, she laced her right leg behind his and drove a shoulder into his chest, knocking him down with an explosion of air.
Wasting no time, Seln dipped a hand inside of her belt-pouch for a bent piece of inscribed iron. She held it to her face and whispered “Ul’shasa” before flinging it at Chamma. The rune-bind flew to the mouth of the alley and wrapped itself around Chamma’s ankles, squeezing hard enough to make him cry out in pain. The more he struggled, the more it would tighten.
Seln whipped her attention back to Eurn, who was rising to his feet.
“I’ll give you one chance to walk away from this,” Seln offered. “Otherwise, I’ll be leaving you with more than another scar to blemish that pretty face of yours.”
Eurn clenched his jaw, the muscles working in knots.
“Aye, I remember,” she smiled. “I remember every cut I’ve made.”
Eurn stepped forward once more.
“If that is how you want it, so be it.”
Eurn raised his sword just as Seln flicked a dagger through the air, following close as it spun. The dagger turned end over end, gleaming silver in the moon’s light. Eurn deflected it away to clatter against the cobblestones just as Seln drove the second dagger underneath his ribs and up into his heart. The onlookers gasped.
Eurns’s eyes were wide with surprise or pain, she didn’t know which—or care, truthfully. The bastard had come for her neck and done this to himself in the process. She kept his gaze as his life slowly drained away to pool at their feet. When she pulled the dagger free, he collapsed into a lifeless heap.
Seln bent over to wipe her hands and blades clean on his fine clothing before turning her sights to the crowd. “Any other challengers out there? Hm? Anyone else want to join him?”
Seln thought she caught sight of Chamma’s men in the sea of faces, pale as the moon and desperate to get lost among the others. Their leader wasn’t worth dying for apparently. Few things were.
She rose to once again brandish the Reeve’s crest-badge, holding it high for all to witness, before making her way back to Chamma. She whispered “Ul’sham” for the rune-bind to unwind from his ankles and back into its original form, where she hen tucked it back into her pouch.
Seln pulled the big bastard to his feet and pushed him forward, “Move!”
It was a long way back to the magistrate’s office and she’d be damned if she didn’t get her man in before sunrise. The crowd parted to allow the Reeve through, averting their eyes out of fear or respect. In the end, there is no difference.
[Image Credit : Photo by Frames For Your Heart on Unsplash]
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