Page 109 of Sword & Shadow
“Lest you boys forget,” Trover added, “the rest of her ain’ so bad either. Believe me.”
Deckard’s blood spiked as Trover continued. “No, no,” he said over his comrades’ laughter. “A mere two hundred wouldna begin to cover that fine creature’s fee.”
Ethenn tensed.
“It’s near robbery to suggest we let ’er go for less than five,” Arn agreed. “We oughta demand proper payment.”
“And if the king won’t pay,” Maurd said, “might be her that needs to.”
The men burst out with more laughter.
Deckard ground his teeth, anger rising with a murmur in his ears. He closed his eyes and curled his hands into fists on the bartop, fighting for control. It was all talk, useless vulgar chatter to bolster their male egos. It wouldn’t matter what they said once he got Evylin out of there.
“Colonel,” Ethenn whispered, worry lining his voice.
The leader spoke again, cutting over his men’s laughter. “I don’t care what you do to her,” he said sharply. “But she’ll stay alive and recognizable for the king’s men to confirm, got it?”
His men mumbled their understanding.
A squeal of wood against wood marked the scrape of chair legs over the floor. “Good,” the leader said. “Make sure you remember that. And Trover, the next time your hit leaves a mark on our guests, it’ll be your pay doing the giving.”
Heavy footsteps crossed the room, turning the corner before stomping with an unmistakable tread up the stairs.
Deckard worked to slow his breathing. He kept his head dipped, focusing on the sounds around him. With the leader gone and the barkeep in the back, only four men and the bard remained. Their odds had improved here in the tavern, but they didn’t know what awaited them upstairs.
Arn piped up again. “What’da’ya think the king wants with ’em?”
The others were silent for a time.
“Maybe he wants the same as us,” Maurd suggested. “Wouldna be the first time he’s had his fun, the old dog.”
“Is’n he a little old for that?” Arn said with a chuckle. “Or maybe he has some magical tonic that helps ’im.”
Deckard felt a tremor pass through his arms and into his fists, a subtle thrum working through his skull.
“Colonel,” Ethenn whispered again, “you need to calm down.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Trover said, rusty voice amused. “Good ol’ Blount can have the bitch after I’m done with her. Then I can say I rutted the king’s whore, and he can have my leftovers.”
Heat tingled along Deckard’s skin, racing up his spine and across his scalp. A buzz settled into his ears, whispering violently. He grasped onto the newly familiar sensation, letting it take hold of him. His eyes flew open, his vision black at the edges.
Ethenn gasped. “Colonel, your hands.”
Ignoring the young man’s warning, Deckard rose from his stool. A stillness washed over his mind, his emotions steadying with unnatural calm. The room was tinged in sudden shadow, though no one else seemed to notice. It was as though he’d stepped outside himself, separating from the man he was to become the Mage he was supposed to be.
Casually, Deckard approached the men’s table. He gave the thugs a friendly smile and clasped his hands behind his back. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, allowing his clean Ephrian accent to come through.
Instantly, all four of the men at the table went for their weapons. The music stopped.
“What do you want?” the man whose voice he recognized as Trover’s growled.
“I’m looking for my wife,” Deckard said. “Perhaps you’ve seen her. She’s quite beautiful with dark hair and tan skin, tall for an Ephrian, and strong enough to fight ten men at once. Worth about five hundred gold, some might say.”
The thugs’ eyes grew bright with greed.
“Ah, yeh?” Maurd asked, rising. “Seems I have seen her.”
“Tha’s right,” Arn said, drawing his sword. “Why don’t we take yeh to ’er? Then yeh can watch as we have our fun.”
