CHAPTER 4
During the day in Atlurul, especially in the middle of spring, when the sun was shining, a comfortable breeze was blowing, and merchants lined the side of every road stretching throughout the city, the citizens would roam along the avenues enjoying the cool air while hoping to spot a deal or two. Loud voices, many bargaining for a better price, would fill the air and the sound of coins being tossed onto tables or dropped into heavy purses was an often-heard tone. It was widely said that if one wasn’t trying to spot a bargain along the streets of Atlurul when Solaris was offering his glorious streams of light, then they were lost or an outsider, trying to find their way home. Yes, day was a time of business for the city, but when night fell, a night just as cool and pleasant as the day before, the people made their way to the next great practice in their fair city: relaxation.
Atlurulians were very good at business, but they knew when to sit back and enjoy the few hours of freedom before sleep came calling. True, not everyone was able to enjoy a respite when Lunaria floated high into the sky. Many were still on the streets, trying to make as much as they could before closing down shop. Others were just getting started for in every city there were those–some perfectly good-natured but others with perhaps a little malice in their hearts–that were hoping to sell a vial of poison, a spell of mind control, or information that would topple their enemies. Those of the more amiable persuasion included the proprietors of the dozen or so taverns that sat scattered throughout the city. Those men and women were hard at work, selling plates of food and goblets filled to the brim with golden ale or crimson wine. At one such establishment, one of the most popular in the city, the owner was indeed hard at work, serving the seemingly hundreds of people that were back in her building.
Dimaterra Cribildrum, owner and operator of the Crying Lady Tavern, was serving drinks, cleaning mugs, and shouting over the din of the crowd at her employees to move faster when a customer wished for a refill or another decanter full of whatever sweet liquid they had been drinking. The yelling was truly uncalled for for her staff was very good at their jobs and usually had a mug refilled, a plate restacked, and smiles back on faces quicker than a dwarf would down a fresh mug full of ale. It is what made the Lady popular: the quick service, the comfortable environment, and the friendly serving wenches.
Of course, not everyone could be satisfied with the service they were receiving. That just came with owning such a large business that served hundreds of people on a daily basis. You could not satisfy everyone and Dimaterra had stopped trying to do that a long time ago. She did make an honest effort to placate those she could, but some people just weren’t happy with anything, no matter what you did.
“Wench!” yelled a particularly ugly man whose face was caked with dirt and grime, though it was not those two aspects that made him unseemly. The sneer he held and the slight tilt to one of his eyes were the reason many women shied away from him. His rudeness and impatience also added to his repulsiveness. Even Belladrix, who made it a rule never to show disgust toward one of the tavern’s customers, could not help but curl her lip every time the man looked her way. But she was one of Dimaterra’s best serving wenches and she would act accordingly, no matter how ugly or rude the man was.
“You bellowed, my lord,” she said in a calm, clear voice. The man looked at her with longing as she neared. Belladrix had to bite back the bile rising in her throat.
“I’ve been callin’ fer ya for hours!” he said again, in a voice that was louder than necessary. His two friends, not quite as ugly as he was, but close, chuckled from across the large round table.
“My apologies,” Belladrix said, batting her long lashes, trying her best to behave herself and not bring the tray she held down on the man’s head. “What may I do for you? Perhaps a final round for you and your friends before turning in for the night?”
The men had already had half a dozen drinks each and as every serving girl in the tavern knew, tempers and behaviors only got worse as the drink addled the mind. Dimaterra had instructed everyone she employed to keep an eye on the customers, making sure they didn’t drink too much and get unruly. It was usually not a problem at the Lady. Most customers knew their limit or they were cut off before they reached a certain point, but the tavern had been extra busy tonight and these men had gotten away from her.
“I be drinkin’ til I’m ready,” he said, his speech noticeably slurred. “Not til some servin’ whore tells me so! So get me anothur. Mayhaps I’ll be asking fer something else later on.”
His hand shot out and grabbed Belladrix’s leg, just above the knee, and was quickly moving higher. His eyes widened and his tongue swiped across his lips, much as a dog would when expecting a delicious treat. The two other men at the table only laughed. Belladrix went to move away but his other hand took hold of her arm, his grip fierce.
“Let go!” she shrieked, trying to pull away.
“Not til ya give me what I–”
There was a loud clang and the man went stiff. Then his grip on Belladrix fell away and she found herself looking at the man sprawled on the floor, unconscious. She looked up and saw Dimaterra standing right behind where the man had been sitting, a cast iron pot in hand.
“I just gave you exactly what you needed,” she said, her eyes filled with fire and her large chest thrust out in anger. She turned her gaze on the ugly man’s two companions, who were rising from their seats. Their laughs had silenced as they saw their friend on the ground and their faces showed only anger. “Don’t you start,” Dimaterra said, turning her meaty hands in their direction, “or you’ll get the same.”
Be it the drink or their stupidity, the men seemed not to hear the threat. Their hands just went to the swords at their hips, intent on giving this large woman the thrashing she surely deserved for assaulting their companion. But as soon as their fingers brushed their hilts, each man found his head suddenly, and quite brutally, slammed into each other’s. The crack echoed throughout the tavern, but no one seemed to notice. Nor did they notice the two men slump to the floor, blood and bruises now painting the side of their heads.
Dimaterra and Belladrix looked up at the large, bearded man standing above the now unconscious men. His broad face was painted with a wide sneer as he spit on the men at his feet.
“I hope you didn’t kill them,” Dimaterra said with all honesty. The impact had been violent. “The last thing I need are the Lances shutting me down for an investigation.”
Brask Battlebeard looked down at the men briefly then turned his eyes back to the owner of the Lady. “They’ll live,” he said with no emotion. “Shouldn’t have been at my table. You got someone to clean them up?”
Dimaterra just narrowed her eyes at the leader of the Knights of the Chipped Blade. Had he truly only cared that the men were at this particular table? Or had he actually helped the two women? She knew he would never admit to helping for Dimaterra knew Brask as an uncaring and sometimes cruel man. He showed a little emotion every now and then, but most of the time he was unreadable. She really did not like him, or many of his crew, but his coin was real and she wasn’t one to turn away a paying customer, no matter how foul they were. Regardless of her feelings, the situation was handled. She just had to get these ruffians out of her tavern and she knew she could expect no help from Brask.
“Belladrix,” she said, keeping her dark eyes on Brask. “Fetch Gralic and Hoarck. Have them take out the trash.” She spit the last word, her eyes never leaving Brask’s face. The man just offered her a smirk. Ten minutes later, after her guards had removed the unconscious men, Brask was sitting at the table, facing both women.
“Where is your band of misfits?” Dimaterra asked.
“They’ll be along shortly,” Brask replied, his cold eyes never leaving hers. He sat like a statue, his hands on the table and his face expressionless.
Belladrix just stood off the side in silence, watching the tense confrontation. She knew how her employer felt about the Knights and never understood why she held
such animosity. She had heard of the Knights’ deeds and she knew of their reputation, but they had always treated the serving wenches with respect and tipped generously. Whatever the reason for her feelings, Belladrix let the drama play out. Turns out, she didn’t have to wait long.
“Belladrix will take care of you,” Dimaterra said.
“I’m certain of it,” Brask replied. Something most people would call a smirk suddenly cracked his face and he glanced at Belladrix. He still held the expression when he looked back at Dimaterra, but she remained stern.
“Be welcome to the Lady,” she said, “and make sure the only pockets Vistalas’s hands finds are his own.”
“Of course,” Brask replied innocently, but only after the smile disappeared from his face. Dimaterra just narrowed her eyes more.
She eventually turned and walked away, leaving one of her most capable servers with the unscrupulous mercenary. Belladrix watched her go. She then turned back to Brask, intent on being friendly, no matter what her employer’s feelings. The man did tip generously after all.