*******
Casca pushed open the door and ushered the stranger in. Bidding him sit at a table, he slipped behind the bar and busied himself.
Pagan pulled up a chair and sat opposite the one-eyed giant. Both men stared at each other. Finally, Moon broke the silence. “Never seen a black man before,” he announced. “Frigga’s tits, you are as black as midnight!”
“And I've never seen a bald, smelly, ugly one-eyed giant before,” Pagan retorted.
The Axeman's face hardened, his eye gleaming, then he burst into laughter. “Sutr's teeth! I do smell, don't I? So would you if you'd been on horseback as long as I have. I like you, black man, you have the look of a warrior, and you speak your mind!”
Casca walked up, placed three tankards of foaming ale on the table and pulled up a chair. The Axeman grasped his tankard in an oversized hand and tipped the contents down his throat without spilling a drop. Setting the empty tankard on the table, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smacked his lips. “First drink I have had in months,” he said, looking at Casca.
Casca sighed, reached out, picked up the empty tankard and returned to the bar to refill it. Returning to the table, he placed the freshly poured drink before his thirsty guest who looked up and grinned at him.
“My name is Moon,” began the one-eyed giant. Pagan and Casca listened intently as he recounted his story: His headaches, Hjotra's advice, and his encounter with the people fleeing the city, and the demons.
“Beleth's balls,” whispered Casca. “Are you telling us you single-handedly killed the Bahktak and Suanggi? They are virtually impervious to human-made weapons.”
“Well, I don't know what impervious means, but I had some help from your friends. Arrows to the throat brought down some of the beasts, leaving me to deal with only five… and a couple of those yellow-eyed creatures.”
“How did you kill them?” Pagan asked.
“Smashed some skulls and broke a few bones,” Moon responded with a shrug. He nodded toward his axe. “And old Widowmaker lopped off some heads.”
Pagan and Casca glanced at the axe leaning against the table next to Moon. Casca's eyes widened. “May I have a closer look at it?” he asked the giant.
Moon grasped the haft and placed the axe on the table, making sure he didn't knock over any of the tankards.
Casca leaned forward, studying the black-hafted, black-bladed weapon. He ran a hand along the haft, noting the silver-engraved runes. The butterfly wing-shaped twin blades shone dully. He couldn't detect any blemishes, notches or dents.
Pagan, watching his friend, saw disbelief etched in his face, and what he thought was suppressed excitement.
“Where did you get it?” Casca asked, his tone hushed.
“Old Widowmaker? I took it off some big whoreson who tried to take my head with it,” Moon told him.
“Well, my large friend,” Casca said, “That’s Belash's axe, Ausak Demon Bane. Elander Zucross wrote about it. Belash carried it when he helped defeat the Gualich and their servants over a thousand years ago.”
Moon snorted in derision, but Casca quietened him. “It is true my friend. The words engraved on the haft name it as such. The origins of Ausak are shrouded in mystery, but Zucross wrote that the blades never blemish or notch and never need sharpening.” Moon nodded, his face thoughtful. Casca continued. “It is also said the bearer of the axe heals swiftly from superficial wounds and cuts.”
“Frigga's tits,” Moon said in a hushed voice. “That is true enough. I have always wondered why I healed so quickly. Shame it can't heal this pigging growth in my head though.” He looked at Casca with renewed interest. “But how come you know so much about my axe, and these demons you call Gualich, or was it Suanggi or Bahktak?”
“My ancestor, a great magicker named Castillan, helped defeat these demons a long time ago,” Casca explained. “My father told me it was a task entrusted to our family should they ever return. It was also said the descendants of the other heroes who stood with Castillan to vanquish the Gualich would gather to help.”
“Are you an enchanter too?” Moon asked.
“Alas no. But I can summon Castillan’s help when the time comes.”
Moon made a protective sign. “Summon the help of a man long dead? Sounds like dark sorcery to me.”
Pagan turned to the Axeman. “We have been waiting for the other descendants to show themselves. Looks like you are the first.”
Moon frowned and shook his head. “No, black man. I am no demon slayer. I am only here to find a cure for this pigging thing in my head…” He paused, then let slip a string of heartfelt obscenities. “I knew I couldn't trust that ugly old crone. She told me exactly what I wanted to hear. She said I would find answers in Petralis, but nothing about finding a cure.”
He stopped and looked at Casca with a sly smile on his face. “All of this talking can make a man's throat dry.”
Casca groaned, and returned to the bar to get a refill.
Moon took a mouthful and nodded his thanks to his generous host. “I come seeking a cure for my pigging headaches, and am told I am a hero descended from a demon slayer of legend. The gods do love a jest!”
Casca and Pagan were silent. Their eyes on their huge guest who was clearly involved in a debate with himself.
The Axeman took a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh. His mind made up, he looked hard at Casca and Pagan. “I passed through a town called Lysalis. The demons left nothing behind except bleached bones and empty skulls. I have seen many battlefields, killed my share of men, and witnessed wolves with their snouts red in the bellies of bloated corpses. But nothing like this…this evil. I saw what was left of a family...the children's bones and cracked skulls. I don't want to see the like again. I will stand with you against these Gualich.” He glanced at Pagan. “And you, my friend, what is your part in this?”
“The gods do have a grim sense of humour,” Pagan replied with a rueful grin. “It was said a stranger...a wanderer, would also stand against these demons.”
“Ha!” Moon barked. “I knew there was something about you, black man!”
Casca looked at both men. Now there were three of them. But would it be enough?
Moon traced the runes on his axe with a finger. “Ausak Demon Bane” he whispered. He had never really taken to the name, Widowmaker.
Reunion
Liang and the captain stood on the deck of the Mingzhu. The ship was moored at the mouth of the inlet leading to Petralis’s harbour. “The city is likely plagued by demons, and many will have fled,” she told him. “I don't want to put you or your crew at risk. Lower a boat, and I will row ashore alone.”
The man’s eyes widened with fear, but he made the obligatory protests, insisting it was his duty to see Liang safely ashore. She brushed these aside, and walked across the deck and down the short fight of wooden steps to her cabin.
She donned a pair of black soft leather leggings, and a grey silk shirt. Her silver-grey breastplate went over the shirt. Slinging the Storm Blades on her back, she placed the third sword with her belongings in a long canvas hold-all. Looping the straps over her shoulder, she cast a quick look around before walking out, and up the steps to the deck.
Moving to a gap in the railings, she gave a short bow to Tao-Lin. The captain responded with a deeper bow. “It's been my honour,” he said.
Liang lowered herself, climbed down the rope-netting on the side of the ship, and leapt lightly into the boat. Placing her hold-all to one side, she grasped the oars and pushed off.
Using long even strokes, she rowed down the inlet toward Petralis. The lack of other ships or boats, or any activity, suggested her earlier fears were correct.
She rowed up to a jutting pier. Tying the boat off, she slung her hold-all over her shoulder, and lithely pulled herself up onto the landing. Senses alert for any danger, she strode down the wooden pier towa
rd the buildings she could see ahead.