CHAPTER FOUR
UGH, MERCENARIES
NIGHT fell just after Florence, Menka and Andy arrived at a small farming settlement and decided to call it a night. Or, rather, Andy and Florence decided to call it a night. Menka the insomniac was all for traveling through the night as well, but he was out-voted by the other two. He grumbled and moaned as they booked a room in an inn, claiming that resting and sleeping was for ‘wussies’.
When they got up to their room, he unstrapped the sword and its sheath and tossed it to Andy, who caught it awkwardly with one hand.
“I’m going out,” he declared, before turning on his heel and walking out the door, leaving Florence and Andy to stare at each other and shrug.
The room they had booked was poorly furnished, with a pair of aged and sunken beds and a wobbly table, but at least it was tidy.
Florence had paid for her own room, as she didn’t feel like trying to sleep in the same room as Menka and Andy. It wouldn’t surprise her if they continued to bicker and argue during their sleep, having dream-arguments with each other well into the morning. At first their constant fighting and trying to annoy one another was amusing, but after a while it started to remind her of an old married-couple and she was tired of their voices. She just wanted to rest.
She slid her sword and her pack off her back, intending to say goodbye to Andy and head to her room, but he interrupted her before she could speak.
“Where'd you get a sword like that?” He asked, leaning against the room’s far wall.
She sighed.
“It looks powerful and expensive. Did you steal it from a king’s tomb or something?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do I look like I go tomb-raiding?”
He arched his eyebrows. “You never know.”
She sighed again.
“Where did you get your sword from? The bottom of a well?” He chuckled.
Florence just frowned in response. She turned to leave.
“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you have Menkinitis, too.”
She sighed once more, turning back to face him. “Menkinitis?”
“Yes. The common symptoms are moodiness, a desire to wear a hooded-cloak and walk around like this.” Andy did a bad mockery of Menka dragging his feet as he walked, which made her snort. “Caused by overexposure to the ball of sunshine known as ‘Menka’.”
She chuckled. “I’m just tired, Andy.”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Don’t tell me that. The sun has only just gone down. Don’t tell me you're one of those boring people who like to spend all night sleeping.”
“What else do you do at night, then?” she asked.
“I like to play dice, but Menka is convinced I cheat, even though he's the one who cheats.” He grinned at her.
“I am tired.”
“Don’t make me play with the sword,” he pleaded.
She rolled her eyes, and put her pack and sword down on the dented floorboards. “Fine, one game,” she said.
He grinned wider and placed the still-sheathed sword against the wall, next to his bag – which he then reached into.
Florence sat down and leaned against one of the beds closest to Andy, so she was facing him.
He pushed his bag aside and sat there, knocking the sword over in the process. It hit the ground and slid a little out of its sheath, so a small portion of rusted-blade was showing.
“Awww, I feel hurt, now,” it said, taking full-advantage of being slightly unsheathed. “My best-bud Andy doesn’t want to play dice with me.”
Andy sighed, and looked around for the sword to put it back in its sheath. Florence had an idea and quickly grabbed it before he could, fully pulling it out of its leather-cover.
“I thought we had the beginnings of a bromance and everything, man. I thought this feeling I had for you was mutual, you know?” It pretended to sniffle.
Andy scowled at her. “What are you doing?”
“Poor sword. You guys always ignore it and make it feel left out.” She pouted and the sword sounded in agreement.
“I mostly ignore it because Menka hates it,” Andy said, trying to make excuses.
“And he thinks I don’t have anything intelligent to say. Neither does Menka, but you still listen to him,” the sword pointed out.
“That doesn’t sound very nice,” Florence said.
“Just put it away,” Andy said.
“Why?”
“Because we want to play dice.”
“Ah!” said the sword. “I get it!”
Andy groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Get what?”
“I know why you don’t want me to talk to her!”
“I never said that.”
If the sword had a mouth, it would be grinning.
Florence looked at it with curiosity, wondering what it was going to say.
“You don’t want me to tell Florence that--”
Andy suddenly surprised her by leaping across the room and trying to wrestle the sword out of her hands.
She smirked and tried to fight him off, half-laughing.
“--You and Menka aren’t--”
“Florence, don’t listen to it.” He continued to struggle with her, she using her free-hand to fend him off, holding the sword away from him.
“Aren’t hungry,” the sword finished, and Andy stopped trying to grab it. “I got you so bad, man. And you thought I was gonna ruin half of the novel’s plot like that…” It chuckled at Andy, who was looking angry. “Aww, poor Andy.”
“What doesn’t he want me to know?” Florence asked, intrigued.
“How about if Andy doesn’t let me play dice, I’ll tell you, eh?”
With one defeated sigh, Andy said, “Fine.” In his bag, he found the dice he was looking for before, and Florence placed the sword down on the ground beside them. “But we are betting, now. Just to make things more interesting.”
“Money?” she asked.
“Favours, or something of the like. If I win, the sword goes away and it doesn’t come back out. Also, you have to tell me where you got your sword from.”
She pressed her lips together, hoping he didn’t win. She wasn’t too sure of what his reaction would be, finding out how it came into her possession – and, to be honest, she didn’t want to find out. Some things were better left in the past – it was easier to regret them that way. “Fine, okay. But if I win, you have to answer whatever questions I have about you.”
“And if I win,” declared the sword, “you have to let me go unsheathed for a whole day.”
Andy rolled his eyes, having calmed down a little. “Yes, okay. It’s not like you two stand a chance, anyway.”
“IT’S not like she stands a chance, anyway.”
Menka hated mercenaries, expressly large groups of them. Technically, one could consider Menka himself to be a sort of mercenary, as he had done things for money and other valuables – but he wasn’t a mercenary. He was a rogue-god. A huge difference.
He especially didn’t like these mercenaries. He had been spying on them from the first-floor balcony of the inn for only five minutes, but he had already found them to be as rude, obnoxious and dim-minded as mercenaries came. He was cloaked in shadows, so it would be hard for anyone to spot him– unless they were Andy, who was quite used to Menka’s methods of hiding– but he shouldn’t have bothered, as they didn’t have the sense to look up, anyway.
One of them– probably the leader; with the infestation of stubble on his overly misshapen and scarred face– whistled at a serving-girl, who rolled her eyes and brought him more ale.
Menka decided he was gonna call him ‘Lumpy Head’.
Some of Lumpy Head's comrades started discussing more about this fugitive-girl they were searching for, but Menka wasn’t close-enough to hear what they were saying. Which was a shame... as he was kind of interested in their conversation. ‘Well, there goes conventional eavesdropping methods,’ he thought, grinning to himself. ‘Good thing I’m the God of Shadows, eh?’
He placed his hands on the railing, a dark patch where the light of the torches couldn’t quite reach. He let his hands slip into the shadows and pulled himself into them. He disappeared into the darkness, becoming one with it. No longer bound by the rules of physics – just the boundaries of his own manipulated shadows – he slid down the railing and maneuvered under the overhanging balcony, creeping along the ceiling and down a wall shadowed by a column, before settling into a spot behind Lumpy Head.
To an onlooker it would have looked like Menka had placed his hands on the rail and then faded away, which isn’t surprising as that was often the first (and last) mistake that someone made when messing with him. What, did they think he was gonna play fair and attack from where they could see and defend? What would be the fun in that?
Now, he was truly hidden from view – not just cloaked, but also physically not there... at least, not as himself. He was a shadow. Not even Andy could find him, now – certainly not Lumpy Head and his pals.
“Do you think she'll be far, boss?” one of the men asked Lumpy, who was pouring the ale down his throat like it was water – which I suppose it probably was to his mercenary-stomach of iron. Why do mercenaries never die of poisoning? Answer: they drink poison for breakfast, use it to wash their lunch down and cook their dinner in it, too.
“Far?” Lumpy Head pondered this. “No. We’ll have her dead or maimed by this time tomorrow, and we'll be on our way back to Norcrest with the stolen sword, hearing the twinkling of gold in our ears.” He laughed and slammed back the other half of his glass.
“But, boss, gold doesn’t make a twinkling sound. It clinks.”
“Minor details. Let’s just say we will be swimming in gold, and leave it at that.”
“But, technically, you can’t swim in gold, it’s a sol--”
“I said, minor details!” Lumpy turned to another member of his gang – this one with an ugly scar up the side of his mouth, looking like a permanent grin. “Sharky, go give that maid a few coins. Get me anotha’ round and tell her there is more of that twinkling--”
“--Clinking.”
“--Clinking stuff to come, if she knows where the lass we are looking for might be.”
‘Sharky’. Menka mentally snorted at the name, following Sharky's shadow along the hardwood-floor as he ambled over to the serving-girl.
“There’s this woman we're looking for,” Sharky started. “Blonde-hair ‘n’ brown-eyes. Should be carrying a big sword. If you see her, tell us and some more of that twinkling stuff may find its way into your pockets.” Sharky grinned, making his face look distorted.
Even creepier, from Menka’s viewpoint under their feet – not that he was creeped-out. Menka was sure he could make this guy look like a children’s entertainer, if he wanted to.
“What’s twinkling stuff?” the serving-girl asked.
“Gold.”
“But gold doesn’t twinkle...”
Sharky winked at her and stumbled back to his table – leaving the girl to stand there, still befuddled as to what the mercenary had meant. Menka followed him back.
“Did you tell her about the girl we are looking for?” Lumpy asked as Sharky sat back down.
“Aye. Said she was blonde with brown-eyes and a big sword.”
Lumpy nodded, and proceeded to ask about his next load of alcohol.
“Doesn’t she have blue-eyes, boss?” asked the guy beside Lumpy – the same guy who had corrected him earlier, saying gold didn’t twinkle.
“Minor details.” Lumpy waved it off. “Now, where is my ale?”
If his brain-cells weren’t immortal, Menka might have been worried about some of them dying from having to hear the mercenaries' conversation. But he had taken in an interesting detail – which made it all worth his while: ‘blonde-hair ‘n’ blue-eyes with a big sword’.
‘Who could that be?’ he thought with sarcasm, smirking.
“OH YEAH! SWORD WINS! KISS MY FEET, LOSERS!”
“You don’t have feet, sword,” Florence commented.
“Well, then consider yourself lucky.”
Andy looked one more time at the dice on the floor and buried his face in his palms. “Menka is gonna kill me...” he muttered.
“What do you think Menka is doing?” Florence asked, as he packed away his dice.
“It’s hard to say, but it’s probably not picking flowers. Could be downstairs drinking, picking a fight with someone or wandering around outside.” Andy reached for the sword and its sheath. It was making an outcry of protests. “Tomorrow,” Andy promised it, before putting it away.
“Hey.” Florence smirked at him, “Isn’t it your job to stop Menka from getting into bar-fights?”
“I suppose it is.” He hooked the sword into his belt, and motioned for her to follow. “Watch and learn, young apprentice.”
“Young.” Florence rolled her eyes. “How old are you?”
“Er--” Andy wasn’t sure how he should answer that question. How old did he look? “Twenty-three?” He only hoped she didn’t pick up the question in his tone.
“Hmmph, so you are older.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Twenty,” she said, before deciding to leave her sword in the room.
“You are still much younger in the art of Menka-spotting. Come.”
They walked out to the balcony and he leaned over the side. “The trick is to think like a Menka. If you were a Menka, where would you be?”
“Uh... in the darkest and gloomiest place possible?”
“Exactly.” He meticulously scanned the room below him, frowning while he did it.
Florence had a look at the inn’s customers below her and quickly stepped back, so as to not be seen.
“Actually, it appears there isn’t a Menka in here.” He looked around for Florence, to hear what she thought. “Florence?” He spotted her standing by the door to the room she had booked, looking sheepish.
“Actually, I don’t think I’m feeling too well. I think I’m just gonna head to bed.” She retreated into her room.
Andy shrugged as she went. “Okay, rest well.” He searched the room again, wondering where exactly Menka was, if he wasn’t in here. The air around him seemed to dim a little. He sighed. Never mind.
“It appears there isn’t a Menka in here,” Menka mocked, suddenly appearing next to him.
“Getting better at hiding,” Andy commented. “Another millennium, and you might be able to go unnoticed in the women’s bathroom.”
Menka rolled his eyes. “I only get found when I want to be.”
“That’s right. You like getting slapped.” Andy grinned at him. “Anyway, you should be careful appearing like that when Florence is around.”
He rolled his eyes. “She had already closed the door. Besides, it appears we aren’t the only ones keeping secrets.”
“What do you mean?” Andy asked while descending down the stairs, Menka following close behind.
“Well, I heard an interesting story before...”
“Hmmm?” Andy motioned for him to continue, and they both walked over to a shadowed-corner of the room.
“Pssst, you two.”
He and Menka simultaneously turned their heads toward the source of the sound.
An older-looking man stood by a stack of empty crates, leaning against a weathered broom. “Interested in a little coin?”
Menka scoffed from beside Andy and pointed towards the table, where the mercenaries were still pouring ale down their throats like it was the only way to make the sun rise.
“See, that’s the problem,” the old man continued.“Those men are here, drinking and ‘looking for some blonde girl’. Truth is, I’m sick of ‘em and my daughter is sick of ‘em. You two look pretty resourceful, if you don’t mind me saying. Interested in clearing them out?”
Andy thought it through. “What did you say they were looking for?”
“A blonde girl, with blue-eyes or brown-eyes or somethin’. Oh, and a big sword. They seemed really interested in the sword. I would be extremely grateful if you guys could help.”
“How much co--” Menka tried to ask, before Andy sharply elbowed him in the ribs.
“Menka means to say that he would be happy to help,” he said, ignoring the eye-rolls courtesy of Menka.
The old man thanked the pair again before walking away, leaving Andy and Menka alone in the corner of the inn.
Menka looked mildly annoyed, but mostly indifferent to the fact that Andy had just dragged him into clearing out the place for the owner, when really it was none of their business. Well, it was almost none of their business...
“Florence--” said Andy, and he chuckled, not being able to help himself. “So this is why she was keen on coming with us. Saving the world... and running from her mercenary past. Two birdies, one stone.”
“I was gonna tell you about her,” said Menka, “but that innkeeper interrupted me.”
“You already knew?” Andy raised an eyebrow.
“I was eavesdropping on those brutes before, and put two and two together.” Menka grinned. “The question is, what do we do about it? Thanks to you, we have to get rid of the mercenaries, so either we give them Florence and they leave, or we beat them up so they leave, or...”
“We give them false-information so they leave.” He grinned back.
“I like it.” Menka cracked his knuckles together. “Although I was looking forward to giving them a beating.”
“Since when does the God of Shadows like fighting someone in fair and honourable combat?”
Menka chuckled, before walking back out into the main space, where the mercenaries were drinking. “Since when was it fair and honourable?” he said over his shoulder.
Andy rolled his eyes and followed Menka.
Menka pulled off the hood of his cloak and rolled up his sleeves, motioning for Andy to give him the sword. Once it was back hanging from his belt, Menka wasted no time and strode over to their table, leaning over their drinks and casting a long shadow over the table.
Andy stood to his side and crossed his arms, frowning down at them and doing his best to look fierce and intimidating. Too bad he had left his bow and quiver upstairs, though. Unfortunately, he was weaponless – no, wait; he did still have that dagger attached to his ankle. Now, he would need to work on his persuasion-skills; hopefully convince the mercenaries to stop and wait for him to untie his dagger, should the situation arise. Andy was kind of hoping it wouldn’t.
The mercenaries looked up in surprise, a few of them in the process of raising a drink to their mouths when Menka spoke.
The God of Shadows could be intimidating and persuasive when he wanted to be – this being one of those times. “You drunkards looking for a blonde woman with a sword, eh?” What bits of their attention Menka didn’t have before, he had now – as they looked up at him with definite attention. “Outside. Five minutes.”
SEVERAL – but not quite five – minutes later, Menka and Andy were leaning against the outside-wall of the inn, waiting for the mercenaries to down their drinks and come outside. The moon was out and shining at its fullest power, bright enough to make Menka squint and put his hood back on, but Andy was grateful for the light and the vision it allowed. Seeing in the dark was all fun and games, but it kind of defeated the point if it meant you couldn’t see very well in the light.
“So, what should we tell 'em, eh?” Menka asked, shifting his position so he was shrouded in the shadows and away from the moonlight.
“We could just try the ‘she went the other way’ trick.” Andy chuckled. “How smart are these mercenaries?”
“Not very. It’ll work. But what should we do about Florence herself?”
“Well, I assume waiting for her to bring up the topic herself won’t work...”
Menka rolled his eyes. “Would you bring that up if you were her? Let’s just pester her about it tomorrow and see if we can use the ‘we already know’ method to try and ease her into telling us the full story.”
“Alright.” Andy sighed, wondering where those brutes were. “Do you think she stole that sword?”
Menka chuckled. “Yes. Who wouldn’t steal that sword? It looks a bit flashy--” Andy snorted at the word “--but, then again, I would probably sell it.”
FINALLY, the mercenaries staggered out of the inn’s doors.
Menka sighed and moved back into the light, to make it easier for them to see him.
The mercenaries stumbled towards the pair – some of them with their hands already on the hilts of their blades.
Andy sighed. Did they assume Menka had called them outside so the innkeeper wouldn’t get annoyed at them for getting blood all over the floor? Andy noticed Menka also had his hand on the top of the sword and he said, “Don’t make this a fight. We don’t need a fight.”
“Those guys are the ones who want a fight,” hissed Menka.
“And you won’t give it them.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Menka rolled his eyes, “But when they slit our throats or decapitate us...”
“...Then they will be in for a surprise when we don’t die,” Andy finished. “Yes, we can fight back. Just don’t start it.”
“You were saying about the blonde girl..?” The leader, with his misshapen skull stepped forward, grinning a rotten grin at them. Maybe he had been a pirate in his last life?
Menka gave them a friendly grin and pointed in the direction from which he, Florence and Andy had entered the village. “That way.”
“What did she look like?”
Andy decided he would take this question. “Big sword. Shiny metal. Large ruby in the hilt? That what you were looking for? Yeah. That way.” He reinforced Menka by pointing in the same direction.
“That way?” the leader asked.
“No, not that way. That way,” answered Menka, while pointing in a slightly different direction. He quickly stepped out of the way of Andy’s ‘shut-up-you-are-not-being-helpful’ elbow to the side.
Andy gave him a ‘not now’ look and pushed his arm down, before turning back to the slightly confused – but mostly fight-hungry – mercenaries.
“We saw her heading that way, back in the direction of the capital as we were traveling along the road,” answered Andy, deciding from now on that he wasn’t gonna let Menka do anymore talking, as he couldn’t trust him not to say something inappropriate.
“Alright,” Lumpy Head said, nodding to the rest of his group.
“Didn’t we follow her out of the capital, though, boss?” asked one of them.
The lumpy-headed leader frowned.
“I don’t know. Maybe she looped back to try and confuse you. Anyway, that’s all we know,” Andy said, shrugging.
“That could be possible. Well, thanks for the information.” The leader tossed them a coin
Menka caught it with the tips of his fingers and spun it around on his thumb.
The mercenaries then turned around and left, not reentering the inn – much to Andy and Menka’s relief.
“Well, that was easy,” commented Menka.
Andy sighed. “No thanks to you.”
“Awwwww, I was trying to make a joke.”
“It was a terrible joke.”
They left the night's darkness and reentered the light of the inn – having diverted the course of the mercenary gang, fooled the drunkards and saved Florence a whole heap of trouble.
Or so they thought.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
