Chapter 18

“I have to ask,” I said. She nodded.

“You’ve been here seven years?” I asked.

Another nod.

“And you’re intact?”

“Yep.”

“How old were you?”

“When I got here?”

“Uh huh.”

“Twelve,” she confessed. “I looked older,” as an excuse.

“Cleaned up?”

“Still twelve ... except for the boobs ... and the butt ... and the hips.”

“Saddle the horses, Timm,” I said, “We have miles to go before we sleep.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I don’t know your name ... no ... no ... don’t tell me. I might make a mistake and call you by it. You’re Timm ... two ‘m’s.”

“Yes, Sir.”

They left the Inn by the front door. Ranged across the street fronting the Inn, were three BIG angry men. Leather armor, sword master made swords and evil terrifying masks. Behind the men, across the street, tied to the rail in front of the brothel, were three of the best looking, well fed and bulked up horses I had ever laid eyes on. They had the sheen of animals rode hard.

The hostler from the stables was with ‘em. The hostler pointed at us.

He spoke, “That’s him ... and the little one was Ivor’s horse holder.”

Well ... shit. “Who is Ivor?” I asked.

“Was Ivor, you mean,” said the big guy on the left end as he slipped off the loop from his pommel.

“The short ... shorter ... swordsman you killed last night ... and stole his horses,” said the really big guy in the middle. He slipped the thong from his sword.

The one on the right ... he, for sure, was related to the club wielder from last night ... the twinkle of “nobody home” in his eyes.

Timm growled, “I got the two on the ends ... you got the other two.”

“What two? If you got the ends that leaves me with the big guy.”

“The tattletale.”

“Oh.”

One thing seemed to prevail here on Chaos ... bragging. They commenced telling us what they were going to do to us.

If there’s gonna be a fight ... get on with it.

The fella on the left was already pawing at his face ... trying to get the throwing spike out of his temple. The poison took him away ... rather horribly. The fella on the right was falling from a needle in his balls. That had been dipped in some local poison, too. His death ... which wasn’t quick enough to suit me, was terrifying. The faces he made would give me nightmares ... well ... maybe not.

Now ... I know poison is forbidden to Heroes ... it’s not honorable. Wasn’t me ... I began to see how Timm had survived as long as she had ... she was a sneaky little wench.

I was off the boardwalk with a splash and swinging my sword ... it wasn’t tied down. I hadn’t just dismounted from a horse where I had my sword tied down so it wouldn’t fall out during a gallop. Nope ... me and Timm were heading for the barn ... hadn’t got there yet.

The big guy did manage to block my first sword thrust but he was looking at the wrong hand. I dearly love eye shots.

The hostler has a hide-out. Smallest crossbow I’d ever seen ... they only have one shot and he prematurely ejaculated. I was leaping ... he shot ... but I wasn’t there. He did nail the innkeepers dog though.

What is with these guys? Poisoned quarrels?

The hostler threw “Hold on there, youngster. They forced me.”

“I’d believe you ... but for the dead dog. Which?”

“Which what?”

“Me or Timm?”