Chapter 12: Hastert’s Minion

Dismounting outside one of the largest taverns Monty had yet encountered on Chaos, he drew a deep breath. Nothing he had yet studied or practiced could fully prepare him for the final reality. To date, he had responded to threat; now, he was the threat. Charles looked through the door, stood back, and nodded.

Having determined that Hastert was ensconced in the common room of his favorite tavern, Monty marched into the brightly lit room, across the sawdust-covered floor, and stood before the leather-clad warlord. Two of Hastert’s men shuffled into place beside him, hands on sword hilts. Hastert looked up at the slim man before him, and asked, “You look angry. What did I ever do to you?” ‘Not that I really care,’ he thought to himself, ‘but this might be entertaining.’

“Not you,” Monty responded, “one of your minions stole someone from me, and I’m here to get her back.” He smiled a wicked smile, “I might have to damage one of yours. I’m not asking permission, mind you, I’m giving you a courtesy notification. Honor’s my woman’s name.”

The flickering fire behind Hastert allowed him to study the cocky figure before him. After a moment, he said, “You are welcome to try.” He turned his head and called to a heavyset figure standing to the side, “Blago, bring forth this property now, and let us see what’s worth this ... ah, person’s ... ah, time and interest!”

Blago sneered and left the room via the stairs to the sleeping rooms. Hastert turned back to Monty and said, “This is likely to be thirsty work. I’ll buy you a mug.”

“Thank you, but when this is over, I’ll buy,” Monty told him. “I’ll have other business to discuss. Potion business. He glanced back to where Charles and Maggie had entered unnoticed and positioned themselves on either side of the door. Little Sarah was outside, crossbow ready, watching their horses and their backs.

Hastert nodded, and some twenty minutes passed without words, the only noise was the typical sounds of eating, drinking, and the serving wench bringing replenishments.

Heavy steps upon the stairs brought attention to the returning Blago, a naked woman slung over his shoulder. He walked to the turning Monty and dropped his burden to the floor.

Monty sucked in his breath and knelt. Honor was covered with welts and bruises, old and new. Both arms were clearly broken, and she bled from her mouth and vagina – probably her anus as well. Bloody semen stained her thighs. Clearly, she had been newly raped before Blago brought her down.

Keeping his face still, Monty knelt and whispered, “I’m here, and Autumn is safe.”

Honor’s eyes opened, and her lips formed, “I love you.”

Monty answered, “I love you, too.” And the mortally abused woman stopped breathing.

After closing the staring green eyes, Monty kissed the pale forehead and stood. Turning to Hastert, he told him, “Your dog has insulted us both – disobeyed you – and you know he must pay.” After a moment, a glowering Hastert again nodded his agreement.

Monty turned to meet the charging, cursing Blago. Without time or room to draw his sword, Monty ducked under Blago’s wild swing and sliced upwards with the razor sharp dagger in his left hand. He could have ended the fight then, but nothing less than a painful, humiliating death would do. Monty diverted his dagger to slice open Blago’s right nostril.

Blago staggered back, and Monty had time to draw Hellbringer. Weeks of exercise and practice now came into play. On Blago’s next advance, he lost his left ear to the slicing sword. Blago’s brute strength, his ally in the past, was of no avail against Monty’s hard won skill, finesse, and stamina.

The vengeance seeking Monty circled and danced around Blago, flicking here, slicing there. Soon the other ear was gone, and Blago stood bellowing and swinging wildly. Hellbringer hooked Blago’s belt and sliced, causing his trews to slide downward. There hung Blago’s stones and penis, Honor’s blood still evident.

There was a collective of drawn breath, and more than one present moved hands to cover a crotch. Monty’s sword flicked, and Blago was half eunuch, a bloody blob hanging. A hand dropped to cover his remaining jewel, and another nostril was slit and an eye went flying. Blago was a standing dead man, yet the icy-veined Monty refused to finish him.

The audience that had drawn back out of the reach of the duelers – brawlers, really – watched to see the finish. Monty waited – then waited more. Blago stood, sword still in his hand, blood flowing, his mutilated manhood exposed to the world.

Monty decided. Hellbringer flicked twice more, and Blago was totally unmanned. Then, Monty ended it with a slashed ‘X’ across Blago’s belly. He stepped back to avoid the falling body with its spasming hands clutching - trying to hold in the bowels that wanted to spill onto the floor.

Monica walked to the body of her dead friend, knelt and whispered, “Never again, if it is in my power. Never again!” She kissed Honor on her bloodied lips and returned to the fallen man.

Monty carefully wiped both of his blades on the writhing, moaning man’s shirt and sheathed them. He reached for the purse that had fallen with Blago’s sundered belt. Standing, he tied it to his own belt and tucked it into his pants. Then, he turned to the now crowded room and said in a steady, even voice, “So it will end for anyone who steals from me or harms anything or anyone under my protection. Mark me! I may someday be bested, but my killer will pay dearly on that day!”

“Now, the business at hand,” he continued. “If there is any friend who wishes to grant this offal mercy, I will permit, but there is no mercy in my heart!” He stood looking, but no one came forward. “So, no friends ... Right. Someone take his body to the midden and leave it – living or dead – I care not. His weapons and purse are mine, but the rest on his body is the disposal fee.”

There was a rush, and Monty told them, “Remember what I said about mine is mine.” A sword, two daggers, and an eating knife – all sheathed – were placed on a table before Monty.

“Cocky fool warn’t wearing his chain,” someone muttered to Monty, “Cocky fool shoulda prepared to fight instead of boffing the girl.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Monty responded. “The end would be the same – take a little longer, maybe.”

The body was carried out the door, and Monty turned to face Hastert. “I’m not in the mood to drink at the moment,” he told him. “I have my friend to see to.”

The serving wench, wide eyed but otherwise steady, was standing at his elbow. “Bring Hastert a mug of his choice, then tell your master I have need of a room, baths for four – no five, we’ll want to wash Honor – and someone’s services to prepare my friend for burial. We’ll dig her grave before we bathe. Here’s a start on payment.” He gave the woman two quads and motioned to Charles and Maggie.

Freshly bathed, a somber foursome descended the stairs into the common room where Hastert still sat drinking, Stumpy sitting to his right. Stumpy shifted, turned to Hastert, and said, “Yep, I told you it was one of that healer’s guards. You weren’t in much shape to remember him from that time.”

“Indeed,” Charles told them, “I’m sent by the healer Robyn to assure Hastert that Monty speaks on her behalf on matters of the potion.”

Four men were in one of the inn’s upstairs chambers. Hastert was a frequent enough ‘visitor’ that he had demanded a room be converted for his use when he had private business. Seated at a heavy, carved table was Hastert and, on his left, his man Stumpy. Hastert’s favoring his left shoulder demonstrated the continuing effect of the now old wound delivered by Pēteris. Stumpy’s absent hand was a more obvious reminder. On the opposite side of the table were Monty and Charles.