Rise of the Blade - Charles Moffat [35]
"Well, since I've never been to Luskan, or any of these other places for that matter, I'll try the cod."
If Pierce had known that Screech was actually a drink with a lot of alcohol in it he would have persuaded her to take a different meal, but he considered the experience something to remember and would never make the same mistake twice. The opposite side of the coin was that he got to carry her up the steep stairs for she was too weak in the knees to make it. He just hoped his back could make it.
Setting her down at the top, he helped her along with one arm around her back and supporting her as they made their way down the torch lit streets, scouring it for a carriage taxi. When none could be found, he cursed himself inwardly for not bringing Bartholomew, but again knew that everything had been worth it. He hated the horse anyway half the time. It would never have stayed in the stables down the street and would have wandered across half the city.
The cold autumn air was doing its part in sobering Nicole as they wandered the streets in the general direction of her estate. She enjoyed the cool breeze contrasting with the warmth of Pierce's body. Even his bronze armour was warm to the touch, but she wondered if that was the Screech in her blood talking.
"This town house belongs to Martinez," he said abruptly as they neared the poor building. "He's a Harper comrade of mine. If you ever meet him, you'll know him by the longflail he always carries."
Nicole nodded and looked towards the house which looked like it needed to be boarded up and condemned. When she looked up at his shadowed face again however, his eyes were distant and alert. The street seemed awfully quiet now. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing hopefully," the warrior lied easily, trying to keep her hopes up. Up ahead he knew that three young thugs lay in the darkness of the alley, deeply immersed in the merchant that had ambushed by surprise and dragged into the alley to be beaten senseless. Then they stopped at the sound of approaching feet.
Pushing Nicole into a doorway, he threw his cloak overtop of her. "Stay here and be quiet." On a sudden impulse he took off his sword belt and handed it to her.
The footsteps resumed and the thugs edged closer to the corner, listening carefully for the intruder. The leader, a tall half-elf, knelt within the entrance, ready to leap.
"Greets man," Pierce drawled in a slang tongue he hadn't used since his childhood during his own youth on the street. "Wutcha upto?"
The thugs relaxed and the half-elf stood out in the open. "Nuttin'. Jist sum spare change. Got we a fat merch!" he said loudly, to which his two comrades went "Sssssh."
"Ye're purty lucky dat Harper didn't hear ye, wut wit alda racket!" Pierce whispered in response.
Wut Harper?" demanded one of the thugs in the back.
Pierce hoped the alcohol in his own blood wouldn't slow him down as he tapped on the building they were standing beside. "Da one dat lives in here, course!" he hissed. "Course, 'e's also a drunk, but dats besides the point. Martinez is still a fighter extraordinare!"
The half-elf narrowed his eyes. Pierce had slipped into the common tongue to use the latter word and now the leader had consciously changed his elven eyesight from infravision to light sensing, and thus was able to see the glint off the warrior's bronze armour.
"Pierce!" the rogue cried out and backed away in a hurry. His fellow thugs tumbled into the street and regarded the founder of the Academy of Combat with both fear and awe.
"He's not wearing his blades," muttered one of them, thanking the god Mask for his luck. With an unspoken agreement, the three thugs moved in closer, hoping tom surround the warrior.
But the god of deception wasn't about to help a trio of blundering thugs as it would take nothing short of a miracle sent from the heavens to save them now. A lightening bolt for example, but the sky was clear and the god wasn't going to waste the energy or effort in summoning up some clouds, and thus angering some other gods who disliked the world's