Chapter 1

Introduction of the honeypot Val, the mountain Gunnar, and Gabriel Alphege the 300 years old vampire boy.

The Left Hook tavern usually closed at the fourth bell, which is about the time a normal family goes to bed, but the tensions lately seemed to attract many sorts of people who smell war like the cook smells soup. Sadly, not many were decent to say the least.

About the particular name of the tavern, if one would be so inclined to ask, one would always get anything except the truth. Val might tell you stories of a mighty knight, who in a rainy night used his left hook on a neighbor young lord to protect a lady’s honor, but the drunkards could tell you about how a troubadour in his shameless inebriation boasted of how good his left hook was in brawling, and was beaten by a huge young boy in a challenge. However, if one was to ask the tavern keeper, one would receive a dirty sneer and a long toying look that held no further explanation.

Aside from that, the tavern was nevertheless a great place to start a fight or have a drink, it’s all the same.

The candle lights danced on the rough faces of night and turned them into the monsters of children’s fairy tales: the vulgar laughter; the crowded gloomy shadows; the smell of sweat and beer and mud mixed together at once. Even the air tasted like vinegar and burned like ashes.

Although a lovely home and a comfy bed would do much better, one could only have so much choice when he has no home, and Val is lovely, and warm. And every so often she flirts a little to the luckiest man of the day.

Men comes to drink, and fool around. Val is a walking invitation for fooling around even out of the tavern. Her skin is the color of honeycomb, her smell much sweeter and her body even more so. Her tongue, as everyone would have it, can melt any ice without a touch. Her feline face reminds of something delicious but sharp on the tongue and poisonous in the stomach.

The barkeep twice wanted her to leave, no matter how good she is. She is no tavern wench, which is like having a golden statue in display in the forest. But then again, no one dares ask her to leave.

Tonight is the usual, she cleans things up before anyone can complain, endures a few touches and grabs with hisses and leers, and taking a few notes here and there for trouble and potential profit. Some men bring more gold than they can spend, and not all are local folks.

She suddenly feels a stare from the door. The eyes try very hard to hide an lust and some knowledge only their owner can enjoy, but his face is one of the youngest she has ever seen in this tavern. His skin is white and smooth enough to be mistaken for fresh milk, and his body is lithe, graceful. There is a hint of noble around him, how he dresses himself in fit but faded tunic, and how he smile that crooked smile of his, which can make a few young hearts fluster.

His companion has to bend over to come in, and can’t still manage to stand straight even inside. His clothes is ragged, and if not for his size and his muscular body, he looks just like another beggar. His eyes are not for begging though, as they are full with tempered rage. He must be the guard of the young boy.

Rich, is all Val thinks. She also notices the tavern goes quiet the moment they walks in, mostly because of the size of the man.

The young boy obviously takes a liking to Val, as he swaggers his way to the bar. Once sits comfortably on the stool, he says.

“Two pints of your best ale, please, love?”

Val replies with her honeyed tone.

“Did your ma stop breastfeeding you?”

That is when the mountain drops in, towering anyone in this room. He bellows to the boy with a volume to match his size.

“I don’t drink.”

He declares, but the boy doesn’t mind.

“Hey, I don’t either. Would you care to give us your milk, love?”

The last words he speaks to Val, his eyes try to look innocent but his smile suggest otherwise.

“Oh cutie, we don’t serve milk here. But if you asks nicely, Tanya over there can give you some of hers.”

The barmaid concernedly pointed toward the most well fed woman in the corner who was laughing like an evil witch while sitting on an old man hugging around her and telling her what was supposed to be a joke. The boy considers her bosom for a moment before turning to Val and make a face.

“That’s the worst way of drowning, if you ask me.”

Before Val could say something, the big man says.

“I’m going outside.”

“Without a drink? Come on!”

Val grabs the man by the arms and makes a sound as wet as she can.

“Let. Go!”

The man growls.

“Suit yourself.”

Val lets go, with a tone as cold as ice and the eyes to match.

“Quite a talker, huh?”

Val mocks while pouring ale into two pints on the table.

“He’s not always in such a mood, though. Maybe it has something to do with you?”

The boy teases Val with a look toward the man walking to the door. All eyes fixates on the enormous back. Before he could turn, Val already slip a pinch of white powder into his drink.

“Are you jealous?”

Val teases back.

“Not really. Girls want a bit of meat on their man, and I don’t have much to begin with. But still, people might as well related to sheep and cows before long if that’s what it takes. I would say I have my gifts and him his.”

He put the empty pint down while growing a new white mustache. Val laughs and wipes it with her index finger then sucks it with her mouth.

“Such a cute little thing, why don’t you tell me the reason you ran away from home and maybe I can let you in on a little secret of mine?”

Val flirts, and men stare with a dumb look on their faces. The boy is no exception, but he regain his conscious rather quickly.

“I don’t think I like the sound of that, but fair enough. I don’t like where I live, so I left, with enough gold to start my life of adventure as a sellsword. Is that good enough?”

The boy let out a faint hint of mischievous around the corner of his eyes, and Val doesn’t fail to notice. She laughs.

“You have to do better than that. Drink! And maybe you can tell me the truth when you are drunk.”

Val caresses his right hand with her left while her right push the refilled pint into his left. Her eyes now a pair of dark moons, shiny and mesmerizing. The boy looks clearly amused by it, which startles Val, but he drinks nonetheless.

“Three pints is too much for your age. Pay up before you get too drunk to remember.”

The keeper appears out nowhere and asks, looking rather annoyed by something.

“How much is too much, if I may ask. Why is it me and not that old man over there who have to pay, he is clearly drunk already.”

The boy protest, his breath fills with ale, but he still swipe his hand in the pocket and put a few coins on the table.

“Is it enough?”

“It’s enough!”

The keeper holds the coins up and considers them for a moment before reply.

“Then why are you still here for?”

The barkeep gives him a wary look before leaving him with Val.

“What a charming man, don’t you think?”

The boy askes Val, while pouring the last pint inside his flat belly, now a little chubby. Val ignores him, and it ticks him off.

“Hey, if that is your husband, I apologize for my behavior.”

Val is now occupied by a dirty pint, with her soft small hand holding the pint and the other scrubbing it with a piece of cloth, she looks almost like a lovely wife of some lucky farmer. Her face shines against the flicker of candles, and the touch of light only makes her brighter. The boy bellows.

“Interesting!”

Val seemed not to hear what the boy just said, and keep cleaning the pint as if it wasn’t clean enough. Her dark hair appeared to be brightened by the candle light, and it turned out to compliment her beauty even more, and as if it wasn’t enough, everything seemed to be blurred out, slowed down and more quiet. There she was, the beautiful barmaid, with her hand sliding through the pint in an endless repetition of in and out, and her eyes brightened with a mysterious satisfaction, and it was the last thing the boy could remember.

Val gives a small but sure nod, while never gives a boy a look. She now smiles at another man on another side of the bar. The conversation doesn’t take long for someone to carry the boy behind the tavern, where another door leads to the back alley.

The fifth bell rings loudly outside, and that’s when the mountain appears again.

“Where is he?”

He asks Val, looking more annoys than when he left.

“Why would I know? He drank, he paid, and he left.”

“When did he leave?”

He asks again, ignores the tone of Val.

“Hey! I might look like it, but I’m not his mother. If you don’t drink, you get out!”

Her tone now suggests trouble, and the whole tavern goes a little quiet. The mountain notices that, but doesn’t care.

“He will never leave until I come back, and I was not far from here. Tell me true and there will be no trouble.”

His hand now hold the wretched thing of a sword on his hip, scarred and bloodied as it seems, it’s still steel, and looks hard. It hangs on what looks like what’s left of the scabbard.

“You might look around, bear, lest trouble come to you.”

A man stands up, wearing the leather armor of the city guard. He is big for a man, but still nowhere near the size of the mountain. But he is not alone. Around him are about seven or more, and he seems to be the leader.

“There is no need for a fight, my good sirs!”

Val smiles pleadingly, but the mountain grabs her and drags her on the table. With a sharp sound, the cold steel already at her neck. With one hand on the sword holding down Val on the table, the mountain goes through his pocket with the other. When he takes his hand out, he is holding a small potion half the size of his finger, as red as blood.

There are only the guards, the mountain and Val in the tavern now. One of the guard say something to the leader. The guard listens and say to the mountain.

“Didn’t expect your kind around here, witch hunter! Let the girl go and we will let it slide this time!”

“I want the boy!”

The mountain raises his voice. His sheer volume hurts Val’s ears.

“I don’t know where he went. He was drunk, so he paid up and leave! Why don’t you go outside looking for him?”

Val shouts, clearly still a little deaf from the sound of his voice. The big man seems doubtful of what she said, as he gives the guards a long look, and lifts his sword to hold between him and them. He simply says to the guards.

“This is not one of your concerns. Leave now.”

Val quickly gets under the table. The leader regards his gang for briefly before replies.

“The girl and this tavern is our concerns!”

And with that they all stand, swords sheathing and eyes staring. But before anyone can react, a wary voice raises from behind the tavern.

“What is this ruckus?”

The boy appears, to the mountain astonishment, but Val has a faint but dreadful look in her eyes.

“Are you the companion of this man?”

A guard asks.

“Yes, I am.”

The boy replies while his eyes sweeping the whole room. Then he continues.

“This is simply a misunderstanding. I get drunk and passed out in the back, my friend’s got worry and went looking for me. You are right to defend this lady and her bar. Your drinks are on me.”

He sounds tired, but the tone brooks no argument. He walks slowly toward the where the man stands and sit on the stool next to him. The big man eyes him carefully and sheathes his sword. The guards all looks at each other before the leader replies.

“Thank you, lad. Now let get you home before you cause more trouble.”

“No! I am still a little drunk, so I need to stay for a bit. We will sleep here tonight, so you don’t need to trouble yourselves any further.”

The boy calmly says then turns toward the table to put his head on both his arm to rest. One guard looks at Val and asks.

“Are you okay, Val?”

Before Val can reply, she saw a sharp look from the boy and change her tone.

“I’m fine, Durk.”

The leader turns to the boy and says.

“Lord Peter will want news from you, witch hunters.”

After that, they talks between themselves for a bit, drinks their last ales, thanks the boy and all takes their leave. Then the boy simply cough.

“What happened?”

The man asks.

“Poison. The kind that would kill even a real witch, and not just the one you killed at the marsh, Gunnar.”

The man looks at Val coldly, but does nothing. The boy simply smiles at her and waits.

“If you want trouble, I can call the guards again.”

Val threatens, but knows it does not no matter.

“And Gunnar here will make short work of them.”

They are dangerous, these witch hunter, most consider themselves above the law since King Olaf came to the throne, and few dare oppose them.  Although there are some band that are just blatantly bandits, the king’s law shield them against most punishment. People cries out for the old way, and the true witch hunters deliver the king’s answer. Witches, they call the Nobles, as if to put a knife into their name is the one thing that could destroy them.

Long before the Sorcerer Olaf came onto the throne, there were Nobles. With their powers coursing through their vein, they reigned supreme. They were not benevolent, but they were the only line between chaos and the commons, strong and cold as they were. The Ember war changed that. Now King Olaf outlawed the Nobles, and called them witches. Now the night preys on everyone. Few dare travel outside of their community except for maybe witch hunters and some bandits. And even that, there are always some family turns up massacred in their sleep or gone missing. The rich can afford some form of assurance, if nothing else, and the commons lay awake in their sleep, murmur of monsters and witches. Daylight turns sacred and night becomes nightmare.

The witch hunters are mostly alchemists, who can enhance their ability to match the lesser Noble. Some can butcher a whole village overnight without so much a sweat.

“Where are your accomplices?”

Gunnar askes.

“I don’t think they like the sight of you, and might decide to leave Val here to speak for them in case things go bad.”

The boy answers for Val, then turn to her and asks.

“So tell me, why an adept alchemist settles for robbing drunks and not hunting Nobles?’

The boy askes Val, his eyes shine the shade of light that raises goosebumps on Val’s back.

“Drunks don’t fight back.”

“No they don’t. But it’s not the reason, isn’t it?”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“I don’t want anything from that tongue of yours, except for if the poison you made happens to have a need for it.”

Val understands.

“My service is expensive.”

“I have too much gold to spend.”

“I don’t work for your kind.”

“Ah, now we finally have some truth to it. Do you have some nostalgic notion about the Noble?”

“No.”

“No, you couldn’t. You are too young for such. But then again you don’t have to be old to be reminded of how good it was back in the old day, the old way now, do you?”

“If you suggest that I’m hiding a Noble, then no, I don’t know anyone as such.”

“It can’t be my age, now, can it? I know I’m too young for you, but I will grow up some day!”

“Sometimes you gotta accept some truth, darling. Not everyone can get what they want.”

“True, that. What is it that you want? Golds? I make better offer than anyone you know. Security? No one dare to even look your way without Gunnar’s permission. Castle, food, boys, girls, jewelry? Well, Im a bit short on those, but I have money.”

Val laughs.

“There is a saying: if a witch hunter offer you gold, you have to kill the witch yourself.”

“You don’t need to trouble yourself with killing that special witch I want to hunt. I only need to test the potency of the poison. If it’s strong enough, we can work wonder, and if it is not, name your price, and we will name our order.”

Val considers that for a moment before answering.

“You sounds reasonable for an alchemist who is about to steal a recipes.”

The boy laughs.

“To be honest, I do know some recipes and can work with some, but I’m no alchemist. But I’m tired of these empty banters now, so I think I will have Gunnar get this recipes for me.”

“Fine! Have it your way, then. I want five gold coins!”

The boy bites his lips.

“For a portion? I don’t think so. You are in no position to bargain, little one. I think I will get three portions with one silver now.”

Val curls her lips.

“Fine! I hope you choke on them.”

She throws three pieces of wooden potion on the table. The boy looks at them closely, and nods and leaves a silver coin beside. Val eyes him carefully, makes a sound, but takes the coin and leave the tavern through the back door.

Val doesn’t walk far before stumble upon someone. Before Val could say something, she feels a pain in her chest. She wants to scream, but a gulp of blood comes pouring out. The man disappears into the night before she collapses on the cobblestone street.

There are footsteps behind her, she tries to call out for help, but a calm voice mocks instead.

“What a fortunate turn of event!”

The voice laughs, and Val falls unconscious.

Reviews

[Rabidporcupine]

It's pretty good. Your grammar could be a little better, but it wasn't bad enough to distract me from the characters, who by the way, are very interesting.

[Steve]

thank you for your comment, and now that I read my writing again I find it awfully unbearable. So if you are being kind, thank you, if you are not, then, well, please be more brutal to me the next time.^ ^ The characters have some flaw now that I have a chance to think, so thank you again for being kind. But these things can be fixed easily, and I will do it in the future.