Chapter 7

Forty Ounces and a Foot of Space

"Are you still sore about it?"

"Shut up!"

Stefan was infuriated and frightened at the same time. He normally wouldn't take such a disrespectful command like that, but the man it was coming from made the situation a bit complicated. His name was Haydric Vanvoldin, and he was a sword-for-hire like Stefan. They had shared beers together at one time, even worked together. But things had changed. Now, Stefan was doing his best to avoid his old aquaintance, concealed behind a large keg in a tavern basement. Somewhere else in the inky darkness, Haydric was looking for him.

"If you want, Hayd, I can give the money back! I don't really need it anyhow," he shouted into the gloom.

"It's not the money you ignorant twit!" was the man's reply. From the echo of his voice, it sounded as if he was approaching. Stefan shifted slightly, ducking behind another row of kegs and creeping along.

"Well you made the bet, and I ended up winning! She fell right into my arms!" whined Stefan.

"Stefan, she was my sister!"

He winced. There was no escaping his old friend's wrath now. He slunk to the ground, scooting along the rough cobbles to rest between a pair of kegs.

"Umm...I'm sorry?"

There was a loud groan of wood upon wood. Stefan looked up in time to see a large barrel begin to tip over onto him. He rolled away, feeling a light splash of liquid as the barrel splintered on the hard cobbles.

"Sorry isn't going to cut it, you mongrel!"

A fist came out of the darkness. Stefan saw it a moment too late, the edge of a knuckle grazing his cheek. He brought his own fist to bear, driving it up and into his semi-invisible attacker. There was a muffled exhale of wind in reply, and Stefan took the chance to sprint down the line of liquor vats. But his eyes failed him, and he felt a large object impact with his left shoulder, sending him careening to the groudn. As his shoulder smarted he rose to his feet, noting loud footsteps behind him. He whipped around, lashing out with his right leg. Haydric was ready, though, parrying his foot with his forearms, and delivering a kick of his own into Stefan's side.

He winced from the pain, but recovered quickly as Haydric proceeded to rain a hail of blows down on him. He deflected most, but found that the man would soon surpass his defence. He grabbed one hand out into the darkness, closing his fist on something flat and wide. He brought it up, hearing a muffled crack, and then a scream of pain.

"You b*****d!"

Stefan replied by batting Haydric across the face again. As his opponent reeled, Stefan spun away, ducking around the aisle and heading down another row of large kegs. He kept running, listening for the sound of Haydric's footsteps over his heavy breathing. But he was not closeby, for Stefan could hear the man's curses off in the corner of the basement.

There was a small splash close by. Stefan darted his head around to look at a small puddle of fallen liquor, from where the barrel had nearly flattened him. The liquid had been disturbed, probably from another displaced barrel. It was hard to tell in the darkness, and he couldn't spare the time to figure it out. His old friend probably wanted to kill him by now.

He turned and ran down the final row of kegs, the stairs leading up to the tavern in sight. But then someone stepped into the aisle, right in front of the steps. It was Haydric. But what made Stefan's heart leap was the ornate pistol he had in his lowered hand. As he skidded to a halt, Stefan watched with growing horror as Haydric slowly raised the pistol to point at him. His expression was odd, it was more of confusion than anger. But it didn't matter; this was the end. Stefan held his breath as he waited for the final moment.

"Stefan, don't move," said Haydric.

Before he could inquire, Haydric squeezed the trigger.