Read Online Aethersmith (Book 2) by J.S. Morin - Free Book Online Page B

field of battle for half a
day, killing and avoiding death’s pursuit. Of old, it was the sign of an
assassin, so that none might mistake the crime for an accident or a fit of
anger or passion. In more modern times, mercenaries wore the marks as a sign of
prowess, some in the old way of the assassins who might even leave coins as
tradition would dictate, while others would brazenly take on far more than they
had ever killed. To wear Kheshi armor open-sleeved with dozens of the markings
showing was a braggart’s boast without even having to speak a word.
    Gazes followed gazes, and men looked to see what had captured
their drinking companions’ attention. Nudges and low, ribald comments alerted
the rest until nearly the whole of Doggershack was watching her. Having deemed
the place suitable by whatever low standard she must have had, she turned her
head to look back at her companions, and gave a sideways nod inside to beckon
them.
    First in behind the Kheshi girl was a tall, wiry Acardian
with a sword at his hip. He had a face that looked permanently punched, with a
large brow, flat nose, and a large chin like a small child’s knee jutting below
his mouth. He had a mean glint in his eyes and a languid ease to his
movements—the sort that blustering youths try to imitate when they want to look
tougher than they are.
    Right behind him was a black-skinned Takalish warrior. He
wore a patch over one eye, and had a scar running down the jaw on the other
side, partly obscured by his beard. There was light aplenty in the taproom,
otherwise his features would have been difficult to discern, with the
black-on-black contrast of his skin, eye patch, and beard. The white of his one
good eye shone starkly against the brownish green of the rest. If the men in
Doggershack that night did not know that his long twin braids dangling down
over his grey-trimmed burgundy tunic marked him as a warrior, the Takalish
half-spear sheathed on his back made it obvious. The Takalish had decided that
the bits of swords nearest the cross-guard were not worth the trouble of
sharpening. Instead they decided to shorten the blade and lengthen the grip. The
weapon was lighter than a greatsword, but with just as much reach, and their
warriors had learned to use the lengthened handle to grasp the half-spear at
different points to change the weapon’s reach, striking force, and blocking
ability. It was no weapon for a novice.
    The last to enter was a hulking bear of a man. Not much
taller than the Kheshi girl, he might have outweighed her thrice over. His
greasy black hair and beard were wild and unkempt, obscuring much of his ruddy
red face and making his wide blue eyes seem a bit unnerving; he had the look of
a madman, and it was a convincing enough act to cause wariness, even if it
turned out he was feigning. He wore a voluminous tarp of a sweat-soaked blue
woolen tunic over a shirt of chain that looked to be custom-sized to his
massive gut. He kept two swords at his hip: one looked expensive, with a
jeweled pommel and cross-guard, while the other was shorter and more
utilitarian.
    The quartet was obviously well off by their gear and the
jingle in purses as they walked in. Doggershack was a rough establishment,
where a lot of bad things could happen to folk who walked about with too much
coin on their person. However, being a rough establishment, it contained a lot
of men who knew the difference between snagging an easy mark and getting run
through trying to rob a coinblade.
    The Kheshi girl headed straight for the bar, while the
others bullied free a spot from a couple of dockhands who were not making full
use of a table that sat four. The crowd parted for her, at least enough so that
she might try to shoulder her way past those in her path, rather than confront
them. There was no shortage of foul-smelling drunkards that would not mind even
so little attention from her.
    “I am looking for a man,” she told the barkeep after sizing
up none other than