The Liar and the Bright-Eyed

With a final, heavy grunt and a deep thrust like the killing plunge, Talvan and his quarry both came to a cease. The she-beast had been toppled and tamed, lay--

Her hand cracked across his face. His post-orgasmic bliss met a sharp end and he looked at the wench under him with eyes wider than her legs. She jerked away with a wet squish and Talvan's tool smacked painfully into the footboard below. The wench stormed to her clothes where they lay discarded at the far side of the room, leaving a trail dripping onto the hardwood floor. Talvan, grinning with astonishment, threw his hands to the side. "What?"

"You know fucken what!" She hollered, her voice plagued by the crater's unattractive rural accent and softening him for good. "I told you, not enside! Fuck!"

"Sorry!" He shrugged unsorrily. "I forgot, alright? Here, I'll give you extra..."

"Oh, fuck your money! Better hope your seed don't take; that'll be the fefth one I flushed thes year olone, and this time, it'll be haunten ''you!''"

"Right." Talvan groaned, wiping his hands on the bedsheets and making for his own fabrics, eager to be gone from this town as soon as he could. But first, a drink. "Well, tell it where to find me. I'll be here some days still if you two wonna stop by for a veset."

...

"So, I neared the fell beast, sword held, ah..."

"Aloft?"

"There ya go. Sword held aloft, edging closer by the moment, meeting its eyes. I'd expected to find a measure of respect in them, some kind of understanding that it'd been bested, but there was naught but hate dwelling within them. Those burning, hateful eyes. So by then, there was but one thing left to do, one final plunge afore I finished my task..."

"Ya kissed it?" The one-eyed man threw himself back against his seat and opened his maw to the tavern's ceiling, roaring in laughter. The others gathered around him brusquely followed, their hearty howls drawing the eyes and ire of the tables around them. "Wouldn't surprise me, ya old man-bitch!"

"No, I slew it." Talvan hissed, leaning in over his drink. "You're a real funny bastard, Ogaf, you know that?"

"You mean that truly?" He slowed his laughter enough to chortle out four barely coherent words, picking a tear from the corner of his eye.

"No, you fuckin' wood-guzzler. I don't mean scat! I try to treat you folk to a good story and you act like this."

"A horseshet story, more like!" The fat man directly to Ogaf's pointed across the table accusatorially. "A wyres? Den't fucken happen! Those thengs dun even exest en th' Sharo."

"Yeah? And how would you know, smith?" Talvan narrowed his eyes at the man and tilted his head.

"Because I fucken' grew up there!"

Ah, shit. The commonfolk who'd paid to hear the sagas of a famous and storied adventurer had called his bluff, and they'd surely demand their coin back now. Tarvan needed to be gone. He smashed his palms onto the wood hard enough to make the cup holding his ale rumble. "I don't have to sit here and allow simple rabble to levy accusation after accusation of deceit at me! What a fool I was, to think that mere commoners would be able to appreciate the tales of Talvan the Tenacious!"

"More like Talvan the Fallacious!"

His forehead buzzed angrily. How did a hick fuck know that word anyways? The faux-adventurer rose from his seat and turned to storm out of the alehouse, only to find that same horizontally-endowed smith sliding between him and the door. He's fast, Talvan reckoned, for a fat man! "Out of my way!"

"Not so fast." The smith took a step to block the man after the latter taken his own step aside in an effort to slip past. Talvan scowled and turned around towards where he'd seen the trio of armored guards in the corner, hopeful for their protection, but came eye-to-eye instead with Ogaf.

"We paid good coin for the genuine stories of a genuine hero. If those stories ain't genuine... I want my coin back." The heavyset lumber worker rumbled.

"No refund--oof!" A fist planted itself squarely in Talvan's gut. He doubled over and staggered backwards, right into the hold of the fat man.

"That sword on your hip mean anything? Or is it fake, like the rest of you?"

"Why don't you... find out..?" He struggled to escape, but wouldn't need to struggle much longer: the smith pushed him away, and the folk formed a circle around him. Some cracked their knuckles, some downed the last of their drinks, some only folded their arms sternly. Between two of them, he saw the guards: they watched the scene with curious and drunken gazes.

"You know, if even a lick of what ya say is true, you'd be able to cut us all down before we even touch you. Except... it isn't, is it? You won't even try, because you know you're a liar."

Talvan glared at Ogaf, as though trying to mimic the wyre in his story, but stayed his hand from the blade at his hip. None moved. He lowered his head with a sigh and tore the pouch of coin from the belt and dropped it. "Take it, you oafs."

...

Nighttime found him alone along that dusty old trail out of town. Already, the window-lights were low and distant, and all around him the fields, rustled by the occasional languid breeze, stretched neatly into the dark which obscured the faint hills he knew lay beyond. The earth dipped into square-patterned irrigation canals, devoid of water at this hour. All manner of crop was harbored in these fields, from barley to beets and all between. Far off, coyotes spoke to one another across the hills in their wailing tongue, no doubt frightening the region's livestock and leaving farmers on edge. They wouldn't find much sleep tonight, he suspected.

But between the rising and falling howls, something else reached the man's ears. Fabric shuffling, mixed with low murmurs. Talvan adjusted his gaze, eyes wandering from the road ahead to just off its side, where sure enough, three silhouettes stood just barely highlighted by the half-moon. Two stood side-by-side, hassling the third, and though he couldn't make out the finer details, the shape of a knife in one of the former's hands was immediately recognizable. Talvan's eyes widened and his posture straightened, a stricter gait carrying him closer down the road. He tried to only watch out of the corner of his eyes though found himself staring, and his gaze was returned.

"Sir!" A relieved cry went up from the hassled. His voice was shrill and nervous. What little he could make of the figure was tall but lanky, gangling limbs waving in futility to catch his attention. A young adult, most likely. "Help! Help m--augh!"

Tarvan flinched as the robber's knuckles caught the victim's head, a heavy backhand knocking him to the ground. The robbers kept their eyes firmly on Talvan now, or more accurately, he suspected, on his sword. That was the upside of carrying it around everywhere he went; nobody trifled with a man who had a sword. It didn't matter how many pressed him, because when the blades came out, somebody was losing a limb, and why risk being that somebody when there was an unarmed sucker just a couple paces away? So long as he made no move against them, and they made no move against him, there'd be nothing to fear. "Sorry, kid!" Talvan called, never slowing or skipping a step as he passed. "Just swallow your pride and give them what they want. Easier for everyone."

An insidious cackle rose from one of their lips. "'E's right, lad. Ye can afford to lose yer coin, but can ye ma afford t' lose ye?" Talvan heard a kick in the darkness, followed swiftly by a yelp of pain from the young man. The mention of a mother, while not directed at him, brought a frown to the charlatan's lips. What would she do, he wondered then? It was a strange thought, because it wasn't one he'd ever suffered. Talvan was the furthest thing from a sentimental man. He believed himself a learned man, and the gods held no sway in his life. But if they were real, he would've sold his soul for a stack of gold, a good horse, and some shiny new armor long ago. He had a brother out there somewhere that, in his many, many years of travel, he'd never once considered meeting. Talvan hadn't granted his mother so much as a consideration in a very long time, so why now?

But just as soon as the thought had forced its way to the surface, it disappeared again into the deep where it belonged, dragged down by reason and left to drown. It doesn't matter what she'd do, Talvan reasoned, because she was dead now, and a dead person's wisdom was useless. So he continued on his way, content to leave the sounds of the youth not too far into his adult years get beaten to the dirt as his well-earned money was stripped from his pockets. In spite of that, this wasn't what had happened.

Talvan made it no more than half a dozen steps away before the other robber spoke, loudly: "Hold on now. See the pommel of his sword, there, Gittan? That's an Umbian trinket, yes it is. That man there's an Umbian!" He stopped in his tracks. Those words, in that tone, was never good. Talvan turned, slowly, his hand crawling to the blade at his hip. Don't make me use it, don't make me use it...

"That an issue," he began, keeping his voice steady and measured despite his growing anxiety, "sir?"

"Me sis was an Umbian," the other, 'Gittan,' said lowly.

"Ah!"

"I hated that bitch. Cut her throat, I did, after rapin' her half to death."

"Oh.." The hope that had begun to rise in Tarvan's heart crashed, and the two men crept from the depression they'd been doing business in, forking apart to approach him from either side. The man's grip on his sword tightened as he took steps back. "Sirs, I suggest you focus on the boy, now. No need for this to get ugly."

"Ugly?" Hissed the other robber. "This ain't ugly. Killing all them little ones, and leaving their bodies for the wolves, what you Umbians did, now that's ugly."

"Yup." His ugly companion said. "Consider this, uh... a favor. Heh."

"That's right, Gittan. We're doing the world a favor, aren't we?" They were close, now. A bead of sweat dripped over Tarvan's eye and landed on his cheek.

"Fellas, I'm warning you..."

"Grab 'im!"

Gittan, the bigger of the two robbers, lunged with both palms stretched hungrily while the other, with his knife brandished, hopped towards him from the opposite side. The sword slid clumsily from its sheath and Talvan swung wildly at Gittan as he spun away, feeling his steel hit flesh before finding freedom once more in the open air. When he once again faced the two men, he saw Gittan stumbling into his friend while clutching his hand and groaning. Three little shadows fell quietly to the ground. The smaller man pushed Gittan away as he hopped towards Talvan, knife stabbing recklessly at the empty space between them. Mad-eyed, the defender backed away, intending to simply stay out of the robber's range until he tired himself out, but things rarely went as he intended. His foot slipped on the slope of a roadside canal, slick with mud, and he went down.

Talvan fell on his back with a grunt and nearly lost his grip on the sword. The robber loomed over him, the shine of the knife in moonlight the only part of his form that didn't seem to melt into the night. Talvan rolled out of the way just as it came down, a squelch accompanying its plunge into the dirt. The man hesitated a moment before targeting the arm while it was vulnerable, though that one moment proved one too much and by the time he'd tried to take it, the opportunity was long gone. His sword met only air, and his face met the robber's boot. The back of his head crashed into the mercifully soft dirt. Talvan tried to return the favor, blindly kicking out, and by some stroke of luck actually hit the robber; not insignificantly, either. He felt the man's knee bend inwards under the force of his kick.

Eager to not allow the chance to escape him this time, the amateur swordsman scrambled to his feet and shoved his blade at where he figured his foe was on the ground. A pained wail confirmed it, as did the toughness of whatever he'd hit enduring for a second before cracking and giving way to softness. His wail became a gargle, and then became nothing at all.

Gasping, Talvan tore the blade from the man's body and staggered away, climbing the brief slope back onto the path. At the center of it sat Gittan, nursing his cloven hand. "Weshi?" He wailed. "That you?"

"Me, you fucker!" Tarvan found the battle-madness hadn't worn off yet when, without thinking, he hacked at at Gittan's neck and ended up sinking steel into the man's shoulder. Howling, the imbecile jumped up and tore away with the weapon still affixed to his flesh, kicking up dirt behind him. His shadow began to shrank but hadn't gone far before he fell to his knees and slumped forwards. The silence roared in his wake. Talvan bent over, elbows on his knees, gawked at the ground with wide eyes and a wider mouth. Then the rush gave way to nausea, and he was soon staring at his half-digested dinner.

"You saved me!" He jumped at the lad's voice, wheeling towards him and lifting a sword that wasn't there. The youth flinched and raised his hands, backing away a step or two after having already come too close for Tarvan's liking. His voice was more controlled when he next spoke. "You saved me, sir! Thank you."

"Yeah, whatever." He sighed, finally pushing off his knees and shaking his head. The swindler paced towards the corpse holding his sword and tore the blade from the man, shaking the gore off. He found a good patch of dirt to wipe the blood before sheathing it. When again he looked up, the young man was still there, just... standing. "You want something from me, kid? I don't got any coin for you. Loot something off them, if you need."

"Are you... a hero?"

"Huh?" The question took Tarvan back entirely; fuck did he mean, "are you a hero?" Well, that was what he told others, wasn't it? "Sure, kid." He sighed and tossed up his bloody hands. "I'm a hero."

"I knew it," he said in an almost reverential whisper. "I'm coming with you. I wanna learn to be like you."

Was he stupid? Talvan wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan, so he did neither and only shook his head again. "Go home, kid. Your family misses you. Probably."

Now it was he who shook his head. "I've got six brothers and five sisters. They... might miss me, but I think they'd be glad after a while. I'd just be another mouth to feed."

"You'd be another mouth to feed to me too, boy, and I'm no daddy." Talvan raised his voice and straightened himself, expressing his chest like a wild animal might. "I don't have the time nor patience to deal with some fool, especially not one who's gonna be trailing right behind me like a lost little puppy-hound."

"You don't have to! I can... take care of myself. I can feed myself, I can find somewhere to sleep, I can..."

"Trust me, you don't want my life, and you don't want me teaching you it. It's a whole lot of wandering--"

"I love wandering!"

"--without a whole lot of pay."

"I don't get much pay here, either." He frowned. "Nobody gives, well, if you excuse my language, good sir, nobody gives two rats' asses what happens in Hillbank. All our coin comes from in town, and we don't have much in town to start with. You're the first outsider we've had in weeks! Them two lads was the alderman's cousins, they--" He paled suddenly, visible even in the dark, as the realization crashed across his face. Talvan felt a twinge of pity for the poor lad, thinking: he'll get hanged the second they realize he had something to do with their deaths. He knew how these small places worked, the quaint facades belying venom.

Talvan pondered the choice. He was perfectly content without a travel companion, or so he told himself, but if that was true, why was he trying to reason with the kid? Why hadn't he left him with his words and a staunch "no" already? Well, if truth be told, having the kid around could have its uses. An extra pair of eyes wouldn't hurt if he was truthful about being able to take care of himself, and if not, Tarvan had no qualms about leaving him behind in the middle of nowhere. Yes, at any moment he could just call it if things weren't working out. He grunted to himself, then grunted to his newly decided-on company: "Fine. But let's set some ground rules..."

"Whatever you say, sir!" The youth's excitement was palpable. Talvan wished he'd felt that sort of eagerness about anything.

"... First, you don't interrupt me." A quiet "oop" came between the first and second rules. "Next, you do what I say, when I say it. Third, acknowledge everything I tell you do with a "yes sir," or anything that lets me know you heard me. Finally..."

"Yes, sir!"

"Breaking rule one already, kid."

"Uh--sorry, sir."

"Hm. Finally, you take care of yourself. You feed yourself, you find your own sleeping arrangements, you pay for all your things. Don't expect me to spend even a sub on you." He paused, to no response. "Now is an appropriate time to say 'yes, sir.'"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now let's go. It's late, and I'm not keen to spend another night anywhere near this bumfuck town."