Seeking the Veil, Part 2

Back to the Mess

"Block!" shouted Rufus as he swung. Hestea fumbled the staff up, one foot slipping in the ice, and the staves cracked together. The vibration ran through Hestea's arm and he ducked to the side as Rufus threw his shoulder forward. Hestea pushed off of the ground and rolled away as the stick struck once, twice and three times. Hestea jumped up and swung the staff around, catching Rufus behind the ankle and dumping him to the ground.

Hestea grinned and leapt forward, staff swinging, but Rufus raised his feet and kicked Hestea away, to tumble across the half-frozen ground. "Oof!"

Shaking his head, Hestea swung the staff wild, caught nothing as he blinked some dirt from his eyes. Knowing the blow was coming, he took a chance and pushed himself back, the stick cracked his own ankle with a sharp shooting pain that would leave a healthy bruise.

"No foot!" called Rufus with a laugh. "Get up and fight!"

"Urk." Hestea tossed his staff like a spear at Rufus, lunged forward as Rufus ducked to one side and Hestea tackled him to the ground with two arms. "Hah!" Hestea smiled, looking around as the small audience shouted and clapped.

But they were shouting for Rufus.

The mercenary grinned up at Hestea, a glint of steel in his hand, poised at Hestea's neck. "Left yourself as wide open as a port-side whore with a wharf full of desperate sailors."

Hestea frowned, released Rufus and rose to his feet, hobbling on the one foot.

A giant hand clapped Hestea on the shoulder and Smallhands rumbled, "Ya got more hits in than ever. Yer learning."

"Yeah. Learning, but still dead." Rufus resheathed his knife, grabbed up the staff and tossed it to a man near Hack's size, with a grin like Krass.

"This fight is for coin," the wide man said, his beard a dark bronze.

Rufus bowed his head as he sized up the mercenary. "I could do with a little more weight to my purse."

Hestea watched the two men square off. Grimback clucked his tongue, walking by, staring at Hestea.

Hestea rolled his eye and nudged Smallhands. "What's his problem?" asked Hestea as Rufus made the first blow, Grimback disappearing around a tent.

Smallhands pursed his big lips. "Grimback has high standards. Very high."

"Well..." They were unlikely as high as Hestea's own. Hestea winced as he put too much pressure on the one ankle and laid a hand on Smallhands shoulder. "When do you think the scouts will return? Orangebeard seems like he's ready to tear down the hills with his own two hands."

"A concern, me friend. They run late. And Mordic never runs late."

"What about Denfer?"

"They are both good men. I would put my life in their hands. And I have."

The big mercenary in the ring with Rufus scored a small hit, but just when Hestea thought Rufus would be tossed to the ground and disarmed, he tripped up the other.

Smallhands bobbed his head. "A good move. Did ya see how he brought in Merick, tricked him to—"

Hestea glanced up as shouting stirred the camp and Smallhands trailed off.

"What is it!" Orangebeard pushed through his tent flaps, hairy chest bare and his cheeks red. Dietra followed, buttoning a coat and pulling a jerkin over, her hair a stringy gray mess.

Hestea gaped, caught her eyes and the magess stared back, as if daring him to ask. Hestea blushed and looked down at his dirty boots.

Orangebeard strode away, Hestea and the rest following — the fight forgotten. They climbed a small rise, gaining an unobstructed view of the pass. Mists rose and fell in the cold, but there was nothing there. It was empty.