Damsel and the last berserker: Soulstone

The Devil and his lady

3. The Devil and his Lady.

The next evening rolled around and Krut found himself by the bar once more, watching Damsel sit in avid conference with the Noble again. However, this time the Norskan had an ale in hand; it was not his first one and it wouldn’t be his last either. He’d declined the opportunity to meet with the pampered little popinjay. Barta wasn’t paying them to talk with the customers, he had pointedly reminded them, and instead he watched at a distance from beneath a heavy frown. Draining his ale with a curse to women everywhere he ordered another. Gods knew why he was so agitated at seeing Damsel with the noble boy. It was none of his business who she let untie her corset at night.

He scratched at his shaven head and sighed despondently with a grimace, both at the noble, at himself, and at the state of his stubbly blonde hair. He kept it purposefully short for reasons out of his past which, even to this day, frustrated Damsel with their mystery, and also because it gave an opponent nothing to grab hold of. It was against the tradition of his people, who wore their hair long with at least a single braid proudly denoting their warrior status, but Krut had learnt that pull a man’s hair and his head invariably followed. He did, however, despite his past, keep two short warrior braids at his temples. He’d suggested Damsel shave her head also, but had got nothing more than one of her silent glares for his proposal.

The ale was brought to him by the dark haired wench with the pixie nose, who smiled up at him with a mischievous caste to her big blue eyes. He smiled in return, but found his attention pulled back to Damsel and the Noble as she giggled at something else he had said, laughing in that girlish manner she had. She only giggled that inanely when she was attracted to the subject before her. It wasn’t so much a laugh, she had laughed properly with and at Krut on many occasions. This giggle was more a teasing recognition that the opposite party had said something amusing and were being rewarded with a favour of femininity.

The more he watched the two of them the more he wished one of the drinkers in the tavern would try something, simply to give him the excuse to vent his frustrations on a deserving party rather than being forced to sit and fume in a futile rage. His knuckles were tight about his tankard’s handle and he had to forcefully make himself look away from the pair, dragging the sneer from his features. She’d be used for a night’s free pleasure and, come morning, she’d wake to the insult of an empty bed, and Krut would have to listen to her while she fumed and sulked about men for the next week or two. It wasn’t that she expected or even wanted anything more from her encounters than she got, it was the disrespect that rankled, an insult to her that angered Krut as much it wounded her. Never mind the horror stories she forced upon him afterwards regarding their performance in bed. If she tried to tell him just a single story more…

He was distracted from his brooding by a garish pair of drinkers scampering noisily through the door, giggling behind silken handkerchief and fan respectively. By their dress Krut would have guessed them to be nobles from the very centre of the Heartland. They wore the ludicrous silks and velvets that were considered fashionable in the larger cities of central Heartland, but they were completely out of place for their location. The first was male, a sandy-haired and wiry youth dressed all in black, sporting a long coat with ridiculously ruffled cuffs, a lacy shirt with flowing collar, pantaloons, and heavy riding boots all of sable. In his hand was a tricorne hat, also black, and at his hip was a slender rapier.

The woman clinging onto his arm was also dressed in black, wearing the long, bloated dress that was common to those of the noble caste in the Heartland. It slipped from her shoulders and hugged her slender, athletic build. Her hair was dark and piled up about a powdered and pretty face, dominated by a not unattractive yet pointed nose and large eyes. In gloved hands she carried a small and dainty purse, also black, and decorated with ebony stones of some kind.