Sword of Stars

Chapter Eight. The Sword and a Head.

Dezolzen sat in a small booth in the corner of the dank and dim tavern. He was in a position so he could see everyone in the room at once and could take in all the interactions of the occupants. Several men were puffing on their pipes and a few women were smoking cigarettes in the usual long holders of varying lengths, as was the current trend.

He sipped on the honeyed whisky in front of him and he grimaced in disgust. King Ansin loved the stuff and so had ordered that all whisky makers put honey in their blends. It was either that, wine or beer. Dezolzen hated beer more than honeyed whisky. The bitter alcohol was the drink of brutes and brainless thugs and Dezolzen wasn’t about to lower himself to those ideals. He told himself he would stick with wine next time no matter how feminine it seemed. Hoping that honeyed whisky would get better defiantly wasn’t working out.

Laughter and the clinking of cutlery filled the tavern accompanied by the sound of musicians playing on the small stage in the opposite corner of the room. One young lad was playing the guitar and singing at the same time while another was banging on all kinds of percussion to give the guitarist the correct timing. The ballad they sang was about a mighty hero who used the power of the stars to smite his enemies into oblivion and freeing the land of evil. The people who were listening laughed at the part where the hero humiliates the tyrant king in front of his people. They roared with mirth when the hero strips the king of all clothes and smacks his bare ass with the flat of his sword while bent over his knee.

Dezolzen managed a smirk but stuck his tongue out after another sip of the disgusting whisky. He thought that perhaps he should smuggle in some good aged blends from Andrill or Acasia. He could turn a good profit doing that he was sure as many other shared his distaste for the king’s change.

His eyes narrowed as a well-dressed man walking into the tavern. He had lavish leather armour over fine silk garments. Dezolzen recognised him as the king’s personal messenger. The curved Feldoran short sword at his hip was polished to perfection. The man took off his cap revealing a bald head and looked around the room. Dezolzen had a fair idea of who he was looking for. A serving woman approached him and he leaned in as he spoke to her. The woman nodded and pointed towards Dezolzen. The messenger’s eyes followed her finger and hesitated before nodding his thanks to the woman.

“Stars…” Dezolzen muttered. He tried to lower his dark hood further hoping the man would suddenly lose sight of him. He also checked his blades were in place up his sleeves and down his knee high boots. He had bandolier of throwing knives around his torso tipped with poison in case he failed to make a killing throw, which wasn’t often, but just in case. He slipped a gloved hand in and made sure they were loose.

The man stopped beside the table. “You are The Blade, are you not?”

Dezolzen looked up at the man. The messenger flinched at the sight of his piercing crimson eyes from under the hood. “Who’s asking?” He said in a silky smooth voice.

“May I?” The man said gesturing to the seat opposite Dezolzen.

He nodded and the man sat down quickly. He wasted no time in explaining why he was looking for Dezolzen. “King Ansin requests your services once again.” He said. His dark eyes tried their best to stay on Dezolzen’s as he paused to see if he would interrupt. The messenger began to perspire from the heat of the crowded tavern and the pressure of talking to The Blade himself.

Dezolzen took a sip of his whisky as he pondered. The last time the king employed me it had essentially started the war. Now I suppose he wants me to end it… “He does, does he?” He asked rhetorically. “How much is he offering this time?” As much as he loved killing, he thought he may love gold more. It was a greed that had always been present ever since he was a kid. He didn’t like to share. The Blade shares nothing.