The Stoneweaver

Chapter 10: Lies

Their march back to the Cavern was uneventful. When they came to the underground river, this time Skarn insisted on swimming without the rope. "I'll know when to surface," he said, and with his Talent back in his command, he could sense the opening easily. Though he was tired, he swam easier without the dimsian sheathes. His new foot didn't seem to add any extra weight.

Not to his body, anyway. But it continued to nip at the back of his mind. It wanted more of him. Skarn kept it at bay with continual effort.

Hours later, with many stops on the way for Falf and Skarn, they were back in the Cavern. It was a rush of activity, a shock to Skarn after the darkness of the tunnels. Most people cleared a way for Dom and Va. The bodyguards were known. A few people shot glances their way, eyeing the bloody pair of Skarn and Falf.

They were making their way through the center of the Cavern, where most of the trading and hawking was done, when a voice called out above the din of the crowd.

"Hey, Falf! Falf, you old whoreson!"

A large fat man was edging through the crowd. He wore a leather apron but not much else. Sweat poured down his ruddy cheeks.

"Oh. Hi, Burlan," said Falf.

"Where's my new bellows?" snarled Burlan.

"I'm kind of busy right now," said Falf, inclining his head to Dom and Va. Burlan ignored the two bodyguards.

"I want what I paid for," he snarled. "You said it would come three days ago. Where is it?"

Burlan was clutching a blacksmith's heavy hammer. He thumped it against his meaty palm. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

"It's late, I know," said Falf. "But if you've got a problem, take it up with Broca. It comes when it comes."

Burlan advanced on Falf. "I paid already," he growled. "Looks like you need a reminder."

Burlan smacked his hammer against Falf's nose. Falf hissed in pain and stumbled backwards, cursing loudly as blood leaked from his nostrils.

Like an owl silently pouncing on its prey, Dom glided behind the blacksmith and seized him around the neck. The blacksmith grunted and swung backwards with his hammer. It smacked against Dom's thigh, but the bodyguard didn't grunt or even flinch.

Burlan choked, his arms flailing. Dom lifted the enormous man off the ground and Burlan kicked out his legs. His eyes rolled back into his skull and he went limp. Dom let go; the blacksmith crashed in a heap.

"Dead?" asked Falf nasally, pinching his nose shut to staunch the blood.

"No," said Dom.

"Pity." Falf stood over the unconscious blacksmith, cleared his throat, and spat a wad of bloody phlegm on him.

"Let's go," said Va, leading the way by memory. He didn't need to put out his hands. The throng of people parted for him, like stalks of corn before a scythe.

"Nice friends you've got," said Skarn to Falf as they walked.

"A client."

"You get goods from Broca?"

"This time," grunted Falf nodded.

"Who else do you work for?" Skarn asked.

"Does it matter? Soon we'll both be back on the surface and we can forget about this hellhole."

They walked on. Skarn saw Broca's house in the distance, its pointed roof rising above the other nearby houses. As they got closer, he saw a woman weaving a tapestry on the doorstep of her shack. A young girl, her daughter likely, brought her a steaming mug and got a smile and kiss in return.