Greetings, dear readers, fans and fellow writers! Welcome to my first sortie into the world of fanfiction. I do hope that my meager scribblings entertain you. If you read this humble offering and you find yourself enjoying the story, please leave a review. I look forward to constructive criticism from fellow writers. Please, if something is not to your liking, do not simply tell me that it sucks - kindly present your case. Otherwise, how else can I improve?
Disclaimer: I own only the original characters and locations that appear within this work of fiction. The original characters and locations are all property of DreamWorks or Cressida Cowell (Franchise and Book materials respectively). This is an effort purely done for personal enjoyment.
Now, on to the story!
StratX8
iIi
Stormwrack Island, as the name would imply, experienced storms of frightening intensity with an unusual regularity. This was made even more remarkable by the fact that it happened to sit in the extreme northeastern corner of the Meridian of Misery, a region of the world known for it's inimical nature to both man and beast. One would assume that being the proverbial yaks-eye for enormous storm fronts three quarters of the year would render the heavily-forested isle inhospitable to the encroachment of civilization. But, as fate would have it, civilization did plant its seed on those wind torn and rain soaked shores.
Port Tempest, perhaps the greatest of the free settlements in the Meridian of Misery, sat perched like a stubborn barnacle on Stormwrack Island's southern tip. It occupied a peninsula where three natural harbors had formed, as if Odin himself had reached down from Asgard with a massive spoon and scooped them out of the sea's bedrock at the creation of Midgard. There, the first docks, streets, and huts had been raised two hundred years ago by a retired sea reaver, one Varic the Navigator, and his loyal crew.
In the present day, it sprawled over the peninsula and occupied all three of the natural harbors. It's population had swelled from a merely a dozen hardy souls to nearly five thousand, and each year more people came from all over the Meridian. They came and were welcomed regardless of previous tribal fealty, clan lineage or past deeds.
The Harbormaster, the elected leader of the Port, had decreed that no man, woman, or child would be turned away if they had the heart and the will to make something of themselves. And, so long as they respected the Port's laws, of course.
Port Tempest flourished as it grew, earning the attention of merchants looking for a place to establish new markets and to purchase new goods. A bustling ship-building industry also sprang up, furnishing those who paid the right amount of coin with expertly crafted ships of all sizes.
Taverns, inns, common houses, and tenements sprung up in the Gold Quarter to serve the crowds of sailors, laborers, and merchantmen that ebbed and flowed with the tides and the seasons of the year.
The Tipsy Scauldron was just one such establishment. It could be found at the elbow of Seamist Street, just before the cobbled lane swung west and led to the gates of the Tide Quarter and the shipwright's drydocks and slipways beyond in the West Harbor.
The Scauldron, as the locals and regulars simply called the tavern, was not the biggest or the most ostentatiously appointed establishment in the Gold Quarter. There were certainly others who could more readily vouch for that title. But, this tavern was owned and operated by a former sailor, and that was oftentimes the provenance that got people to make their decision.
Ardyn Eldstrom, who had once served aboard a pirate ship that had gone by the moniker the Sea Hag, had seen fifty winters. He had a receding hairline and the hair he had left was grey and no longer the lustrous black it had been in years past. He was short and squat with a frame that had once been heavily muscled and now was running to fat. His joints bothered him now, more so now that he had put on weight, and especially so during the winter months. The local healer gave him a tea that eased the pain. Ardyn preferred to dull his growing discomfort with generous mugs of mead, instead, which no doubt only exasperated the weight problem.
Ardyn didn't care. Life was good at the Scauldron so long as business was brisk, the customers had gold to spend, and he had product to sell. He watched from behind the broad bar counter of the common room as his patrons for the night gathered and sat on benches around the dozen or so tables. They were a motley lot, a mixture of visiting sailors and locals, who spoke loudly in rough voices. Some called for ale and some for mead, raising mugs or clattering steins on the tables as was each their particular habit. A pleasant cacophony reigned in the common room. To some it must seem like barely contained chaos. To Ardyn it sounded like gold falling into his coffer. The sweet music of profits to his ears.
Ardyn had a staff of three serving teenage girls, including his adopted daughter, Signy. She bustled about with a platter of mugs filled to the brim, smiling and laughing and exchanging jokes with the patrons. Those who got too fresh with her felt the bite of her sharp tongue, for she was no wallflower, was Signy. She was pretty and young and well-built, which often drew the wrong kind of attention in a sailor's drinking hole. Many of the Scauldron's patrons had not seen a pretty girl, let alone a woman, for weeks if not months on end. It was simply a natural consequence of being safe on land, a drink in hand and gold in pocket, to make a lewd remark or to cop a feel.
Ardyn had no concerns, though. He stood behind his counter and wiped mugs with a much used dishrag and looked on with watchful eyes. Signy was serving a table of hard-bitten men who couldn't keep their eyes off her chest as the neckline of her blouse billowed outward. He had seen Signy break the fingers of a man twice her size easily.
When that man's friends had taken exception to this turn of events, Harrow, the tavern's sometime bouncer, had thrashed them soundly, and threw them out the front door and onto the street.
Ardyn frowned. He hadn't seen Harrow in a fortnight. That fact alone was not too strange, as the young man worked first as a bounty hunter for hire, and as the Scauldron's bouncer second.
But, as if the reaver-turned-barkeeper's thoughts had called him from across the aether, at that very moment, Harrow walked in through the front door.
Harrow Gudmunson was his proper name, though local lore held that he had others. A young man of nearly twenty winters, of middling height and wiry build, he was. He had a shock of wavy midnight black hair often in need of a comb or a cut. His face was not unhandsome, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. However, an angry red scar marred his rugged good looks, creasing his face from the middle of his forehead down across his right eye to just under his right ear. The blow that had inflicted the wound had also ruined the eye, necessitating its removal. A cloudy glass false-eye had been blown as a replacement. It gave him a fearsome countenance when he glared at folk. His good eye was an unusual storm-grey.
Harrow wore studded leather armor under a cape of scarlet red. At his waist, a wide belt of leather and coiled iron chain. He wore heavy leather boots on his feet and reinforced bracers on his forearms.
The bounty hunter stopped and surveyed the common room. None of the patrons who met his one-eyed gaze held it. They knew that to do so was to invite violence. Harrow had a reputation in Port Tempest.
Armor creaking as he moved, Harrow made his way through the common room to the bar where Ardyn had finished cleaning the mugs and now leaned comfortably, with his hands braced on the timeworn wood of the counter. The bounty hunter kicked a stool away from where it had been sitting up against the front of the bar and sat down.
Ardyn nodded to him. "Harrow."
"Ardyn." the bounty hunter replied, returning the little nod of acknowledgement. "Looks like you have a full house tonight. All quiet?"
"Aye, quiet enough." Ardyn said, shifting his weight. "Just the usual lot coming in out of the cold and wet for a drink and some company. No one getting out of line as of yet."
Harrow smirked and relaxed in his seat. "Good. I'm not in the mood to bust some heads, tonight."
Ardyn raised a thick salt and pepper brow. "Oh? Usually as bloody-minded as a berserker, you are, lad. Something wrong?"
Harrow gave a slight shake of his head. He rubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead, like he was trying to knead away the start to a headache. "No. Just tired. And thirsty."
"Do you want the usual?"
"If you have it." Harrow replied. "Please."
Ardyn turned and reached up to the topmost shelf of the four shelves lining the back wall of the bar area and pulled down a dark glass bottle with a simple wooden cork. The label was faded but had the insignia of a ship's wheel and a lightning bolt emblazoned upon it.
Ardyn reached under the bar and set a small glass upon the countertop. He pulled the cork from the bottle with practiced ease and poured. A fragrant, deep red liquid spilled into the glass. Ardyn stoppered the bottle again and carefully slid the full glass the short distance between the two men.
Harrow took the glass in his left hand and raised it to his nose. He took a deep waft of the heady perfume of the liquid and sighed in appreciation, before setting the glass to his thin lips and slowly sipping the contents. Ardyn watched the young man appreciate the expensive drink and cracked a smile. "Y'know, you are the only one who appreciates the good stuff."
"Just as well." Harrow said dryly, taking another slow sip with obvious relish. "I'd hate to kill someone just to cut down the competition for the Harbormaster's Private Reserve."
"No, you wouldn't." Ardyn teased. "You kill as easy as breathing, lad."
Harrow shrugged, leather armor creaking in protest. "That is true. But, it's not like there are many people on this island who would prefer wine to mead or ale."
"Aye, right you are." Ardyn said, putting a hand on the bottle beside him. "Care for another round before I set the bottle back?"
Harrow drained his glass and set it back on the counter before the older man in silent reply. Ardyn chuckled and poured the wine, slid it back over the bar. This time Harrow left it in front of him and simply stared down into its ruddy depths.
"So, how'd the last job go?" Ardyn inquired after a moment. "Did you get the filthy wretch you were hunting? Uh, what was his name? Mugwort? Mugrim?"
"Mugryd." Harrow supplied with a mirthless smirk. "Mugryd Harsson. And yes, I got him. Found him in a hidey-hole out by Somberheim, on the Isle of Dirge. Had a lady friend who lived in the village, she'd come and bring him food, drink, medicine… you know, the essentials." He chuckled darkly as he recalled the events leading up to the end of his hunt. "All I had to do was follow the poor lass when she set out one night, and she showed me right to him."
"Neat bit of bounty hunting, that."
Harrow shrugged, frowned. "Sometimes it's too easy."
Ardyn turned and carefully placed the bottle of wine back up on the top shelf. "Did he try and beg you off?"
Harrow snorted derisively. "They always do. Offered me gold, swore undying fealty to me personally, all the usual yak-shit that don't count for anything between hunter and mark."
"Aye, they tend to get desperate and rambly when they stare the end in the face." Ardyn opined. "I take it you followed your usual style?"
"Yep." Harrow replied offhandedly, lifting the glass to his lips again. He drank off the wine in one go and licked his lips before setting the glass down again. "Dead after all is so much easier to travel with than alive." He curled his lip and added, "Get tired of the smell, though."
Ardyn laughed.
"Did I miss anything while I was gone?" Harrow asked, sliding the now empty glass back and forth across the counter from one hand to the other. He tracked the glass with his good eye as he did. "Did anyone come offering a job?"
Ardyn frowned and plucked the glass from between the bounty hunter's hands in mid-slid. "You're going to break it if you keep that up, lad."
Frowning, Harrow's one eye flicked up to catch the old barkeeper's two. "Ardyn, you didn't answer the question."
"Well, you can't fault me." Ardyn retorted peevishly, sliding his gaze away. "I don't have so many fine glasses that I can let you play with them like a cat with a mouse!"
Harrow's gaze hardened, his brow furrowing. "Ardyn…"
"Alright!" the barkeep cried, raising both hands in a gesture of appeasement. "Ease up, lad, you don't need to give me the old gimlet gaze! Grace of Asgard!"
"I don't like it when people try and keep things from me, Ardyn." Harrow chastised, his voice gone deadly soft. "You know that. Don't make me ask again."
"Fine." Ardyn relented, running a gnarled hand through thinning hair in his agitation. He looked around the common room of the Scauldron and then leaned in closer to the bounty hunter. When he spoke, he spoke just loud enough to be heard over the jolly ruckus of the patrons.
"A dangerous looking sort of fellow showed up three nights ago. Walked in through the front door and started asking around for the bounty hunter known as Hel's Hound."
"Dangerous, you say?" Harrow remarked in a low voice. "That covers a lot of ground. Can you be a bit more descriptive?"
"Aye, I can." Ardyn replied with a nod. "He wore a cuirass of cured dragonhide. Had the swagger of a big shot, he did. Like he owned the whole of Midgard! I didn't place him at the time, but after the second time he showed up, I knew he was one of those crazy Dragon hunter types."
Harrow sat back on his stool, his expression shifting from annoyed to thoughtful. Dragon hunters were no strangers in the streets of Port Tempest. The Harbormaster had worked out a deal with the hunters when they had first arrived at Stormwrack Island. The Port would render its services to the Dragon hunters, and the hunters would refrain from hunting around Stormwrack or within the Port's boundaries.
That deal had remained in effect for three years running, to the mutual benefit of both parties involved. All in all, a rather satisfactory arrangement.
But in that time the Dragon hunters had not once sought the services of a bounty hunter. Which was perfectly fine, since most bounty hunters would rather take down human marks rather than draconic ones. It tended to ensure a much longer life expectancy in an already very dangerous trade. It was thought that the Dragon hunters were skilled enough or well enough equipped to handle their own problems.
Now, though, Harrow wondered.
"You said he came here the last three nights?" Harrow asked.
"Aye, just after the midnight hour. When the common room was mostly empty."
"Did he come alone?"
"From what I could tell, aye." Ardyn replied thoughtfully. "But he could have just as easily had some friends of his waiting outside. I didn't think to send one of the girls to check."
"It's probably better you didn't." Harrow told him. He rubbed at his forehead again. His drink had eased the onset of his headache, but it was still slowly building. He had gone too many days on too little sleep, and it was beginning to catch up with him. "It may have made them suspicious. They don't know we're working together."
"Smart lad." Ardyn said.
Harrow smiled, a tad sardonically. "Have to be, or you don't last long in this trade."
"True enough." the barkeep said. He paused with his gaze over Harrow's shoulder, then flicked his gaze back at his face. "Don't look now, but I think the same fellow just stepped through the door."
"The Dragon Hunter?" Harrow asked. He had to force himself to maintain a relaxed posture. He felt his palms itch with the prickling sensation that often presaged a fight. Like his hands longed for the feel of a weapon. He clenched his fists on the bar to dispel the feeling. "Are you sure?"
"Aye, sure as sure, lad." Ardyn replied, his voice low. "He's early tonight. Just keep sitting there. He's coming this way."
Harrow said nothing more as a burly middle-aged man dressed exactly as Ardyn had described walked up on his left. The Dragon Hunter cleared his throat. "Is this seat taken?"
"Not at all." Ardyn told him with a genial smile. "Take a load off, friend! Welcome back to the Tipsy Scauldron. What can I do for you this fine evening?"
The Dragon Hunter sat down heavily upon the stool next to Harrow. "I thank you again for your hospitality, barkeep. I'll have an ale, if you please."
"Certainly, friend." Ardyn grabbed a mug from under the bar and stepped down the length of the counter to where the casks of ale were set for broaching. While he was gone, the Dragon Hunter gave Harrow a sidelong glance. Harrow could feel the other man sizing him up, comparing him to some mental checklist.
"I have a question to ask." the Dragon Hunter asked at length. He spoke just loud enough for his words to carry to Harrow. "If you don't mind."
"I do mind, actually." Harrow replied tersely. "But, just the same, I may have an answer."
"I'm looking for a bounty hunter who people in this gods-forsaken town call Hel's Hound. I was told he frequents this particular establishment from time to time."
"You sound rather sure on that matter." Harrow murmured softly. "I thought you were going to ask a question? Or are you just going about wasting my time?"
Unfazed, the Dragon Hunter turned in his seat so that he faced Harrow's profile. He rested one meaty arm on the bar as he regarded the young man carefully. "Are you the one they call Hel's Hound?"
"Who wants to know?"
The Dragon Hunter laughed and bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. "I think that is all the answer I need."
Harrow frowned. "Go ahead and say what you must. Because you must have a message to deliver, am I right?"
"I would prefer to deliver my message elsewhere," the Dragon Hunter indicated with a roll of his eyes the crowded common room with its many guests, "away from wanton ears."
"You will forgive me if I refuse."
"You are no fool, I see."
Harrow quirked an eyebrow. "You assumed I was?"
"It is dangerous to assume anything." the Dragon Hunter replied. "Clearly, such an exemplary bounty hunter as you would no doubt trust nothing at face value."
"Of course." Harrow said. "Say what you came to say."
"Tell me, Hel's Hound, have you heard of the Brothers Grimborn?"
"Can't say that I have."
"They are the leaders of the Dragon Hunters." the Dragon Hunter explained proudly. "And they have sent me to contract your services."
Before Harrow could say anything in reply, Ardyn returned with a mug of ale. The Dragon Hunter took a tentative swig and smacked his lips in appreciation. "My compliments to the brewer! This ale surpasses my expectations."
Ardyn inclined his head, his smile brittle. "You're too kind."
The Dragon Hunter decided to empty the mug in one long, continuous pull. Ardyn and Harrow exchanged a look while the Dragon Hunter was occupied with his refreshment. The barkeep raised an eyebrow by way of a question. Everything alright?
In reply, Harrow flicked his gaze down the bar where a new batch of patrons, sailors fresh on shore liberty, had just bellied up to the counter. Go. I'll handle this.
"Ah!" the Dragon Hunter slammed his mug on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked around for the barkeep.
"You had mentioned a contract?" Harrow prompted him.
"Yes. My employers have been having some difficulties lately with their business."
"Is the market for enslaved dragons drying up already?"
"Nothing as simple, or so unlikely." the Dragon Hunter said with a frown. "No, the problem is with dragon riders. One in particular, actually."
"Dragon riders?" Harrow echoed, dubious.
"Yes. But as I said, you need only worry about one."
"Their leader?"
"How perceptive of you." the Dragon Hunter remarked, almost sardonically. He kept his tone just this side of what could be considered respectful. It grated on Harrow's nerves, this insincere doublespeak. "The dragon riders would be much easier to deal with if they had less capable leadership. That is the line of reasoning my employers follow."
"You are going to give me a name, of course."
"Around the Archipelago, his title is known as the Dragon Conqueror." the Dragon Hunter said, "Perhaps you have heard of him?"
Harrow's expression darkened. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third? You mean the Heir to the Chiefdom of Berk?"
"That's the one." the Dragon Hunter replied. "My employers are offering a considerable bounty. To the tune of one thousand gold pieces, to be exact."
"With that kind of bounty every sellsword, pirate and mercenary in the Archipelago will be after him." Harrow observed shrewdly.
"That would indeed be the case, but my employers are confident that your skills will win out in the end. No one else has earned such a fearsome reputation so young, after all." the Dragon hunter attempted a friendly smile. It came off as patronizing to Harrow's practiced eye. "So, what say you?"
"While I appreciate the unlooked for vote of confidence, I'm afraid I will not be taking the job."
There was a brief moment of stunned silence. Then Dragon Hunter recovered and raised one bushy eyebrow. His tone was now well and truly mocking, all attempts at diplomacy fallen by the wayside. "Oh, really? Is the great and terrible Hel's Hound afraid? Does the great and terrible Hel's Hound doubt his abilities? This is not what I expected. Perhaps tales of your capabilities were exagger-"
"Watch your tongue, before I snatch it right out of your Thor-blasted head." Harrow's right hand shot across the intervening distance and seized a hold of the other man's neck. He favored the Dragon Hunter with a predatory grin as he sputtered and gasped. His tone was matter of fact and dispassionate when he spoke.
"Fear, nor inability, has anything to do with my decision, far from it. Only a fool would dare to lay a hand on a man who has won the lasting loyalty of fire breathing monsters. Only the king of fools would dare trifle with said man when he has won the fealty of the deadliest of all dragons, the offspring of death and lightning itself. Let's not forget that he is also the only son and heir of Stoick the Vast."
The Dragon Hunter's face colored with rage and indignation, his hands scrabbled at the vise-like grip on his throat. Harrow may have been shorter by a head and perhaps lighter by fifty pounds, but in his anger his grasp was like iron, and despite the bigger man's desperate efforts his hand would not budge. He ignored the deep scratches the other man's fingernails left behind on his fingers.
"I like to think that I am a prudent man, young as I am. Prudence suggests that I avoid antagonizing fire breathing monsters and one of the greatest fighting chiefs of our era. I'm sure even a lying snake like yourself and your employers would understand this simple reasoning. Now, I believe our business is concluded. And you, my friend, are going to take a little nap!"
With that, Harrow viciously slammed the Dragon Hunter's head against the bar once, twice, three times.
The bigger man put up little resistance with the lack of oxygen making it to his brain. He was stunned by the first blow and completely unconscious by the second. The third blow was just for catharsis. Harrow let him go, his urge for violence spent.
All discussion ended in an instant as the Dragon Hunter fell nerveless from his seat to land in a heap on the floor before the bar, nose and lips bleeding. The common room was deathly quiet for a few long moments as every eye was riveted on the body, then a moment later, on Harrow.
Ardyn stormed down the other side of the counter. "Loki's sagging balls! What did you do that for, you crazy fool!?"
Harrow waved him off dismissively. "Relax. He's not dead."
"Relax!?" Ardyn cried, incredulous. "You're going to have every Dragon Hunter in here after your blood!"
"I'll pay for the damages." Harrow informed him, flippant. "Really, you should calm down. Your face is turning as red as my cloak."
"Da, remember your heart!" Signy chimed in, concern coloring her voice.
Ardyn opened his mouth to say something more, closed it with obvious effort. He breathed deeply, glaring furiously at the bounty hunter who had the gall to sit at his bar and drink his private stock of wine as if nothing had happened. Sometimes he questioned the wisdom of associating with the impulsive young hellion.
A thunderhead on her brow, Signy marched over to where Harrow sat and regarded his handiwork. She slapped his shoulder roughly. "Harrow Gudmunson! You are going to get this ruffian out of my father's common room this instant!"
The crowd of patrons all sucked in a breath of dread. No one laid a hand on the Hel's Hound and didn't have that hand broken. The bounty hunter's violent tendencies were well known by these people.
To the astonishment and relief of all, however, Harrow merely regarded Signy with a cool gaze. His half-lidded look of long-sufferance was like an old dog dealing with a spritely pup gnawing at its ear. "As you wish, Miss Eldstrom."
The bounty hunter stood up from his seat at the bar and turned to face the common room. He pointed out two big sailors who sat at the closest table. "You and you, pick this wretch up and heave him out into the street. Now, if you please."
The two sailors just about knocked over their bench as they scurried to carry out his bidding. One took the Dragon Hunter's hands and the other took his ankles and between them they heaved his bulk off the floor. They shuffled through the front door of the Scauldron and out into the cold, rainy night.
Harrow nodded his satisfaction. Then he turned his gaze over the crowd who still sat in shocked silence. "What are you looking at!?"
Suddenly, everyone found something far more interesting to look at in the bottom of their mugs. Inane conversations were hastily struck up between neighbors. Anything to avoid the wrath of the Hel's Hound.
Signy huffed and folded her arms under her bust. "That poor fool is going to catch his death of cold out there in the rain!"
Harrow sat back down on the stool he had vacated a moment ago. "So what? He didn't catch his death in here, so I'd consider him lucky. What do you want me to do, Signy? Send him to a flophouse?"
"Yes!"
Harrow sighed wearily. "Why do you care?"
"I didn't see him do anything to do you, and you still beat him senseless!" Signy replied, outraged. "Honestly, what is wrong with you?!"
"Really, it's none of your business, Signy. Let it go."
"Don't be an ass, Harrow!" Signy growled, poking the bounty hunter hard in the shoulder. "Why don't you act like a decent human being for once in your life?"
Ardyn cleared his throat. "Trouble with the Dragon Hunters, well, it'd be bad for business."
Harrow laughed darkly. "The gods forbid!"
Signy swatted at him again. "Harrow!"
"Fine!" the bounty hunter got up again and started for the front door. At that moment, the two sailors whom he had dispatched with the unconscious Dragon Hunter returned soaked to the bone. They froze in their tracks when they saw Harrow striding towards them.
"There you two are. Back so soon?"
"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Gudmunson, sir." said one of the sailors, clasping his hands before him. "We done what you asked of us."
His compatriot wagged his head frantically up and down. "Yeah! Left that poor fella sittin' up against the wall, under the eaves of another tavern up Seamist."
"Good. Now, you can go back out there and take that wretch to the closest flophouse." Harrow told them.
"Mr Gudmunson, sir, we just got back in!" the first sailor whined. "And soaked to the bone, we are!"
"Aye, would be mighty cruel to send us back out, it would." the second opined. "Freeze us solid as a block of ice, I tells ya!"
Annoyed, Harrow opened his mouth to threaten them but felt the keen gaze of Signy at his back, watching to see what he would do. He knew that if he wanted peace from Signy's endless moral wheedling he would have to find another way. It was simply amazing the lengths he went to for that silly girl.
Luckily, greed could also serve just as readily as force. He reached into the pouch at his belt and produced two gold coins. He held them between the fingers of his right hand and brought them up into the firelight so that they shone.
"Gentlemen, I'd be willing to pay you to do this task for me. A gold coin for each of you upon setting out, and another upon returning. Does that sound fair to you?"
A more complete reversal of attitudes could not be seen. Both men went from petulant resentment to eager helpfulness in the space of a heart beat. A single gold coin was more money than either man would ever see in a whole season of serving on a ship.
"Harrow Gudmunson is a wise, generous soul! That's what I've always said, sir!" the first gushed, his beady eyes shining with a covetous light.
The other sailor snickered and reached out a grubby hand. "Aye, or so we shall once we pocket yon gold!"
Unimpressed, Harrow flipped them the coins. "Step to it, gentlemen."
The two sailors left again in much higher spirits, apparently now oblivious to the wet and cold. Harrow went and sat back down at the bar. Signy was giving him the fisheye and Ardyn had a crooked grin on his face.
"What, you didn't expect me to go out there, did you?" he asked, casting a sidelong glance at Signy.
"Of course not." she bit out archly. "But then I know that Harrow Gudmunson would never lift his own hand to help anyone!"
She stormed off to help out her two fellow barmaids. Harrow gazed blankly after her before turning to Ardyn. "What's her problem?"
Ardyn barked a short, sharp laugh and shook his head in bemusement. "Oh, lad, I don't know what to tell you. I think she wants to think better of you, but then you go and disappoint her. She's always trying to find the light in the darkness."
The bounty hunter snorted derisively. "I am what I am."
"Aye, lad, just so." Ardyn agreed, still chuckling to himself. Then his expression turned sober. "But say, what was all that about just now?"
"He offered me a contract."
"Oh. And you brained him because…?"
Harrow winced, rubbed at his forehead with one hand as his headache reached its zenith, like hot metal being jammed into his skull. He hadn't felt it earlier because of the adrenaline.
"All the usual reasons."
"Are you going to make a habit of beating the sense out of anyone who offers you a bum deal, now?"
"Just those who call me a coward."
"Ah."
"Ardyn, I think I'll have another drink."
"Sure thing, lad." Ardyn replied evenly. Harrow watched the older man go about the motions of his job. When the glass of wine sat before him on the counter, smelling like paradise, he heaved a weary breath.
"I… might have overreacted."
"Now you realize it, eh?"
Harrow winced as another twinge stabbed him over his bad eye. "Yeah, I was just thinking that I probably haven't seen the last of the Dragon Hunters."
"Aye, that's a safe bet. But what's done is done, strange waters under the bridge, as they say. What are you going to do now?"
The bounty hunter shrugged, and lifted his glass of wine in a toast to the old barkeep. "What else? I'll get drunk."
iIi
