Chapter Seven
Shaking things Up
The little hunchback limped along the beaten path with Alistair and Page right behind. He kept promising that it was only a little bit further. Alistair and Page could only look to one another and wonder if what he was saying was true. There was a little apprehension walking so closely to where people were shooting. The hunchback promised that there would be no one on the range. Lemmy had yet to figure out how to fully illuminate the range so there could be night time tournaments and such. It was true that they hadn't heard any shots in a while, but one never knows.
"It is just up ahead," the hunchback hurried his limping pace, "It doesn't sound like they have started yet. Most of the fighters must still be drinking," he gave a chuckle that ended in a slew of coughing.
"What do you mean by that?" Page didn't like the sound of that.
The little man smiled, revealing all of his hideous yellow teeth, "Most of the competitors prefer to fight drunk. Lessens the pain and makes for interesting fights… not that I would know…," he shuttered.
"Why not?" Alistair questioned, "Don't you… go watch or something?"
"Oh no!" the hunchback shook his head violently, "I dare not show my grotesque face there. I am lucky that I am even allowed to stay in the camp," he hung his head, "Lemmy keeps me around because he finds me amusing… though the mercenaries make fun of me and I cannot wander the streets until night," he admitted, "but at least I have a safe place to stay and food in my belly," he smiled once more, "I will not complain."
Though still revolting, his smile was somewhat pleasant.
"Ah…," he pointed to a glow in the distance, "That is where you'll find the fighting ring. Just tell the boys at the gate that you're looking to 'shake things up' and give them a silver coin each," he handed them each a coin.
"Oh you don't have too…," Alistair tried to hand the coin back.
"Oh no," he refused, "I have plenty of these…," he opened a coin purse, "Many people around the camp get drunk and drop all sorts of things… I take advantage of this…," he wasn't proud of his scavenging was.
Page took pity on the poor creature, "Don't feel bad. They weren't careful with their things, therefore they won't miss them."
The hunchback's one good eye lit up, "Oh thank you kind mistress," he bowed to her, "I hope that you find the Silver Scarab, but…," he looked away.
"I'm not going to arrest him," Alistair assured him, "I want to talk to him and get back the things he stole. The war is over and people need to know that safer times upon us. People like the Silver Scarab need stop living in the past…," he looked to Page, "and start living in the present…"
"Agreed," Page knew that she too had to stop reveling in the past, "All of us, who fought, need to realize when that we won… even if we don't feel like it…"
There were still some battles that had yet to be decided and others still that haven't been fought. They were ones that were difficult to tackle… ones that took more than courage to face. They had an ugly face, more than the little hunchback that stood before them. It was one that Alistair had avoided… he wasn't sure how to fight. It wasn't really something that could be fought… not the way he knew how too.
"I must go your Majesty," the ugly man bowed to him, "I can't be seen around here… They'll use me as a punching bag," he shuttered once more.
Alistair smiled, "Thanks for showing us the way."
"Thank you," he bowed once more before he had his way down the dark path.
"Not the most pleasant of fellows," Page waited for the hunchback to be out of sight, "but he's honest."
"Yeah," Alistair agreed, "Should we see about this fighting ring?" he looked to Page.
She shrugged her shoulders, "Better than standing in the middle of the dark woods. Besides," she stretched, "I've never been one to miss a good fight."
Alistair could recall some wild nights in the sewers, "Let's hope we're not the ones fighting," he started to head towards the faint glow.
Page smirked, "That's surprising coming from you. Usually you and Ben were the first to get into it."
"And Walter would have to break everyone up," Alistair fondly remembered.
There was an uneasy silence at the mentioning of Walter's name. Maybe it was more like a moment of silence to pay respects to a good friend and great teacher. Either way, it was silence.
What broke that stillness was the sound of men starting to shout and cheer. The fights must have started. Alistair and Page hurried their pace so they wouldn't miss a promising opportunity. The forest began to thin and a wooden structure came into view. Large braziers hung from oak posts and illuminated a wooden fence. Up ahead, they could make out heavy a heavy wooden gate that was guarded by two rough looking men. They looked like true mercenaries and not like the polished and dolled up ones in Lemmy's Oasis. As they drew closer they could hear them talking.
"… told you we should have gone with Xavier Smedley…," the first with a large cleaver sighed, "Mortimer Pain had a dislike to him… that's why he wrote that book about him… nothing but lies…," he clicked his tongue.
"You can understand why I thought it was Carl Tendency," the second one snorted, "I know that I read that he shot a friend while hunting and I could have sworn that the friend died."
"No, no," the first shook his head, "The only person that Mortimer Pain ever wrote about and actually killed someone was Terence Posture. Remember?" he grunted, "Pain was having an affair with Posture's wife. He found out and his wife was found dead."
"But nobody actually knows if Terence Posture killed his wife," the second pointed out.
"He had to of," the first thought, "She was found dead the very day that Posture found out. Pain had already made a run for it. Who else would have killed her?" he questioned snottily.
"I suppose that since you were the only one found in the camp larder the night that all of the Claret went missing that you are the one that drank it all," the second crossed his arms with a smug look on his face.
"I didn't drink those!" the first protested, "I told you that I looking for some bread and cheese to go with the sausages my mum sent me! I knock out by someone and they were the ones that drank the Claret," he huffed.
"Likely story," the second rolled his eyes, "You reeked of it and there was a bottle in your hand. You're lucky that Lemmy didn't call the guards on you or throw you to the Balverines."
"I'm telling you I didn't do it," the first leap at his fellow mercenary.
They started to tussle and roll around in the dirt. They shouted and argued about who was right. Not just about the missing Claret, but about Mortimer Pain and his less than truthful series of books about 'famous killers'. They threw punches and clawed at whatever they could. It was hard to say if they were actually doing any sort of damage to one another.
"Do you think we should stop them?" Alistair looked to Page.
She thought for a moment, "No… they look like they're enjoying themselves. We shouldn't ruin their fun."
The two mercenaries must have notice the two new comers.
"Who goes there!?" they both shot up and asked at the same time.
Both Alistair and Page tried to hold back their laughter.
"Well?" the first took an aggressive step forward, "What do you want? This is a private area for camp Oasis Workers only. All others must leave."
"That means you," the second agreed with his friend.
Alistair motioned to Page that he would take care of it, "Me and my friend here are looking to shake things up," he hinted to the glint of silver in his palm.
That's all it took.
"Of course young sir and madam," they looked greedily at the coin, "The camp can be a little boring for those that are use more excitement…"
"If you know what I mean," one gave Page a wink.
"Don't even," Page gave him a harsh glare.
"Oh… feisty," he seemed to like that.
"Please sirs," Alistair stepped in between the two, "We're just here for some fun…"
The mercenaries looked to one another and then looked to two standing before them.
"Well…," the one mulled over it, "… I don't know," he motioned to his and his partner's hand.
They knew what they wanted. Pulling out the silver coins, they placed them into the out stretched hands.
"Thank you kindly good sir and madam," the first greedily snatched away the coin.
"Right this way," the second pushed opened the heavy oak, "just follow the row of lanterns and to a gate like this one," he instructed.
"You'll certainly find that your night will be shaken up," the first snickered.
"Enjoy…," they gave a hideous smirk.
Page rolled her eyes at theatrics that were being played before them. Alistair only sighed as he walked by them. They were like any other mercenary out there; save for the fact that they didn't attack first and ask questions later. That was appreciated.
Though a little fight would have been nice, Alistair laughed to himself.
"What's so funny?" Page was growing uneasy by the dim surroundings.
"Just a stupid thought," Alistair sensed her apprehension.
A long line of wooden post with delicate paper lanterns showed the way. The path was old and beaten. Off in the shadows, they could make out what looked like to be ruins of wooden buildings. Roofs had fallen into the rooms that they once protected. Doors and shutters hung from their rusted hinges. They creaked and ached in the wind; making it sound as if Hollow Men were moaning and groaning. Shadows danced about in the delicate light of the lanterns. The atmosphere tingled with excitement and feeling of anticipation surged through them.
"Should have let Rook come along," Alistair whispered to Page, "He could have let us know if someone or something was going to jump out at us."
"True," she agreed, "But someone had to look after Mr. Finn while he was so incapacitated."
"True," he couldn't deny that.
Up ahead they could make out a wooden structure that was similar to one they had passed through before. As they approached they could hear the roaring of men being to rise above the wooden gates. There were no guards at these gates and they seemed to be locked.
"Well," Page pushed lightly on the gate, "How do you think we get in?" she looked to Alistair.
He studied the gate for the moment and even tried pushing himself. They were shut tight.
"Not sure…," he stepped back, "… maybe they've already started?" the hoots and hollering of men filled Alistair's ears.
"Hello?" Page started to pound on the door, "Hello!? We would like in! HELLO!?" she continued to pound on the gate.
"Don't think that's doing much good…," Alistair looked to see if there was another way in.
Page wasn't listening as she continued to pound on the door, "Open up you blood thirsty brutes!"
She raised her fist once more and brought it down. Just before her fist made contact with the wooden door, a smaller door within the larger one opened. She tumbled in and disappeared from sight.
"PAGE!" Alistair went straight after her, "You okay?" he came to her side.
"I'm fine," she dusted herself off as she stood up, "Just wasn't expecting it open."
The small door suddenly slammed behind them.
"Wasn't expecting that either," Alistair reached for his sword.
"I have bad feeling about this," Page started to feel for a handle, "Nothing…"
The sound of another door opening came from behind them. A bright light penetrated the gloomy darkness. They looked to one another.
"Should we?" Page smirked.
"Kind of reminds me of Reaver's mansion," he smiled back, "Hopefully we won't be the entertainment this time."
"I don't know… I thought I showed you a good time that night," Page unsheathed her sword.
There was only one way to go and they knew that. They didn't know what would lie beyond the glowing light. Above their heads, they could hear the stomping and hooting of grown men awaiting for the nightly entertainment. The thumping radiated through their bones and made their teeth chatter. It was almost deafening. Taking slow cautious steps, they stepped out of the open gate.
It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the light. They found themselves in a small arena of stone and wood. Men of all shapes and sizes lined the stands. Scarred and bruised. Missing eyes and some even didn't have hands or legs. They cheered as the pair entered the dirt floor arena.
"Hey pretty little lady!" some started to hoot at Page, "Mud wrestling is next week! But we don't mind if it comes early!" they started to laugh.
"Why you!" Page growled as she held up her sword at them.
"Page," Alistair held her back, "We're out numbered twenty to one."
"I think they know that," Page hissed as she watched several men jump from the stands into arena.
They grinned as they approached the pair. They wore nothing but torn pants. Their every muscle rippled; they were rather large men. They cracked their knuckles and twisted their necks until they popped. They were ready for a fight and Alistair and Page were their opponents.
"Come on," one of them pointed to their weapons, "This is a bare handed event only. No weapons allowed."
"What do we do?" Page wasn't going to put down her sword.
He wasn't sure if they should just lay down their weapons or keep them close. His gut told him that he should be on his guard, but his heart said there was nothing to worry about. He didn't sense that the approaching mercenaries wanted to hurt them or even fight. It just seemed to be a show… a test of character. He looked around at the cheering men. They had smiles on their faces; most seemed to have missing teeth. There wasn't a look of greed or anger or really any negativity… they just wanted to have fun.
"Page," he whispered to her, "Put down your sword," he laid his on the ground.
"What!?" she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"Just do it," he quickly flashed his fire spell gauntlet, "If they cause trouble, they'll get burned."
She sighed, "… Alright…," she place her weapon down on the ground along with Alistair's.
"Don't be forgetting those pistols at your belts," one of them pointed out.
Alistair willing tossed his to the side, but Page was having a harder time.
"Come on little girl…," one laughed, "Afraid to fight a fair fight?"
"Fair," this set her off, "There is nothing fair about what you people do! You're nothing more than cowards that prey upon the weak and innocence! You strike from the shadows and spill blood just for fun and small trinkets! You know nothing of fairness!" she went to raise her weapon.
"PAGE!" Alistair, though not surprised by her reaction, took her pistol, "Stand down!" he ordered, "I'll take care of this," he threw her weapon to the side and proceeded to take off his shirt.
"Alistair," she came back to herself, "I'm sorry… I just can't… it's hard to...," she couldn't explain herself.
"It's okay Page… I understand," he released a heavy sigh, "You just watch my back," he approached the men, "I'll tap you in if I get tire," he gave her a wink, "But not before."
She knew that she had to step back from this fight. She was too riled up to think clearly. Being around so many individuals that she rather loathed made her tense and her blood boil. She hated Reaver the most, but mercenaries held a special dark place in her heart.
"Alright then boys," Alistair could see that Page was going to restraint herself, "Let's see what you've got," he held up his fist.
The men smirked to one another, then to Alistair, "Okay then…," they advanced in step.
"Hold on boys!" a booming voice filled the air, "… he's mine…"
Looking up, Alistair met eyes with a man that he had thought he had seen the last of. His right eye was clear and stared straight through anyone that dared to stare. The left had a deep old scar running across it; leaving it dead and milky. His old military coat was a shadow of its former glory; it was more like vest than a coat anymore. It was stained with years of dirt and blood, but the shoulder tassels seemed unusually clean. The heavy leather gauntlets he wore were roughed up and showed signs of their past fisticuffs. On his chest there was a large red bird; the symbol of the mercenaries across Albion. A large silver buckle held up his dark leather pants that too seemed stained and torn. His large boots were caked with mud, but seemed to shine underneath the layer of dirt.
"It's been a long time," he pulled the half smoked cigar from his mouth and shook off the excess ash, "Didn't think I would see you again," he chuckled.
"Nor I you," Alistair smirked up at the looming figure, "Captain Saker."
"Glad to see that you remember," he smirked as he jumped down to the arena floor. The ground trembled as he land, "I'm going to finish what we started so many years ago…"
"Hasn't been that long," Alistair corrected him.
"Maybe so," Saker growled as he stood over the young king, "But you left me with nothing but shame and weakened me in the eyes of my men."
Alistair glared up at him, "You did that to yourself. You shouldn't have been attacking the Dwellers. I had to stop you and I could have killed you."
"You should have," Saker suddenly wrapped his massive arms around Alistair.
"Alistair!" Page made a leap towards them, but a few of the mercenaries managed to take hold of her, "Let me go you brutes!" she struggled to get away.
Alistair's first reaction was to struggle from the large mercenary's grip, but he soon realized that he wasn't having the life squeezed out of him.
With a hearty laugh, Sake set him down, "That's a good lad," he slapped him hard on the back, "It's good to see you again."
With a painful cough, Alistair looked up at him with confusion, "What…?"
"You don't think that I've been holding a grudge all this time. Do you?" Saker chuckled.
"Maybe," Alistair's back still stung.
"Put her down boys. Before the young missy tears you a new one," he ordered his men.
They gently set down Page who instantly pulled away with a sneer.
"Come on then," Saker motioned for them to follow him, "Let's let the boys have their fun while we catch up."
Page wasn't sure if she could trust the disfigured mercenary, "What do you think?"
"As strange as it sounds," Alistair managed to stand up straight once more, "He's a man of his word and made a promise to me a long time ago. He's kept it. We can trust him," he smiled.
