Spirit of the King by Bruce Blake Page A

front of me to counter any retribution from him or his companions. His hand falls away from my chest and goes to his belly. He stares at the blood on his fingers, then looks up at me before the writhing crowd absorbs him. I don’t wait to see if he survives or if his friends care what happened. I push my way through the drunken mob and stumble out the door into the cool night, leaving the smell of stale beer and vomit behind. The whore still leans against the railing cleaning her nails; her skirt is back in place, covering her ass. No men are standing around awaiting their turns. I go to her, lean against the railing beside her, facing the other direction to avoid showing my back to the door.
    “If’n you wants a turn, you gotta pay,” she says without looking away from her fingers.
    “I don’t want a turn.”
    At the sound of my voice, she turns her head and appraises me.
    “Half price for the ladies,” she says and smiles.
    All of her front teeth are gone and I wonder if it happened in a brawl or if she removed them herself to offer special services for her clients. This close, I can tell she’s seen no more than sixteen years.
    “Not interested. I’m here to find a man.”
    Her smile disappears. “If’n you undercuts me, I’ll slice you.”
    She bounces the knife she used to clean her nails in her hand, a lazy threat. Now it’s my turn to smile.
    “Not just any man, a man named Khirro.”
    She snorts a laugh through her nose. “Ain’t no heroes in Poltghasa, darlin’.”
    “Not ‘hero’, ‘Khirro’, with a k.”
    “Ain’t none of them here, neither.” She turns and leans with her back against the rail, her shoulder brushing mine. “If you ask nice, I might consider givin’ you more of a discount. Maybe even a freebie.” She shows her gap teeth again.
    Memories of nights spent with my nose buried in perfumed hair come to me, bringing with them sadness and anger. The man called Khirro is responsible for taking it from me. Nothing matters but finding him.
    “Thanks anyway,” I say and move toward the steps. “I’ll be in town. If you hear of a man called Khirro, find me.”
    I feel her eyes on me as I stride down the steps and consider turning back to tell her that life doesn’t have to be this way, but I don’t. We all have to choose our own lives, for better or for worse.
    “Come back and see me anytime. I’m right here every night.”
    My boot has just touched the dirt at the bottom of the steps when I hear the clamor of people bursting out of the public house, the wooden door slamming against the wall.
    “That’s the one, there,” a voice yells, words slurred by drink. “That’s the one what knifed Creeg.”
    I turn slowly, without bothering to pull my steel yet. There are five of them leaning drunkenly on one another. One of them points at me, his face twisted into a scowl made humorous by the amount of ale he’s consumed. I can’t help but laugh at him, and my laughter serves to anger them further.
    “Your man deserved what he got,” I say knowing my voice will give away the secret I hoped to hide with my cloak. If they know they’ve been slighted by a woman, perhaps it will insight them more.
    I can only hope.
    The first one stumbles down the stairs, falling onto my sword as I draw it. I spit on him as he slides to the ground, showing his friends I’m disappointed by the ease with which he gave up his life.
    Two more come at me, blades bared, and in the wan light of the lanterns hanging on the patio, I see the rust of misuse on their swords. One lunges at me. I step aside and the hilt of my sword shatters his jaw. The woman leaning on the railing hoots and claps despite the man who’s taken up position behind her. I determine that when I’m finished with these ones, I’ll kill him, too.
    The second man takes his time, stalking me like he wants me to think he knows what he’s doing. Another man has come down the stairs behind him, but the fifth is gone, disappeared