Stories of Calik – Shawsworth Part Three

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Stories of Calik are Tales of a wild land filled with bandits, mercenaries, whores, rapists, assassins, murderers, brigands, outlaws, crooks and cannibals.

Other Stories of Calik in this Series:
Lata the Lawless
Stories of Calik – Shawsworth Part One
Stories of Calik – Shawsworth Part Two

At that moment many things went through the head of Lata. He had not noticed this particular barman during his maiden visit to the tavern. Had he been off duty, shagging some dishevelled whore or simply out of town?

Unlike the other wretches who appeared to live and thrive on continually getting pissed, this one was different or simply ignorant about whom he was dealing with.

He had let the Vargs take the taverns' whisky with nothing more than a shrug but now had transformed into this homicidal maniac intent on destroying him.

Many had tried to kill him, it was a constant threat that he had learned to deal with. Bounty hunters, would-be heroes, self-righteous lawmakers, he had seen it all before many times over. They had all died and some had been consumed.

Even while sleeping, Lata would wake at the slightest noise or movement and yet was able to drift off again in moments. It was a skill he had attained unconsciously and knowingly used it to his advantage.

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This big noisy oaf had given him adequate warning but who was he, and what was the motivation?

The other small detail Lata couldn't fail to notice is that a huge double-edged battle-axe that was dangerously arcing down toward him at speed.

The weapon came down hard on the bed cleaving it in half, burying the blade and sending splinters of wood in all directions.

Lata moved fast as lightning and was already on the far side of the now wrecked piece of wood, a black sharpened throwing knife in each hand and a wicked smile on his lips.

‘’Who are you barman’’, he growled at the struggling axeman now trying to free his blade from the base of the former bed.

‘’You had better answer quickly if you want to live’.

Peridor struggled with the axe; it was embedded firmly into the unyielding bed base. Thoughts too were going through the big man’s head as he tugged on the stuck weapon.

He had been a fool to take this commission. 100 Gold pieces to kill Lata the Lawless was the promise given by Barrage, leader of the Vargs.

Barrage was a huge bull of a man, but he was not stupid. If he could get other Vargs to do the dirty work then that was preferable.

It was true that the Vargs they had taken the whisky, slain the tavern owner and he had been the one volunteering to lay in wait for the assassin's return.

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Surely it was not such a difficult task, he was just one scrawny man after all. The Vargs would show him respect when he returned with this Lata's head.

The meeting in the bar had given Peridor a chance to size up his prey. Average size, wiry and housing a bad attitude. He would soon put an end to the assassin’s life like he had so many times before.

This one was quick, more so than he had ever witnessed. The weapon had missed, not due to lack of accuracy but events beyond his control.

The axe came free and he could hear some barely legible words from the other trying to pierce his battle rage. This was not a time to talk, and he would not miss a second time.

The trouble with stupid axemen thought Lata is they always have to make that impression. The bigger they are the slower and more dumb-witted.

‘Why do they take those huge exaggerated swings', he thought launching one dagger between the barman’s eyes and another at the jugular in quick succession.

There was never going to be any response to the silent question as both weapons thudded home with deadly precision.

‘Who are you barman', screeched Lata to the dying man as he slumped to the ground, blood pumping from the wound in his neck.

Lifeless eyes stared back and he cursed openly.

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‘Free bar’, shouted Lata to the dishevelled crowd of jittery pissheads as he descended the stairs of the tavern. They just stood there, eyes transfixed on the assassin in terrified confusion.

‘Even these set of delinquents heard the commotion on the second floor’, thought Lata as he strode across the tavern and exited via the front swinging doors leaving the bewildered congregation behind.

The woman walked through the town with hesitance. She had never been to Shawsworth alone, always having the strength of her man, Tanor to rely on.

The tavern was one place to avoid, and she often berated the ranger for visiting that ‘horrible place’.

She needed to walk past it and desperately tried to keep to the shadows of the buildings while approaching. The swinging doors sprung to life and a shadowy figure entered the dirt-encrusted street.

Original Fiction (c) Slobberchops, July 2019.

To be continued...