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“No.” Davis said without hesitation. He did not at the moment know how to find the Wizard, but Davis did not think it necessary to mention that little fact. When he did find him, he and the Wizard would hold long palaver about the terms of Davis’s service. Also about how the old fuck had almost gotten him killed again by not telling him of the dangers of the broken sword. Also Davis was no fucking servant to this Gob lord, however rich he may be. He cared nothing for his ambitions or his megrims.
Damir smiled, undeterred.
“Well under normal circumstances I would offer free potions or store credit or even gold. But with you, I do believe that would be useless.” Damir said, looking down at the pile of coin before him.
Davis flicked the stub of his cigarette to the wood floor and snubbed it with his boot. He stood up and put away the extra revolver. As far as he was concerned, this meeting was over. He grabbed the quilt wrapped sword and slung it on his back.
“I can help you.” Damir said. His voice was a little desperate now.
Davis shook his head. This gesture bore no argument. The last thing Davis needed was a town lord on the desert trail.
“I don’t need your help, reis.” David said. He turned to leave.
“I need to know. I need his help.” Damir said. This was unacceptable. He needed his answer. He needed to know if what his heart desired was even possible. And if it was, he would do anything; give anything, to reach his goal. His shop, his gold, maybe even his life. This was a powerful and disturbing thought. The thought around which the state of his being revolved. The Wizard had an answer for him. This Damir knew with what was almost an insane certainty. He needed peace and an answer would bring him peace. A simple yes or no.
It was this man, Davis son of Victor, who was the key. Key to the Wizard, and to his deepest desire. The potion lord of Lock would not be denied.
Damir stood from his chair grabbing his staff. He picked up a handful of coins from the table and collected his spark, drawing from the coins and pulled back. His will manifested physically. His spark was stronger now indeed.
Davis who had his back turned was lifted off his feet and flung backwards. He cursed himself for doing something so stupid as turning his back on the bard. He hit the edge of the table with a hard thunk sound. The pain was excruciating and stars bloomed in his vision when his forehead connected with the wood table. Papers and parchment flew everywhere as the table toppled. Damir dropped the coins and moved quickly, staff still in hand. The Wizard’s coins clinked to the ground.
Davis quickly gained his feet and pulled leather intending to kill the bard. Lord or no. Then a strong cool hand closed around his wrist. The middle finger of that hand dug into Davis’s wrist pinching a nerve bundle. His fingers first went numb then released their grip on the revolver. It fell to the fell to the floor with a metal plop.
This Gob was fast. But not fast enough.
David drew his new sword with blurry speed and brought it foreword. He stopped the blade about a hairs width from Damir’s neck. He was still holding Davis’s wrist with his right hand. In his left hand he held his staff pointed at Davis’s face.
“You will take me to him. I will have your word. Or we both die here.” Damir was wearing an almost predatory smile. Davis was disturbed to see this. He was also a little embarrassed. He should not have turned his back on the bard for even a moment. Davis could feel a thin trickle of blood running down from where his head had connected with the table. It was funny, seconds ago they were having a pleasant enough conversation. Now they were both ready to kill each other. Davis was smiling fiercely now too.
“Fuck you.” Davis said, with a bit of satisfaction.
He could cut the Gob’s neck but he would certainly be put through the nearest wall by old Damir’s staff and magic for his trouble. Davis was not sure if he would survive such a blow. His head had begun to throb dully. Concussion maybe. The thin trail of blood ran between his eyes and down one side of his nose.
Standoff. Old time standoff. Kill and be killed. The kind of thing old gabbies liked to talk about while sitting on porches or back stoops and passing the time with other gabbies. Rocking in their chairs, cackling and smoking their clay pipes they’d say-
This one and t'other were inna ’ol Rego’s bar, knocking back a few, when they got inta a scuffle a sorts. They both pulled out they shooting irons anna pointed ‘em at t’others face. They stood tha way fer a few second, not movin’. Jus watchin’. Waitin fer de other fella to make a move do ya ken? Then dat fat barmaid (Winda had been er name) let out a loud fart. Like an ox cutting loose, it was. And wouldn’t ya know it, the sound surprised both men, who woulda probably backed down a few more seconds down the line. They ended up blown’ each other’s heads of. And ooooh how ‘ol Winda had screamed!
No one had come to the back to investigate the noise. The day was busy at the shop. The hustle and bustle consumed employees and patrons alike.
Davis stood how he was for a moment, going through his option. His first thought was to duck to the left and go for his dropped revolver. Making some distance between him and the Gob. Maybe using the fallen table as cover.
This move was too dangerous. Not only did he not know the extent of Damir’s power, but the Bard was fast. He had moved around the table and to Davis with incredible speed. Not as fast as the blonde man, but faster than Davis.
Also, if he killed this lord, it could cause problems for him down the line. The marshal of Lock and his men may come for him before he could leave this desert city. And killing a marshal would put a bounty on his head. After the debacle with the blonde man’s crew, Davis did not need any more trouble. He needed to be able to lay low for a time and wait for sign of the Wizard.
All at once, Davis was not sure he could even kill Damir. He looked into Damir’s steady yellow eyes, the color of sunflowers. They burned fiercely, and were completely without fear. Those were not the eyes of a business man. They were the eyes of a killer.
Well then, in this case there was not choice really. With one quick move, the Gob had forced his hand. Quick and clever, this Damir, underneath his polite smile. And also rather ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted. Maybe Davis could even come to like this man, with time.
Davis nodded and sheathed his sword as Damir released Davis’s wrist, his hand had gone completely numb, but he did not lower his staff.
“I want your word, reis Davis.” Damir said, waving the staff at his face. Davis shook his head. He had just been bested by magic and not for the first time, but Davis knew when he was beaten. He adjusted the broken sword on his back. It had been shifted to his right side and hung uncomfortably.
“What do you want with that old fuck?” Davis asked bitterly as he bent to pick up his revolver. Fully aware that Damir still had his staff trained on him like the barrel of a gun.
“My business with the Wizard is my own.” Damir said, his yellow eyes not wavering. David sighed, feeling both defeated and suddenly tired. He had to remember that he had been out of commission for the past few weeks.
“Your life is not my responsibility. I will not protect you. I will not cook for you. When we travel, we travel light, we travel fast. And out there on the roads, you will obey my command.”
Damir lowered his weapon. Davis raised an eyebrow at him expectantly.
“Yes, reis. I will so follow.” The goblin said, lowering his staff. He was looking very pleased indeed.
“Then you have my word, lord” Davis said. He was a little disgusted with himself at the moment. Davis son of victor was no leader. Nor was he a team player. He had worked alone for most of his service and he worked better alone.
“Go on then. Collect your gunna and be quick.” Davis said to Damir. He began to roll another smoke.
Beaten and forced to back down. That was rare for Davis. Now it looked like he was going to have a trail mate and he didn’t know how to feel about that. But Davis had just given his word.
Your word is your law, he heard Altair say. From the far away and long ago, some people like to say.
And a man’s law is not to be broken. For such that does so dishonors himself and his forefathers.
Davis had given his word. And to keep ones word was the way of the moirai. But the fates looked down harshly on those that kept their promises too. Davis would one day learn that first hand. Your moirai to you and the same unto me. Which was just another way of saying, Fuck it, what happens, happens.
Davis picked up his revolver and holstered it. He had a small smile on his face and didn’t know why. Damir was to join him, and from somewhere deep inside, the same place that produces our greatest intuitions, Davis felt that it was right. Maybe he had found a new partner. One that had tried to kill him just a few minutes after meeting him. But maybe that was the kind of partner he needed. It was certainly the kind of partner he wanted.
Damir stood the table up, leaving the papers where they were. He was also smiling.
“We’re off to see the Wizard.” Davis said.
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