Dreams of the Quill

Trade Secrets

Northern winters aren’t known for being cold, but their nights are still the chilliest of the year. So it is that we find a particular Mr. Jeuni Huros cursing harshly as he stumbles homewards, ranting about how damn cold it has gotten and how the very sun itself is freezing over. Jeuni, being twenty-eight, is neither excessively insane nor excessively bitter—he has just had an excess of drink. A good thing, too, for, were he not piss drunk, he would not have been staggering around blindly, and he would not have bumped head-on into the man he did. A man who was roughly seven feet tall and clad in a heavy gray cloak, height and garb unusual in Jeuni’s town. A man who had very little experience in the field of being ignored by those who bump into him. Expecting the usual muttered apology and sheepish retreat, he was somewhat amused when Jeuni, easily three whole feet shorter and drunk beyond belief, stumbled past him, yelling about the ice-ridden sky and the snow-plague that had consumed his bed.

It comes as no surprise that the two met again the next day, this time in the tavern whence Jeuni had stumbled the night before. It was in this tavern—one of over a dozen of its kind in town—that Jeuni worked as a juggler, as advertised by the posters plastered around town. Every evening, in this tavern, customers could witness Jeuni’s Amazing Juggling Act. The posters didn’t attract a large audience, their text misspelled by the semi-literate drunk and the ink sketch of Jeuni’s face rough and grating on the eyes. They were not winning posters, but, using them, the large man had located Jeuni’s workplace.

Jeuni had no recollection of their first meeting.

In fact, he wasn’t even aware of the huge man entering the tavern on the day of their second encounter, so occupied was he in his drink and fantasy. His thoughts were not in the smelly, drunkard-filled tavern. They wandered between three topics: how best to drink himself into oblivion, an easy way to make quick cash (with which to pay for drinking himself into oblivion), and learning how to cheat at Keys (a game at which he might easily make quick cash, with which to pay for drinking himself into oblivion). He should have been pondering other things—namely, his performance that was scheduled to start within the hour—but, as usual, the lure of alcohol had drawn him into an alternate reality where nothing but alcohol mattered. His head was so lost in fantasies of cash and alcohol raining down upon him that he was physically plucked from the bar by his irate manager, who proceeded to give him a talking-to behind the stage.

Unfortunately for the gray-cloaked man, this plucking occurred seconds before he could reach the juggler. Unfortunately for Jeuni, the entrance of this formidable giant scared away most of his customers, all of whom were about to empty their pockets to witness the juggling act. The large man seated himself at the bar. The bartender, a stout man about as short as Jeuni, moved with fearful deliberation as he prepared a drink for the giant. His eyes—a bright gold—gleamed like those of an eagle and his thick black hair resembled that of a great wolf. His shoulders were as broad as two men the size of the bartender side by side.

“I—I hope that this will do,” stuttered the bartender, averting his eyes as he placed a large glass before his customer.

“Anything is fine,” the beastman smiled, his voice ringing like church bells and death at the same time. Commanding like the voice of a king yet humble like that of the lowliest peasant, his voice was a clash of every sound mankind had ever heard and many that mankind had not. The roar of a lion, the grinding of a dragon’s teeth, the burning of the oceans, the flooding of the sky. The bartender stood in awe as this voice reverberated in his mind, its tone every tone.

After some struggling, the bartender uttered, “it’s on the house.” The giant man bowed his head respectfully but made a mental note to pay anyway. He had just started sipping his drink when the curtains of the stage were drawn and Jeuni Huros strolled into view, holding three wicked knives. The few patrons who remained in the tavern cheered at his appearance on stage, excited to see the show start. They quickly forgot the dreadfully huge man among them.

Jeuni, not fully sober, was a tad worried. He knew he was going to somehow end up with at least one knife stuck in him. He hoped that that damned cleric was up to the task, because he sure as hell didn"t want to go home and nurse a wounded shoulder. Especially not at night. God-damned forsaken nights of ice and death. And with that thought in mind, Jeuni began juggling the knives, much to the glee of the onlookers. Every five minutes, he would make it more interesting by increasing the difficulty, either by adding a dance step to his stroll across the stage or by adding another knife to his cycle.

Everything was going smoothly. He figured he wouldn’t even need that cleric at this rate, which pleased him because the medical service fee came out of his paycheck. Stingy bastard, that manager… and with that thought, Jeuni made a mistake.

He eyed his audience. He saw the giant and this time he was not drunk enough to disregard the man’s size and appearance. At first Jeuni told himself that he had had more to drink than he had imagined, because there was no way a human could be so large and look so bestial. Squinting, he took another long look at the beast-like man, and this time he wasn’t so convinced that it was alcohol playing with his sight. Shock wrote itself across the juggler’s face, and he stopped juggling.

Some of the eight or nine knives he had been juggling simply dropped to the floor, but the rest fell from their places in the air and embedded their points into Jeuni"s small body. He crumpled to his knees, screaming in pain, the giant. The patrons cheered wildly; it was all great fun for them. Besides, the cleric would patch up the performer in an instant—or he was supposed to. Unfortunately for Jeuni, the cleric who normally healed him should he slip up was the selfsame bartender who was just as stunned as Jeuni.

Between the patrons jeering and laughing, and Jeuni being in too much pain to cry for aid, and the bartender being too shocked to give any, the only one able to help the juggler was the one who had caused the injury. The beastman stood hurriedly, knocking over two barstools in the process, and waved his arms above his head.

���He"s bleeding!��� he cried out. ���Someone help him!���

At his command, the bartender snapped out of his state of terrified inaction and the knives were pulled from Jeuni by invisible hands. The juggler’s wounds sewed themselves together and the gray-cloaked man breathed a sigh of relief. The patrons, shaken by the display, issued outside, a couple of the more inebriated yelling about demanding their money back. Despair sunk in as Jeuni watched them go, his prior shock and pain both replaced with the recognition that there it went. There went his drinking money.

—

“What a pain in the ass,” muttered Jeuni before downing a tall glass of gin. “There was such a good turnout before you showed up, too.” He fiddled with his empty glass for a moment, bleary eyed, before signaling for the bartender to get him a refill. The tavern was empty save for the juggler, the bartender, and the beastman.

“Nothing more for you, sir?” asked the bartender cautiously, looking up into the man’s golden eyes.

“No, thank you.”

“Well?” asked Jeuni grouchily as he poured more of the foul liquid down his throat. He hated Western alcohol, but the stuff at least pretended to be drinkable liquor. Not like he would be able to afford anything else for a while, he figured, so he might as well accustom himself to cheap drinks.

“Well what?” asked the beastman.

“Damn it, man,” hissed Jeuni, “first you show up here and scare my audience, and now you’re sitting here watching me drink! What is it that you want?” Having finished his second glass, he slammed down the empty vessel on the counter.

“Drunk already?” the man asked, dismissing Jeuni’s angry words with a scornful snort.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean? Look, it’s one thing to—”

“Forget it, Master Huros. I’m leaving. I have business with you, but I suppose I’ll find you another time, when you’re better disposed.”

“But—” Jeuni was cut off as the beastman rose abruptly, once again knocking over a barstool. Stopping only to pick up what he had displaced and drop some coins on the counter, the giant strode over to the door and stepped outside, slamming it behind him.

“Hell of a guy,” murmured the bartender. Jeuni grimaced in the door’s general direction as he signaled for a third drink behind his back. The bartender obeyed quickly, placing a fresh glass of the fiery Western gin in front of the juggler. Despite being thoroughly miffed, Jeuni couldn’t help but wonder what it was the man with the exotic hair and eyes had wanted of him. He was about to plunge into the drink when he realized that he could hold back his curiosity no longer. He had to go out and find the beastman as soon as possible. So realizing, he downed his glass in one quick, long draw and stood up, grabbing his long black cloak from the stool next to him.

“Put it all against my earnings,” he said, tapping the counter next to where the beastman had left his coins. The bartender nodded. Donning his cloak and fastening various loose buckles about his garments, Jeuni dashed outside with the utmost of inebriated grace. It wasn’t hard to locate the beastman, as he was about as tall as many of the buildings in that part of town, but catching up to him was another matter. His legs were long and he moved quickly, the market square crowds parting in fear before him as he headed toward the residential area. Jeuni ran to catch up, ducking around people, weaving left and right as he sought to reach the giant.

Jeuni followed the beastman out of the bustling streets of the middle of town and out into the outskirts, a place littered with failing shacks and vacant lots. It was in this place that the gray-cloaked man stopped moving. Jeuni stopped running as well, standing a few yards behind the beastman, looking around for what might have caused him to stop moving. As he scanned the area, the cool evening air refreshed him and drove the spirits from his mind, and he noticed that he could see his own abode, a small one-room shack. The realization that this stranger had led him to his own home unsettled him immediately.

“Jeuni Huros,” said the enormous man before turning to face the juggler.

“How did you know I was following you?” demanded Jeuni. He had used every trick he knew to follow the man silently—even when wading through the crowds of merchants and peddlers, he had not made a sound. Even running as quickly as he could, his feet had landed softly, and he had controlled his breath to keep from panting.

“I knew you would follow me, so there was that,” the beastman smiled. “But I could also smell the West in your breath. And the blood from your shoulders. And the residue from the bartender’s spell.” The man’s voice held authority and Jeuni was compelled to believe his words.

“So that’s what you are,” he breathed, “a half-demon who traded his humanity for the nose of a god?”

“Nothing so extreme.” So saying, the beastman flung back his cloak, revealing an immense suit of lacquered blue plate-mail, lined with white fur. “I’m just a traveler, a real nobody next to you, Master Huros. Why don’t you tell me how you manage to do that juggling act every day? Why don’t you tell me where all those knives come from?”

“A hidden belt, of course,” Jeuni replied hastily. “It’s a trick.”

“Quite some trick, that non-existent belt of yours,” laughed the self-proclaimed traveler. “Let me ask you something else, then—do you drink yourself halfway to death in order to suppress your powers? It’s a foolish plan, I must say.”

“What powers?” Jeuni asked, opting to put more effort into seeming suspicious over feigning innocence. He had a better chance of pressing this man into revealing something than he had of hiding anything through hiding alone.

“I think you know that quite well,” shrugged the beastman, dropping his cloak down upon the cobblestone path. Jeuni noticed for the first time that the giant’s left gauntlet had a slot in it that looked like it could sheath the entire width of a broadsword, and also that the giant’s hip bore a scabbard not dissimilar to that of a broadsword. The beastman snapped open a button and pulled from his scabbard a hiltless blade, which he proceeded to jam into his gauntlet’s slot, forming a massive katar. Jeuni’s mind reeled as he took in the size of the thing. Normally an assassin’s weapon, small and easily concealed, katars were not meant to be as large as true war-blades. The idea, not only that such a thing existed, but that someone could use it, dazzled the juggler. The blade was almost as big as he was, and it was attached to this man’s forearm!

“You use that to dig flowers?” were the only words Jeuni could think to utter.

“Sometimes, yes.” And with that, the beastman charged the juggler, pulling back his bladed gauntlet and readying to thrust it through Jeuni’s chest. The juggler dodged not too nimbly to the side, almost tripping over his own foot—the alcohol still held him, at least partially. The beastman turned and charged again, and again Jeuni sidestepped in the nick of time. “Don’t just run around in circles, Master Huros. I know you’re capable, so retaliate.” The man’s words were commands Jeuni could not disobey. As he ran, his hands disappeared under his cloak, fidgeting with various straps hidden about his garb.

“I’m just a juggler,” he yelled at the traveler as he jumped out of the way of the broadsword-sized katar. It plunged into the cobblestones, creating a crater in the street. “I don’t know what you want from me!” But even as he said this, he was obeying the command to retaliate, readying his own weapons. Before he could be charged again, his arms shot out from under his cloak, flinging invisible objects every which way. Flashes of blue surrounded the beastman as Jeuni’s tiny projectiles circled around him and boomeranged back into the juggler’s hands.

“Magical tripwires won’t work on me,” sighed Jeuni’s opponent, coming to a stop and standing still momentarily.

“Tripwires?” asked Jeuni with a barely suppressed chuckle. “Magical? Don’t make me laugh, damn it—I told you I’m just a juggler. Just a juggler—a bit of a drunk fool, perhaps, but really all I am is a juggler. This is real wire, a real strong wire. Take another step towards me and I’ll tighten it. You’ll be chopped meat.”

“Interesting,” murmured the beastman before running forward despite the juggler’s warning.

“Sorry, man,” hissed Jeuni as he pulled his hands together and felt the wires grow taut, their grasp on the giant tightening. But instead of the expected sound of flesh tearing and blood spraying, it was the sound of snapping that came to Jeuni’s ears. The tension in his weapons dissipated and his hands relaxed. The juggler whistled appreciatively as he realized that his wire had lost to whatever material composed the giant’s plate mail.

“Why are you apologizing?” asked the giant as he loomed over the tiny juggler, unharmed and katar raised high above his head. The katar came crashing down just as Jeuni regained his composure and smiled. A deafening crash came from where the cobblestones were obliterated by the force behind the blow, and a dull thunk—presumably from the weapon entering Jeuni’s head—gratified the beastman. Dust blew up from under the cobblestones, obscuring the giant’s view, and, when it cleared, he was surprised to see that his blade had yet to draw blood. It was embedded in a large wooden door, easily a foot thick. The juggler was nowhere in sight and, try as he might, the giant could not pull his weapon out from the wood it was stuck in. “A door, eh?”

“Who would’ve thought?” laughed the juggler, reappearing in a flash between the door and the giant with a wicked smile on his face.

“So you keep things of this size under your cloak as well,” smiled the giant, nodding appreciatively.

“I still don’t know who the hell you are and I’m afraid I never will. You’ve gotten yourself in one hell of a bind, sir. Ruin my day, think too much about my routine—not smart, no, sir. But damn, you sure gave me a fright with that get-up of yours.” The beastman’s eyes widened with the words “never will” and he desperately tried to withdraw his blade.

“What is this?” he asked, the power of his voice faltering as he found that he could not even unhitch the blade from his left gauntlet, the fingers of his right hand fumbling as fear took his movements.

“Security measures,” shrugged the juggler, deftly ducking under the beastman’s giant right fist as it sought out the door. “I can’t be out of my job, sir. And so my trade secrets must never be stolen.” With this, he bowed and flung an arm skyward. From a flap of his cloak, a thousand glittering birds took flight, headed straight for the rising moon, their only obstacle the giant. Jeuni lowered his head further in order to avoid the unpleasant sensation of blood spraying in his face. “The curtain falls.”

An empty suit of plate mail clattered off the blood-soaked cobblestones.