Gray Eyes

by N.M. Johnson

The night was dark with rain.

A short, slim figure wrapped a cloak more tightly around it’s shoulders before making their way across the slick and muddy street. Rain soaked the cloak and cap after only a few moments, and the figure leaned against the wind, their hand gripping the cloak as it whipped around them. Raucous laughter sounded as a door opened and lamplight shined into the shadows, blinding the lone figure for a moment. A group of trail-worn travelers pushed out into the stormy night, jostling the figure in their drunken stupor. The cloaked figure side-stepped the group with a hard look and entered the tavern.

Rain formed a puddle at the figure's mud-caked boots as the residents of the main room were examined. Finally, the granite-gray eyes registered cautious acceptance of the surroundings and the cloak was removed to be hung on the back of a chair in a remote corner. A barmaid, buxom and very pale-haired, bustled to the table with an easy smile.

"What'll it be, sir."

The gray eyes registered lazy amusement as the barmaid's open expression of interest – and a willingness to do more if it meant a larger tip – were clearly recognized. The figure leaned further back into the shadows and propped the mud-caked boots onto the table.

"Stew," he ordered brusquely. "Mind that it's a full bowl."

"To drink?"

"Whatever is strong enough to chase this cursed chill to the Pit where it belongs."

The barmaid gave a wink and bustled away, her backside drawing attention as she went. The figure shook his head and chuckled, slipping off the wet gloves to cup frigid hands around the lamp for warmth. The night had been long and hard, but the journey was behind with a new day waiting to begin. The gray eyes narrowed. What the new day held was a mystery. 'Perhaps the night shan't be so mysterious,' he thought with a smile. 'A good meal and some company later---'

"Well if it ain't the little man."

Gray eyes hardened and the figure deliberately took the time to slip into the still damp gloves before answering. "What is it, Kirkson?"

"You still be needing that whipping, boy, for showing me up in front of the boss."

The figure could feel the occasional glances from the others in the tavern. "You were drunk."

"I was still in better shape than you, boy!"

"You would have gotten yourself killed if I hadn't said anything."

Kirkson's bearded face reddened in anger as his fists tightened. "I could still have put you in your place," he said through clenched teeth.

Gray Eyes chuckled. "Hardly."

Kirkson growled and lunged forward to grab the shirt front. Gray Eyes, however, halted his progress with a dagger pressed against his throat. Kirkson's black eyes widened and sweat beaded on his face. Gray Eyes slowly stood, the dagger still at Kirkson's throat.

"You were drunk then and you are drunk now. As long as I'm head of the merchant guard there will be no drunks on duty. If you have a problem with that, take it up with me when you're sober." Kirkson clenched his jaw, his black eyes on fire with hate. Gray Eyes put away the blade. "Get out of my sight."

Kirkson turned on his heel and left, chuckles and chortles at his expense following him as he went. As soon as he'd gone, the barmaid was at Gray Eyes' table with the stew and a pint of a steaming liquid. She leaned against the table in just a way to expose a shoulder and a hint more cleavage.

The gray eyes twinkled. "Thank you."

"No problem, sir." She smiled. "The name's Sheara. You just ask for me if you be needing something more."

Gray Eyes extended a hand with three coins. "I'll remember that."

Sheara took the coins and purposefully deposited them down the front of her low-cut bodice before turning away. Gray Eyes chuckled and pulled the stew closer. Normally, Gray Eyes would have enjoyed watching the reaction when Sheara discovered exactly what she was getting herself into. This evening was different. The night wind howled strangely and Gray Eyes was ill at ease because of it. Trouble was on its way and Gray Eyes didn't look forward to the prospect. 'I will collect what's owed to me and move on.' Being captain of the merchant guard was prosperous and exciting, but Gray Eyes tired of the deception and petty attitudes of the soldiers.

Mercenaries such as Dob Kirkson.

"Ugly brute," Gray Eyes mumbled between mouthfuls of stew.

Ugly, unprofessional, disobedient, and barely skilled enough with the sword to present a challenge to any villain. He drank too much too often, as many of the soldiers under Gray Eyes' command, and he didn't improve in skill or attitude because of it. Kirkson was a bumbling oaf who would likely be killed while taking a piss.

Gray Eyes finished the stew, eagerly swallowed the remains of the pint, and twirled into the cloak that had somehow dried. Gray Eyes tipped the cap at the barmaid with an amused smile at her flirtatious expression, and then proceeded out into the wind and rain once more. 'My room is waiting for me and I am ready for it.'

Gray Eyes proceeded down the plankway toward the Inn until a group of six burly men emerged from the shadows. The gray eyes hardened. "Out of my way."

One of the figures stepped forward. "I still owe you that whipping."

Gray Eyes' jaw clenched. "And you're still drunk."

"I ain't too drunk to whip you," Kirkson snarled. "Whip you soundly, boy."

Gray Eyes examined their faces and then consented with a barely noticeable nod as a short sword was unsheathed. "Very well."

Kirkson grinned and gave a rough laugh. "I ain't no pussy, boy. We fight using our fists. We fight like men."

Gray Eyes shrugged and unstrapped the sword to lay it aside. "As you wish."

The two crouched within the circle of Kirkson's bullies. Gray Eyes deflected the first blow and immediately countered with a hook to the jaw. Kirkson brought a hand up to his mouth and spat out a tooth. He stared down at it in shock, and then looked up with a snort.

"That's quick action, boy, but you better hit harder than that to put this bear down."

"I can hit as hard as you like," Gray Eyes countered.

Kirkson shot a fist toward Gray Eyes' face but it was dodged, and Kirkson went down when his feet were kicked out from under him. Gray Eyes knelt and sent a blow to his chest that launched the air from Kirkson's lungs. He floundered and gagged, then growled and hurled himself to his feet to hit Gray Eyes in the chest with his shoulder. The air left Gray Eyes' lungs and a moan of pain broke out when Kirkson slammed against the side of the building. Gray Eyes' cap rolled along the ground and Kirkson's eyes widened, then narrowed. He grabbed fistful of pale brown curls and jerked the head back as Gray eyes desperately attempted to breathe air into her lungs.

"Well lookee here, boys. The captain be a woman!"

Gray Eyes made a motion with her hand and a blade appeared. She swiped at Kirkson's face and he yelped as he released her hair, a hand covering his cheek. "Don't touch me," Gray Eyes snapped firmly. The others moved forward and another blade appeared in her other hand. "You wanted a fight and I'm willing to give it to you, but if you're thinking of anything else, I suggest you turn and run before I lose patience."

Kirkson laughed. "Come here, sweet thing. The long trip made us hungry."

"Willa Fawn is the name. Captain Fawn to you," she said with a warning flick of her wrist. "I'm still your superior."

Kirkson kept a wary eye on the daggers in her hands as he circled. "Oh we're willing to forget that, sweet thing. Just give us a little taste."

Willa’s eyes narrowed. "Don't say I didn't warn you, Kirkson." He dove at her and moonlight flashed on bare blades as they flew from her hands. Kirkson dropped with a thud, and she met the cold eyes of the others as she twirled her hands to reveal four more blades. "Next?"

They circled her like wolves, sneers twisting their scarred faces as they tossed out threat after threat of what they would enjoy doing to her. Willa ignored them, her gray eyes watching for any threatening movement. It came. One of the men grabbed for her arms at the same moment the others aimed for her feet and wrists. Daggers and fists flew until she alone stood in the center of twisted and moaning bodies. Some alive, but most dead. Willa strapped on her short sword, rescued her cap from the mud, and stepped over the bodies toward the Inn without a backward glance. It had been a long time coming, but Willa was never able to stomach killing. Even for self-defense. 'That's what I get for taking on a job as captain of the merchant guard.'

Willa sat up sharply, daggers in hand as she listened. Silence met her ears and yet something was not right. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the door, her mind going beyond. Stretching out. Feeling the wind for the answer. Listening. Testing. She sensed two minds and flinched away, snapping back as if they were fire or poison. With a quick roll, Willa was off the bed and out the window to perch on the edge of the roof. Staring down at the ground below, Willa stretched out once more to search for any unwanted company. From drunk to homeless to street-walking lady her mind hovered and moved on until she could risk no more time.

There was a sound at her door and Willa swung over the side of the roof and hung for a moment to gauge the distance of the drop. There was a loud knock, followed by a shout, then a crash as the men invaded her room at the Inn. Willa took in a slow breath and dropped, cursing Kirkson and his slow-witted friends as she ran toward the stables. Their deaths was the cause of her hasty retreat. 'I should have reported it.' But she'd been tired, sore, and wet from the long assignment of escorting a train of merchants from the uncommonly large coastal city of Paeda to Ris, the center of the trade community. Their had been storms, bandits, and the occasional band of outcasts to contend with and it had added up to an exhausting trip.

Willa dashed to the horses and hurriedly saddled a multi-colored beast in the corner. Vaulting into the saddle as two men came around the corner, she gave its rump a slap and charged from the stable, kicking the two men in the face with the heels of her feet. 'Willa, consider yourself an outlaw.'

The prospect wasn't too unpleasant.

End