SotF Shorts: Unlikely Survival Ch. 5

Bront had long since past the point of rage. No, now he was calm.

Serene like, even.

After his Ma’ had told him that the hammerboys had taken Marva, it had been like all the worries and anger that had been brewing in his gut all night had frozen over. He’d thanked the visibly worried-looking woman, and then walked up the stairs to his old room.

He’d stored something here that he would need, after all.

Shoving open the door that still stuck in its frame all these years, Bront ignored the dust decorations of his boyhood room. Approaching the wardrobe, Bront opened the doors, startling the spiders that had taken residence and causing them to scurry out of sight. Reaching past the webs, he removed the false backing of the old furniture.

Inside was something he had never thought he’d need again.

Ol’ Beaky.

His sword from his Army days.

Bront’s hand hovered over the red leather sheath of the curved blade for a moment in hesitation. He’d sworn that he would never take it up again, after all that business with his discharge. But no. He needed it now.

His clasped the sword firmly, pulling it out of the recess he’d shoved it in before he moved. Bront cast a critical eye over the sword. Looked fine to him. The enchants he’d shelled out for all those years ago had kept it in good condition. Not that Beaky was some kind of super sword, or something. No, it was just good quality steel.

Something meant to take lives.

Bront was certainly planning on doing that.

Affixing the sword to his waist, Bront tromped back down the stairs to find his ol’ Ma’ still standing in the place he’d left her, wringing her hands worriedly. Her face only fell further at the sight of the sword he was carrying now.

She sighed. “I don’t know what ye did ta piss off the Don, boy,” She said wearily. “But I’m guessin’ ye were plannin’ ta get out of town?”

“I was,” Bront said gruffly, nodding his head. “Ain’t anymore. At least not yet.”

Kerrin Stonebin nodded her head slightly. “And ye came here ta get me ta come wit’ ya, aye?”

“I did,” Bront said, eyeing his Ma’ strangely. “Where are ya goin’ with this, Ma’? I ain’t got much time right now fer gabbin’.”

Kerrin held out her hand to her son. “Hand me the gold ya got on ye,” She said bluntly, causing Bront’s eyes to open in surprise. She snorted at his expression. “Ye don’t really think I care more about this run down ol’ shack than stayin’ wit’ me son, do I? While ye go about yer business, I’ll book us passage down the river. I’ve still got plenty o’ friends down at the dock.”

Bront sighed, relieved that at least one thing was goin’ right. He stepped forward and embraced his mother in a hug, which she returned fiercely. “I was a mite worried,” He admitted. “I know ye didn’t want to move out after Pa’-”

Kerrin pulled back to look her son in the face. “Yer Pa’ would’ve rather we stayed together, than me stay behind and die alone here. Now git, boy. Ye’ve got somethin’ to do.”

Bront nodded, a grim cast settling over his broad features. “Aye, I do,” He said darkly. “But I’ll need a bit o’ help now. I’ll find ye when I’m done, Ma’.”

Bront exchanged one last nod with his mother before he darted out into the back alleys of Rhoscara, being careful not to draw any attention. He had to move fast, now. Who knew how long it would be before the hammers started hurtin’ Marva to get to him.

Who was apparently his girl, now?

He didn’t understand women.

…………………………………………………..

Rather than make a beeline for the Martelli headquarters that everyone knew about, Bront went deeper into the tannery district. Like he’d told his Ma’, he was going to need some help if he wanted to save his girl from the hammers.

And he knew just where to find it.

This area of the city was damn seedy, and not even the mafia dared show their face around here. This was where most of the homeless came, and it was a sad fact that most soldiers ended up homeless after their tour was up. Rhoscara chewed them up and spit them out if they didn’t toe the line. A huge chunk of the city's soldiery didn’t dare risk ending up here, and instead chose to stay with the Army forever, becoming lifers. It wasn’t a bad idea, really.

It just wasn’t for everyone.

Bront had been damn lucky not to end up with the rest of the downtrodden in these alleys. Still, he knew a whole lot of people here. And they knew him, as well.

Bront got more than a few acknowledging nods from old soldiers down on their luck as he moved through their territory. But they weren’t who he was here for.

No, his buddies were farther in.

Turns out, he didn’t have to go looking for them, though.

Instead, they found him.

Bront stilled at the sensation of a razor-sharp stiletto appearing at his jugular out of nowhere. He’d thought he’d been silent enough, but apparently not.

“That you back there, Paolo?” He called out, hopeful that he hadn’t screwed up and gotten caught by a hammer before he’d even recruited his intended help. He was careful not to turn his head at all, just in case.

Bront felt relief roll over him as two other homeless dwarves emerged from the shadows of the homeless district in front of him.

Torin and Valin Petrovalli. Two of the people that he had been seeking out. The dwarves were twins, and even after all these years, Bront had trouble telling them apart. Both them were bald headed, with long braided brown beards. Both them had a tendency to smirk at you, but you could still tell them apart by their eyes. Torin had brown eyes, while Valin had black.

Both were smirking at him, which meant it really was Paolo with a blade at his neck.

Sure enough, the razor threatening him disappeared, before his old Lieutenant Paolo Bronzepeak slunk in front of him. The dwarf looked as crazy as ever, with wild black hair and an equally wild beard on his face. Nothing compared to his perpetually bloodshot gaze, though.

This guy was out of his fucking mind, but he was still a loyal sort. And hell, he had a strange tendency to inspire loyalty in others. It’s why the Petrovalli twins had followed him, even after all three were discharged after that business with the Elf.

Paolo tsked at him. “Bront me boy, yer getting’ soft. Time was, nobody could sneak up ye like that.”

The twins snickered at him, but Bront didn’t take it personally. This was just how they were.

“Aye, probably,” Bront shrugged. “But enough about that. I ain’t got time ta chat. I came to ask fer yer help.”

“Oh, did ye now?” Torin asked him, interested. “Fer what?”

Vallin slugged his brother in the arm. “If’n I know Bront, it’s probably somethin’ ta do with what’s got all those hammers in a tizzy.”

Bront frowned. “They been makin’ a fuss? Even out here?”

“Aye, they have,” Paolo nodded. “And I know it’s about them. I heard one o’ them askin’ about ye, Bront.”

Torin made a wounded noise. “Didn’t say nuttin’ ta us,” He muttered.

Bront ignored the byplay. “Aye, and I need yer help.” He said grimly. “All of ye. How would you lot like to slit some Martelli throats?”

The three disgraced soldiers exchanged glances for a moment, before Paolo smiled widely at Bront.

Almost too widely.

“Tell me more, Bront me boy,” He almost purred.

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