Chapter 19 - Part 4

Delegado made a hand motion to Thomas, and the two of them stopped in the street. This part of the Holt had better buildings, and each one had two guards at the front protecting what were probably businesses of a sort. The guards were a mixed bunch of various races. Two were orcs, one of whom sort of waved at Delegado once he saw the Tharashk dragonne on Delegado’s clothing. Delegado waved back but did not smile.

Orphan had come to a halt, and looked about to drop his reins. Delegado clicked his tongue, and Feather hopped onto the saddle’s pommel as the half-orc jumped down. “Orphan?” he asked.

The warforged turned to him. “I’m a murderer,” Orphan whispered. Delegado was no artificer, but he had been with Orphan long enough to pick up on some things. The warforged looked sick. If he had had a circulatory system he’d have gone pale, and if he’d have had a digestive track he’d have been ready to vomit.

“No you’re not,” Delegado said. “That half-daelkyr was making a stand, and he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. In this town no one is innocent, anyway. It’s just a wretched hive of scum and villainy.”

“I acted without law, I acted out of necessity,” the warforged said. “I was a judge unto myself, letting my higher calling be ignored.” He looked into Delegado’s eyes. “I wanted to knock them out, but then the inhabitants would have killed them anyway and I would have looked weak.”

“Orphan, pull yourself together,” Delegado said. “We have to get moving. You did what you had to do.”

“I couldn’t consult,” Orphan said. “I just did.”

“You had no time,” Delegado told him. “Now come on, you’re looking weak.”

“You lead for now,” Orphan said. “You do the talking.”

Delegado looked back at Thomas. The half-daelkyr had heard the warforged, and nodded his head. “Alright,” Delegado said to the warforged. “Let’s go.”

The made their way to the only multi-story building that was within sight. Unlike the others it appeared to have at least been painted once, if not in the last century. A large sign in front of it portrayed a weatherbeaten male and female bugbear holding cups. Painted over the pair in rough, red paint were the words ‘Dead Before Morning.’

Three guards, not just two, stood before the closed double doors. One was a lizard-man, a tall, reptilian humanoid whose race hailed from Q’barra. He held a sword in one hand and a tall shield of bone in the other. A coat made of bearskin was draped around his shoulders. Another was a warforged, nearly twice as thick as Orphan, its coloring clearly indicating adamantine in its plating. Half of this warforged’s face had been burnt away by some long ago acid, completely eradicating one eye. It bore no sword, but it flexed powerful fists.

In the middle of the other two stood an orc, slightly bigger in size than Delegado. This was the orc that had not waved to him. He wore shaders, the wooden eye slits that helped full-blooded orcs move around in daylight. Along with the shaders the orc wore plate mail armor, albeit plate mail that had seen better days. He carried a greataxe like Thomas’ in two powerful hands.

“We don’t open until evening,” the orc said to Delegado in their tongue. “Not even for House Tharashk.”

“You mind if we stay here until evening?” Delegado asked, still in the same language. The orc shrugged, indicating he did not care. “You from the Marches?” Delegado inquired.

“Once you’re here it doesn’t matter where you’re from,” the orc sneered. “The fiends don’t let anyone leave. Once you’re here, you’re from Festering Holt, even if you weren’t. There’s only two types here. Those who eat and those who are food. The only place to go for those with coin and strength is here.”

“This the inn?”

“Inn, tavern, general store,” the orc told him. “This is ‘Dead Before Morning.’ Karbal is the boss here.”

“Karbal an orc?”

“Goblin. The big kind with the nose.”

“Bugbear.”

“Whatever.”

“Can I speak to him?” Delegado asked.

“I don’t bother Karbal,” the orc said. “I like my job.”

“What are you saying to him?” the burned-face warforged asked suddenly.

“Shut!” the orc barked in a crude attempt to speak the common tongue. The warforged scowled, but was quiet.

“Thanks, brother,” Delegado said. He took a small flask of whiskey from his saddlebag and handed it to the orc. “This is a gift from Delegado d’Tharashk.”

“Thanks,” the orc said, taking it. He unstoppered it and smelled it. “Nice.” He closed it and put it away. “Mrag from Yrlag, then the Labyrinth, thanks you.”

Delegado nodded and led Thomas and Orphan away. There was over five hours until evening, and he didn’t want to be a sitting target until then. One of the other power groups in the area might be able to tell him more. He started with the building guarded by the orc who had waved to him.