Laughing harshly, the centaur wrenched on his bolo to yank the tiger down under punishing hooves. Yet Jedit was barely discommoded. As he dropped, he twisted as only a cat can and flicked a massive paw that severed the cord. In the same moment, rather than land on the ground where he was vulnerable, Jedit pounced on the second centaur's haunches.
The horse-man shrieked as claws rent his hide with long gashes. He stabbed wildly behind his head to kill the cat, but Jedit was already gone, having squatted, flexed, and leaped, all as silent as a butterfly.
Landing on all fours atop the cottage roof opposite, Jedit scrambled up wooden shingles like a monkey. Two weights of a snapped bolo whickered after him but missed. Then a six-foot sword was flung his way like an arrow. Yet Jedit could watch one way while dashing another, and he swerved his hips to let the sword flash by. Jedit chuckled, further enraging his foe.
"Come back and fight, coward!" called one of the centaurs, grabbing for a throwing knife at his harness.
"Stand like a man, you yellow-bellied fiend!" called the other illogically. "Drop back down, and we'll trounce you!"
Whatever the centaurs expected, they got more than they bargained for. Jedit Ojanen had reached the peak of the cottage. Doubtless the man-horses thought the cat warrior fled. Instead he paused by a small chimney of battered brick that emitted a savory smell of fish stew and biscuits.
"Fight, you say?" called Jedit with a fang-creased leer. "Very well! Catch!"
So saying, the tiger laid powerful mitts on the brick chimney, grunted and twisted, ripped it loose from the house, then lobbed the chimney to crown the centaurs.
The two attackers raised arms before faces just in time. Dozens of disintegrating bricks bashed their forearms against their long, dark faces. Blood started as foreheads were banged and scraped and noses mashed. Bricks rapped the centaurs' breasts, tender legs, dancing hooves, flanks, and every other part, all to a horrific clatter and jingle of steel harness.
Fear of broken bones and further attack while half-blinded gave wing to instinct. The two centaurs lowered their chalky heads, lifted dinged and scratched legs, and bolted back the way they'd come in a churning slop of hooves in mud.
Gradually the night grew quiet except for a distant drumming as the centaurs reached hardpack. A few doors creaked open. Local baymen and women gaped in wonder at the tiger who dropped from a roof light as thistledown, then calmly licked his paw to smooth his orange-striped fur.
So fast and furious had the battle been, over in minutes, that Murdoch and Virgil still sat stupidly on wet rumps in chilly mud. Shaking their heads in disbelief, the men unstuck themselves as locals in nightshirts or blanket coats gathered to marvel.
Except one, who declared, "That was the quickest, slickest fighting I ever saw, cat man, but you owe me a new chimney."
"Wait," said Jedit, and he disappeared into the shadows behind the house. In seconds he came back to plant a sword at the homeowner's feet. The leather-wrapped handle stood just even with the man's goggling eyes. The tiger said, "Sell this. It must have value enough to buy you a new-chimmy, did you call it?"
While locals buzzed, Murdoch shook his head and scraped off mud. "Jedit, you're a wonder. Let me buy you a drink. Beer, not horse blood. You could be general of shock troops if you signed on with the army of Yerkoy. Eh? What is it, Virgil?"
"I'm just thinking," said the grizzled man, "we'd best be careful."
"Why?" asked Jedit Ojanen. "Surely you do not think those slue-footed fools will return for a rematch?"
"No," moped Virgil. "I'm thinking we better hole up in a tavern and lie low. Adira told us not to trouble the locals. If word'a this brawl reaches her ears, there'll be real hell to pay!"
Chapter 10
"Must everything in this port stink of cold fish?" Jasmine sniffed her arms and a hank of hair. "I reek offish!"
Adira Strongheart, Jasmine Boreal, Simone the Siren, Sister Wilemina, Lieutenant Peregrine, and Whistledove Kithkin descended the wide stairs of the guildhall. Some tripped daintily while others clomped in sea boots. Despite a late night, the pirate chief had kicked all the women awake. Yawning, Wilemina tried to braid her hair and walk, and almost pitched down the stairs.
"What would you rather stink of?" Adira Strongheart scratched her unruly auburn curls and tied her green headband. In town she wore bangles at ears, wrists, and over her boots, so she jangled like a windchime. "Everyone in Palmyra smells like a camel, but if I've picked up fleas from bunking on the floor, blood'll run out the scuppers."
The Adventurer's Guild main floor was one big room crammed with scarred sturdy tables and benches. For the morning repast, a mix of fifty or more transients and locals slurped, dabbed, and chomped. This being a seaport that served all of Dominaria, every color of mankind was represented, and not all the sailors and travelers were human. A clutch of bearded dwarves gargled in low voices, a brace of barbarians gnawed brown bread with slack jaws, and two hangover centaurs at the bar quibbled in brays and snorts.
Adira braced the bar and plunked down a thick Brycer danat. "Breakfast for six, whate'er it be. And ale. Who's your guildmaster?"
Like most coasters, the barkeep was big and brawny from a lifetime diet of fresh fish and red meat.
Before answering the barkeep wadded a towel and lobbed it at a kitchen boy. "Go fetch Fedelm, will ye? I've somewhat to tell him." He then lifted a small scale to the bar top and proceeded to weigh Adira's silver and make change. "The guild-master eats at home because his wife don't trust my kitchen. Speaking of which, have you got a husband in port, sweetie, or are you still footloose?"
Adira ignored the come-on. Everywhere her mane of chestnut hair, striking beauty, and voluptuous curves, two bulging from her old shirt, drew men like bees to honey. She took three "fisheyes" in local coin and plunked on a bench with her female crew.
"What about the men?" asked Wilemina.
"What about them?" asked Adira, peeved.
"I mean, shall we send a boy to summon them?"
"Let the bastards starve."
Breakfast was fish chowder, black bread, wedges of cheese, and dark, foaming ale. The women dug in hungrily.
Lieutenant Peregrine had set her turbaned helmet on the bench. Her fair skin was tanned dark as mahogany from desert campaigning, a stark contrast to her fair, square-cut hair.
She mumbled, "If this is pirating, I can endure it. You lot eat right fine."
"You sound like Murdoch," snorted Adira. "He makes up for years of army chow by clearing the table at every meal. I'd think love of food made him join the Seven, but t'was Wilemina recruited him. Why Murdoch chases a virgin devoted to chastity fuddles me, but many things do."
Women chuckled as the archer blushed. Jasmine Boreal, not usually one to chatter, swallowed cheese and called down the table, "Is that true, Wilemina? You've no plans to drop your bow and don a veil?"
"Jasmine, I thought you fancied Heath," teased Peregrine. "While riding, your eyes bore holes in his back."
"Never!" snapped Jasmine, suddenly serious. "Who could fancy a man with a face like a corpse and hands like ice?"
"When have you felt his hands?" asked Whistledove, impishly.
"Take Murdoch or Heath, or both!" laughed Simone. "Wilemina sleeps with her bow!"
"Forswear demeaning gossip, if you please!" Embarrassed, Wilemina grew formal. "Everyone knows the tenets of Lady Caleria. To surrender our greatest treasure to carnal sensuality robs a warrior of skill in the hunt. Murdoch is well aware of my leanings."