Bwedrig had not uttered another word. The Doelm merely nodded his pardon as he noticed how richly the assassin reimbursed him for the inconvenience. He even served Shade a meal of pheasant drumsticks, Terramothian Wild Rice and buttered green peas. The Faelin picked at the last drumstick now. He had requested tea, which Bwedrig had taken an unplanned trip into the markets to fetch, so that the assassin could keep both his wits and vigilance sharp.
Shade waited patiently. It was only a matter a time before the Sewer King received word. As far as the Dark Elf was concerned the next development would be the warlord’s first true move on the board. Shade looked forward to his enemy’s play. He could only hope that Warlord Lewd would prove a worthy opponent in this deadly game of chess. He did not have to wait long.
The door banged loudly. It flew off its hinges and smashed into the far wall.
Bwedrig jumped, but Shade sat coolly at the bar.
The assassin did not even turn his head. He heard the rattle of armor and a sudden fussing; followed by the scraping of armor, the cursing of large guttural voices and more fussing. Bwedrig went back to the bar figuring there was no sense cleaning when additional bloodshed would come forthwith.
“I said me go first!” roared one huge voice.
“You always go first!” boomed another big ugly voice.
Shade shook his head. Imbeciles! He waited and waited and waited. The air filled with the sounds of constant scuffling, puffing and swearing.
“You got me stuck!”
“No, you got me stuck!”
Shade played his hand coolly until his new foes drove him to such frustration he could not help, but spin around. He crossed his arms and growled, “You two need help back there?”
Shade laid eyes upon two monstrous Gorums tangled in a jumbled green mass of arms, legs and faces in the doorway. They froze and sneered their huge ugly green mugs at him. Gorums had absolutely enormous hands and were mountains of brute muscle and fat. They were the second largest race in all Covent.
Shade had seen this pair in the sewers before. Their names were Kishrub and Zulbash and they comprised Lewd’s personal bodyguard.
Kishrub growled and glowered at him, “Help? No help!”
Zulbash shook his huge fist. “Yeah! Shut yur face, you puny Elf!”
Kishrub and Zulbash pushed, pulled and clawed at one another. Kishrub’s giant hand pushed against Zulbash’s face while Kishrub’s big fat foot pressed against Zulbash’s rib in the doorway. They were getting nowhere.
“For crying out loud,” Shade spat in disgust. He strutted over to the pair. He braced himself on the doorframe and kicked repeatedly at them until they fell backward dislodged. He watched in growing annoyance as they crawled around on their hands and knees until they retrieved their massive weapons. Kishrub’s huge hands closed around a five foot long war-hammer with a nasty pick end and Zulbash picked up an equally large mace studded with deadly spikes.
Shade sighed and held his tongue. At least this encounter had the potential for a challenge. He stepped back to allow the Gorums entry. He waited staring at the doorway as they disappeared back behind the wall.
Smash! He jumped to the side as part of the wall flew into the bar. He heard a second successive smash and even more rubble choked the air with dust. He glared hotly. The dumb brutes had just smashed a giant hole through the wall. He saw their enormous forms duck into the tavern. ‘Poor Bwedrig!’ he thought. He shook his head. They could have used the door if they had been smart enough to take turns.
“Me first,” said Zulbash as he straightened himself.
“No me,” Kishrub said, though they were already inside.
Shade was a bit shocked as Kishrub and Zulbash rose to full height. They reached a towering eight and a half feet! The assassin could almost feel the shadow fall across his face as their gross yellow and beady black eyes stared down at him. He remained cool and studied them for a moment.
Gorums had disproportionately long arms, which dragged their huge hands along the ground behind them. Gorums looked closely related to Doelms, except they were bigger, stronger, slower and of course dumber. A pair of long cantankerous canine teeth protruded from behind their ugly and twisted snarls. They had long black Doelmlike hair and bushy eyebrows that hunkered down on their huge foreheads. Kishrub was balding and Zulbash wore his hair up in a, Shade blinked, was that a pretty white bow?
Kishrub scratched his head with his huge finger as if trying desperately to recall his reason for coming inside. Zulbash scraped his chin in equal puzzlement. Layers of overstuffed fat heaved as they breathed. Their cloth undergarments were loosely covered in random scraps of metal that served as improvised armor. Only Gorums who were allied with the Dwarven kingdom of Gildron had iron cast in their enormous size. And so the pair had settled for random Grullish, Haradrian and Drakoran pieces bound together by leather straps. Kishrub used a tower shield he had hammered flat at the ends as a chest piece and Zulbash adorned the cast iron door of a Dwarven furnace. Shade squinted hard. Was that a cauldron on Kishrub’s left shoulder? And a doll dangling from Zulbash’s already ridiculous chest piece? It took all of Shade’s concentration not to snicker out loud.
Instead, he crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.
Zulbash picked his nose. Kishrub yawned, stretched his huge arm and accidently knocked his big hammer into the ceiling. Rubble fell. He shook his head and stared back down at Shade with big blank eyes.
The Dark Elf winced as he caught a whiff of a malodorous odor from Kishrub’s toxic armpit. The assassin frowned in fierce disgust. He reminded himself that Kishrub and Zulbash were feared all over the underworld. They had slain hundreds of men, Doelms, Syssrah, Drakor and even Minotaur in the brutal hostilities that secured Lewd’s rise to power. They had even bested the Minolord, Tantarus, himself. Sure, Lewd’s dagger did the final honor, but Kishrub and Zulbash had held the Minotaur down.
Shade’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Well?”
“Wait, we trying to remember something,” said Kishrub.
“Could it possibly regard my threat to kill your great master?”
Kishrub grinned, “Ah, yes, now me remember.”
“Yeah, you be quiet!” said Zulbash, “We remember now.”
“And?”
“Our master sends mussage,” Kishrub replied.
“Oh, and what message is that?”
Kishrub grinned a big toothy grin, “We’re dat mussage.”
“Really? I could use that massage. Sounds relaxing.” Shade sat back down. He gestured to his back and smirked slyly, “Rub right here, just above the left shoulder-blade. It’s a little sore from butchering all your master’s goons.”
“No not mussage!” Kishrub rattled his fists. “MUSSAGE!”
Zulbash pointed in accusation. “I told you, you mess it up!”
“Shut up or me mess you up!”
“You can’t mess me up!” Zulbash raged, “You can’t even say MOSSAGE!”
Shade rolled his eyes. Could either of these two Neanderthals get anything right? The Gorums bickered and shook their gargantuan fists at one another. The Dark Elf threw a helpless glance at Bwedrig who shrugged. The debate heated up until the assassin was sure it would erupt into a bloody brawl. He snapped, “Are you two pea-brains finished quarreling yet? Because you’re really starting to bore me.”
“We not joking,” Kishrub began again, “Lewd says you crawl back to yur swamphole in Jile and he’ll furgit da inslut next time he sees yur ugly face in Kurn.”
Shade finally laughed out loud. Inslut?
“You mess up again! Master put Shade in salt if he ever come back to Kurn.”
Shade laughed even harder.
“Dat make no sense!” Kishrub turned back to Zulbash. “Master says Shade bring good business to Kurn when Shade not trying to kill Master. Why Master put em in salt?”