The Blade of Highwind Ch. 01

The Bloody Boar tavern was, in the mildest possible terms, a festering sore on the ass of Vorsalos. But given that most people thought Vorsalos was a festering sore on the ass of the Northern Reaches, it all made perfect sense. Symmetry was important.

"It's not even midnight," I said, waving my empty tankard with one hand and twirling my saber with the other. "There has to be someone left in this pisshole willing to put a pretty elf girl in her place."

I sauntered along the top of the narrow bar, wobbling precariously on the heels of my leather riding boots to make everyone think I was already drunk. I didn't normally have to hustle this much, but I'd only earned a few dozen crowns tonight--more than most of these poor wretches saw in a month, but not nearly as much as I'd hoped. That beautiful Talishite silk dress in the tailor's shop wasn't going to pay for itself, and I refused to leave Vorsalos without it.

"This couldn't be easier," I went on over the jeers and catcalls of the lecherous men below me. "You draw first blood, and I'll be down on my knees with my lips wrapped around your cock faster than you can say 'highborn whore.'"

I stopped at the lip of the bar, but not before teetering for a half second as if I might fall right off the edge. A dozen burly, inebriated men were waiting to catch me--and undoubtedly grope me--the instant I lost my balance.

"I'll tell you what," I said, slowly dragging the tip of my tongue across my lips. "Toss in another crown with your ante, and I'll suck off your friends, too. I'm a thirsty girl, and this swill ain't cuttin' it."

I tossed the empty tankard back at the barkeep, which immediately drew a round of whooping cheers from my audience when he fumbled and dropped it onto the floor. If I hadn't promised him a cut of my earnings at the end of the night, he surely would have thrown me out on my ass by now.

I had the full attention of every man in the room--and the annoyed wenches trying to weave their way through the crowd to deliver drinks--though this group wasn't as easily goaded as the idiots on the other side of the city last night. I had humiliated ten men in a row before the rest had finally stormed off in frustration. But tonight, I had only beaten down three challengers so far. I should have toyed with them longer than I had; most of them had only lasted a few seconds each. It had demoralized the others.

Still, I hadn't lost hope just yet. There were plenty of fools in the crowd tonight who were on the verge of emptying their pockets just for the slim chance that they might get to feel the warm, soft tongue of an elven maiden slobbering all over their aching shaft. I just needed to reel them in...

"Of course, if you really want to spite me, you can leave me parched all night," I teased, dragging a finger across my cleavage. "Maybe you want to spill right here between my tits. Or maybe you want to grab my hair and cum all over my sweet face. You can make me wear it out onto the street in shame if you want. An uppity whore like me deserves--oops!"

My saber "slipped" from my hand and clattered to the ground behind the bar. Widening my stance, I bent over with the slow, limber grace of a dancer to retrieve the fallen blade. It was a shameless but undeniably effective maneuver, and I could feel their lustful eyes upon my long legs and firm ass. My trousers were practically skintight, and my sleeveless leather bodice was cropped high enough to give everyone a clear view of my lower back and toned stomach. I could feel the lustful eyes of every man in the tavern upon me, and it brought a smile to my lips.

If I were in their shoes, I would absolutely want to fuck me. How could I blame them for wanting the same thing?

I made sure to give them a nice, long look at the goods before I stood upright again. When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar, I wondered if I should let my long blond hair down rather than keep it in a tight ponytail in the future, though it probably didn't matter much. Most men were enraptured the moment they saw my long lashes, smoky black eyeshadow, and turquoise irises--to say nothing of my impressive cleavage. Most other half-elves I'd met were more than a little bitter about the fact that their human blood would shave a century off their potential lifespan, but I had always tried to look at the bright side--at least it had given me incredible tits.

"Shit!" one of the men hissed from behind me. "How much for a fuck?"

I leisurely pivoted back around to face him. He had to be at least forty, with a ratty gray beard and a wide, sweaty face. My little show had gotten him so hard that his filthy trousers were about to burst.

"Ten crowns and you can bend me over the bar and take me right here," I said with a sultry smile. "You just have to stick me with a real sword first."

My words drew another wave of raucous laughter, but the man barely even hesitated before he pulled out his coin purse and slapped it down atop the bar along with the rest of my winnings. He didn't appear nearly as inebriated as most of the other men around him, but I wasn't overly worried. He had the rough, gnarled hands of a laborer, and when he plucked the dueling rapier I'd helpfully provided off the table nearby, it was abundantly clear that he had no idea how to use it.

"Come on, slut!" Rat Beard growled, waving the tip at me. "Get your ass down here!"

"Oh, but the floor's so much less fun," I said, teetering on my heels again. "I'm sure your friends can give you a boost up here if your old knees aren't up to it."

His face turned pink and then flushed red at the mocking laughter from the crowd around him. "I ain't fallin' for your tricks, elf," he spat. "Get down here, and I promise you'll be bent over that bar in a few seconds."

I offered him a lazy salute with my saber. "I can't wait."

Grinning, I strutted to the edge of the bar where a taller, thinner man offered a hand to help me down. I appreciated the act of chivalry--right up until he smacked me on the ass afterward. I almost whirled around and punched him before I reminded myself to stay in character.

"You know the rules," I said, planting my feet on the warped wooden floor as the crowd stepped back to give us space. "Keep the swings low and away from the head or you forfeit your bet." I smiled and raised my blade in a salute. "You can aim for my face later."

The crowd laughed, but Rat Beard was focused and ready. He lunged forward with a wild slash, confirming that he didn't understand the purpose of a rapier, and I effortlessly sidestepped the attack without even using my sword to parry. I could have won the fight right there--I could have killed him right there if I had wanted to. But I needed to string him along for a little while if I had any hope of bilking more coins out of these other drunkards.

And so instead of slashing open his gut, I settled back into a defensive stance and allowed him to flail at me with all his fury. Thrust, parry. Thrust, parry. Swipe, dodge. I had seen fifteen-year-old aspirants at the Eternal Temple fight with more skill and finesse. Rat Beard just really, really wanted to fuck me, and he was downright livid when I finally decided to end the match with a whirling disarm that sent his rapier skittering across the floor.

"A worthy effort!" I called out, more to the crowd than the humiliated man in front of me. I sashayed forward until the point of my blade was touching his chest. "Yield and I don't even have to cut you."

"Elf bitch!" Rat Beard snarled. "You cheated!"

I tutted and wagged the finger of my free hand. "There's nothing worse than a poor sport. Now you'll have to explain that nasty cut to your wife. Though I imagine she'll be more concerned about all the gold you just lost."

A quick flick of my wrist drew a line of blood across his upper arm, and the howl of the crowd drowned out his hiss of pain. I grinned and offered him another salute as I sauntered back to the bar, the crowd closing back in around me, sweeping him from view.

"Anyone else?" I called out. "I'm still parched, and I see a lot of stiff cocks out there desperate for release..."

I watched in amusement as groups of men plotted my downfall in hushed voices. Most of them didn't have enough silver to toss in an ante, but my sensitive hearing picked up on all manner of schemes. Most of them involved promises of future repayment, but some were madly trying to figure out a way to share their reward somehow. Others just couldn't stop talking about how I was the most beautiful girl they had ever seen and how amazing it would feel to fuck me.

They weren't wrong. They had never met anyone like me, and odds were, they never would again. Pureblooded elves of any kind were exceedingly rare in Vorsalos, and even half-breeds like myself were uncommon. Still, the best part was knowing how much they wanted me before they knew who I was.

If any of these drunkards realized that my mother was the Queen of Highwind and my father was the Highlord of the Eternal Dawn...

Well, I could have made a lot more silver, but I probably would have had to spend it all on a retinue of bodyguards. There were three distinct assassin's guilds working along the Shattered Coast, and that didn't even include the bounty hunter's guild in Graygale. And then there was the Ravenguard, the thugs who kept order in Vorsalos on behalf of the ruling elite. I wouldn't put it past them to try and throw me in prison in the hopes of fetching a ransom from my parents.

Anonymity had its perks. And if I had my way, it would let me wander the Shattered Coast for another few years before anyone put two and two together. This was a thousand times more entertaining than what my parents thought I was doing...

"Such a shame," I taunted, leaning back on my elbows enough to stick out my chest and give everyone a clear, tantalizing view of my cleavage and midriff. "I suppose I'll just have to try my luck in another tavern across the city. Seems all the real men moved to Ostvara after the war..."

The uproar was so loud I almost thought someone would hurl their drink at me, but thankfully it baited more of them into challenging me just like I'd hoped. Two more men tossed their coins on the table, one for the promise of sloppy solo blowjob and the second for a pledge that I would suck off three of his friends in a row without cleaning off my face in between.

Both challengers were more competent than Rat Beard. If I had actually been drunk, I might very well have ended up messy on my knees like they hoped. But as long as I was sober and alert, the fools never stood a chance. I knocked their swords onto the floor right along with their pride, and the crowd heckled them more than I ever could. Some of the men were so randy I was a little surprised they didn't storm off to the brothel down the street. For a single wager with me they could probably purchase the services of an actual whore for the whole night.

"Well, gentlemen, it appears we're all going to leave disappointed tonight," I said after the last duel. "If you're feeling frustrated, I recommend the Velvet Shadow. I hear the girls are quite lovely."

I smirked in satisfaction as I collected my winnings in my purse. I could practically feel that Talishite silk on my skin. I had no idea where I might wear the dress--I had no plans to return home anytime soon. But right now, I would be perfectly content to just slide into the soft fabric and admire myself in the mirror for a few hours. Sooner or later, I would surely find a man worth seducing in it.

"Last chance," I said as I pulled the drawstring tight. I heard a lot of grumbles and curses, but no other volunteers. "Ah, well. Maybe next time we'll--"

"I'll take your bet."

The crowd went silent, and I turned in search of the speaker. The throng parted, and I spotted the man standing against the wall. He looked incredibly out of place for about a dozen reasons, from his elegant gray-blue doublet to his neatly trimmed black beard to the cultured tone of his voice. He slowly leaned off the wall, his hand falling to the rapier at his side.

"Assuming I'm not too late, that is," he added as he came forward.

I flashed him a wry smirk as I jingled my coin purse. "Well, I have already packed up," I said with an exaggerated sigh. "You'd need to make it worth my while...."

The crowd groaned and snorted their disapproval, but the newcomer merely smiled back. "Then how about I double your earnings? One duel, a hundred gold coins."

My eyebrows raised when I watched him pull a few sparkling coins from his own pouch and flick them onto the bar. Ten platinum pieces--a hundred gold or a thousand silver--was practically a fortune to anyone in this tavern; it could buy a pair of horses or feed most families for months. In my case, it would pay for that Talishite dress with plenty left over to afford matching shoes.

And, best of all, it would let me shirk my actual responsibilities for a good while yet.

"I suppose that's fair," I said, setting my purse back atop the bar. "Though any man willing to drop that much coin on a bet must be pretty confident in his abilities."

The stranger shrugged as he casually unsheathed his rapier. It was a fine blade, which wasn't surprising given the rest of his attire. The man was clearly wealthy and didn't care who knew it.

"If you'd rather skip right to the reward, I won't complain," he said with a wry smirk of his own. "Nor, I suspect, would anyone else in this fine establishment."

The audience laughed, and I could feel their anticipation growing. At this point, refusing the offer was practically impossible unless I wanted to dodge empty mugs and food on my way out--and the stranger knew that. Everything about him--his poise, his movements, his attire--told me that he wasn't a rube like the others.

"Well, I am still thirsty," I said, leaning away from the bar and lazily twirling my saber. "And you seem like the type who enjoys giving a girl her fill. But I think we'd all be a little disappointed if you didn't put me in my place first."

"You may be right," he said, clipping his still-heavy pouch back onto his belt. "It's been a while since I've had a real challenge..."

He raised his blade in a salute, and I did the same. The crowd went almost eerily quiet as they backed up to give us space, even the men who had been heckling me from the moment I'd strutted in the door. I had no doubt that they were all still hard and enormously frustrated--the passions of randy males weren't cooled so easily--but I could tell that they were enthralled by the drama of the moment. No one knew what was about to happen.

That should have been my first warning.

The newcomer tested my defenses with a quick feinted thrust, but I wasn't fooled...and I doubted he expected me to be. I offered an almost lazy slash in return, permitting him an effortless retreat. And after a half dozen similar exchanges, I had a pretty good feel for who--or rather, what--he truly was.

A conman.

It wasn't that he was clumsy or poorly trained; quite the opposite, in fact. He demonstrated good balance and an appropriate blend of strength and finesse. He had clearly been trained by a competent fighter. His technique was good, his footwork was passable, and he would have easily trounced any of the fools whose coin I had fleeced over the past few hours.

But he wasn't a warrior--he was a pretender. The signs were subtle but numerous: the slight awkwardness of his stances, the minor delay in his movements, the way his eyes never seemed to stop moving. He looked like a man who knew the correct motions but was stuck a fraction of a second in the past trying to choose between them. I knew his type well, because it was exactly the way I had fought when I had been trying to convince my father that I had been reading his books on swordplay rather than drinking myself into a stupor in the wine cellar with my friends.

The realization was oddly endearing. I admired gall, especially in men. There was just something inexplicably sexy about a good liar, especially one who had to know that I wouldn't be fooled by his nonsense. He wasn't stupid or boorish or arrogant like the idiots surrounding us. He probably knew that he was competent enough to have a small chance of winning, and he was willing to slap a hundred crowns on the table just for the chance to feel my lips on his cock. I was frankly a little tempted to track him down later after the crowd dispersed--if he could hold a conversation and make me laugh, I would happily swallow everything he wanted to give me. If he tasted as good as he looked, he might even luck out and end up with my ankles perched on his shoulders by the end of the night.

The thought was getting me hot, and he almost scored a hit while I was distracted. Refocusing as I batted away his probing thrust, I decided it was time to stop playing with my food and take a bite. I waited patiently for him to make the next move, and as he shifted his balance and lunged, I knew I had him. I parried aside the blow, slipped beneath his defenses...

And missed. He moved so quickly it defied belief, and by the time I realized he'd dodged, I was already out of position. I had brashly overcommitted, and when I tried to spin away and reset, I felt the smallest prick on my leg.

A rush of adrenaline pumped through me, and for a moment, I thought I may have imagined the sting. The crowd didn't immediately react, and my opponent retreated a step but kept his weapon up and ready. I paused and swallowed as I glanced down at my trousers...

Only to see the faintest rip in the leather and a trickle of blood running down my leg.

The whooping cheers and mocking laughter were instantaneous. Shock froze my lungs, embarrassment warmed my cheeks, and my stomach sank to the floor. From the first moment I had started hustling, I had warned myself that this could happen. There was always a slim chance that some local idiot would score a lucky hit. The longer I played this game, the greater the chance I would end up finishing the night with a stranger's cum sliding down my throat. It had to happen eventually.

It just wasn't supposed to be tonight.

"Bwahahaha, dumb slut!" one of the patrons cried out. "Get on your knees!"

A rough hand grabbed my shoulder and tried to push me down, but my body reacted before my mind could fully process what had happened. I tensed up, ready to slam my elbow into his face and break his nose--

"Hands off!" the mystery man barked, thrusting the crimson tip of his rapier at the groper. "She's mine, not yours. Give the girl some space."

After a long, awkward silence, the crowd cheered again. I felt the pressure lift from my shoulder, and the drunkards all backed up a few steps until it was just me and my opponent encircled by roaring, randy men.

I almost grabbed my winnings and sprinted for the door. It wasn't as if anyone here would be able to stop me--I could vanish into the night and be out of the city in no time. I'd have to give up on my dreams of wearing that dress, and I probably wouldn't be able to hustle in Vorsalos again for a few months, but surely Ostvara had plenty of opportunities for a girl to make some coin...

"I'm usually not much of a gambler," the stranger said, smiling as he wiped his rapier on his doublet before sliding it back into its sheath. "But there's nothing like the thrill of beating impossible odds every once in a while, wouldn't you agree?"

His eyes glimmered. They were such a piercing shade of green that they almost seemed elven, though the rounded arches of his ears were as human as they came. I was torn between wanting to hit him and wanting to smile sheepishly. I still didn't understand how in the Maiden's name he had managed to trick me so thoroughly, but it was obvious that I had underestimated him. He really was a professional, and he had known what he was doing all along.