The Fourteen

Chapter 19: Knife Combat Goes Bad

        "Let's go! Are you scared?" He taunted me as I stood shaking in the alley.

"Am I scared of underage drinking? Yes. Christian, you're eleven! I'm nine; they would be insane to let us in there." I angrily whispered at him.

"We don't have to order drinks. I'm content sitting at a table and listening to the stories. It's completely safe; I saw the address in my Dad's office. Mae, it's The Tavern! It's the hotspot of the Underground. Hardly anyone knows the location! We'll be members!"

The Tavern was a legendary place in the Kingdoms. It was a spot for members of the Underground to sit, share a drink, and tell stories. The stories told were always true. And many of them were tales of battle and bravery.

So, the temptation was too much. "When we get beat up it's your fault."

Christian did not waste a single second as he dashed down the alley; with my severely shorter stature, I had to really work to keep up with him. He stopped at a dead end, rocking excitingly on the balls of his feet.

It took me a moment to make out the faint shimmering of the concealed doorway. A broad man stepped from the shadows.

"Scram kids! Beggars aren't welcome here," he warned.

"And if we're not beggars?" Christian's eyes held a mischievous gleam as he flipped two coins at the guard. "Those should be entrance enough."

The man took some time to study the coins in the dim light. They were pure gold, with a feather pen and an embellished 'T' printed on it. Christian had informed me earlier, that it was a symbol of the members of The Tavern.

"Kid, I don't know where you got this, but it's real. Come on in, anyone bugs you, call me. If you cause trouble, you're out. No alcohol."

We were rushed in and the door heaved shut with a boom. A few heads turned to take in our red cloaks and small builds, an unlikely sight in The Tavern.

Christian drew back his hood first, smiling in the way only the sorcerers knew how. Gasps ensued.

"What has Stan done? Letting beggar children in here? How old are you darlings?" An elderly barista woman questioned us.

My hood was down and I spoke with nobility, "Old enough. What does it matter anyway? We've got The Tavern coin. Rules say: if you have the coin and the address, you're in."

"You also need to have the stories: real ones, true ones. Have you experienced anything on the battlefield? Or have you come to tell us nursery rhymes?" One drunken man slurred.

Some laughter followed his statement; Christian unsheathed a red bejewelled dagger. The man spoke again, somehow magically sober. "Where'd you get that boy?"

Christian responded in a cool voice, "I'm afraid you have us mistaken for common children. Come solider; test your accusation with a blade. I'll tell you about the battlefield."

The man arched his brow in mockingly, drawing a sword of his own. However, instead of going for Christian, he lunged for me.

But I was quicker, deflecting his blow with two daggers in each hand.

My companion got in on the action, throwing my attacker off of me and cutting one of his arms. I swung in, and entangled his legs with mine to trip him.

Once down, Christian immobilized him by spreading out his weight on the soldier's back. The position restrained his opponent's movements and allowed for Christian to adapt his stance if the enemy flailed.