Of all the things that he imagined might happen while he was manning the base, this hadn’t been on his list. As he considered his luck and the odd way in which the absolute worst things seemed to happen to him lately, he supposed that he really should have anticipated this.
“Master Beleg stepped out for a drink with the Ylveryan,” he stated, going with the story that he had thought up earlier if anyone came looking for Beleg.
Barry rubbed his jaw and chortled, “An elf girl? He always did tend to lean that way, though I suppose an elf boy would probably suit him as well.” He took a few steps to the side table where they had set the leftover food and drink. Barry picked up one of the pitchers and gave it a sniff. “Pathetic,” he growled. “You should at least have something decent for your guests, not this elven fruit swill.”
Barry casually tossed the pitcher back onto the sideboard, sending it crashing against the other dishes and sending pieces of food and splashing juice everywhere. It was then that Kre noticed Barry was holding his large blade in a reverse grip in his off hand.
Kre now appreciated the fact that he hadn’t put away his blades yet. He didn’t expect that he’d be a match for Barry, even drunk as he seemed to be, but maybe he could at least scare him away.
“As you said sir,” he stammered, “it’s past curfew and I wouldn’t want you to get disqualified for being out after hours.”
“Almost convincing,” Barry slurred, his speech more closely matching his state of inebriation now he wasn’t trying to hide it. He wiped a finger along the mess of the sideboard and flicked the bits at Kre. “Where is he?” he demanded.
Kre flinched at the flung food but kept himself from raising his swords in front of him in case it could be seen as a provocative gesture. “Master Beleg went for a walk. He had a lot of pent-up energy after not being matched and was given special permission to go out as long as he was accompanied by one of the Master’s Ylveryan.”
“Ah,” Barry mused. He slowly brought his blade around slowly, scraping it against the floor, until it rested in front of him. “I haven’t cleaned it yet, you know,” Barry slurred. “Killed two men tonight with my new friend and she prefers to stay stained with the blood.”
Kre swallowed hard as his mind raced to consider all the possible endings to this interaction, none of them good. “I heard it was masterful,” he stated, hoping that playing up the ego was the key here.
“It’s funny,” Barry continued, as if he hadn’t heard Kre at all. “I hate Beleg. It’s no secret. So, I came here with the intent that he dies but, now that I’m here, I find that my new friend Cormordean really doesn’t like you, for some reason. She would prefer it if I killed you instead.”
The great sword flipped up quickly as Barry stepped sideways into a ready stance. “I really want Beleg’s blood to be the next to stain this wonderful blade, but I suppose I should indulge my new lady here instead.”
Kre’s twin blades raised themselves up into a defensive posture without his needing to think about it. Against a fighter trained as well as Beleg, he knew he stood little chance, but he hoped that Barry’s drunken state would work in his favor and make the large man’s moves sluggish and imprecise. Against the reality of his impending death, he held out for that small spark of hope and gripped his swords just a little more tightly.