"Aspis" - An excerpt from Shackles of the Storm

Hey there, travelers!

It is Wednesday again, so time for a new Behind the Scalpel post. This time I got a treat for you. As you might now we are in the middle of editing the second english draft of our first desert fantasy novel, Shackles of the Storm. Now we are at a stage where I'm not entirely embarrased to share it online, so here's an excerpt from the second chapter, an introduction scene to one of our main characters - the firey mercenary, Ezair "Aspis" Hazra. Comments and feedback are appreciated, and most of all, enjoy!

~:O:~

Aspis

The city’s detention cell made quite an echo, despite the many cracks in the time-worn board walls. A melody rolled around in the room like a gust of wind, dancing and jumping as the musician—a young man on the doorstep of his twenties—dictated. He played a shingara, a weird instrument ending in nozzles both ways, mixing the attributes of a tin whistle and those musical sticks you could buy in the ramashi bazaar that beeped and cooed when you twirled them.

Visitors from over the sea couldn’t understand how could someone play such a flute, and a skilled shingarist fascinated even the locals. Ezair, the temporary occupant of the prison, considered himself extraordinarily skilled.

The sole soldier guarding him let out a sigh and dropped his head on the table. From how eager he looked with his post, Ezair guessed he must have lost in a dice game and this was his punishment.

“Will you ever stop?” he asked.

Ezair took the flute from his mouth and started spinning it around between his fingers to draw out the last note.

“I told you. I’ll stop when I get what I asked for,” he said.

The guard just grunted, while his gaze wandered towards the saber lying in the corner for a moment. The twirling got faster and faster, heightening the sound, but the guard was more stubborn than Ezair thought.

“Don’t fool around. You know I can’t give a prisoner a weapon.”

Ezair shrugged and turned the flute back to his lips. He was in jail for the second day, and he had no intention to eat his third lunch here. Picking on the guard’s nerves was the only amusement he got, and if they dragged him in for such a paltry thing as a street brawl, then he deserved it.

The door opened and a man walked into the room. He wore a grey shawl and spotless blue uniform complete with a silver wave motive: the attire of the city’s law enforcement. The tone-deaf guard jumped up and saluted, holding his clenched fist to his heart. This newcomer was no loafer, rather a high-ranking officer to cause such a panic.  He walked past the guard, approached the bars of the holding cell, but then stopped two feet away.

“Are you the mercenary from the Two-Headed Viper, known on the streets as Aspis?”

Ezair leaned against the coarse boards behind his back.

“Might be, might be not. How should I know what they call me on the streets?”

“If you want to play it that way, fine. I’m looking for Ezair Hazra. Is that more familiar?” the officer asked, visibly not in a humorous mood.

“Now you see, that’s even more difficult. The only man who could confirm that is my uncle, and his house is really far from here,” Ezair said, shaking his head.

The man’s face became even stricter than before, and Ezair wondered if he practiced it in his free time.

“There won’t be anyone in your uncle’s house to confirm it, boy. Rashad Hazra was arrested for conspiring against the prince.”

The shingara fell to the floor with a quiet whistle, the dozens of holes and grooves carved into the flute turned the sound of it dropping into an endless, slow hum.

Ezair froze, then closed his eyes. The previous cheeriness disappeared from his face, replaced by a deadly calm.

“You know, I rarely give law enforcement any unnecessary trouble, just out of professional honor...” he said walking up to the bars to look the officer in the eyes. “But say something like that again, and I will break your nose on these bars.”

The officer didn’t even flinch. He stood with a calm look, daring Ezair’s amber gaze, and even took a step forward. He was brave, no one could deny that.

“Think what you want, Aspis. I was unlucky enough to consider Rashad a friend, so it was up to me to let his family know. Which, since he was unlucky as well, involves scum like you.”

Ezair kept his promise. He pounced like a viper, grabbing the collar of the officer’s uniform and pulling the man towards himself. He was taller and stronger than Ezair, but less careful. 

He couldn’t flatten his nose on the bars like he first intended, but the force of the blow bruised the man’s skin and split his brow around one eye. The soldier guarding the cell immediately jumped closer and tried to support the officer, but he shook him off.

“You have no right to call yourself his friend!” Ezair hissed. “My uncle would never betray the prince, or the city, and he broke no law in his life.”

The officer staggered to the table, took the shawl off his head and reached for a clay jar.

“Think what you want, snake,” he repeated with more emphasis. “My task is finished here.”

The guard looked at Ezair, ready to kill him, while the officer poured some pungent smelling alcohol on his head cloth and pressed it against his wounded face.

“Finished? And? Heading home to weep for your friend rotting in jail? Or drink to his health?”

Ezair threw every curse he knew at the officer until the fist of the guard forced his mouth shut. He staggered back, fell against the wall, but he didn’t calm down. 

The officer walked out the room. The door closed with a loud bang, which further fueled Ezair’s anger.

“Are you going to tell my father how good of a friend you are to his brother? Answer me!” He pressed against the bars and shouted so loud his throat started aching. 

The guard hit him again, this time on his left cheek. “Shut up, you damn kid.” 

He was only doing his job, that was obvious, and Ezair would never have thought of hurting him on any other occasion, but this time his uncle was waiting in one of the prince’s dungeons. There was only one punishment for conspiracy – the gallows. He didn’t have time to spend the next week in captivity if he wanted to help.

“Or else?” he said, showing his teeth and leaning his forehead against the bars.

The guard fell for the trick and swung his fist, aiming for Ezair’s chin, but this time he was prepared. He danced to the side and caught the guard’s wrist, yanking him in the same fashion he did with the officer, then pressed his shoulder against the man’s elbow from below. He could have easily broken it, but that wasn’t his goal.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I know you’re just doing what you’ve been ordered to do, but you heard what your cowardly officer said. So now you will grab the keys in your neck, drop them in front of me, and I will let your hand go. Then you can try to grab a sword and stop me with it, but I don’t recommend that.”

The man took the keyring off and let it slip out of his fingers, while wheezing like a wild animal trapped in a corner. As the rattle stopped, Ezair let go of the poor bastard and picked the keys up. The guard immediately tried to kick him in the face, but he grabbed his foot and pushed it upwards to trip him.

“You little… you... damned…” the guard wheezed, barely able to breathe.  Ezair didn’t wait for him to pull together. His fingers quickly turned the keyring around until he found the largest one.

“Others would rather say I’m blessed. You know, amber eyes mean good luck,” he said while unlocking the cell, then jumped over the guard and picked up his saber. “Lucky enough for you to forget yourself and approach me with the keys. I’d say see ya, but I hope we never meet again.”

Ezair rushed out the door into the street, blending with the crowd before anyone caught wind of his escape. He had to clear up this misunderstanding about his uncle, but to do that, he had some places to visit.