The nature of these bonds was…unclear. They could be created with the any of the three Sources, as shown by Rolin and Samara. Even raw Spirit did the trick.
----------------------------------------
“Drinks on the huntsman!” yelled a waitress.
“Long live the huntsman!” cheered Dul, a man whom Yoric knew was avoiding his wife at home.
“He’ll live two times, so long as he has the bird!” cried Roland, a crop dealer who had been partaking in his own wares. “Where is the bird? I’d like to fly on it, I would.”
“Arlox is elsewhere,” Yoric replied as he talked over the clinks of mugs. “Overnight message. Can’t fly tonight, I’m afraid.” Or ever. Yoric wasn’t sure about Arlox’s strength, as Arlox had never carried anything larger than field mice in the entire time they had been together.
Either way, Arlox was heading toward Ilya Artos with a warning and a question. A warning of danger. A question of how to proceed.
The tavern, Tales, was alight with song and life. A lengthy stone table, full of drunkards and waitresses alike, cut the circular room mostly in half. A few feet of space was left between the ends of the table and the walls. The circumference of the establishment was lined with wooden booths and tables, each full with attendants. Orbs of Orange, the Hue of Heat, floated near the top of the dome, providing heat and illumination for all within. Waitresses who weren’t sucked into the games of the inebriated were abound, moving with the grace and purpose of goddesses as they sated the basest needs of men. The Blue Bard, renown for her skill and beauty, performed as she stood atop the center of the banquet table.
Yoric had seen her perform many times. She could play the lute, a woodwind, or a drum with mastery known to very few. She held a small woodwind in her hands tonight, playing high pitched notes that reminded him of nights in the forest.
A waitress, the Solrusian lass whom Yoric had called Valora, wandered over to him with another tray of mugs in hand. He had ordered ale from Nya Norr, the northernmost province of Mithrock. Folks who had nothing to do but sit around and drink tended to create the best brews.
Abe sat next to him, leaning back on the wooden bench they shared, looking up at nothing. The table before them was littered with empty mugs. Most had been Abe’s. Two belonged to Yoric. The rest belonged to those who felt like they had to come and strike up a conversation with the boy who had paid for their drinks.
Via. Her name is Via.
She placed the mugs in front of them, the clay clinking against the wood and startling Abe out of his stupor. A silly grin took his face when he saw the drinks.
“No Raina today then, boys?”
Yoric shook his head as he slid the mugs over to Abe. “Stopped by her office. Said she wanted to try spending the night sober. Swore I heard the breathing of another guy there, though, so who knows.”
“You use that fancy Prominence to hear it?”
Yoric blushed. “I…I actually did.” It never hurt to use basic Prominence now and then if it meant he had properly scouted their surroundings.
“If you boys aren’t careful, she’ll leave ya behind for a right ol’ lad.” She began to gather the other mugs. Yoric couldn’t help noticing her beautiful, void-dark skin. Her gray dress was modest in all areas save the bust; of which she possessed and showed plenty. With those silver eyes of hers to boot, it wouldn’t have taken a great deal of alcohol to make a move on her.
Abe finished one of the mugs, slamming it down as he exhaled in mirth. A burp followed, both loud and long enough to stop the Blue Bard from performing. She wore a gaze that could level buildings and Abe found himself quickly apologizing.
The drunken tree of a man looked to Via. “Probly a good think if she leaves us behind.”
Via nodded in agreement as she grabbed the last empty mug. The waitress began to lift up her tray.
“Via,” Yoric said.
“Yes?” she said, a pinch of surprise in her voice. Likely due to the fact that he had gotten her name right this time.
“I’m sorry for calling you by another name the other night. I know your name. Wasn’t right, even if I was drunk.”
She smiled, sitting her tray down as Abe gulped down the second of the drinks Yoric had slid to him.
Wrapping her arm around Yoric’s shoulder, she put her lips near his ears and said, “Sweet boy, I can be whoever you want me to be so long as you keep the drinks flowing.” She kissed his cheek, stood up gracefully despite the tray of mugs, and walked with a sway to her hips that Yoric couldn’t ignore.
Abe clapped his shoulder. The man’s cheeks could’ve been infused with Red Hues for all Yoric knew. His long brown hair was messy, strands up of sticking up in place. Many of the folks in attendance had rustled it during their conversations, a sign of affection for those who bought their ale. There was no magic being used here. None from the Arcane, anyway.
“You should call on her tonight,” he said with a grin that stretched from the Massif to Ulderna. “Though she’s like to call on you instead.”
“Tempting,” Yoric said. Thoughts of Valora did not trouble him now. His mind was in two different places: the earlier afternoon and the gutter. Neither alcohol nor women could help him shake the anxiety he felt thanks to Maris’s request.
I’ve plenty of angry folks.
How many was plenty? Surely she didn’t have enough to march on a colony of half beasts. Even if she had quietly rallied every hateful moron from Wildefast to Arrowton, it would be impossible to get them to fight half-beasts. The average person might be dumb. A hateful person even more so. Surely they weren’t that foolish?
Why did he care, anyway? Those men would just get themselves killed. The less hate in the world, the better.
Hateful eyes shone in his mind. Those of a boy, a misguided preacher. Those of a girl, one forged from hatred within and outside.
I did nothing. I did not care and I should have.
He found it hard to do so now.
It was hard to care for those who would see the half-beasts dead. They would gather weapons, men, and anger aplenty with the sole purpose of murder.
They don’t see it that way. How could they not?
How can the laws of the kingdom, or the world, not protect half-beasts?
In his heart he knew that these people were not solely responsible for their hatred. Constructs thousands of years old had rewarded such thoughts, such terrible feelings. They had branded fury, racism, and odium into their souls; and it had felt right because they were taught as such. He understood that darkness.
Two-hundred fifty six men dead by my hand. And I thought they deserved it.
You didn’t always need your own convictions. Those of another would do just fine.
A monster garbed in black will lead them. A powerful merchant will back them. They don’t need their own bravery when they’ve folks like that at the helm.
“Yoric.”
Abe’s grin had faded. His eyes were filled to the brim with concern. Yoric looked at his hands. They’d been shaking.
“You did what you could. Arlox will get to them quickly. She’ll know what to do, if you’ve painted an accurate picture of her for me.”
“It’s not time or her decisions that scare me, Abe.”
“The big fucker?”
“Aye. A three story fall did nothing to him. Even if he used Aegis or Green Hues, it’s hard to think he’d be up and moving almost immediately.”
“Could have healed himself.”
“Aye, and if that’s the case then we’re dealing with someone who can use Blue Hues. We’re either dealing with a freak or a Mage who can almost utilize the whole Spectrum. Neither of those thoughts are comforting.”
“Exactly. None of this is comforting. The potential deaths of sweet, bestial children is not comforting. You know what is?” He surveyed the room for half a moment before pointing at Brenna. “She is. That rack is a gift from the Mother above, and it belongs to a beautiful woman who happens to be your type who also happens to be willing to rock your entire world for a night.”
Yoric attempted to argue back but was immediately interrupted.
“No. I never get to speak. I’m going to now.” Abe paused. He thought about what he was about to say, obviously considered whether or not it was going too far, and then decided that he didn’t really care if it was.
“She left us two years ago. You’ve been honest. You’ve been good. You let yourself have some fun, sure. You drink enough to get hammered. You indulge in a bar fight now and then. You spend your personal funds on getting people sloshed. You steal jewels from noble cunts with too much money to care. You have some fun, but you never let yourself be loose. You always stop before things get out of hand. You never let yourself enjoy a woman who’s trying to enjoy you.
“You don’t even know where she is. I don’t. She’s an ethereal concept at this point; felt but unseen. I know we can see Ether once it’s processed into Light, but bear with me. We only know she’s real because we can feel her in our souls. She could be in the Azure Hills. She could be in Ulderna. She could be in the forging Frontier for all we know.
“Via is here. She likes you. She is sweet to you and you won’t let yourself exist because of a long lost lover and some preconceived notions that you don’t deserve it. Let me tell you, my friend, because you are my friend. My best friend. My only true friend. You deserve it. By the Hearths, man! Someone loved Samara of Solrusia once, and she nearly destroyed the world! If the Mother thought she deserved love and comfort, then she’d have to be a dumb bitch to think you don’t.”
Yoric laughed at that. A good, long, true laugh. Abe was only this vocal when he had drink in him, but he knew his friend to be coming from a place of honesty.
It was hard to treat such honesty with contradiction.
His mental stability was waning too much to care if he’d be guilty come the morning.
“Alright, my friend. I’ll call on her later.”
“On who?” a feminine voice called out.
Yoric looked over to see that a woman had walked up to their table. Dark brown hair, light brown skin, and an incredibly modest green dress which oddly complimented her dark blue eyes. She was pretty, but Yoric’s mind was on Via.
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“Not you, if you were wondering,” Abe replied.
“Can’t imagine. That’d be odd. I am curious though. Who will you be calling on, Yoric?”
“You know me?” Yoric asked. He only had a few drinks in him, but the juxtaposition from Abe’s pep talk to this woman’s questions was enough to leave him a tad disoriented.
“’Course I do. I’m Lily, the Blue Bard’s apprentice. She pointed you out the moment you came in.” The girl stood there, prim and proper as it gets. Tall, straight backed, and absolutely confident, she stood a proper distance away from the table. A sign that she was respectful; and another that she possessed an understanding of proper etiquette. Lily also was quite bubbly. Her smile, while genuine, never really left her face. She bounced from flat foot to tiptoes as she spoke, as though she were particularly excited to be talking to them.
Yoric stuck his hand out. She did the same and the shook hands.
“Sit, Lily. No need to be so formal with us.” He raised his hand, displaying three fingers. He caught Via’s eye. She smiled, nodded, and went toward the kitchen to grab some more ale.
“So?” she asked. “Who is it?”
Abe chuckled. “You’re quite interested in who my friend here is fucking. Do you need help getting your mind out of the gutter?”
“No,” she said with a laugh of her own. “I’m quite new to all of this really. Taverns and lots of people and the like. I just find it all so fascinating.”
“You come from a pretty sheltered life then?” Yoric asked.
“You could say that. I’ve definitely never seen young men planning an evening of sex so openly. I reckon that’s normal here, then?”
Abe erupted in laughter.
He spoke once he calmed himself. “For most, yes. Yoric’s got a bit of a prude streak going. This is more so a special occasion.”
Lily clapped her hands, her face nearly glowing with delight. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!”
Yoric blushed in embarassment. “It hasn’t happened yet, ma’am. No need for the congrats.”
“Surely it’s an accomplishment if you’re willing to open yourself up, yes?” She made a good point.
“I reckon? I can’t tell if it’s the drink influencing me or not.”
“I would doubt it,” she replied nonchalantly. “You’ve only had two mugs of ale.”
“You’re keeping track?”
“The Blue Bard says I should always keep note of how many drinks the folks I plan on talking to have had.”
Yoric found himself liking this girl, but he was also a tad annoyed.
“Bard!” he said, standing up, looking toward the performer. She was in between songs. She jumped, obviously a bit startled, before she met his gaze. “You using this half ‘rusian lass to get to me?”
The Blue Bard rolled her bright blue eyes before looking back to her crowd along the long table. “I need a break. Give me a moment.”
There were some groans of annoyance and agreement. Most just nodded as she hopped off of the table and strode toward Yoric’s booth. Her blue dress covered every inch of her, much like her apprentice’s. Like Lily, she exuded an irrevocable confidence only performers and noblewomen could match. More so, in fact. She swayed as she stepped with the utmost understanding that every man, and some of the women, we’re watching with desire.
The Bard’s eyes were light blue, like a frozen pond in the midst of Wintertide. They seemed to know everything. She seemed to take in each and every detail with the vigor of an emaciated cat, which made it all the more frustrating when she said some of the moronic things that came out of her mouth.
“Whole bloody tavern heard the tall one talking you up. I pray I’m not the woman you’re calling on.” She stood firm, crossing slender arms under her bosom. A fine strike. Battles with the Blue Bard were fought with words. On his field she bore a lengthy, thin blade. Graceful in form, though just as deadly as any other blade when it struck.
Yoric preferred a hammer.
“I’d call on Null before I called on you, ma’am.”
“I’m sure you would. I’d imagine only the dead would respond to your calls. Any living woman would have too much self-respect.”
“Where’s the forging music?” a man called out from horde at the long table. The Bard ignored them, though Abe himself did stand up and start heading for the crowd. Yoric paid him little mind.
Yoric sighed. Not her best comeback. Best to get to the point if she wasn’t in form.
“Why do you have your forging apprentice watching over me? Plenty of other criminals in here worth keeping an eye on. She’s too kind for this sort of business.”
Tales was not the sort of place to bring a bright eyed, idealistic entertainer. Yoric knew he was making a great deal of assumptions about the lass, but he felt pretty strongly about his ability to judge someone’s character when they’re sitting in the same room as crop dealers, thieves, smugglers, and other such degenerates. Yoric was here because he was in a piss poor mood and knew he could take his anger out in a fight while not feeling too bad about it in the morning.
“She’ll have to learn how to judge a crowd, Youngclaw. It does better to show her a room of criminals rather than tell her to avoid criminals. Besides, these criminals tend to tip better than more privileged individuals.” Criminals also had more money than was functionally necessary for their goals, thus requiring a place to spend it inconspicuously. The Bard left that bit out, likely to prevent Lily from getting cold feet about their profession.
The world needed more bards. Too many would rather be warriors, great killers who live until they’re killed by someone even greater. Too many would rather rule, politicking with each and every lord and lady in their vicinity in order to maintain arbitrary advantages, grow their absurd wealth, and teach their offspring how to do the same. There weren’t enough who would rather sing.
“Aye, but there are…better places than this. I have a hard time believing you’d bring her here, even for this.”
Lily spoke up. “It’s sweet of you to be worried, truly, but I can fend for myself. Besides, you two are in here. Surely these folks won’t act up around a couple of Aegimari huntsmen?”
That got them. Yoric laughed as he never had, as though an employer would pay him a thousand gold per breath of laughter.
“Stop it. Why are you laughing?” Lily asked, innocence fully on display.
The Blue Bard erupted as well, a sly tear sliding down one of her red cheeks before she wiped it off.
“It’s not funny! It’s a perfectly logical line of thought!”
The two of them calmed down, each letting out one of those sighs where you are no longer laughing, but still want everyone to know how funny you thought it all was.
“Ahh, gods. Dunno what you did to Lily to give her such a great opinion of you, Youngclaw, but I appreciate it.”
“I dunno what I did either. I invited her to sit, I guess? That’s enough for some folks.”
“Can you stop talking about me like I’m not here?!” she yelled. Many folks at the long table looked to them; curiosity in some gazes, excitement in others. Yelling at Tales usually resulted in a fight. One fight would spread like a disease and a brawl would ensue as surely as the sun rose in the east. No one wanted to be the loser who started the fight, though, as they’d be kicked out for the week. While the guards left this place alone, they weren’t nearly as lenient at other establishments. They liked keeping their degeneracy in one place, as it was easier to keep an eye on. One who was accustomed to acting like a jackass in Tales would not be given the same leeway anywhere else, and they likely wouldn’t be able to control themselves elsewhere. That meant they had to keep their propensity for sin locked up for an entire week.
Yoric put his hand up to the crowd to show that everything was under control. A groan settled over them, though many still kept their attention on the trio. Yoric saw one man with his hands clasped together, praying that a brawl broke out anyway. He looked to Lily, feeling guilty as he took note of her frustration.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. You had it wrong is all. Abe and I are thieves on the side. Jewels and stuff. No one in here thinks highly of us.” Frustration was replaced by confusion. He looked to the Blue Bard to see an eyebrow raised. “What? The cat was out of the bag the moment we laughed.”
The Bard shook her head. “Could’ve just said that criminals around here, or anywhere, don’t really care much for authority; especially that of a boy.” She seemed a bit frustrated, though he couldn’t put a pin on why.
Oh, yeah. That would’ve done it.
“No point in lying, really.”
“I wouldn’t have minded a lie if it allowed for my apprentice to think that there were good, respectable folk out in the world.”
Good folk?
Yoric shook his head and made eye contact with Lily.
“Lily, most of them are good folk. They’ll try to sell you some crop. They’ll punch you in the throat if you look at them funny. They’ll circumvent the tax collectors, but being on the wrong side of the law doesn’t make them bad. Many of them are fathers and mothers who need to make ends meet. Most of them will punch a fucker in the throat for laying a hand on you. Sure, it ain’t Regalia where each lordling is wearing a dashing suit of Arc-Forged steel, every lady has the latest gossip from the furthest reaches of the world, and everyone is trying to make big happy families in order to continue ruling the world. That’s why I like them, because they aren’t from Regalia. They’ll be honest to me, say things right to my face. Fight me with honor rather than the contrived bastardizations of the concept they adhere to in the south.
“Good folk,” he said with another shake of the head. He almost spit on the floor. “There aren’t wholly good folk out in the world. That’s your mentor’s high born blood speaking for her.”
The bard stood up, raising her hand high into the air. She held a mug, ready to smash it over Yoric’s skull with any further provocation.
He met her angered glare.
“Which would you prefer to play for, my lady? The courts in Regalia, or the people at the Tales Tavern?”
The way she slumped for a second, though he wouldn’t have really noticed had he not grabbed on to Prominence, told him all he needed.
Lily broke the silence that followed.
“I know there aren’t good folk down there. I don’t want to perform for the High King. I’m much happier here. With real people, people who aren’t adhering to arbitrary roles set upon them by their blood.”
“Oh but they are, ma’am,” he replied. “Those ‘good folk’ created all of our roles. As far as they can tell, we play them exactly as they wish us to, for they’re still in power and wealthy and known throughout the world.”
“Is that why you hate them so?” Lily asked calmly.
“No. I hate them for what they did to my mom. She is good. Truly good. If someone truly good can’t be a part of higher society, then what’s the fucking point of it all? It’s the same with your Bard. Though she won’t admit it, she’s a good person. Her family did not enjoy this ill-begotten quality of hers. Those ‘good folk’ will continue to captain the ship, and they’ll send us into a storm of their own making before it’s all over; all because they can’t stand to be good.”
He downed the rest of his drink.
Why have I let them frustrate me so?
No, it wasn’t the girls who had frustrated him. These seeds had been planted earlier. Some just a few hours prior when Maris N’Leary had proclaimed her horrendous intentions, some years ago in a throne room filled by those he’d been stupid enough to consider friends. He’d never understood how Alex stayed among those folk. He, too, was good. Truly good. Yoric could only pray he’d not been ruined for it.
“I’m sorry, ladies. I’m finding myself to be a bit of a grump. I’ll excuse myself-“
Lily gently pulled at his sleeve. When had she gotten so close? They hardly had a couple of inches between them compared to her prior, respectful distance. How had she gotten comfortable enough to sit close to him after all of his moping?
His confusion must have been apparent, as she pointed to the long table. Another performer had taken the Blue Bard’s place. Tall, lanky-
Was that Abe?
Lily smiled, pulling at his sleeve again. He sat next to her, curiosity overcoming the shame he felt for preaching to the girls. His attention stayed on Abe.
“Abe, you can’t sing for shite! Get down!” cried out a man from the crowd. Laughs and roars of approval rocked the room. Abe’s tall cheeks were rosy. Not with embarassment, but inebriation. Once they quieted, he projected his deep voice across the entirety of the tavern. A trick with the help of Red Hues.
“I’ve not the cords for singing, we know that. I don’t look like the wenches you like to eye either, ‘cept for you Moritz.” A blast of laughter followed. “I’ve a story. The story of two, upstanding huntsmen, and the excitable afternoon we had. Our Blue Bard is tired, in need of a break from you lot. Would you like to hear it?”
Mugs were slammed onto the table; a universal sign of respect. They had given him the room without words of their own.
The way Abe manipulated the audience was masterful. Every one of them held on to every word he spoke, his cadence just slow enough to amplify their need to hear more. He spoke of the nature of the Lord Heret’s absence, and how upstanding young men such as themselves were left to fend for themselves against the criminals of the city. Many of them laughed, some genuine and some forced, to show they were in on the joke. Some laughed because others did, and no one liked to be seen as unknowing.
Abe told of the letter, how they were to meet their future employer at a church. A holy place to be used for anything but. They had prayed for real work, true work; for something to be wrong, a problem to fix. Huntsmen were only needed when things went wrong.
Abe detailed the woman, wondrously beautiful. A goddess of ravens, if there ever were, for her pale skin reminded him of moonlight, her dark brown eyes of the night which surrounded the stars. Her guard was a great man garbed entirely, and he meant entirely, in black. Black like her eyes, black like the void.
Though her looks had been a source of splendor, her request had been vile; born of a woman who had surely never known love. She had, in essence, asked them to head north and murder Ilya Artos.
An outrage followed. Ilya was widely respected among the dregs of society. A woman who took the unfortunate and helped them make something of themselves, who took a man who had done wrong and aided him in redeeming himself; such a woman, or a person really, was a rarity in this world. She was good folk. Truly good. They all knew it.
He spoke of Yoric’s vehement disapproval, the acts of violence he was so obviously holding himself back from. He told them of the great monster of a man and manner in which he’d been thrown from the clock tower. Many cheered at this, happy to hear about an inkling of a fight.
“What of the witch?” a member of the crowd yelled.
“Aye? What did the Youngclaw do to her?” another cried.
“Did he punch her?”
“Stab her?”
“Smash her head in with a hammer?”
Abe held their gazes as long as he could.
Finally, he spoke.
“He did nothing.”
Another outcry. Disapproving glances were sent Yoric’s way. He cared not. They didn’t need to understand why he hadn’t killed the woman. That was between himself and the gods.
“And nothing, my friends, was preferable to the alternative.”
Their gazes returned to Abe, eyes glazed over as they continued to succumb to the story.
“For I know my friend. He is my brother. My constant companion. The person I know best, the man who knows me even better.
“And I know this, just as you shall. When I looked into his eyes, I saw the thing we should all fear most: The unbound fury of a good man.”
Another pause. None made a sound, a peep. They all held their breaths.
“No one deserves what the Youngclaw would have done to her had we stayed. What my friend demonstrated was not cowardice, but the greatest of mercies.”
A cheer erupted from the crowd.