The Watercrest tavern felt much like it had that first night that Dallen had stopped in. Low talk, low light, people spread all about, and a general feeling of unease through the whole place. An unease focused on the large table near the center, where the baron’s men sat and drank. Wary, nervous eyes glanced towards them, then down at the drinks in hand, hoping not to draw their ire. Or their amusement, for that could be even worse.

A few glances were spared toward Dallen as well. Wary, like those towards the rest of the baron’s men, but there was something else there. Something expectant, perhaps? Dallen didn’t know what in the wide, broken world they could be expecting from him.

He just sat, at a nearby stool, watching the baron’s men. Watching how they drank, how they joked, how they spoke too loud for courtesy and took pride in doing so. They never said it, but the message was clear: they owned this town, and they owned this tavern. And everybody knew it. The only smudge on their confidence and brashness came from a pallid, vile little spot on the far end of the table.

Ernolt had looked even sourer than usual all night. He was swaying in his seat, clearly the bad kind of drunk that made people want to either brood or throw fists. And though he tried to hide it, Dallen could feel him staring daggers any chance he got. Dallen guessed that he was just drunk enough, just angry enough, and just stupid enough to try something. A little revenge for his embarrassment earlier, when Dallen’s guard was down.

Dallen had no such intention of letting Ernolt get the chance. So while he drank — for practical reasons of course, so as not to stick out from the crowd he’d come with — he did not get drunk. And as the night wore on, he only got a growing impression that Ernolt would try something.

To be honest, he didn’t want to deal with it. Not that he feared the little bastard head on — he’d proven he had no need to earlier that day. But it was better to not have to deal with it at all.

And what was more, Dallen could be the greatest warrior in all the broken Empyre, and it wouldn’t matter a shit if Ernolt decided to cut his throat while he slept.

Some cups clattered to the ground across the room and the group of baron’s men, including Ernolt, were momentarily distracted. Dallen took it as his cue to leave. He stood from the stool, wobbled, and had to catch himself on the side of the bard.

Damn it all to the deep hell, you miserable…

Dallen shook his head, steadying the slow spin of the room. Didn’t he have any damn self control anymore? He’d never even touched the miserable stuff before he’d left Callia.

He made his way to the door, walking as steadily as he could. The night air was cool and damp, and it hit him like a wave as he stepped outside. Three unsure steps down onto the dirt ground, and Dallen stopped. A figure was standing a few feet from the tavern, obscured in the darkness at the edge of the window light.

Was this Ernolt’s plan? Send someone outside to stab Dallen as he left, away from prying eyes? It wasn’t a terrible start to a plan. But then…why wait in plain view, looking all ominous and conspicuous?

The figure took a few steps forward, and Dallen could immediately tell that the uncertain footfalls were not those of a man looking to stab him in the guts. He could tell it even in his drunken state, and knew whose face he would see even before it was illuminated.

Bant looked at him, sad, tired, and still embarrassed. There was a great purple-brown bruise on his cheek now where Ernolt had hit him.

“Hoping to jump Ernolt as he leaves?” Dallen asked. He tried to keep the slurring out of his words as much as possible, but the muscles in his face moved about lazily.

Bant apparently did not appreciate the jab. He scrunched up his face in indignation, but then it fell to resignation a moment later.

“I would…no I would never…” He shook his head. When he spoke again, somehow his voice was even weaker and less steady than before. “I don’t know what I was hoping for.”

Dallen breathed out a long sigh.

“Well, he’s drunk enough and angry enough that he might try to jump you. And he wouldn’t stop at a slap in the face, I’d wager. I’d stay away from him — and this tavern — if I were you.” Getting through all those words felt like trying to steer a cart with a bad wheel, but Dallen had plenty of experience talking while drunk.

Bant just nodded, looking as if he was deep in self-pitying thought. Dallen rubbed at his forehead, trying to push away some of the dizziness.

“You got a place to sleep tonight? I wouldn’t trust the barracks. Ernolt’s enough of a bastard to go for someone in their sleep.”

Bant’s eyes widened, as if the thought had not occurred to him. Dallen didn’t quite understand why that would surprise him, but then he remembered how young the boy was. He didn’t know just how cruel and dangerous a man could be, especially when his pride was hurt.

But it only took a moment for the boy to realize that Dallen was right, and nod his head in defeated acceptance.

“I…I’ve got a home here. With my family.”

“If you don’t think any of them will try to stab you in your sleep tonight, I’d suggest you go there.”

Dallen suddenly felt twice as tired, and just wanted to find a place for himself tonight. He started off, leaving Bant standing near the tavern entrance, looking scared and sorry for himself as he usually did.

“How do you do it?” the boy called, stopping Dallen in his tracks. Dallen turned over his shoulder, giving the lad a flat look.

“How do you…how do you be fearless?” A hint of desperation crept into the end of his question.

Devils, is that what the boy thought? That Dallen was fearless — that this was something to aspire to? The truth was that Dallen didn’t care much what happened to him. Did that make him fearless? Pitiable, maybe. How courageous could a man be when he had nothing left to defend? Nothing of value?

But again, he could not bring himself to be so hopeless to this boy. He didn’t know why — it would do him more good, to learn how the world really worked. But still, Dallen couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Fear…” Dallen started, finding his words amongst the muddy waters of his mind, “...is good. It means you still have something you don’t want to lose. Don’t be too keen to become fearless so soon, lad.”

He turned away again, leaving Bant behind. He hoped that, at least tonight, the boy would give into his fear, and go home where he could be safe. For at least another night.

Dallen did not particularly think about where he was going, where he might sleep for the night. Regardless, he ended up at Vanteus’ workshop. His conscious mind seemed to catch up as he reached the door. It made sense, didn’t it? The place would have extra beds. And two wielders of Pattern magic guarding it. Maybe there would even be a ward on the building. Dallen chuckled a bit as he tried the handle of the door.

It was locked. Upon closer inspection, it had an odd mechanical lock on it. That might as well have been a Mellish lamp, for how out of place it felt in this town. Maybe it was a wizard thing — they did seem to love their fancy, intricate machinery. Dallen guessed that it made sense; didn’t want people sneaking in at night to steal things. And if someone needed help, they could knock.

Dallen didn’t feel much like knocking. Luckily, it was easy enough to open up a window and crawl through. He didn’t even knock anything over, in his drunken state.

Still got it, Dallen thought half-mockingly to himself.

He walked up the stairs, not trying to hide his footfalls. Vanteus or Adelaine would hear him, but he wasn’t trying to hide. Lights were on upstairs, and he heard low talking. A step near the top creaked, and the talking stopped abruptly.

Might as well announce himself now. Dallen stopped just out of sight, then gave a quick rap against the doorway frame.

“O great wizard of the Pattern, I beseech thee. I need a miracle!”

He stepped around the corner, leaning against the doorframe. Well, falling into it just about, but it had the same effect.

Vanteus was in the center of the room, candle in one hand, the other held aloft with one finger out. As wizards did in stories, when they were about to sling a spell at someone. Adelaine sat behind him, at a desk, a quill in the inkwell right by her hand. The old fellow relaxed as he saw that it was Dallen.

Dallen laughed a bit at the outstretched hand, imagining Vanteus trying to stop an intruder.

“Planning to blast me down the stairs, Vanteus? I thought you didn’t use the Pattern’s magic to hurt people?”

Vanteus regained his composure, placing the arm behind his back.

“There are many ways to stop violence without resorting to violence itself.”

Yeah well, when you find one, let me know.

Vanteus eyed him, and did not wait for a reply. He still looked slightly cautious.

“Are you drunk?”

“I’ve been drinking. Doing a little reconnaissance with Hadrir’s men. And the baron’s men. The latter are swarming the Watercrest right now.” He raised a hand before Vanteus could ask. “No fights, this time. At least, not involving me.”

Vanteus narrowed his eyes at him, but kept on like normal.

“Did you learn anything?”

“Not much that you wouldn’t know already, wise wizard. The bandit men are miserable bastards prone to violence and self-indulgence. But I could’ve wagered myself on that before I laid eyes on them.”

Vanteus shook his head softly.

“They are different, though.”

“They’re the same as any other bandits,” Dallen said, though he sounded a little more sure than he felt, truth be told. “Only they use some crap philosophy to try and justify their way of life.”

“That is why they are different,” Vanetus said, face deathly serious. “Men are at their most dangerous when they believe their actions to be righteous.”

Dallen chuckled a little.

“They can’t be that dangerous, Vanteus. I up and punched one of them right in front of them and—”

“You did what?” Vanteus’ eyes were wide.

Dallen’s head swam. Damn wait, no. Ernolt wasn’t one of Hadrir’s men, it’s just that he was as despicable as one.

“Wait. No. Not one of…” Dallen took a moment to collect his words. “It was one of the baron’s men. We were talking on and on about their Shapeless God’s philosophy and all that, so I put it to the test.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Vanteus raised one grey eyebrow.

“By punching one of the baron’s men?”

Dallen thought about explaining, but didn’t see how he could.

“You had to be there. Made sense in the moment. But now that little shit Ernolt is pissed with me.”

Adelaine’s face scrunched up behind Vanteus.

“Ernolt? I see why you punched him now. I’m surprised you held off this long.”

Dallen couldn’t help but smile a little.

“You know what? I thought the same thing right after it.”

Vanteus frowned disapprovingly.

“So, what? Now you’ve angered the bandits and the baron’s men, attacking one of their own?”

“No, that’s the thing.” Dallen opened his hands with a shrug. “If anything, Hadrir’s men gained respect for me after the little spat. I think one of them actually clapped…”

“But…” Adelaine said, leaning forward a little as she put it together, “now you still have Ernolt mad with you, and looking for payback.”

Dallen tapped his temple.

“Precisely. Figured it would be a bad idea to sleep in the barracks tonight. Told as much to the young lad they were beating on when I stepped in.”

“Bant?”

“Yeah, he…” Dallen stumbled on his words for a moment, not expecting Adelaine to produce the name so quickly. “Yes. Skinny little fellow with too much heart and not enough backbone to support it.”

Adelaine shook her head, but a bittersweet smile on her face.

“Aye, that’s him. He was the first person to really be kind to me, when we arrived. It’s just as you said: he has a hero’s heart and a coward’s courage.” Her face fell a bit. “Not suited much for a town guard. Especially not here.”

Dallen nodded.

“He still insists on doing it, though. Almost got him beat to a pulp today. Or who knows what else.” He shook his head, trying not to think what might have happened if he hadn’t stepped in. Or what might happen next time, when he wasn’t there.

What the hell are you on about, you jackass? If you aren’t there? You’re not the boy’s damn big brother. Stop playing the hero in your mind.

“So you want a place to stay the night?” Vanteus asked, returning to the topic at hand.

Dallen shrugged. As if he had some other place to sleep, if there was no spare space. A nice spot of mud at the south end of town. Or the bottom of a chasm, perhaps.

“You sure it’s about Ernolt,” Vanteus asked, “and not because you just don’t want to walk all the way up that hill drunk?”

Dallen was a little taken aback by that response. He wasn’t sure if it was a jest or an actual insult. Vanteus' face gave no signs either way. But regardless, Dallen gave a small smile.

“Come on, Vanteus. Give me some credit. I went through all the trouble of sneaking in here without breaking the door down, or breaking anything else for that matter. This wasn’t a matter of ease.”

Vanteus did not look amused by that. Quite the opposite. He glanced behind Dallen, to the stairs he had come up.

“It should not be that easy to break into this place.”

“The window was open,” Dallen said plainly.

Vanteus sighed.

“Locks on those as well, then. If that will even be enough. Has it really come to the point where I must ward the sick house in this town?”

All hints of a smile had fallen from Dallen’s face now.

“Maybe.”

There was a moment of heavy quiet before Vanteus spoke again.

“You are welcome to stay here Dallen. As anyone in this town who needs help is. ” He gestured to one of the closed doors. “There are a few extra cots in there, away from the sick room. Though, I must warn you, it’s not much more space than a broom closet.”

“I slept in a dungeon my first night here,” Dallen reminded him. “I think I’ll manage.”

Vanteus gave a swift nod, seeming distant, then hurried off to tend to some of his patients downstairs. Seemed more than anything like he just wanted something to keep his mind off where the conversation had landed, but Dallen couldn’t blame him.

Dallen felt an itch as he went towards the spare room. Had he drunk enough to fall asleep peacefully tonight? The conversation had only dredged up more dark feelings and thoughts. Maybe just a little extra wouldn’t hurt. Something to take the edge off just a little more…

“You shouldn’t underestimate Master Vanteus.”

Dallen stopped, one hand on the handle to the spare room. He turned sluggishly over his shoulder. Adelaine was sketching a Pattern on a long sheet of paper, and after a moment, paused and looked up at him.

“I see what you think of him. And the comments you make. It’s the same thing anyone else thinks: that he’s a frail, kindly old man.” Her face was serious, but there was a hint of something else behind her eyes. Pride, perhaps?

Dallen’s head was throbbing and swimming, but he was curious. So he shoved those feelings down and focused on the conversation.

“Lots of people think that about the wizards nowadays,” Dallen said. “Some say the whole Constellate has lost their touch. Their bite.”

“The magic of the Pattern is dangerous now,” Adelaine said. “But it is just as powerful as it was in the days of the old Empyre. Before the Final Battle. And just because Master Vanteus does not wield that magic to cause harm, does make him less powerful.”

“I’ve seen him do impressive things,” admitted Dallen. “Healing that woman, when she was on death’s door.” He smiled a bit. It felt like he was goading her, but he got the feeling she didn’t care. “But…I saw you heal the other woman’s leg as well, right after.”

Adelaine scoffed.

“The difference between those two Patterns was as vast as the Godsmouth. And Master Vanteus can do so much more.” Her eyes shone with a distant awe. “He can speak the Pattern of water, you know.”

Dallen furrowed his brow a bit, and glanced up at the Pattern of water hanging on the wall. The one that they’d discussed before.

“Is that…special, or something? Water especially hard to call?”

It was Adelaine’s turn to look confused. Like Dallen had just said something particularly strange or stupid.

“I heard you speak that Pattern when you healed that woman’s leg,” he added.

Finally seeming to understand, Adelaine shook her head.

“What I spoke was High Empyreal. A language that resonates with the Patterns of the world better than others. But it’s a focusing tool, just like tracing a piece of the Pattern in the air.”

They were getting to the areas of the Pattern and its magic that Dallen usually glazed over for. At least when the priests in Callia had talked about it. But usually they were also trying to shove a message down your throat.

“So, what? There’s some other language that does it even better?”

“No, it’s…” Adelaine struggled for a moment, finding the right words. “It’s like describing a mountain. You can use words to get a good picture in someone’s head. Some words work better than others. Vast, towering, rocky, cold, grey…you can use as many as you want, and get a closer and closer picture of what the mountain looks like, but you can never really capture it. But that’s all most of us can do, trying to call a Pattern. Speaking a true Pattern is capturing everything about the mountain. Its entire essence. It is the mountain.”

Dallen thought for a moment, but couldn’t really make it click. The alcohol in his system, swirling the thoughts in his brain, didn’t make it any easier. How the hell did someone speak a mountain?

“So…Vanteus can speak water?” He smiled at a thought, knowing that probably wasn’t right. “Water comes out of his mouth, then?” Adelaine returned a flat look.

“It’s not that at all.” She searched for words again. “I described Patterns like music earlier. Each one is incredibly complex. More than we can truly know. Calling a simple Pattern is like singing a single melodic line. Speaking the true, full Pattern is like singing the entire symphony by yourself, all at once.”

Dallen thought on that for a moment, looking serious.

“I saw a man in Callia do that once.”

Adelaine’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Mhm. He’d tied cymbals to his knees, had a mouth harp strapped to his face, banged a drum with one hand, and played the lute with another.”

Adelaine tried to look mad, but couldn’t hide a hint of amusement. Dallen shrugged.

“I’ve never been one for magic,” he said. “So I’ll just have to take your word on it.”

“You’ll have to,” she replied. “The difference between base magic and calling a true Pattern…it’s like comparing a rock to the moon itself.”

And yet even the moon itself did not survive the Final Battle unscathed.

“Well, it doesn’t matter much how powerful Vanteus is if he’s not willing to use it.”

Adelaine sighed — it seemed that they finally agreed on something.

“He’s…a careful man. There are great risks involved in magic these days.”

“That there is.” The bit of levity he’d felt began to wash away, and he felt a pressing urge to go to sleep, alongside a pressing urge for another drink. “Maybe Vanteus is a smart man then. Personally, everyone I’ve seen get involved with any kind of magic has just ended up suffering for it. Or unleashing suffering upon others.”

Adelaine nodded, and took a moment to respond.

“You’ve…seen a lot then?”

“I’ve seen my share. Maybe more.”

“Have you seen many places then?” she asked, then stumbled a bit to clarify. “I mean…besides Callia, and here?”

“A bit more,” he admitted. “Plenty of the Shattered Heights. A bit of Tammerach, through the haze of war. I even went to Glunderal, once.”

“Glunderal,” she said, a hint of awe. “You’ve been south of the Belt.” She glanced towards a stack of books at the far end of her table. “There’s so much else out there. I’ve read a lot about the other lands of this world. But so many of the books are from before the Final Battle. It makes you wonder what they’re really like now.”

“Worse off, I’d guess. Dealing with the same kinds of problems we have here.”

“Still…it would be nice to know. To see it.”

“Hm. Is that your plan then? Become a wizard and wander about the reaches of the world? Visit the distant lands of Melirr, or the Twilight Kingdom?”

Adelaine had a distant, sad smile.

“Maybe. But for now, I need to learn. And that learning is here. And we’re not going anywhere any time soon. At least…Master Vanteus isn’t.”

Dallen nodded, a strange, unpleasant feeling settling quietly in his gut.

“No, I don’t imagine he is. Seems pretty set on staying, no matter what. Then asks me to help clean the place up, instead of doing it himself.”

He half expected Adelaine to jump to her mentor’s defense once more, but she did not seem eager this time.

“He is…a very wise and powerful man. But it’s like you said. Maybe he’s too afraid of risks sometimes.”

“He’s been around for a long time,” Dallen added. “Much as I don’t approve, it might just be that he’s been around long enough to know what it’s like to take a risk and lose.”

“Could be. But is it too much to let me learn that lesson on my own?”

The unpleasant feeling settled in a little deeper.

“That can be a hard lesson,” Dallen said. But Adelaine did not seem deterred. He thought for a moment longer.

“Adelaine, if you believe what Vanteus fears, about those bandits — if you think they’re as much of a threat as he says. Well…you could just leave. Get out ahead of it. Strike out into the world you want to see so badly. Find a merchant or some band of folks to travel with.”

Adelaine gave him an affronted look, like what he had just suggested was some kind of blasphemy, but before she could get any words out, the look faded. And she was in deep thought.

“I…” She shook her head, but looked more resigned than assured. “I couldn’t do that. This place needs help. I’d love to see more of the world, broken as it is. To have somewhere to practice that wasn’t just a sickbed or a sketchbook. To start putting the knowledge that we once had back together.”

She had a distant look, but shook it off, and continued.

“But I can’t leave here. Not now — not before trouble comes.” Her face hardened with resolve. “That would be running. It would be cowardly.”

Sometimes it is better to run, Dallen thought. What did staying and fighting get me in Callia? All of the same: a dead city and dead friends. Maybe it would have been better to run then.

The girl had such hope still left in her, despite that grim resolve she wore. Dallen just felt empty by comparison. She had yet to have the hope burned out of her.

Is that so bad? part of him said. But it was a quiet, weak voice.

Devils, he needed to sleep.

“If it’s any consolation,” he said. “Anywhere you go in the world will need help. The whole place is broken, down to the last little hamlet.”

Despite the grim words, Adelaine’s face did not fall. She frowned, but stayed strong.

“That just means there’s always more good to be done, then.”

Dallen wished he could have brought himself to smile at that. But in his experience, trying to do good often left you worse off.

But the girl didn’t need to hear any more of his cynicism tonight. Without another word, he went off to bed. Without another drink, it was a hard night to sleep.