Hunting down demons beside Thar and his mortal companions proved to be a task like no other. Even though D’Argen was almost always out of the fight until the end, the amount of trust the mortals had in each other and, eventually, in him, was humbling.
The first time Horis had started wandering the canyon cracks by himself with blood dripping from his arm, D’Argen had wanted to run down and then run him out of there and far away. Yet Horis trusted D’Argen to watch his back and strike down the demons that his blood called forth.
Most of the demons they encountered were similar to those during the first demon wars. They were grotesque and inhuman, a mixture of different animals and nature itself. They did not encounter the woman with the lion’s tail or the man with the horns on his head again.
By the time a week had gone by with no demons in sight, Thar decided that their squad would move on further north. He was not the only one to notice that the news did not make them happy.
“You may not need the break, but I’m sure they do,” D’Argen whispered to Thar out of the way. He did not want to question Thar’s orders among his people.
When Thar looked at him sideways, D’Argen slipped back to the fire in the middle of their camp. He had been avoiding being alone with Thar since that first incident in the cave. Thar had not brought it up even once and D’Argen was grateful for it. It would be best to pretend it never happened.
Sitting down beside Horis, D’Argen waved away the offered skin of wine and then the offered tin of heated wine with berries.
“I thought you were a drinker,” Pasha said from the other side of the fire. Clearly, she had not gotten the unspoken message that none of them were to discuss about the drunken god stumbling through the castle halls.
“Everybody has a rough day or so. Mine just lasted longer,” D’Argen was able to say with a smile.
“Pfft, from long before my grandfather was born,” Pasha scoffed out.
“Good on you,” Maron said from his other side. “Alcohol does nothing but dull the senses.”
“And makes it easier to sleep,” Pasha said louder once the skin made it to her side of the fire. She lifted it in a toast and went to drink from it, only to find it empty.
Laughter was pleasant to hear and it tasted better than any wine D’Argen would ever drink.
Another week of scouting and searching around revealed no demons at all, not even tracks or remains of them having been there. Thar declared they would all return to Evadia and rest before heading out again. D’Argen knew that to mean that Thar would escort them and then come right back out again to fight. As much as his sentence had been horrible, Thar was a wanderer even before he was forbidden from returning to Evadia in his other memories. He was also a fighter. He enjoyed the fight more than any D’Argen had ever encountered before. And he was good at it, too.
D’Argen wondered, for a moment, if Thar could actually beat Vah’mor in a fair fight. Then he wondered if he could beat them without either of them using their mahee. That would be a spectacle to watch. Then he wondered if, in this set of memories, Vah’mor and Thar disliked one another as much as they did in the other set.
“D’Argen,” Thar called him over as the group walked, the white walls of Evadia’s castle already within sight on the horizon.
D’Argen slowed his step until he was walking at the back of the group beside Thar. If Thar brought up that cave incident now that they were in another time and place, D’Argen would just run. Trace was large enough to avoid everybody for the next four thousand years.
“I want us to get you a sword,” Thar said instead, bringing D’Argen back to the present. Or the dream. Whichever it was. “If you want to continue with us, that is.”
“I… huh?”
“Your help has been invaluable. Your speed has saved each of us more than once. I would be honoured—”
“A sword?” D’Argen interrupted. “Why?”
“You do not carry one. I think a longer blade would be better for you than those daggers you have.”
“I don’t like swords,” D’Argen scrambled for an excuse.
Thar visibly startled. His look made it seem like he was questioning D’Argen’s sanity. D’Argen was doing the same thing internally.
“If it is about the size or craftsmanship, Adda-on makes the best—”
“I have a sword,” D’Argen interrupted. “A lovely one. I just don’t like it. Them. I don’t like using them.”
“May I know the reason why?”
“Because I have been stabbed by own sword two times more than I ever should have been, and I would prefer to avoid the pain that follows that temptation.”
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Thar was speechless. D’Argen smiled and hurried his step to join the others ahead before Thar could question him more.
It was not like he never considered looking for his sword in this realm and trying the same thing Lilian had told him about. But also, both time it was Lilian who stabbed him and they were not here now. A third time without them would feel strange. At least, that was the excuse he told himself when he was too far in the drink before. Now, it felt like a betrayal to everything he knew.
As did the last few centuries he spent avoiding all his problems.
Well… one problem, in particular.
For the rest of the walk to the city and then through the castle gates, D’Argen thought about his sword and if it was worth it to truly try again. It would fracture his mind, Lilian said. He had been worried staying here for so long would do so anyway, yet Thar was here now. D’Argen would definitely find it easier to pass the time, if only to learn the reason why Thar loved him so much in his other memories.
But still, living without Lilian for so long was horrible. Lilian had said less than a decade has passed already, so he missed their mourning ritual and statue building. He also knew that Lilian’s mahee was not in that statue. And he knew that returning to the mortal realm did not mean he would see Lilian ever again. They were gone.
Then, they were in Acela’s small office with the other four of the First Five gathered to listen to their report. D’Argen had nothing to report that was different from Thar. Instead, he thought about his sword. In the end, he decided that it would be best to have it as an option. Even though he was known for his speed—excluding the last few centuries—and for being able to run anywhere, even he knew that running away did not solve all of his problems.
Yes.
“And now?” Acela asked.
Thar said he would go out again, north to continue the hunt. D’Argen decided he would go to Sky Mountain and collect his sword, store it somewhere safe in his rooms, and then go join Thar.
The talking finally stopped and D’Argen startled out of his thoughts to see everyone looking at him.
“I apologize, I wasn’t listening. What?” he asked.
“Clearly,” Upates scoffed from his seat against the back wall.
“Hush now,” Darania chided her companion with a smile. “We were asking what your thoughts are, D’Argen.”
“About what?”
“He was not listening at all, it does not matter,” Upates tried to dismiss him.
“Will you be up for running to our allies and informing them of this new development?” Acela asked, ignoring Upates and his muttering.
“You are sharing the news? Now?” D’Argen asked, skeptical about it. Acela had a habit of keeping things from their mortal allies until it benefited her best.
“Not yet. I want to figure out a proper response and only then. No news about it is to leave this room. In fact, have you told anybody else about the demons?”
“No,” D’Argen scoffed out. “Who would I tell? And even if I did, they’d most likely consider it drunken ramblings.”
Acela looked so disappointed in him. At least Vah’mor’s glare was as usual.
“And you, Thar? Your warriors?”
“I have not told them, explicitly, not to talk about it.”
“Where are they now?” Vah’mor jumped to ask.
“Most likely at the healer’s, visiting Riss.”
Vah’mor nodded and got up. Without another word, they left the room. Nobody stopped them.
D’Argen, however, had gotten to know some of those mortals quite well in the short time they spent together. He rushed to the door and called down the hall, “If they are not there, check the kitchens or the cellars. Maybe the baths.”
Vah’mor did not acknowledge having heard him. D’Argen returned to the room and closed the door.
“Will you be joining Thar again?” Darania asked him as soon as he was facing their leaders.
“If he will have me, yes. But there is something I want to do first.”
“And that is…?”
“Not related to the subject.” Even though the others did not push him to answer, D’Argen scented the slight tint of ozone in the room get a bit stronger. Zetha was probing his surface thoughts. D’Argen thought about the cellar and the bottles waiting for him there.
“That is all. Feel free to go to Adda-on for new equipment and Lemysire came up with a weave that may be able to stop an arrow. Thar, have you seen her yet?”
“No,” Thar answered.
D’Argen felt his stomach clench.
“You are free. D’Argen, please do return on the regular with news and updates. I am hoping we will have a way to address this issue with our allies in about a month or so unless things are contained.” With those final words, Acela dismissed them both.
Thar and D’Argen left the room, though when Zetha followed them to the door, it was to close and then lock it behind them. D’Argen wanted to discuss what would happen, ask when Thar would leave, but Thar was already walking down the hall.
And probably to Lemysire.
That was fine. He had his own goals. First, however, a proper bath was in order.
The bathing chambers on the lower levels were already constructed even if not the size they would be in a few thousand years. When he arrived there, it was to see five of their earlier mortal companions already sprawled out in one of the two pools there with a large tray of drinks and fruits at the edge for them all to pick from. They greeted him with smiles and cheers.
D’Argen took to washing off most of the grime from him before slipping into the pool alongside them, not without catcalls and whistles to accompany him getting disrobed. He even made a show of it, laughing along when his horrible dance had his shirt sling up to the rafters above. He was barely one foot into the pool when the doors opened again and Thar walked in. D’Argen practically dove underwater in his haste to get out of sight. He could only hold his breath for so long though and though his hair was long, it did not need him completely submerged to soak in.
He sputtered out to the sight of Thar disrobing and looked away as soon as he saw the first line of stark black ink on his pale back. He had never actually seen Thar’s tattoos, in either set of memories. If he was ever to see them, it would be in the mortal realm where he could trace them and ask about their meanings. Because, now, he cared. He wanted to know. He wanted to be close enough with Thar to be able to ask about them without feeling awkward, to be able to look at them—and the man in general—without feeling like he was putting either of them on the spot. He wanted to know everything about the man, including what made him fall in love with D’Argen in the first place. Most importantly, he wanted them to be comfortable around each other in a way that D’Argen only experienced with so few others.
The thought sobered him up enough to wash his hair quickly and then slip out of the bath long before the tray was even half consumed. He was sure that he had left the castle of Evadia before the group ever left the baths. His hair was still wet.
And then he ran.
Because while he believed that not all problems could be solved by running away, the heat coursing through him was one of those that definitely could.