During the walk back to the Weary Wayfarer, Vash was silent, brooding over the disk of bronze that lay against his chest. Corwin kept up a steady stream of chatter, speculating about their quest and the jobs they could take afterwards. Apparently, he and Jabez mostly dealt with monster infestations, shadow cult camps, and bandit groups. Good for a bit of coin here and there, but not the same as the more lucrative dungeon delves and ruin explorations.
Once, the thought of exploring ancient ruins and dungeons would have filled Vash with joy. Now it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
What did you expect? He thought, They would let you run around without a leash? Corwin is a trusting fool, but that dwarf may be more clever than I gave him credit for.
Jabez kept his eyes fixed forward, grunting in acknowledgment of Corwin’s comments every now and again. He played the part of the gruff master well, but Vash suspected one didn’t become a Master in the Wayfarers by being foolish or reckless.
He’s the one to watch out for when I make my break…if I can make a break. Vash thought, frowning.
As he held the medallion in his fingers, Vash carefully inspected it. It wasn’t anything special, similar to the identification tags that guardsmen wore. Wayfarer’s glyph on one side, Sala’s sigil on the other, a few tiny runes etched around the rim in a language that Vash didn’t know offhand.
I’ll probably have to find a hedge mage to break the soul bond.
“It’s pretty neat, huh?” Corwin asked, beaming. “You figured out what you unlocked yet?”
Vash looked up at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Your Guild Marker, the amulet. As you gain ranks in the Guild, it unlocks passive Talents.” Corwin said. “I wanted to tell you about it when Royce gave you the medallion, but it’s not something we talk about when folk like Inquisitor Glauch are in the room.”
He had forgotten about the sudden rush of vitality and how his nose had stopped bleeding as soon as he’d taken the medallion. Now he took a mental inventory of any changes in his body. The bruises on his knuckles from fighting the guardsmen at the Ducal Palace had faded and almost disappeared. He no longer felt the deeper bruises on his stomach and ribs from the beatings he had taken.
“Something to do with healing?” Vash guessed.
Corwin grinned. “It uses ambient mana to bolster your own natural healing. So, it doesn’t use your personal mana reserve and is constantly repairing your body. Wear it all night and your nose will be back to normal by morning.”
That’s handy. Vash thought, tucking the medallion back under his shirt.
“Being a Wayfarer has its perks. You can read about them in the Gideon’s Guide.” Corwin said, enthusiastically.
“I’ll have to check that out,” Vash said, trying to move off of the conversation and get back to brooding.
“Remember that the Gideon’s Guide is a place to start, not the end-all-be-all of Wayfarer knowledge.” Jabez said. “Gideon Harlow didn’t see everything that this world has to see, nor did he write everything down. So keep your eyes and ears open.”
Corwin made a face like he’d heard this speech a thousand times, but he kept silent.
As Jabez neared the Weary Wayfarer, he stopped. Vash and Corwin stopped behind him. Vash didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. More guardsmen than usual loitered on street corners, unsurprising due to the Eth Mitaan attack on the Duke.
“Something wrong?” Corwin asked, stepping up beside Jabez, brow furrowed.
“No, just thinking.” Jabez said. “Since our boy…I mean, Vash, is now a Wayfarer—at least probationary—we should probably take him to a proper Wayfarer tavern to welcome him to the Guild.”
A mischievous grin split Corwin’s face. “You aren’t suggesting…?”
“Yeah, I think we have to go to the Drunken Drake.” Jabez said decisively. He turned on his heel and began walking towards the Wayfarer’s Gate.
“What’s the Drunken Drake?” Vash asked. “I’ve lived here for two years and never heard of it.”
“The Drake’s a bit of a hole-in-the-wall.” Corwin said, clapping Vash on the shoulder and steering him to follow Jabez. “It’s not Wayfarer exclusive, but it’s definitely more friendly to Wayfarers.”
Vash allowed Jabez to steer him, following him when he turned off the high street and into one of the many side-streets in the shadow of the city walls. They didn’t have to go far. In less than a block, Vash heard thumping drums and fast fiddle playing, as well as the low buzz of voices. As they turned a corner, the three of them found themselves swallowed by a small crowd of adventurers. Most lounged at outside tables in front of a stone building that looked like it had seen better days. A variety of people talked, gamed, ate, and drank in front of the wide open double-doors. Above the doorway was a modest shingle with a crudely sketched Draconic figure painted on it. The creature looked far more comical than fearsome, with exaggerated angry eyes and oddly human arms holding a pair of ale mugs. A shaggy-haired Tauroc with large, curved horns leaned against the door frame, watching the chaos with a lazy, bored expression.
Jabez approached the Tauroc. “Got any tables inside, Hefnir?”
The massive bull-headed Tauroc looked down at Jabez, jaw working placidly as he chewed something. Vash, having grown up in a farming community, didn’t want to think about what the Tauroc might be chewing on. Hefnir made a deep rumble of annoyance. “We’re full up.”
“You telling me that a fifth level Master can’t get a table?” Jabez asked.
“Didn’t say that,” Hefnir rumbled. “Just sayin’ that there aren’t any tables available.”
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Jabez looked past Hefnir into the interior of the tavern. From where Vash was standing, he could see that Hefnir wasn’t lying. The tables were crowded with every kind of person imaginable. Elves, dwarves, orcs, Tauroc, halflings, gnomes, and humans of every shape, size, and color crowded together at tables and lined the bar. On a raised platform at one end of the tavern were several musicians playing a thunderous song that had most of the rabble singing along:
> Here’s to the Masters, who showed us the way,
> To Journeymen brave who joined the fray.
> To Gauntlets braved and maidens won.
> To our brothers in arms,
> And to the adventures to come!
>
> So raise your mugs, you Wayfarers bold!
> With broken blades and stories untold,
> From Underland depths to the dwarf lords’ peaks,
> We’ll drink and we’ll sing ‘til the new day breaks!
Only one table didn’t join in the chorus. They were laughing and clapping along, but obviously didn’t know the song any more than Vash did. With a start, Vash realized he recognized some of them. Not necessarily by their faces, but by the red-dyed caps they all wore. Members of the Red Caps had been an annoyance to the Eth Mitaan in the Riverside district, never really a rival, but Vash had clashed with them before. Now they seemed to enjoy free run of the city.
Jabez seemed to notice them as well. He turned to Hefnir. “What about that table? Looks empty to me.”
Hefnir glanced over at the Red Caps. “Needs to be cleaned off. If you want to do it, you’ll get no argument from me.”
“Let’s clear some garbage, boys.” Jabez said, motioning Corwin and Vash to follow.
“Wait, I know them.” Vash said. “They aren’t going to just leave if we make a few threats.”
“He knows.” Corwin said, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles.
Jabez stalked across the room, eyes fixed on the Red Caps’ table. Other Wayfarers noticed the dwarf on a mission and moved their drinks out of the way or adjusted their seats to give him, Corwin, and Vash room to move.
“You might want to set your pack down.” Corwin advised, setting down the bag he’d brought from the Salvager’s Yard. “Hefnir will make sure it’s not bothered, right Hef?”
The big Tauroc made a grunt that sounded close to a cattle lowing, but Vash took it as assent. Vash dropped his pack next to Corwin’s bag and followed them through the crowded room.
> We’ve traveled far on the Glory Road,
> From Solaria far, the High King’s abode,
> Through Vinya-Esain’s enchanted wood,
> Where Kaeleshi archers understood,
> Our Wayfarer’s badge meant friend, not foe,
> In Oxthera’s towers, our legends grow!
> From Aladur’s plains to Galadon’s shores,
> We’ve fought what comes from the Underland’s doors,
> In Patria’s court or Nosraval’s gloom.
> Our deeds light fires in fair lady’s rooms!
>
> So raise your mugs, you Wayfarers bold!
> With broken blades and stories untold,
> From Underland depths to the dwarf lords’ peaks,
> We’ll drink and we’ll sing ‘til the new day breaks!
Jabez marched up to the Red Caps’ table and picked the nearest one, a scruffy-looking youth who raised a mug of ale to his lips. With a casual smack of one thick hand, Jabez swatted the mug out of the youth’s hand. The clay mug shattered on the floor and left a puddle of ale on the floor stones.
The youth just stared in shock. A stout Red Cap sitting beside him got to his feet and glared down at Jabez. “What the hell’s your problem?”
“He wasn’t singing.” Jabez said, pointing at the gaping youth.
“Who the hell cares?” The stout Red Cap asked, incredulous. “None of us were singing, we don’t know the song.”
“This is a Wayfarer tavern. Guild Law says that when the Wayfarer Toast is sung at a Wayfarer tavern, then everyone sings, or else you got to leave.” Jabez said, voice calm but with a definite promise.
“Screw that.” Another Red Cap said, getting to his feet. He was taller that Vash and had the thickly muscled arms of a dock worker. “No ponce Guild tells a Red Cap where he can go.”
“Then we got ourselves a problem.” Jabez said. “Me and my apprentices need a table. Guild law says you got to leave and give up your table.”
“You want the table, then you’re going to have to back up your words, shorty.” The stout Red Cap said. “You and your apprentices—“ The Red Cap looked up at Corwin and Vash. He paused, eyes glittering in recognition. “I know that one.”
The youth looked up at Vash, finally shaking off the shock. A mean grin split his face. “Oi, I know that knife-ear. He’s a Masked One…oh, wait, he can’t be a Masked One. They’re all dead, ain’t they?”
The Red Caps laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. Vash felt anger blossom in his chest, and he glared at the youth.
“I think you made the half-breed mad, Alvy.” The stout Red Cap said. “Not that anyone cares, since you don’t got a gang to back you up anymore, do you?”
Alvy, the young Red Cap, stood up and held Vash’s gaze, cocky and eager. “I know the Last Sons, over in Drover’s Court, would love to have a word with you. Pol, don’t you think this might be the one who put out Nath’s eye in that scrap the Sons and the Masks had?”
The big Red Cap nodded. “Probably hard to tell since they wore those masks. Definitely worth a few silver to hand him over.”
“I think we can have some fun first, don’t you?” Alvy sniggered.
“No blades, boys.” Jabez said. “Understand.”
Vash didn’t, but Corwin nodded.
“Oi, I forgot you were there—“
Jabez’s fist shot out like a viper, slamming into Alvy’s stomach with the force of a forge hammer. The youth flew back, tumbling over his chair and rolling into the suddenly empty space behind him. The Wayfarers in the tables around the Red Caps had shifted back in anticipation.
Corwin charged the stout Red Cap, landing a solid blow to the stomach and doubling the man over, following up with an uppercut that sent him sprawling. The big Red Cap, Pol, roared in fury and caught Corwin with his shoulder, shoving him across the room and slamming him into a stone wall.
The two other Red Caps, who until this moment had been laughing and drinking at the entertaining scene, suddenly stood up and charged Vash. With his mana still low from the Gauntlet earlier, Vash was taken by surprise. The first Red Cap went for his ribs with a series of body blows. His punches caused the leather to contract, resulting in strikes that were only bruising instead of potentially rib-breaking. The second came in from the side and caught him across the jaw with a well-timed jab.
Vash’s head swam, and he saw stars. His medallion pulsed, and within a few heartbeats, Vash’s vision cleared.
Damn, that’s useful.
The first Red Cap was lunging in again for another series of strikes to his ribs and stomach. Vash twisted, bringing up an elbow and cracking it across the Red Cap’s chin. The man spun, eyes rolling in his head, and fell to the ground. The second Red Cap yelled something, but Vash didn’t catch it, then came leaping over his prone friend, lashing out with a series of wild strikes. Vash either took the blows on his armor or deflected them with his metal-lined bracers.
The Red Cap snarled in frustration and pulled a stiletto from his belt. The quick jabs from the thin knife pushed Vash back across the room. Vash timed the man’s attacks. He had the same problem most amateur fighters did. He fell into a rhythm.
In anticipation of the next attack, Vash turned and seized the man’s wrist. He pulled the Red Cap, using his own momentum against him. Vash backhanded the Red Cap across the face, feeling the man’s nose crunch beneath his knuckles. The muscles under Vash’s other hand slackened slightly, and he twisted the Red Cap’s wrist hard. With a cry of pain, the Red Cap dropped the knife. Vash snaked one hand around the back of the Red Cap’s neck, grabbed his head and slammed it into his rising knee. The Red Cap crumpled and Vash stepped back, ready for another attack.
Jabez stood by the table, arms crossed, one foot on the head of the young Red Cap, Alvy. Corwin was standing over the big Red Cap, Pol, who was on the ground in a fetal position whimpering. Breathing hard, Corwin wiped a thin trickle of blood from beneath his nose and gave Vash a savage grin.
Moments later, Hefnir and some large humans arrived to gather the Red Caps. The Tauroc nodded to Jabez. “I appreciate the lack of damage. Have a good night.”
Pulling out a chair, Jabez nodded graciously to Hefnir. He turned to Vash and Corwin. “Now that we’ve had a bit of fun, let’s get a drink.”