Vergil stumbled down the stairs into the city sometime in the late hours of the afternoon. Blood dripped off his clothes and left behind a trail to mark his passage. Everything hurt, but in a good way for once.
He’d caught several glances of a hammer or a pincer or a claw, but they’d been healed by the girl at the ward. Nothing serious. Nothing too grave. Scars to mark memories.
He wasn’t bleeding his blood as he made his way down the narrow alleys, following the path Argia outlined for him.
* Done well, sprig.
* Fer a human.
* A dwarf child wouldda done better.
* Less than a handful of daemons.
* And you’ve let 'em crack open th’ Rock that stood ‘ere from th’ dawn o’ time.
If he could find the energy to tell the dwarf off, he would’ve. But he had nothing more to draw on except grim determination.
That, and the overbearing, soaring feeling of elation: he had managed on his own!
He had protected Arin’s back. He had fought with his own strength, for his own reasons, on his own. And he’d survived!
His face hurt from holding a grin for so long. Everyone in the squad had clasped hands with him once they’d reached the rent in the wall and cast out the last of the dregs trying to scrabble into the shade, away from murderous light.
He’d been given their names.
“I’m Arin,” the soldier with the shield had said at the end, when they made their careful way out of the wall. “Pleasure fighting at your side, Vergil.”
The others were Thorn and Bander, two long-serving veterans of the Rock. The captain was Alinte, and her partner was Violet. They both shook his hand at the end as they walked back through the path they’d lit.
“You’ve a place in the squad if you want it,” Alinte had told him. “Sleep on it. Always a place at the Rock for a real fighter.”
A real fighter… He chuckled as the words played over and over in his head. He laughed when the dwarf tried his derision again.
* Ye’ll be a fighter when I draw breath again.
That only stretched his grin wider.
When he stumbled inside the tavern, Tallah and Sil were already there, sitting on the high stools at the bar. The place was again packed, but much less rowdier than on the previous days. Adventurers talked tersely at tables and cast glances at him, then at Tallah.
He caught snatches of conversations about the breach in the wall and the desperate effort to protect it. Some were trying to convince others to go and help man the ramparts. There was no profit in it, but they’d all be in shit if it happened again.
Clearly, the soldiers weren’t up for the task.
Clearly, the fabled sorceress wasn’t a match for the forces outside.
Clearly, this entire debacle was the empire’s fault.
How little they knew. How little they understood of the men and women of the wall. To have faced what Vergil had faced today with unwavering courage and skill, for weeks and months on end… oh, how little the adventurers really knew of their defenders.
“You’re bleeding?” Sil asked as she took one long look at him.
Vergil shook his head. “None of it’s mine. I already got patched up by that scary girl that was hanging around you.”
Sil nodded once and passed her tankard of beer over to him. “Heard there’s celebrating to be done,” she said kindly. “Barely touched that one. It’s cold. You can have it.”
He took a long first draft of the beer and felt he’d never tasted anything more delicious in his entire life. It chilled him to the bone in the best way possible. Without meaning to or realising, he drank half of it in a single gulp. Stopped. Belched. Drank the rest.
“Like a horse,” Tallah commented off to the side. “Two buckets of water wouldn’t be enough after a long day’s work.” She tapped the bar counter and two more tankards were offered up. One to Vergil, one to replace Sil’s. “Any bread there, Miks?”
“Not today,” the tavern master answered.
“Pity.” She turned back to Vergil as he sat on the empty stool between her and Sil. “Good work, bucket-head. Heard soldiers talking. You’ve done well.”
“Did what I had to,” he answered, wiping beer foam from his face. He set the helmet on the wooden surface. There was blood on one of the horns from where he’d headbutted a ram-headed beastman. “I think Horvath’s bleeding out of this thing,” he went on. “I don’t think I could be doing what I did without it.”
Tallah and Sil leaned forward and shared a look. Sil shook her head.
“I think you need to give yourself more credit,” the healer said. “Drink. Today everyone’s celebrating. Tomorrow we may all be dead.”
“You’re a ray of sunshine,” Tallah said. “What thistle got in your knickers?”
Vergil cast a look around the room as Sil lapsed into silence over her beer. By the colour in her cheeks and how she swayed on the chair, it wasn’t her first. Or second.
Even if he and his squad hadn’t been wounded, there had been plenty of casualties in the defence. The ward was still overflowing with people when he’d made his way there—mostly prodded by Arin. Little wonder Sil wasn’t in a particularly good mood.
But he was. The beer warmed in his belly and propped up his exhaustion. He’d made some friends today. He’d done good work. Maybe… maybe he could make more?
* Eyeing up yer chances?
* Go and find a wench. Plenty worship th’ soldiers.
* Maybe one’ll make ye a man.
* Or at least pull down yer balls.
At a table to the far wall on the left were three people. Two men wearing black, weathered armour. Unlike some of the others, these were fully equipped as if ready to head out on a sortie any moment. They were either expecting the siege to spill down into the city, or hoped to have a chance and run.
The third person was an elendine. At first, Vergil hadn’t noticed her black horns sticking out through her tightly woven hair. But as she threw her head back in laughter at some jest of her companions, the sight was unmistakable.
Mertle had been friendly with him. Verti and her girls had also been kind and welcoming and talked softly. Maybe this one would be as nice? The beer encouraged him to go over and talk to the girl. She looked to be about his age.
So he did. It cut off Tallah mid-sentence as he got off the stool and walked over to the three.
“Uh… hello,” he said, cheerfully.
The two men stared up at him from their seats. One had a wide, scarred face, as if he’d gone into a fight with a feral cat. He stared out from under two bushy eyebrows and a mess of thick, dark hair. The other was clean-shaved and narrow-faced. He looked to Vergil quite seriously and shook his head from side to side almost imperceptibly.
The elendine turned in her chair and looked up at him. Her skin was a shade darker than Mertle’s and her hair was jet-black. The horns on her head were short and ridged, almost like a goat’s, sticking straight up with a slight curve.
“Beat it, soldier-boy,” she said in a tone that could’ve cut glass.
Conversation stopped around the table. Vergil felt several pairs of eyes resting on him, amused curiosity dripping off the edges of that silence.
“I just wanted to—”
“Wanted what?” the elendine cut him off.
She grinned at him, showing sharp incisors, like a cat unsheathing claws. Part of him realised this. The beer had him paying attention to other details.
Her eyes were a deep, opalescent black that caught the vague candlelight and shattered it into rainbow reflections. She was beautiful, in a kind of way that promised danger.
“To… talk?” Certainty was slipping from beneath his feet, the beer’s courage shattering against that expectant glare.
“Oh. My bad,” she cooed and turned to the others. “He wants to talk, boys. Fifth one today?”
She was up on her feet in a single, graceful motion. Vergil took a step back as she pressed herself to him. Those black eyes bore into his. She pressed a hand to his own, the one with which he held the tankard.
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“Strong man,” she whispered. She took a long drag of him, an almost feral sniff. “Been out killing daemons today, have you? Killed many?” There was something infections in how she smiled.
Vergil felt an idiot just then, unable to do more than nod idiotically at her as she pressed her free hand to his back and drew herself closer. Her knee pressed up between his. She wore a skin-tight set of leather clothes, dark blue on dark brown. It hugged her svelte figure without leaving much to the imagination. A dark cloak was draped over the back of a free chair.
Her voice was like hot honey as she kept talking.
“Big hero up there, I bet. You’ve done so much for all us little folk in here. Kept us safe, I bet. Right?”
“Uh… I… I… I tried.” His tongue felt a size too large for the confines of his mouth.
The elendine smiled widely and licked her sharp incisors.
“A big hero deserves a hero’s welcome, doesn’t he? Big man comes down from a big day of fighting. Feeling good, soldier?”
“Uh…what?” Sweat ran down Vergil’s back, cold droplets sending shivers up his spine. Her fingers caressed his. She… moved against him. It sent his skin aflame.
“And here I am, a silly little elendine. Human women too intimidating for you, big boy?”
“…what?”
She leaned forward and nearly pressed her forehead against his.
“Need someone just a little younger to keep you feeling big, soldier? Can’t get it up for your own hags?” Her fingers pressed on his hand and the tankard tipped back. She pushed, and it spilled all over Vergil’s crotch.
The elendine drew back sharply and pressed a hand to her mouth, looking shocked. “Soldier! You’ve gone and pissed yourself.”
Roars of laughter errupted from the tables around. Vergil wanted to melt down into the floorboards and disappear from sight. He was flustered to the top of his ears. With sodden trousers, the elendine’s effects on him were quite plain for all to see. He was too shocked to cover himself.
“Human soldiers,” the elendine kept talking. She tutted. “You’re all the same. Kill a couple monsters and you all think you can stick it into anything you like. Bugger off, bo—”
She sputtered and cut off as a stream of beer poured over her head, drenching her top to bottom. She spun in place and met Sil’s eyes. Then Sil’s tankard met her face with bone crunching force. Blood sprayed in the air.
“Boy just wanted to talk,” Sil said in a tone of voice that Vergil had never heard from her before.
The temperature in the room dropped to just below glacial. The only people moving were Tallah at the bar, raising a tankard to her lips, and the elendine reeling from the hit. She spun on Sil and drew a knife from somewhere. Blood streamed down her lips, her nose clearly broken.
“I’ll kill you,” she spat at the healer.
Vergil wanted to step in. Tried to. Sil shoved him aside and came within an arm’s length of the elendine, unimpressed by the blade waving in her general direction.
“I doubt it,” she said.
Vergil didn’t see the punch flying out. He only saw Sil’s fist digging into the elendine’s stomach, the girl doubling over. Vomit splashed over Sil’s boots.
Then the fight truly broke out. The elendine lashed out with the knife. Sil dodged the cut. It had been a feint. A backhand slap cracked across her face.
The room errupted into jeers and cheers.
Vergil took a step toward them and found he couldn’t move. Strong hands had hold of his arms and dragged him back. He was forcibly sat down on the elendine’s chair. A full tankard of beer was set in front of him.
“You with the blonde thunder cunt over there?” the bald man from before asked from his right. The other man was on his left.
Sil and the elendine were entangled on the floor, each punching and scratching at the other.
“With Sil? Yes.” Vergil tried to rise again but was pushed back down. “Let me go.”
“Well, friend,” the man said again, “consider the rest of your beer for the night on us. First bit of real entertainment we’ve had in damn near a season.” He nodded to the women. “Don’t worry about them. Licia talks big, throws down, but she’s gonna figure right soon she’s not winning this. Drink up.”
Vergil did, more out of sheer pressure from the two adventurers.
“I’m Cram, the bald man said. The gentleman to your left is Bront. You are?”
“Vergil.”
Sil had grabbed hold of one of Licia’s braids, twisted it around her fist, pulled and punched the elendine straight in the nose again. It was turning an unpleasant shade of black.
Licia, for her part, writhed and twisted out of Sil’s grip and rammed an elbow in the healer’s ribs. The sharp crack had several of the cheering onlookers wincing in pain.
It went on for a long time, both woman and elendine refusing to give up. Vergil tried to intervene again but was sat back down by Bront.
“Leave ’em be,” the big man said in a surprisingly soft tone of voice. “Looks to me they both got some pent up stuff to exercise. It’ll be good for ’em.”
Sure enough, the two soon broke apart and moved to the edges of their little clearing. The table next to them had moved several paces away to give them room. Sil took one final, wary look at Licia, blew her broken nose clear of blood, then turned and strode back through the crowd.
Licia looked almost confused at the healer’s back, then came over and sat heavily on the remaining seat, opposite Vergil. Bront handed her a vial of amber liquid across the table.
“Easy on the fights. We’ve barely got three of these left.”
She snatched the vial from his hands and winced in pain at the sudden motion. “Cunt can throw down. Friend of yours, soldier?”
“Name’s Vergil,” he protested. “I'm not a soldier.”
“Boo-hoo for you.” She scowled while drinking the accelerant.”Much obliged to you. Needed that.”
“You… needed to get hit in the face with a tankard of beer?” Vergil gaped. “I could’ve done that without getting my trousers wet.”
Licia laughed as the bruises on her face cleared up and the pain lines on around her mouth disappeared. “You were fun to tease. You’re the fifth today that’s come around to try and slither in my trousers. Figured I was due some entertainment.”
“I just wanted to say ‘hi’. Didn’t want anything more.”
She frowned at that, the anger from earlier reigniting on her face. “Ah, so I’m not good enough for a roll in the hay? You too good for me, Vergil?”
Vergil drank his beer and raised an eyebrow. His gaze swung from Licia to Tallah at the bar. She was talking to Sil, neither of them paying him any attention.
“Already been through that routine.” Tallah had noticed him staring and raised the beer in salute. She grinned. “You need better material. You’re not getting me twice on the same shtick.”
Licia looked over her shoulder at the two at the bar. Sil turned a murderous glare in her direction. “You keep interesting company. Was that obvious?”
“Seen it before.”
Bront and Cram laughed and knocked their tankards to his. As foam crested the lip and nearly spilled over him, they both kept laughing.
“Found yourself a match, Lici,” Bront said with relish.
“Told ya it wouldn’t work foreve’,” Cram added.
“What wouldn’t?” Vergil asked, looking from one man to the other.
“For us to know. What brought you over here, Vergil? Really?” Cram clapped him on the shoulder. There was no animosity in the man’s demeanour.
Vergil finished his tankard and immediately found another waiting, sent from one of the neighbouring tables. It began dawning on him just how bored most of these people were after being cooped up at the Rock for so long.
“Wanted to make friends, is all,” he admitted. “I knew some elends in Valen.” He gave Licia a pointed glare. “I expected you’d be nicer.”
“Pathetic human-centrism,” Licia scoffed. “You knew two of my kind and assumed all of us meek and kind and nice.” She mocked his tone. “Yes, master Vergil, we live to serve. May we kiss yer pox-bitten arse?” A long draft out of her beer and a roaring belch sealed the declaration. “Bloody humans.”
“As you might notice, Licia here holds some strong opinions,” Cram said. “Don’t mind her none. She grows on you.”
“Like fungus between yer toes,” Bront finished, then dodged beer thrown at his face. It splashed against the wall.
“Stop wasting the merchandise!” the tavern master bellowed. “I can kick you out again and this time it’ll stick, Licia.”
She scoffed, looked into her empty tankard, then reached for Vergil’s. She almost got it. Vergil pulled it away from her reach.
“Give it, soldier. You’ll get another. All these blighters can’t wait to toast you.”
“Get bent,” Vergil said with as much sweetness as he could. The others laughed as Licia blushed.
“Why aren’t you all on the walls?” he asked after a pointedly long draft of beer.
By this point he didn’t even mind the cold, wet splash on his crotch. The beer’s courage and good cheer was back, as was the afterglow of a long day of fighting. He was making new friends. After a fashion.
“That blowhard Vilfor won’t have us,” Licia said, stretching across the table, head on her arms. “We want to fight. But he don’t want no civilians messing up his discipline. Bloody imbecile.”
“But they need the help,” Vergil protested.
“We know,” she drawled. “Do you think we’re sitting her with our thumbs up our arses because we’re afraid of some daemons? They won’t have us fighting. Last time we tried it nearly turned bloody.”
“There’s some traitor among us,” Cram said in a lower tone of voice, leaning in conspiratorially. “Someone iced a lot of their mages. They don’t want us up there for fear of more chaos. Sensible choice, if you ask me.”
“Sensible, my arse,” Licia whined. “We’re all going stir crazy. Soon they’ll have a whole army of us storming their bloody walls to get out.”
“And the first to run’s gonna get made intta pin cushion. Smart plan.”
“So you can’t leave?” Vergil went on, picking at the thread.
The general groan around their table answered that. These people were all bored and tired of waiting. No wonder they were starved for any change. Maybe they could help one another. He rose and tried to straighten. The beer hit him right in the head as he swayed.
“’Scuse me,” he mumbled. Tallah and Sil were also heading up to their room. “Gonna talk to my companions.”
As he tried to move past Licia, she grabbed his arm and pulled him down. He stopped himself with an arm on the table before he fell at her feet.
Her breath was hot on his ear when she whispered. “Saw ye fancied me, soldier.” He tried to pull away but she gripped the hair on the back of his head, the touch of her fingers fire-hot on his skin. “Saw more than that.” Her eyes flashed downward, then back up. Her smile was perfectly feral. “Why’d you think I stopped calling you boy?”
She let go and he stumbled back, aware of how his face burned. Licia winked at him and threw over his helmet before grabbing the tankard he’d left behind. She licked her lips as she drank from the same spot he had.
It was hard to convince his feet to get him up the stairs under the weighty gaze of those black eyes. He… he… he wanted to talk about something with Tallah, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what that had been.