The barkeep shot Rieren a nasty look before complying. There was something strange about him, now that she looked more closely. His face seemed polished, almost shiny, like it was made of flesh-coloured ceramic. Even his hair looked like wiry metal. Rieren decided not to point any of that out, though. He was mad enough with her as it was.
She joined the former Clanmaster, taking a seat beside the old man. He had also pulled Gorint Malloh onto a seat on the other side. The poor, would-be assassin looked like he wished he was anywhere else.
Rieren tried not to get splattered by stray droplets as the former Clanmaster took an enormous swig of whatever had been set before him. He was the same, brutish man as before. His hair was wild, his beard overgrown, and one could be forgiven for mistaking him for a random drunk thanks to his shabby robes that weren’t even on right.
Nearing two hundred years old and still acting like he was a quarter of his age. Rieren shouldn’t have been surprised to see him here.
“So.” He burped, massaged his chest, then gave both Rieren and Gorint Malloh a big grin, displaying bricklike teeth. “My two favourite people in the world showing up at the same time on a night that I intended to pass away completely drunk? What twist of fortune is this supposed to be?”
Gorint Malloh was the first to speak. Clearly, he had no intention of letting Rieren get any edge over him. She wondered if he was panicking internally, if he was worried that she had divined his real intentions here.
If he was trying to control whatever damage Rieren might deal when she did get to speak.
“Honoured Clanmaster,” he said, but was quickly cut off.
“Former Clanmaster,” the old Stannerig corrected. “Thanks in part to you, of course.”
Rieren looked between the two men, wondering how things had turned out the way it had.
Gorint Malloh had the self-awareness to look minorly abashed. “This place does not suit you, honoured former Clanmaster Yonvig.”
“Why is that any of your concern, Lord Malloh?” Yonvig took another swig, then quickly took yet another after the barkeep brought them all their rounds. “I’m not the Clanmaster anymore. I don’t have any idiotic images that I need to keep up. Maybe you should spend more time looking after those fools you propped up. Unless, you had some other intentions here…”
There was a sharpness to his words that made Rieren frown. Maybe he was more alert than he had let on.
It didn’t miss Gorint Malloh. “I agree, Yonvig. You are not the Clanmaster of the Stannerig anymore. That honour falls upon your daughter, and she has done a remarkable job. However—”
“Heh.” Yonvig made a disbelieving sound in his throat. “Remarkable job.”
“Yes.” There was some heat in Gorint Malloh’s voice now. “Remarkable. That the Shatterlands have held on for this long is a testament to her and her husband’s skill at controlling matters. We both remember well what happened last time, do we not?”
“What in the Abyss do you want here, Malloh?”
“I am here because I cannot let you besmirch the name of the Stannerig clan any longer.”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Yonvig straightened in his seat and seemed to expand in anger, glaring down at the smaller, younger man with the same contempt and arrogance he had wielded like a weapon as a Clanmaster.
“You speak to me of besmirching?” he said. For the first time, his voice was low. Dangerous. “You dare to depose me, put some upstarts in my place, and call this besmirching?” He growled hard enough that his beard rustled. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right here and now for such an insult?”
The threat was all too real. Even the people elsewhere in the tavern, who had gone back to minding their own business after the initial excitement, now eyed the big man warily. Rieren simply took a little sip of the drink she had been provided. She wrinkled her nose. Nasty.
“Because if you were to kill me,” Gorint Malloh said with surprising confidence. “Your daughter will not rest until justice has been meted out, even if means it has to be done to you. You would also be consigning the entire Shatterlands to the monsters if you were to kill me.”
“You think too highly of yourself.”
“Do I, now? Recall what happened in the last timeline, honoured former Clanmaster.”
Gorint Malloh was quite obviously calling Yonvig’s bluff. Real as the former Clanmaster’s threat was, Gorint held more than a dash of truth. He had been more than integral to the Shatterlands in the previous timeline. In this one, he had positioned himself so that he couldn’t be removed without creating a void that could turn out to be fatal.
In the last timeline, when most of the defenders of the region had fallen to the Dreadflood and the other Abyssals, only Gorint had been successfully able to find a solution. He had been key to their victory, horribly pyrrhic though it had been.
“Allow me to forgo modesty for a moment, former Clanmaster Yonvig,” Malloh said. “But I would argue I am the single, most important person in the entirety of the Shatterlands at this moment.”
At that, both Rieren and Yonvig stared at him.
He went on unabashed. “I am the one who determined the root cause of our defeat in the last timelines and proposed the right solution.”
“You insinuated that I was the cause,” Yonvig said, beard bristling in ever-rising anger. “And that my removal would be the first step to ensuring that was corrected.”
“And I am glad your daughter agreed with me. I also insinuated that your desperate individualism was an important factor too. In fact, I was the one who orchestrated the union between the two clans, and look at all the benefits it has provided. Look how far we have come, how much we have withstood for so long.”
There was a tinge of desperation in his voice, but not because he wanted the former Clanmaster to come to his point of view that all his actions had been necessary. That wasn’t going to happen.
But Rieren remembered his hand on his knife. She recalled well the tension and intent coming off him. It sounded more like he was buoying himself up and forcing himself to believe that his decisions were justified, no matter how harsh or cruel. All that he was doing was for the benefit of the Shatterlands.
“Is that so?” Yonvig finished his drink with a mighty swallow then handed the mug at the barkeep to refill it. “What are you going to do about the fact that we’re still losing?”
The barkeep looked on with unveiled disgust, but he did his duty. Maybe he was riding on the fact that Yonvig was too distracted and too drunk to care about one barkeep’s throwaway disparaging looks.
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“It would go easier if you stopped interfering,” Gorint Malloh said. He was beginning to drink too.
“How dare you blame me for your own failures.”
“Failure? Is it my failure to yell at anyone and everyone who will listen about how much you do not favour the clans’ union? Is it me making many people doubt the current Clanmasters’ decisions and refuse to cooperate because, and I quote, it would be an affront to the true Clanmasters?”
They continued arguing, throwing barbs back and forth. Rieren began to wonder if she ought to now get out and continue on towards the manor, or if she should wait. Snippets of their conversation were interesting. It let her learn more about the actual, specific state of the Shatterlands.
For instance, she learned how one of the Sects near the empire’s border—the Cracked Moon Sect—had sent over several Elders and older disciples in order to assist in the battles. Rieren barely even remembered them from the last timeline.
Then there were tidbits about specific people too. Names she didn’t recognize for the most part, but it was still intriguing to hear about those who still supported the old Clanmasters.
“You seem mightily alone,” the barkeep said all of a sudden, refilling her tankard despite Rieren not having asked for it. “For someone who was invited directly.”
She couldn’t shake the weirdness at seeing his face and hair again, but it was good to look past it. “Are you worried we are scaring off your customers?”
“Hmm? Nah, this old fool does this all the time. Every regular knows to expect it by now.”
Rieren’s ears perked up. “What else does he do here?”
The barkeep pulled himself back with a little grin. “Oh, nothing much. Just conspiring with his fellow dissidents and causing small rackets every now and then.”
“That’s enough from you,” Yonvig said gruffly. Apparently, his argument was on pause.
“Just making conversation,” he said with a smile before retreating.
“You aren’t this talkative normally. What, a pretty girl loosened your tongue? You’re too old for her, you cursed barkeep.”
“Why is she even here?” Gorint Malloh clicked his tongue, glaring over Yonvig’s big shoulder. All Rieren could see of him was the top of his head and his screwed-up eyes. “Last I heard, you abandoned Mercion’s little group as soon as you had finished your contract. Though the rumours aren’t as polite.”
Oh, so that was what Mercion had told others about her incident with the Avatar. She supposed that was kind of him.
Though rumours… sounded less than pleasant. Especially since Gorint Malloh’s words hadn’t been quiet or low. A sudden spike of interest bloomed in the crowd behind her.
Of course, the story of her killing the Arisen and then fighting off an Avatar should have been circulating wildly by now. Most people might not know her directly, but the image of some strange, unknown disciple in red robes, a sword at her waist, and a cat for a hat painted quite a picture. One that was likely bright in many of the drunkards’ minds.
“Oh, that’s right.” The barkeep smiled again, sharper this time. “I think I know you. The girl who killed a Masked Avatar. The Abyss are you doing here of all places? Tell us the truth.”
Well, the cat was out of the bag properly now. Chairs squeaked and a soft murmur went through the crowd at the back. They were intrigued too, hanging on the silence that Rieren was letting stretch.
She took a deep breath. “I came here to learn of what had been happening in the Shatterlands.”
Rieren could have tried causing trouble by airing her suspicions that Gorint Malloh had murderous intentions. But she had no proof of it. More likely, if the barkeep suspected that she was more trouble than she was worth, he would try to expel her. Not that he would have much success with the endeavour.
“A lie,” Malloh said. “Why, so you know just when to disappear?”
“Are you so powerlessly pathetic that my disappearance irks you so much? That you know you cannot claim any sort of victory without my intervention?”
“Your cowardice and our prosperity are not connected in the slightest.”
Before Rieren could say anything against that, Yonvig turned to her too. “I am curious. What’s making you help us this time instead of whatever it is you really came here to do?” He peered at her from beneath bushy eyebrows. “And what’s the secret to your power? You don’t look as strong as some of the rumours make you out to be. As scrawny as when I last saw you.”
Rieren tried to shrug off all the attention she was receiving. It felt like a thousand hollow mosquitoes buzzing right against her ear. She did her best to ignore the prickling sensation all over her skin as everyone took note of her every motion. “I am here because I wish to help.”
“Another lie,” Malloh said.
“But help why?” the former Stannerig Clanmaster pressed. “What is in it for you?”
“Must one always seek material gain to provide assistance?” Rieren asked back.
Gorint Malloh stood from his chair. “You only joined young lord Mercion’s group because he guaranteed you a position in the Ordorian clan.”
Yonvig’s eyes widened at that. “He went to such lengths?”
Rieren frowned at the big man. “Why invite me inside if you are only going to be rude about everything?”
The former Clanmaster took a big, beard-ruffling breath. “Because I wanted to recruit you.”
“Recruit me?” She had a suspicion that he didn’t mean recruit her into the efforts against the monstrous invaders in his homeland. “For what?”
“For my… petition, if you will, for the Clanmasters to come around to my line of thinking.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you not noticed how they are so desperate to beg assistance from the imperial court? Have you not seen the way they are content to sacrifice the Shatterlands in their misguided attempt to save it? This miracle they seek from the Emperor will never arrive. A futile effort. They need to redirect their thoughts and energy to taking the action that will most benefit us all.”
“Enough.” Gorint Malloh said. “If you dare utter a single word against the tremendous work that our Clanmasters have done so far, I will be forced to silence you.”
Yonvig laughed low. “You think you can take me on, brat?”
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, old man.”
At that, Yonvig actually bristled. It was one thing to argue, it was another to forego all formality entirely and directly insult the one being spoken too. Rieren couldn’t actually blame him for getting mad.
Behind them, the crowd had turned hushed with excitement and anticipation. Strangely, even the barkeep seemed a little eager at the confrontation. Rieren frowned. One would think a barkeep would like to keep his bar as intact as possible, something a fight between two strong men would severely jeopardize. Hadn’t he been yelling at Rieren about the door kick?
Yonvig and Gorint Malloh were continuing to threaten each other, but they didn’t get to actually fight. Rieren had been about to sneak out of the tavern while they were distracted, but she didn’t get to do that either.
The tavern door was once again kicked open.
“Can you all stop with the door-kicking?” the barkeep yelled angrily. “There’s an Abyss-cursed doorknob, for crying out loud.”
The gaggle of men who bundled in didn’t look like they gave a single fig about the barkeep. But then, a woman sidled out from the middle of the group. Rieren blinked.
That was the current Stannerig Clanmistress.
“I apologize ever so much for the brutishness of my thugs,” she said with one hand on one of her attendants, blinking prettily at the barkeep.
“Really?” Yonvig had completely forgotten about his argument with Gorint Malloh. He was now staring at his daughter, looking none too pleased. “You had to come yourself? Is this what the current Clanmistress does? Chase after people personally?”
Avathene ignored Yonvig completely. “I was just here to retrieve my father, barkeep. If there have been any damages or anything of the kind, please send a detailed letter to my office and I will address it to the best of my capabilities.”
“Nothing so serious, my lady,” the barkeep said quickly. “I am grateful that you decided to grace us with your presence.”
Avathene snapped her fingers. All the men except the one supporting her hurried forward as one and quickly surrounded Yonvig. For just a moment, he looked apprehensive. But the attendants stood like walls, statues who couldn’t be negotiated with. He sighed, then allowed himself to be led away. It almost looked like a routine they had gone through multiple times.
“The doors of the Sealed Salt tavern will always be open to you, Clanmaster and Clanmistress!” the barkeep said to their departing backs.
Rieren made to get up and leave as well, but then Gorint Malloh was before her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. “My business is not finished with you.”
“Oh, my apologies, my lord,” Clanmistress Avathene said from behind him. “I was going to borrow her for a few small tasks. If you have dire need of her, I will gladly relinquish her to you now, of course. But if not, would you kindly wait a bit?”
Malloh didn’t turn around for a long moment. He closed his eyes, looked like he was trying to keep his frustration from bursting free, and clicked his tongue. “Of course, Clanmistress,” he finally said. “Please, take her.”
Avathene smiled at Rieren and nodded at her to follow. For a second, Rieren hesitated. Did she really want to go with the Clanmistress of the Stannerig clan?
Yes, yes she did. That way lay her next Enlightenment Locale. If Kalvia wouldn’t be done anytime soon, then Rieren needed to find her own way to it. Going with Avathene now might just grant her the opportunity to do so.
So, ignoring the venomous look Gorint Malloh shot her, she joined the little group heading out the tavern.