4 – Good Beer

“Oh, mate! That’s the thing about Vainglory; it’s all in the name—you’ll find glory, sure, but seeking glory for its own sake is a fool’s errand. It’s something you do in ‘vain,’ see? Your buddy made that mistake! He bit off more than he could chew, went a bit mad with his pursuit of power, and now, where is he? It’s a tale repeated so often that they named the whole system after it!”

Ward glanced sideways at Grace, who, unbeknownst to the tavern patron he’d been talking to, also sat at the table. She shrugged, and he knew what she was thinking—she’d only repeated what she’d read about Vainglory. Any misinformation wasn’t her fault. He looked at the grizzled old fellow, noticed his beer mug was running low, and topped it off with the pitcher. “That’s why they call this place ‘Vainglory,’ huh?”

“Aye. Every child born in this world is raised up on the tales of folks seeking glory for glory’s sake and meeting with folly.” The old timer paused to take a drink, and Ward considered his words. They didn’t exactly mesh with what Haley had told him. Hadn’t she said she’d grown up reading stories about great heroes taking on the challenges and climbing the ranks of power? “There’s a good reason you don’t run into many sorcerers, sir, begging your pardon,” he ducked his chin and touched his forehead in a gesture Ward had come to realize meant a person was being respectful, “but more folks with the touch wind up dead than powerful.”

Grace leaned her elbows on the table and spoke loudly over the clamor of the tavern, “Ask him if there are more sorcerers on the higher worlds.” Ward nodded, shifting his mug on the tabletop, pleased that he’d found an establishment that sold chilled beer. He watched the glass smear the condensation into the well-worn wood, contemplating his words while the old shipwright gulped about half his mug down.

“As you know, I’m not from these parts. I was a little surprised by how few ‘with the touch’ I’ve run into. Are there more on the higher worlds?”

The old fellow—Brant—rubbed the foam off his mustache and nodded. “Oh, aye! That’s how the story goes, but I ain’t never been off Cinder. Still, I’ve spoken to plenty of travelers, and they all tell the same kind of story: you’ll find more of the orders and academies on the higher worlds. You’ll find mages and sorcerers in every city and witches in the villages, but if you shake a stick at a crowd on Primus, you’d still struggle to come up with more than one or two with a glow in their eyes.”

Ward nodded, sipping his beer and enjoying the lively atmosphere while Barnt savored his drink. Ward had already treated him to three refills. He glanced out the window and across the street to the inn where he’d left Haley; after they’d delivered a groggy, concussed Rina to her sobbing, grateful mother, they’d made good time to Port Granite, arriving just an hour after sundown. One of the guards at the gate had suggested the inn—Port’s Refuge—and while checking in, Ward had heard the noise, smelled the fried foods, and seen the happy crowd across the street.

The place had called to him in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long while, but when he voiced his interest, Haley hadn’t been interested. She’d seemed fine, insisting she just wanted a quiet soak in the tub, so he’d dropped his things in the room with her and made his way over. The tavern was crowded, too much so for him to get his own table, and that’s how he met Brant. “You reckon we’ll have any trouble booking passage to Westview?”

“Nah! There’s a ship heading that way every couple of days.” Brant burped loudly and added, “Can’t promise it’ll be a passenger ship, but if you don’t mind doing a little labor, there’ll be a place for you on a cargo vessel.”

Ward mulled that over, picturing himself mopping the deck or mending ropes—clichés from a dozen movies. “Doesn’t sound bad. How about the living ships? I heard passage off-world doesn’t come cheap.”

“Well, aye, that’s another story. Them ships are mighty uncommon, and each voyage is booked up for years in advance. You’ll find folks in the city selling berths, but they know they’ve got something precious.”

“It makes sense,” Grace said, eyeing Ward’s beer. Ward grinned and took a long drink of the cold, smooth ale. It tasted particularly nutty, and after the day he’d had, it was almost too good. He saw Grace lick her lips, and when she caught him looking, he was pleased to see her blush. “What? I can’t help it! It’s good. Take another drink!”

Ward’s smile widened, and he complied, draining the rest of the mug. Grace sighed happily and laid her head in her arms, closing her eyes as she practically purred. He set the mug down and smiled at Brant. “Damn good beer.” Brant laughed, exposing his crooked, gap-toothed smile, and Ward found himself laughing, too, so much so that he had to wipe tears from his eyes after a couple of minutes.

He and the old timer chatted for a while more about all manner of things—boats, horses, trogs, and, after another couple of beers, the nature of death and the purpose of life. If they uncovered any great secrets, though, Ward doubted he’d remember. Still, in his drunken state, he felt like he and Brant were on to something.

Sometime around midnight, a watchman came to stand in the open double doors, holding a large iron bell in his hands. To Ward’s dismay, he began to violently clang it back and forth, interrupting the drinking and carousing to shout, “Curfew! Everyone needs to be home by hour’s end! Anyone still on the streets will be fined or jailed!” To summarize, he clanged the bell a dozen more times, wringing forth grumbles, curses, and even a few thrown hunks of food. Ward didn’t envy the watchman, but he also didn’t like the idea of a curfew.

“There’s a curfew?”

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“Aye, two hours past midnight. Mayor says it cuts down on crime.” Brant pushed his chair back and, with great effort, heaved himself to his feet. “I’d best be off—quite a stroll back to my place.” He held out a hand, and Ward clasped it, shaking it warmly. “Nice to meet you, Ward. Thanks for buying an old board-cutter a beer—or ten.” He laughed, his cheeks bright red from all the drink, and Ward almost asked if he needed an escort home.

“It’s nothing. Nice to meet you, Brant,” was all he said, though. He watched the fellow stumble toward the door, but he wasn’t alone; half the tavern was clearing out. Ward looked at Grace and her glazed-over eyes and chuckled. “Are you really drunk?”

“I can let myself feel what you feel.” Her words slurred, and she laughed, leaning forward to poke a long, slender finger into his chest. “You’re drunk!”

Ward shrugged, unable to deny the accusation. “I think I like you better like this.”

Grace leaned closer, and the fire in her eyes nearly died to nothing as burgeoning tears filled them. “I wish we’d gotten off on a better foot. I wish I hadn’t lied to you, and I wish you knew that I’m not a scheming, evil creature. I really do care about you and Haley.”

She sounded so sober and honest, and her words rang so true that Ward almost felt himself tearing up in sympathy. He played it off, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “Hey, come on—let’s try to make a clean start. You came clean to me about why you wanted to be in Vainglory; you admitted you didn’t know as much as you let on. I can forgive all that. Is there anything else you wanna confess while I’m feeling so magnanimous?” He stumbled on “magnanimous,” slurring the syllables together, and Grace giggled.

“There’s nothing else I’ve been dishonest with you about. I mean, nothing about what I’m doing with or for you.” She frowned. “I’m still, well, I still have secrets, but they’re about me, okay?”

Ward shrugged. “When you trust me, I’ll be ready to hear ‘em.” Ward scooted his chair back, suddenly aware of how much the room was spinning as he watched more patrons moving to the exit.

“Wait!” Grace reached out and grabbed his wrist. “I do trust you, Ward. I’m just ashamed, but you’re making me feel good about myself. I liked that we helped that girl today. Can we keep doing the ‘right’ thing?” She made air quotes around “right.”

Ward snorted, using the table to help himself stand. “Yeah, we can. I’ll sure as hell try. I’m not perfect, you know.”

“Okay.” Grace leaped to her feet and put herself under Ward’s arm, helping to steady him. “We’ll try together.” With that said, she helped him out into the chilly air, which sobered Ward slightly, and then across the street and into the inn. A few minutes later, he quietly crept into the room he and Haley were sharing—it had two beds and a separate bathroom. He found his sneaking unnecessary; Haley was up, sitting in bed, wearing some gray, flannel pajamas, writing in a small journal.

She looked up with an arched eyebrow, her pale eyes glinting in the lamplight. “You’re drunk.”

Ward doffed his hat and bowed with a stumbling flourish. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Haley, can you start the bath for him?” Grace propelled him to his bed, urging him to sit on the edge.

Haley closed her journal and stood. “I can. I was waiting up to stitch his leg, but I think a bath would be wise. There are some salts in there. I’ll put them in his water.”

“Oof,” Ward grunted as he bent to struggle out of his boots. “Sorry about that, Haley.”

“About?”

“About making you wait up! I forgot about the stitches. Can it wait ‘til morning?”

“Probably, but I’m awake.” With that, she went into the bathroom, and Ward heard the pipes clank and moan before the sound of water filling the tub came to his ears. He stripped down to his linen underwear with Grace prodding him along the way, and then he stumbled into the bathroom where Haley was adjusting the faucets. “It’s hot, but not too hot.”

Grace pushed Ward toward the tub. “Thanks, Haley. I’ll make sure he doesn’t linger in there too long.”

Haley nodded, but her eyes drifted toward Ward’s injuries. “Make sure he gets kind of rough with those claw wounds. I saw some debris in them when I was putting the salve on.”

“Oh, I’ll be sure to scrub them out.” Grace jerked her thumb to the door. “Best close that behind you, or his screams might—”

“I’ll be washing my damn wounds,” Ward protested, suddenly feeling much more sober. Haley giggled and showed herself out, clicking the door shut behind her. “Hey, you know what?” Ward said, looking at Grace with a stupid grin.

“What?”

“That’s the second time she’s laughed today. It seemed real, didn’t it?”

Grace’s eyes widened, and she nodded emphatically. “Yes! Yes, it did!”

Twenty minutes later, much cleaner and with a throbbing but clean leg, Ward was lying in bed while Haley delicately, precisely, stitched a thin, wiry thread through his flesh, sealing up the three deep, jagged wounds on his calf. “This is looking good, Ward. When I’m done, I’ll spread some fresh wound salve on the cuts, and by morning, you’ll be feeling much better.”

“Oh, I feel pretty good already,” Ward sighed, with hardly any slur to his words.

Haley pressed her pale lips together and nodded. “You’re lucky. You’re a fast healer.”

“I am lucky—lucky you were there to put that giant trog down.”

“Really?” Haley’s earnest, almost surprised tone caught Ward off guard. “I felt like an idiot during that fight. I got my sword stuck, nearly fell down the hill, and—”

“Hey, combat’s messy. What matters is that you overcame that shit and were there when it mattered.” Ward was suddenly aware of how warm Haley’s fingers were on his calf. “Did you do your Gopah stuff before I got here?”

She nodded, smiling slightly. “I did. Earlier today, I was surprised by how good it made me feel. It centers my mind and helps me put my thoughts in order. I—”

“Your hands are warm, and you seem better. Haley, I think you need to keep doing Gopah as much as you can. I noticed you were better after the battle, and that was the first time I saw you doing those forms since we left Applegrass.”

Haley set her needle and thread down and put her hands together, rubbing her palm with her thumb as her expression became contemplative. “I think you’re right. I tried it when I first…woke up, but it was frustrating. Remember I told you I had to do it for a long time to feel any of the fire?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Well, I think I was in despair, afraid I’d broken something in me that would ruin the art. I think I was scared to try it further. Earlier today, though, when I prepared for the trogs, the heat came to me rather quickly, and even though I never used it in the fight…” She trailed off, clearly thinking deeply about things.

“Well, I say we find a Gopah master while we’re here and have a chat. Didn’t you want to ask about the, uh, sword version, anyway?”

Haley nodded, reaching for the healing salve. “Gopahdo. Yes, I’d like that, Ward. Thank you.” Ward smiled and closed his eyes. His buzz was still strong, and he felt happy inside, thinking Haley might be all right. He listened to her and Grace talk about the tavern and his behavior for a little while, but their voices quickly faded as his mind slipped away, and he fell into a deep slumber.