The Final Life

by Andrew Mowere

  ***

  Servants bustled about, cleaning rooms, dusting tables with feather like instruments seen only in the houses of the wealthy, polishing already waxed wooden frames so that they would shine and a passed finger test would yield no dust. Every window in the house was shuttered and curtained to create an artificial evening. Even the staircase did not escape a vigorous wiping down by elderly Susan until the dark brown wood positively squeaked. Candle holders were refilled with fresh candles and ingredients were cooked in lavish styles that were saved just for guests, adding a new measure of excitement to visits because of the opportunity to taste new unknown delicacies. Of course the servants ate the same food, only later and in separate rooms from where the actual entertainment happened. Even wine was not neglected, for the best yields possible were brought to bear today (although Glint heard a stable boy whisper to another that even those weren’t all that good. They were just the best to be found)

  Above the cacophony of rushed preparations, sights and smells and sounds, Glint could hear the servants shouting to one another in what seemed to become an impromptu working song:

  “Did you take care of the carpet in the study?”

  “Are the bushes in the path leading to the hous-“

  “Yes I trimmed them! Just go and wash your blouse!”

  “Who polished the silverware?! It’s positively dirty!”

  “I did! Just be careful on the ladder, it isn’t sturdy!”

  “Hey! Over there, I think I see a mouse!”

  “Oooh why is there so much work to do in this damn house?”

  “Guys, clean fast, but don’t do it rash!”

  “Does master Glint need a ceremonial sash?”

  “Idiot, be careful, you’ll make me burn the onions!”

  “Alright, but I need to hurry and fix the carrots too.”

  Smack in the middle of this whirling storm of hands, feet, and curses stood Azrael, orchestrating the activities calmly and with a confidence that stilled the tide of panic that threatened to take over the manor at every second. As Glint watched, the man reigned over the proceedings with absolute authority, yet also took the time to hear out every complaint, suggestion or piece of advice that came his way. In his dark butler’s uniform he looked completely at ease with his role, as if he’d been an ATB his entire life.

  Glint himself, meanwhile, was kept out of the way, much to his dissatisfaction. He grumbled to himself from the sidelines as he was helped into a green tunic picked out for him. Mary was doing the helping, which didn’t alleviate Glint’s mood. He caught her noticing him looking at her from the corner of his eyes as she worked fast, and felt a slow blush spreading across his cheeks. She wasn’t much older than him, after all, and her combination of lightly freckled face, red hair and green eyes only seemed to make that even more apparent. Just then, he noticed a look in her eyes that was not unfamiliar to a warrior such as himself, and it took his immediate concerns off his mind.

  Glint stopped Mary’s work and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  The girl didn’t answer for an instant, and then her expression turned both cheerful and stony at the same time, as if it were a hastily crafted wax mask like the ones sold on the streets of his home village. “Nothing, milord,” she answered him, but Glint had seen the panic in her eyes, a deep fear one who feared for his life would have. Therefore he kept his gaze on her eyes and asked again, “What’s wrong?” adding then softly as he noticed her getting scared again, “You won’t get in trouble, just don’t lie to me.”

  That mixture of stern questioning and reassurance seemed to break the dams of the girl’s silence. This was something Azrael had taught Glint and he was glad for it, for words flooded out of her in a rush. “Y’see, my lord,” she started, “green tunics like yours, unadorned, they’re the symbol of submission here. Submission and apology. I heard the person coming to visit today is a guild member, master Glint,” she stopped for a second, as if unsure of whether to continue or not. A nod from him seemed to convince her that she hadn’t crossed any lines. “Guild members, they never come here! Did something go wrong, master Glint?” she inquired of him, and continued fastening his buttons unconsciously. “We have more money than usual this year, and the servants have been talking. It- it’s almost like we didn’t pay guild’s taxes this time around!”

  The girl gathered her apron in her hands nervously, wringing it, and Glint started to slowly understand her fears.

  Certainly, the servants would know if taxes weren’t being paid. They could estimate well enough how much money was made per month from farming, crafting, and whatever skills some servants had, and if they seemed to have more than usual by the end of it then something was obviously wrong. What made matters worse was that in current times, claim of land went by the law of “to the victor go the spoils.” That was how Glint acquired the estate, after all. But servants in an estate were bound to it, simply because of the safety provided by being under the protection of an owner. They were like serfs in that regard. That was why they could stay relatively unharmed when an entire town would get razed to the ground not a few leagues away. A part of that safety was due to the estate master paying protection money to guilds, and it was certainly not unheard of that a guild would seek retribution if that flow is cut off at some point. Effectively that meant that an estate master, as well as his or her servants, could be in danger if that happens.

  Now seeing Mary terrified by that prospect, a girl not three years older than him being put in danger for no fault of her own at all, Glint decided to protect these people who live in this house as much as he can. The place had become comfortable, his first home since he’d left his father’s house. Glint thought for a second and said to Mary, who was looking at him expectantly, “Keep a skeleton crew working here tonight; everyone else should get as far away as possible. Pass on the word.”

  He wasn’t sure what he could do against a guild, but as he saw Mary turn and flee to tell the others of his instructions, Glint promised himself he’d do all that he could. She and his mother shared a name, after all.

  As the day wore on, the bustling gave way to the presence of only six people in the manor, working on the final preparations: after Azrael, in a creamy white suit he’d not worn before, and Glint, the first was Hans the cook, making the final touches on the ingredients he wished to prepare for his full course. Christina, the herbalist, was busy with candles around the house at this time, sprinkling substances on the sputtering fingers of flame to create subdued light. There were brown candles that looked and smoked like large oak branches, green candles with uneven yellow streaks gave out a minty smell, and the purples, reds, and pinks had scents that were reminiscent of several types of flowers. There was, Glint noticed, a blue type that was more sporadic than the others. Always placed alone, it smelled gentle yet... oddly salty. He didn’t know what that smell was but dismissed the issue promptly at the sight of Christina dancing among her many creations with glee, cackling and yelling, “Come alive, powders!”

  The old woman was actually an honorary member of a nearby alchemy guild for her herb lore and contributions to the scientific aspects of potion making, despite having no psionic, spiritual or physical abilities to make her an actual Ability user. This Glint heard from Mary, who, to Glint’s amazement, was the third servant who volunteered to stay in the mansion this night, despite the shaking of her hands and the paleness of her face. She was there as a serving girl of sorts, and when Glint gave her a questioning look she refused to meet his eyes, electing instead to focus on Azrael with a look which could not be mistaken. This Glint noted with interest, as well as slight annoyance.

  Added to the food and decorations, which were proudly represented by Hans’ and Christina’s efforts, there were two other factors of hospitality. Those were company and entertainment, as Glint remembered from Azrael’s extensive lectures. What escaped him, however, was who was going to actually be providing the entertainment for their guest that day. Of course, he was not
entirely engrossed by the subject of appropriate hospitality at that moment, knowing what Mary had told him about the potential dangers of the day. Glint’s focus was on how he could ward off possible attacks.

  This was why he didn’t completely register Tim’s theatrical ascension halfway up the first part of stairs to the second floor of the mansion, just before they reached the wall and parted left and right. This put him at the correct height in relation to the mansion’s large front door, as if he stood upon a stage.

  Neither did Glint hear Tim opening a box encased in dark green leather, undoing the clasps with barely audible clicks, nor Azrael’s snap of attention at the sound.

  He also didn’t notice the instrument that Tim pulled out, throwing his head back to get his unruly curled hair out of the way, his olive fingers running along the object slowly, the other hand pulling a bow out of the box, setting it above the instrument which was now set tight against his neck.

  He did not even hear the slow intake of breath, then the outlet of the stress with the exhale. When the music began, it was inescapable, and all those who were in the dining room or otherwise stopped what they were doing instantly.

  It was a sweet melody that Tim played, slow at times, powerful at others. The wail of his instrument seemed to ache with memories, and the striking motion he used to produce a sound akin to thunder with his bow created a contrast that could only be described as lighting in a clear blue sky. The effect this piece had on Glint made him nostalgic all of a sudden, and he was aware that the others were also affected similarly. As well as just being beautiful and ethereal, the music spoke to one’s soul directly. Tim was only getting started, Glint felt.

  The first to recover from the musical stupor caused by the almost magical affect of Tim’s music was Azrael, whose smile seemed more bittersweet than the others’. In fact, the only acknowledgement Azrael gave the playing was laughing at Mary’s shocked expression and saying, “Oh, there’s a lot more where that came from!” causing the girl to blush. Only Glint saw his look of pride when the man thought no one noticed. One by one the others went back to work, although they would stop occasionally to listen with eyes closed.

  When evening came, the sun seemed to not be aware of it, its light waning but a little upon the continent. The only difference in the lighting now, compared to before, was a subtle lengthening in the shadows, for this sun barely moved from its spot in the sky.

  Azrael had judged the time a few minutes before gathering the other five (including Glint) in front of the staircase. He looked like an army’s tactician explaining tactics before battle as he went through the plans that each of them had made for the evening, going over them a few times to ensure that they were memorised. He then fussed over their clothing and made sure that everything was accounted for.

  When all was to his satisfaction, Azrael remarked mildly to no one in particular “It seems that a certain someone has instructed most of the staff to vacate the estate this evening.” Glint and Mary simultaneously flinched, but Glint more out of surprise than intimidation. Now he’ll finally get to hear it. If there was tax evasion, it was undoubtedly Azrael’s fault, after all. He was the one responsible for handling accounts.

  Surprisingly, the tall man followed his last statement, in an atmosphere heavy enough to cut with a knife, with a simple laugh. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter who’s responsible. It was the right call, all things considered, and had no one else made it, I would have.” Azrael went silent for a second, a notable pause, “Which brings us to what this evening is about.”

  It seemed to Glint at that moment that someone could get shocked just from the electricity in the air. Everyone held their breath. Looking around, Glint noticed an expression akin to panic on everyone’s face, barring young Tim. The young past stable boy (presumably now a musician) had a resigned expression on his face, as if he knew far more than he was letting on. It was known that Azrael spent a lot of time with the boy for some reason.

  Azrael cleared his throat and Glint’s attention snapped back to the smartly dressed man, who was just then plunging into his explanation. “There have been rumours of unconfirmed origin. According to these rumours, the reason we are holding this dinner invitation today is, in fact, to welcome a representative from a certain influential guild in the area,” he said, causing the silence in the room to grow deeper until the individual breathing of each person could be heard. “The rumours go further, stating that this representative has been sent here to bully us, due to the fact that we have not been paying our taxes to this certain guild. This, incidentally, would explain why we, our manor, servants, as well as the townspeople in the immediate and allied vicinity, have quite a bit of money to spare this month.” He stopped at that moment and looked around with a grave expression, making everybody feel guilty for believing rumours, as ignorant people are wont to. Azrael then said, “Sadly, that is all completely true.”

  Hans gasped and Christina looked around her in fear, as if sure that guildsmen were going to storm into the manor at that precise moment like a hurricane. The others also showed signs of their distress, much like a person about to break into a run at any moment. Against these reaction and people murmuring louder and louder, Azrael simply held his hands up and sighed. “There there,” he announced, “I assure you, everything will be alright and no one will be hurt on this day. Just please get back to your duties now, and I and master Glint shall have a private discussion about the rest of tonight’s proceedings.”

  The servants at that point could only comply, if only in response to a voice of authority in so much uncertainty. Perhaps it also had to do with the calm and almost casual manner that Azrael dismissed a potentially lethal situation, but despite the grumbles from Hans and the frightful deer like glances Mary gave everyone, there was no immediate hint of dissent as Tim shooed them out of the room. One by one, they filed out through the dining hall and into the kitchen, disappearing into the various rooms in the back of the house. Tim was the last to leave. A few seconds after that he poked his head back in, nodded to Azrael that no one could overhear them, and went back in.

  As soon as the two were sure that they couldn’t be heard or disturbed Azrael put both his hands up in a defensive gesture as Glint rounded on the man furiously, his finger poised as if it were a rapier set to run him through his chest pocket.

  “You lazy, irresponsible, blundering crow!” he spluttered, stepping closer to Azrael, until the man’s hands were almost touching his chest. To his credit, the ATB did not back away, although he did have a cooing apologetic air around him, as if he were a child caught stealing cookies by his mother. That image seemed to drive Glint insane with rage. “How could you not pay taxes? Don’t you know what happens? You put everyone in danger! Do you want them to be killed? You-“

  A shiver ran down Glint’s spine then, cutting him off just before he noticed the dangerous look in Azrael’s eyes. The look he had to him at that moment carried with it an anger that could not be described as sane. Cold, the likes of which Glint was sure ice was not capable of delivering, encompassed the young warrior and crawled down his spine. All of a sudden the shadows in the room got blacker. In that second, Glint was sure of it; it didn’t matter how powerful he was or what armour he wore, this man was going to kill him, and no power on earth was going to stop him.

  Azrael put his hands down, took a deep breath...and smiled brightly. The change was so instantaneous it caught Glint completely by surprise, such that he thought the entire thing imagined. He became aware that he had jumped back a few paces in his fright and was now in a half crouch, ready to move in any direction in response to an attack. That primal fear stayed with him for a second as Azrael put his right hand forward in an inviting gesture, as if he wished Glint to take his hand, and said, “Don’t worry, child, for I shall be with you every step of the way. Nobody will die tonight if I can help it.” Only then could Glint start to relax a little, seeing the determination in Azrael’s eyes. Those jet black orbs were earne
st as a child’s. The fear he had felt from the man moments earlier was instinctive, as if Azrael, in that moment, had become murder incarnate. A person like that was quite a reassuring ally to have.

  Azrael smiled at Glint, the shadows from the flickering candles dancing across his face, “Look, young master, only one person will be coming today, obviously thinking that our tax evasion was nothing more than an honest mistake. It is far sooner than I thought they would send someone, but it seems this guild’s representative was touring the area and so was rather conveniently placed for this task. He will be tired, sure of himself, and annoyed. He will be hoping to bully you, perhaps frighten you into bribing him with two or three times the agreed amount in order for him to overlook this incident. As you know, that could cripple everyone who works for you financially. You, my dear boy, will have the task of being perfectly agreeable and playing along-“

  “What?” Glint barked, though in his wariness of Azrael his voice was nowhere near as loud as it was just moments before. “Then what’s the point of all this if we’re just going to end up in this situation?” he exclaimed in disbelief, waving his hands at their surroundings and the preparations, although what he meant was all Azrael had done to anger this guild. He thought about asking which guild it was, but it didn’t really matter. No matter what, they needed to protect the manor and servants.

  “Let me finish, child.” Azrael sighed, straightening that day’s butler’s suit, a creamy white that contrasted with his black hair and eyes, as well as his usual clothes. “As I was saying before you interrupted, you are going to play along as amiably as possible, which is to say, as possible for a brute such as yourself,” he chuckled as Glint bristled, “until I gave you the signal, a wink. When that happens, you may go back to being yourself, which would suit my purposes greatly. After that, I will tell you all my reasons for this little stunt. I assure you, it is not purely for my amusement.”

  “Well... can I have a sword?” His own broken blade would not do, and he had no suitable replacement.

  “No,” replied the butler, “not today, it would be too obvious. I’ll arrange a blade for you another time, but tonight one shan’t be needed.” Glint nodded after a second of uncertainty.

  At that point, Tim entered through the kitchen door, smelling slightly of venison and holy basil, his face set into a grimace. Once again, Glint wondered at the boy’s calm in this situation: he was younger than Glint and an angry guild member, practically a god to Normals, was coming in a while. Still, Tim showed not even the slightest hint of panic. Glint had heard that Azrael spent much time with the one-time stable boy, and now he understood why. They both had the same aura of capability about them.

  “Master, lord Glint,” he said, and Glint raised his eyebrow at the title he had used to address Azrael, but the latter merely nodded.

  “Go on, Tim,” he said.

  “His Lordship Alfjötr is being escorted to the building as we speak,” the boy stated in a regal manner, official yet relaxed, as if it were but a commonday occurrence for him. “He should be here in about three minutes. Everyone is ready and in position for the master butler’s directive: Lord Alfjötr is to be met by Mary at the entrance, whilst I begin to play. He is to be escorted to Lord Glint, whereas Master Azrael circles the house and enters from another entrance.”

  “Alright, proceed,” said Glint steadily with an effort while marvelling at the boy. Was it normal for people to be so collected? Then again, Glint didn’t think the matter of etiquette could unnerve him either; Azrael had worked him through those arts quite thoroughly, if nothing else. It was what came after that worried him, for he’d never fought an Ability user before, and doubted he could diffuse the situation without battle.

  He walked to the left of the staircase, pushed the wooden door open, which turned without the hint of a creek, after all the oiling it had gone through today. Entering the room, Glint looked long and hard at his favourite sofa, not without affection, then turned from it and sat upon the most regal looking chair, which was naturally also rather uncomfortable: a sad looking armed thing wrought of hard wood and harder metal, the only piece of convenience on the chair was the single cushion at the back.

  Glint sat in the chair and listened in the darkness created by the blinds drawn across the room and lifted only by the mint scented candles Christina had prepared. In the green ambiance things seemed a bit eerie, but not entirely unpleasant. He just hoped he could say the same of what was about to happen.

  In a few minutes Glint heard the sound of the mansion’s front door being opened slowly. Mary’s voice drifted out to him, sweet and melodic, almost coy. It was how serving girls usually sounded, he thought, perhaps because they didn’t really put their hearts into what they were doing. They would rather be someplace else, wouldn’t they? Then again, few serving girls had to deal with the pressure that Mary faced, Glint thought.

  Words resounded with a thick accent, gruff by nature, and Mary asked the Guild member if he would like to give her his coat to hang. A rockslide of a laugh came then, shaking and rolling, coarse and powerful. The visitor replied, louder now, so that Glint could make out the individual words “If I give ye me coat, girl, I’d stand here in nothing but me bottom, and what a sight that’d be, bah!”

  Another mountainside followed, rolling on and on. Glint could just imagine Mary blushing a deep crimson red, for she wasn’t one for the callous manner of speech this man used. Her words, however, when she replied, were pleasantly steady, and did not show a hint of the embarrassment Glint was sure could be seen on her face. He felt proud.

  Heavy footsteps traced the path towards the study and trophy room, where Glint was seated. Mary, of course leading the man, was stating short facts about the manor and assuring the guest that Glint had been awaiting his arrival anxiously, to which the only reply was a noncommittal grunt. The door clicked, and Mary pushed it inwards, followed by a man who came in bent over so as to not bump his head on the doorway. Glint’s mouth gaped for an instant, before he caught himself and closed it.

  The man was absolutely enormous! He was like a bear standing upon its hind legs in size, with shaggy hair and a worse beard, although it was braided in some places with simple beads run through it, each displaying a strange rune and stranger animals. To Glint’s eyes he seemed larger than life, perhaps eight feet tall in total, and he found it difficult to look the man in the eyes for that reason. Despite his stature, the giant stepped lightly and noiselessly, which hinted at grace and quietly measured power. The only thing to hint at Alfjöter’s status was a silver pendant around his neck, expensive and beautiful. It depicted a snarling wolf upon its face.

  Glint’s plan had been to offer the man his own chair to the guest as a sign of respect, but that was ruined due to how large the man was. At best, he could perhaps sit in the largest sofa and hope for the best. Glint smiled at the man as pleasantly as he could, stood up, and took one of the giant’s meaty palms in both of his own.

  The Guild representative gave him a surprised look. “Ye don’t look old enough to be the lord of a manor, boy,” he remarked in a gruff voice. He was dressed entirely in grey fur. In a vest that exposed both of his powerful shoulders and arms, as well as trousers cut somewhere above the knee to accentuate his tree trunk legs, Alfjötr was an impressive sight to behold. Glint was sure that the wild looking man didn’t buy the material in a noble’s market.

  “Ye sure you aren’t a working servant here caught dozing off?” the man continued, cutting into Glint’s thoughts, with a smile and slight squeeze on his wrist. Glint bit off a remark, and rather than call the black haired giant too much of a big fat oaf to be a guild member, he answered with a short laugh and, “Quite sure, my lord.”

  “Ah, that woulda explained it,” the guild member mumbled to himself. Glint smiled once more and offered, “Please, have a seat,” whilst having one hand gently pulling at the man’s elbow and the other gesturing towards the sofa.

  The man shook his head, gave a fe
w laughing sounds reminiscent of thunderclaps, and said to Glint “I’m heavier than I look. I sit on a fine chair like this and all you’ll be getting out of it is a pile of kindling, bahaha!”

  Upon realising that a joke had been made, Glint strained his face into a smile, which the guild member looked upon with a bit of confusion mixed with satisfaction. Ah, thought Glint to himself, he must not be used to people smiling at his jokes.

  “Well, my lord.” he said, “it is indeed a problem, but I am sure we shall be able to arrange something to your satisfaction.” Adding silently like a horse stall, maybe. Yeah, that’ll fit you and your monster’s chuckle. Smiling at Alfjötr pleasantly, Glint realised that this pretending to be polite thing was turning out to be fun after all. He needed to thank Azrael for teaching him the skill.

  Lord Alfjötr for his part ignored Glint’s words, curled his legs, and plopped himself onto the floor in quite the unlordly manner. He scratched his neck just below the beard, contemplating his positioning in relation to the door, presumably. Maybe he was thinking about how much food could be heaped in front of him, thought Glint.

  “This’ll do, young un’,” he announced finally, “I’m used to this anyway. Nobody has chairs big enough for old Alfjötr, bahah!”

  Glint began to nod, agreeing with the giant, then realised that this technically could be considered an insult. Besides, Lords weren’t supposed to sit on the floor, he was sure of that much, even if they were like Alfjötr. Instead he rushed dramatically to the seated pile of meat before him, exclaiming, “That can hardly be accepted, my-“

  “Are ye saying ye won’t accept me sitting where I want to?” the man cut him off. Glint checked himself, and replied, “Of course not, my lord,” just then noticing the fire in the guild member’s glare, the way his voice grew louder by each syllable. The man growled, “I’d choose my next words carefully if I were you, lad.” Azrael hadn’t arrived yet and the man was already making threats.

  The Lord was still glaring at Glint expectantly, his hands upon his crisscrossed knees, waiting for the slightest provocation to pounce and pound. Glint thought about whether he really wanted to start trouble so early into the evening.

  After a second, Glint sighed and sat on the ground across from the Guild representative. “What do you think of the music, my Lord?” The frown turned into a smile of approval at that, “It’s the best I’ve heard. I didn’t think you’d get a musician for me!”

  “That would have been truly a difficult thing to do, my lord. Good musicians are a rare commodity these days.” It was true. In these times of battle and lust for power most musicians came from the only land that focused on etiquette and the arts, with sprawling gold towers and life of aristocracy. That was the floating island of Aetheria, Glint remembered. Unless sound and music was part of an Ability, of course. “No, my lord,” he continued, lowering his voice as if to tell a secret, “This one is actually a newly discovered talent. He works in this very estate!”

  “Ah!” Alfjötr cocked his head at that, “well, he’s a fine one, I’ll tell ye that, lad.” In the natural silence the two took to appreciate Tim’s now melodic tune, Glint couldn’t help but feel a ping of pride at the compliment. He marvelled at the feeling, for it wasn’t as if he were the one playing. It wasn’t even he who’d discovered Tim’s talent for music or cultivated it. The estate, and the people who lived in it, had started to take a special place in the young warrior’s heart. In a way his swelling of proud for Tim felt akin to what he’d feel for a brother, if Glint had one.

  He wondered if it was normal for one to feel this kind of unity.

  At that moment, interrupting the two’s time of peace found within the violin’s voice, Azrael chose to enter through the second door with the grace and subtlety of his craft, shutting the second door to the trophy room silently behind him. He paused, apparently taking in the two seated on the ground.

  Glint looked up at the man, then remembered that butlers and servants were meant to be promptly ignored when guests were present. Instead he focused on the giant, inquiring, “And how was your trip?” As the tall butler raised his eyebrows, from behind Alfjötr, Glint added hastily, “my lord?”

  The guild representative hardly had a moment to answer before Azrael was upon him. “Refreshments?” he offered. Alfjötr simply looked up at him in his creamy clothes, down to his matching boots, and then back up to his face. “Ye don’t have any with ye,” he remarked, clearly bemused.

  Azrael blinked, and Glint knew that the man just resisted his usual impulse to raise a solitary eyebrow. “Please order the beverage that you would like of us, and it shall be brought to you, your lordship.”

  That seemed to catch Alfjötr a bit by surprise, and Glint smiled. Azrael was showing his hospitality and challenging the man at the same time by asking him to basically name anything he wanted, no matter what. “Frostburn,” the man retorted deliberately, exaggerating each syllable of the word, “get me some of that, won’t ye?”

  Azrael smiled.

  The guild representative was being difficult, Glint knew. Frostburn was not a drink native to these parts, and a normal estate such as theirs had no real way of procuring any. It was unlikely that Azrael had foreseen the guest ordering anything other than high quality wine, but contrary to his concern, the man merely answered, “Of course, my lord,” which seemed to surprise his lordship just as much as it did Glint.

  As Azrael turned to Glint his smug expression told the whole story. He had turned refreshments into a drinking challenge between Glint and Alfjötr, and from the expectant look on the latter’s face, Glint knew he had little choice but to comply.

  He had heard stories about Frostburn before, and knew he couldn’t handle that sort of drink himself. On the other hand, perhaps he didn’t have to. Knowing how crafty Azrael was, Glint turned his voice as casual as possible and said, “Azrael, do we still have some of that Evergreen lying around?” Azrael looked stunned, to Glint’s immense satisfaction.

  The real pleasure, however, came from Alfjoetr’s exclamation. “Evergreen!” he went, licking his lips nervously, “Now, well, that’s a drink if I know one. I- I think I’ll have me some of that as well,” he said to his credit, although Glint knew he wished he didn’t have to. Evergreen was a notoriously powerful drink, for even the pirates around the skull islands shied away from it and called it the mage masher. It was truly poison for anyone without the superhuman resistance that came with being a physical energy user. Kob had been an alcoholic, and had thus taught Glint much about these things. Only the more long lived psions and magicians could partake of Evergreen. Naturally, it was quite difficult to distil, and Glint knew there was no way they would have any. What mattered was that he asked, upstaged the man...

  “Of course, Master Glint,” Azrael said, stopping Glint’s train of thought in its tracks. He chuckled in disbelief. “Are you quite sure, Azrael?” he tried again. The idea had been to stun Alfjötr, not to…

  “Positive,” answered the butler, ignoring Glint’s stunned expression, he went on “Our stock was in fact dry. Thus, I took the liberty of ordering some more, just in case it became required. We have as much as needed, I assure you.”

  Glint could truly find nothing better to say than, “Very well. Lord Alfjötr?”

  To his credit, the man didn’t show distress when he nodded. Not more than expected, at least.

  Azrael left the room like a quiet storm, leaving both men in silence, pondering how they were going to get through the night without getting poisoned. Tim’s music in the other room turned suitably melancholy, and the subdued green lighting in the room was, to Christina’s credit, quite fitting.