***
Later in the evening, the five men and Glint started discussing more serious topics. There were some regional wars brewing, they said, further to the east. The boundaries of the continents were not fixed, and as such there was always some minor guild or the other starting a squabble with others on the other side.
“This time,” Mark said, “It’s our side that started it, I hear.” The others nodded in approval, and Glint remembered that the last real guild war that involved the region had been started by a Guild from Krava. It seemed resentment was still harboured over that incident.
“Could you tell me who’s fighting?” he asked.
“A martial arts guild from their side, called the Sparrow’s Tail, I think. And from our region it’s a new guild, called Stingray, or so I heard from my cousin’s husband. He lives near the border, he does.”
“Little bastard with big ears,” a larger red headed man who’s name Glint couldn’t remember grumbled. Mark just chuckled well naturedly and the others laughed at some inside joke.
“Glint, I need to warn you, seeing as how we’re friends now and all,” the redheaded man said. Arin, his name was, Glint remembered. “Your partner isn’t here, and you’re a young lad. These wolverines you’re supposed to kill,” he leaned over so that they wouldn’t be overheard by other groups in the tavern. “They ain’t normal. Twice as big as normal ones, they are, with claws as sharp as daggers. It’s like they’re monsters. I didn’t see them, but I heard stories from a man who heard one while hunting.”
The men gathered around looked solemn at this. They were truly worried for his safety, Glint realized. He knew he was going to have to reassure the men somehow, to avoid one of them offering to accompany him.
The warrior was touched, and for that reason looked around the tavern until he saw what he was looking for. “Thank you, Arin… I know I’m ruining the mood, but let me show you something. Sorry.” He felt a tremble run through him at the thought of what he was going to do. If Azrael were with him he would never have dared, knowing how little control he had over his powers still. A pulse of power moved through his body, travelling between him and his gauntlets. Things came to sharp focus and he felt every muscle keenly, as if each spoke to him.
He walked over to the bar, where three men were harassing the old man tending the drinks. They were yelling insults, breaking glasses, and being a nuisance in general. They might start demanding money after a few more drinks, he realized. Glint walked over to the burliest, a man in leather armour with his hair split in two neat braids down the side of his head. To the north that was some sort of sign, marking him a warrior or something, Glint remembered. “Excuse me, um, but are you adventurers?” The youth asked politely.
The man had to face downwards to look at Glint. “Mercenaries, kid. What’s it to ye?” his tone turned threatening, and the two men next to him, one tall and the other shorter than Glint, sneered. Glint didn’t like the way this person said “You”. It brought up bad memories. He tried to explain a few times, but the man couldn’t hear his mumbles. The warrior sighed.
“Stop ruining my evening,” he finally answered, before head butting the man squarely in the jaw, dropping him like a log. Then, before the two others could react, and moving slow enough so as to be mistaken for a Normal, he leapt up and kneed the shorter one in the throat. The last of the trio pulled his dirk out. He had small beady eyes, and rust plagued the small weapon in his hands. He lunged at Glint.
Making sure to seem slow, Glint stepped backwards, dodging the first and second stabs from the man, who then spun and went into a backhanded stab at Glint’s right temple. Out of the corner of his eye, Glint noticed the man reach into his belt with his other hand, and instead of backing away he turned his face to the left, allowing the dirk to sail less than an inch from his right cheek, and at the same time he jabbed forward with his palm facing upwards and fingers curled, putting in just enough power in his arm’s twist to crack a couple of the man’s ribs.
With his victims dispatched, Glint went over to his dumbfounded friends, stammered, “good night,” and headed to his room. He changed his clothes, closed the window shutters to create an artificial night in his room, and reflected on how this mission would help him gain the ability to control his powers more precisely, so as not to be discovered as an Ability user. Such control would prove useful in many situations, he concluded as he drifted off to sleep, his heart still pumping furiously with the excitement of the fight.
The Final Life Page 25
