***
The details of the journey were to be decided the next day, and so Glint and Azrael paid for their drinks and board for the night (it was free until they were finished with their job, Gared explained apologetically, but after that the man who had requested the job promptly told the barkeep that he wasn’t paying for the two any longer) and headed upstairs to settle in for the night.
They both got ready in silence, although Glint giggled a little when he remembered that Azrael was already dressed for sleep. Each of the two men lay in bed, thinking about the upcoming adventure, and how it would fit into his life. “It’s going to take a long time to take Vladimir back,” Glint commented at the ceiling, marking a cobweb here or there. He knew that if there was even a tiniest hole in the roof of their room the incoming light would make it obvious, but he still scanned it for cracks absentmindedly. A grunt was his answer.
“Azrael, I want to be a hero.” The words were barely a whisper. “As children we play with swords made of wood and imagine them shining. Justice in your hand, you know? Just like the sun.” He was surprised at how cynical his voice sounded. “And when we grow up, the wooden swords are replaced by cold, hard steel. We realize that the light of justice isn’t like sunshine at all. In fact, it’s a deep dark red glow, and it covers us from head to toe.” He remembered his great grandfather, and his own massacre. For all intents and purposes, Glint felt unworthy of even thinking about good and kindness. Still, he remembered Mary’s fear, back at the manor. Vladimir’s misfortunes, as well.
“And yet...” Azrael left the sentence unfinished, and Glint knew the man understood.
“And yet,” he continued, “I’m not ready to give up. I know that I can’t be perfect, and I won’t be some sort of higher justice, like out of a story,” he explained. He felt that he needed to, for some reason. “But this world is crying, Azrael, and each tear is another tormented soul. So many people who need help, so many tears... I just want the strength to wipe some of them away. Even someone like me can do that at least, can’t he?”
“Maybe a year or so,” Azrael said, perplexing Glint with his answer, but then he elaborated, “That’s about how long our journey will take, and by then you’ll have learnt all you need to learn from me. The knowledge, the strength, the heart, you will have all you need to help whoever it is you want to help. I can promise you that. So don’t be sad, child.” He ended his words in a plea, as if Glint’s helplessness was also shared by the man. The silence continued for a bit longer. The first who broke it was the necromancer. “I didn’t know that was your hometown. I apologize, knowing what I do about your relationship with your father...”
“I don’t mind, I think it might be time to go back and see the old man again.” Glint went quiet for a bit, then probed again. He had just tried earlier today, to disastrous results, but just maybe...
“I’m surprised that you offered to help that easily. I thought you wanted to hide our powers from people.” He went with the honest approach. He already knew that methods such as butting heads with the necromancer or trying to trick him weren’t going to work.
“Well, he won’t be afraid of us and call in the masses, at least,” the man reasoned, “He is in the employment of a guildmaster. Even if his lord is a cruel one, Vladimir should understand that Normals and Ability users are fundamentally both human. Besides, it swayed me, the story about his daughter, much like my ow-“ At that he caught himself, and Glint held himself very quiet.
When no more words were forthcoming, the warrior dared to ask, “You have a daughter?”
A moment of silence. “Had,” came the correction.
“Oh... I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
The Final Life Page 37
