Brotherhood Saga 03: Death

by Kody Boye

  “Were you afraid?”

  “For some reason, yeah. I don’t know why though.”

  “The storms this far south sometimes get bad, especially with the hills and the dark mountains so close. Some say it’s evil itself that drifts over these plains.”

  If that were the case, Odin wouldn’t argue, as he would have to face yet another moment of weakness during a tumultuous freak weather apparition.

  Shaking his head, he reached down, grabbed his swords, then attached each to his sides before grabbing for the cloak that lay hanging on the rack directly beside the door.

  “Where might you be going?” Virgin asked.

  “I’m hungry,” Odin replied. “Aren’t you?”

  “Don’t leave by yourself.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “What might happen that you’re so worried about?”

  “Some Elves frown upon Halflings such as ourselves,” Virgin said, clasping his hands around Odin’s upper arms and looking him directly in the eyes. “Besides—if you want me to be perfectly honest, they might think you’re not just the Halfling you claim to be.”

  “But I—“

  “You didn’t expect me to catch on to the fact that you’ve got a bit of Drow in you?” Virgin laughed, planting a kiss to the middle of Odin’s forehead. “Come on, Odin—let’s be serious now.”

  “I didn’t think it was that noticeable.”

  “It’s not. It’s your eyes that throw you off. A real Elf, much less a Halfling with Elven blood, would never have a pair of red eyes.”

  “I’ve always held on to the fact that most people think I’m human.”

  “That father of yours must have been quite a remarkable creature,” Virgin said, making his way back to the bed, where he secured his jerkin across his shoulders and began to button it down his chest. “I’m surprised the stags who allowed me to bring you in here or the two Elves that have been in this room haven’t said anything about your appearance. You in a room with a bunch of Elves is like a mouse surrounded by a pack of cats.”

  “Will they say anything?”

  “It isn’t likely, considering how much pride they have regarding their tolerance of the lesser races, but I don’t want you wandering around by yourself, at least not until you gain some sort of notoriety within the government here.”

  “You really think they’ll let me, a… well… a bastard, I should say, apprentice in the castle?”

  “You didn’t choose to be born the way you were.”

  “I know, but—“

  “The Elves are strong in the belief that those of their blood are good by nature. What we plan on doing may not be of the best intentions, but at least we don’t plan on hurting anyone.”

  Do we? Odin thought. Because I thought stealing always hurt someone in the end.

  Though there would be emotional consequences to their actions—and, likely, political ones—they would not be physically harming anyone. That in itself was guaranteed.

  Drawing his cloak around his body if only to hide his swords, Odin reached forward, unlocked and unstrung the bolt and chain, then pulled the door open and waited for Virgin to escort him down to the bar.

  Immediately upon their arrival, it seemed as though all eyes were on them.

  “It’s all right,” Virgin said, clasping an arm across Odin’s back as the female bartender came forward with what appeared to be two distinct bowls of fruits and vegetables. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

  “They’re all looking at me,” he whispered.

  How could he not be concerned when it seemed like daggers were being thrown at him from each and every corner of the room? Bound, gagged and tied to a pole would have been trivial compared to this.

  It’s all right. You’ve got Virgin right here with you.

  With his companion at his side, there would be no lip, no trouble, possibly not even the slightest bit of danger to have to contend with. Besides—if Elven virtue, like Virgin had said, held any semblance of truth, then they were merely regarding him and nothing more.

  Bowing his head, Odin accepted the utensil the barmaid offered and stabbed his fork into a plump slice of tomato.

  Great, he thought, sighing. Vegetables and fruit.

  It would take some time to get used to not eating meat.

  At his side, Virgin ate as though he had never eaten before. Head down, neck craned forward, he appeared to be some kind of exotic bird poised over a platoon of perfectly-edible plants and eating without regard. Even the purplish strands of eggplant, which Odin found almost unbearable, were consumed instantly. It wasn’t long after that Virgin set a few more pieces of copper down and requested that another bowl be brought.

  “What’s the matter?” the Halfling asked, turning his green eyes on Odin and frowning when he noticed his slow progress. “Oh.”

  “I’m guessing you’re mostly vegetarian.”

  “Not particularly, no.”

  “I’m just not used to not eating meat, that’s all.”

  “They have substitutes if you would like, though you’d be damned to catch me eating them.”

  “What is it?”

  “White, powdered blocks of… well… I’m not exactly sure what you would call them.”

  “It’s made out of milk from plants,” the barmaid said, placing Virgin’s second offering before him.

  “Bring my partner a glass of wine, if you would, meera.”

  “What kind?”

  “Red, if you have it.”

  “We do,” the doe replied, bowing her head before retreating to the back of the bar.

  “What does ‘meera’ mean?” Odin frowned, glancing up only once when he thought he saw a flicker of movement on the darker side of the bar.

  “Oh,” Virgin laughed, clapping him across the back. “I forgot I haven’t mentioned anything about that. ‘Meera’ means ‘madam,’ or as close to it as it sounds. ‘Derman’ is ‘sir’ or ‘gentleman.’”

  “I see,” Odin said, nodding when the Elf set the glass of wine before him. “Are you sure we should be drinking so early in the morning?”

  “It’s not like we have a whole lot to do until Oleana arrives,” Virgin shrugged, accepting his own glass. He sipped its almost-brimming contents before setting it on the bar before them. “We might as well enjoy the time while we can, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess? What’re you talking about?” Virgin clapped his back. “Come on, Odin—live a little. You deserve it after all you’ve been through.”

  Odin supposed that in a way, he did. Not only had he been tormented by the reality that they were so close yet so far away from their prospect for the past few days, but by the floating apparition that had appeared to him last night. It was any wonder he bore any semblance of sanity, especially after possibly coming in contact with something that could have been some memory of his father summoned to the earth by some grand, ethereal presence.

  Could it have been you? he thought.

  Had Miko, in life, really been powerful enough to sustain his magic after death? He supposed not, but the likelihood was not out of the question, especially given that his father had been the most powerful mage he had ever come into contact with.

  With a short glimpse to his side and at Virgin, Odin lifted his glass of wine and offered himself but a small sip.

  As Virgin had said, he might as well enjoy the time while he still had it to spare.

  They skirted around the outer edges of the bar for as long as possible before time and necessity drove them to sit in a booth. Hands at their sides, eyes downcast, they remained to themselves or each other and said and did little in the time that passed like cooing doves pressed above the balconies of some lonely church. Occasionally, Virgin would stop a barmaid and ask her to bring him a drink, thus breaking the momentum of silence that spread eternally and without despair. Little did it do to contain Odin’s fiery nerves and the likelih
ood that Oleana would soon be arriving, possibly with news on whether or not he had been accepted to meet with one of the High Elf mages. For that, he forced himself to keep from trembling in the face of such adversity, though when Virgin set an arm across his shoulder and squeezed his upper arm, Odin couldn’t help but shiver.

  Just keep your cool, he thought, nodding when Virgin cast a glance at him before the barmaid came forward bearing his companion’s drink. Everything’s going to be just fine.

  How could he know, though? He was no seer, no clairvoyant, no master visionary that could see into the future and predict what was about to happen. Had Nova been here, maybe there could have been a flash of insight, but since the human wasn’t, what use was there in having to worry about something he could not control?

  “You’re shaking,” Virgin said, tightening his hold around Odin’s body while sipping his drink.

  “Sorry,” Odin mumbled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “About?”

  “Oleana coming here to meet us.”

  “There isn’t any reason to be nervous, Odin. You already know that you’re going to get accepted.”

  “How do you—“

  “Because you survived being attacked by a Nagani. That’s something few can lay claim to.”

  “But—“

  “Here,” Virgin said, lifting his glass of wine before Odin’s face. “Drink this.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “You’re only going to make yourself worse if you don’t lighten up a little.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  “Drink it, Odin.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Do it.”

  “But–“

  Before he could finish, Virgin downed the glass of wine, grabbed the sides of Odin’s head and forced their lips together in one single motion.

  A tongue probed his lips.

  Odin opened his mouth.

  Wine spilled down his throat faster than he could swallow it.

  “Vuh-Virgin,” he gasped, grimacing as trace amounts of the liquid spilled down his chin and onto his jerkin. “What’d you do that for?”

  “To loosen you up.”

  “If anything, it’s only making me worse.”

  “Come on,” the Halfling smiled. “You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You mean to tell me that I can’t sway your interests even a little bit?”

  “My interest was to not drink any more wine. I’m rattled enough as it is.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Virgin said, clapping an arm across his back and downing the remaining bit of wine. “Don’t you worry.”

  Sighing, Odin reached up, rubbed the alcohol from his lips, then licked the faint traces of it off his fingers before reaching down and scrubbing his hand along his thighs.

  Behind them, the door opened.

  The room quieted almost immediately.

  And so it begins, Odin thought. The first phase of the plan.

  As he had expected before he even turned his head, High Healer Oleana had entered the inn garbed in a fine, flowing white gown that seemed to metamorphosis through the air as she made her way around tables and through lines of entering and exiting people. The gown exquisite, her expression anything but weak, her hair a halo above her head, she sought his eyes out from the far side of the bar and offered a slight wave of her hand as she approached their booth and seated herself directly across from them.

  Virgin offered a slight nod.

  A tang of bile rose within Odin’s throat.

  “Hello,” Oleana said.

  “Hello,” Odin managed, reaching up to rub his throat when what felt like a shard of glass embedded itself in his jugular.

  “How are you on this day?”

  “We’re well,” Virgin said, offering the slightest smile as Odin continued to rub his throat. “Aren’t we, Odin?”

  “We’re fine,” he agreed, though he considered himself anything but. “We weren’t expecting you until later.”

  “I was coming to check on your injuries, but form the looks of it, it appears as though you are doing just fine.” The doe nodded as she reached forward to part the edge of Odin’s jerkin and examine her work. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “This is excellent timing then. I have just come from the castle after speaking with High Mage Jarden.”

  “What did they say?” Virgin frowned.

  “Jarden is very interested in the fact that you happened to survive a Nagani attack,” Oleana said, spreading the piece of parchment out on the table before them and flushing her fingers across the ornate curls of the Elvish writing.

  “What does it say?” Odin frowned.

  “‘To Yamda Odin and his partner Virgin,’” Virgin recited, tightening his hold around Odin’s shoulders as he leaned forward to read from the script. “‘I would like to meet you both on the eve of the grand star’s fall to speak with you regarding your journey and what you wish to learn of the Elven ways of magic. Please take this piece of parchment with you to the castle’s front entrance and request entrance on the circumstance that High Mage Jarden would like to visit you. Sincerely, Jarden.’”

  “Jarden considers it a great honor that you have asked for an audience,” Oleana said, crossing her arms over her chest as Virgin rolled the scroll of parchment and bound it with twine. “It’s not often they grant such permission.”

  “They?” Odin frowned. “Is this more than one person?”

  “Jarden is what you would call a Neven D’Carda.”

  “I don’t understand,” Odin frowned.

  “A Neven D’Carda is someone who is neither male or female,” Virgin said, granting Oleana his full attention as she reached forward to set her hands on the table. “They are usually creatures with great amounts of magical power, though I have only ever heard of such a being born under Elvish blood.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “You don’t often hear of them so far in the northern world,” Oleana said, “but regardless, know that this is an honor that should not be passed up.”

  “I don’t plan on it,” Odin said, bowing his head. “Thank you, High Healer, for your help. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  “You are a very special person, Yamda. Jarden is interested in your magic and lineage.”

  Odin turned his head up.

  When the Elf looked into his eyes, piercing what he considered to be his most personal barrier and granting him but a second to realize that she had just distinguished what he was, he nodded, then reached down to take Virgin’s hand, which lay perfectly accessible on the Halfling’s thigh.

  Virgin’s fingers tightened around his.

  A breath escaped his throat.

  With a simple nod, Oleana rose and began to make her way toward the entrance to the bar.

  “We should go,” Virgin said, guiding Odin to his feet and heading toward the doorway.

  “Where are we going?” Odin frowned.

  “We will be in the presence of royals this evening. We should at least dress as such.”

  “The color suits you,” the tailor said, flushing his hands along the curve of the golden-brown, long-sleeved shirt Odin wore before guiding his hair back and down his neck.

  “You’re very handsome,” Virgin agreed from the doorway.

  “Are you not buying a suit for yourself, young Yamda?” the tailor frowned.

  “My partner is the one who will be attending this meeting, not I.”

  “You don’t plan on escorting me?” Odin frowned.

  “Of course I do, but I’m not the one looking to impress a high mage.”

  “Such a dignified response from such noble Elves,” the tailor said, drawing a length of thread along Odin’s legs before making a few slight adjustments to the threading along the pants. “I would think you would want shoes to go with this?�
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  “I don’t need them,” Odin said. “Really, I—“

  “He’ll take the shoes,” Virgin said.

  “Virgin—“

  “I’m paying for it, Odin. Don’t worry.”

  I’m not, Odin thought, grimacing as the Elven tailor began to pop the buttons along the length of his chest, then as he gestured him to turn and spread his arms. I just don’t know how I feel about you spending stolen money.

  He could not blame his companion’s behaviors. They had likely been ingrained within him by family—or, at the very least, a sire who had taught him his art and what it meant to be a rogue living on the fringe of society. That secured within him the belief that, in the end, it was all right for Virgin to pay for the suit, if only because the situation merited it and courtesy need use for such a thing.

  “All right then,” the tailor said, gesturing Odin to the side so he could remove his pants behind the privacy curtain. “If you come by at, say, dusk, I can have these to you just in time for your meeting.”

  “Thank you,” Odin said, offering the finely-made pants over the privacy ring before reaching down to redress. “I really appreciate it.”

  “No need to thank me, young Yamda. I do it for the love of the art.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Odin said, shoving his hands into his pockets as they made their way down the road and back toward the inn Oleana had arranged them at. “I could’ve paid for it myself.”

  “Why let you pay for it when I can just as easily?”

  “I just don’t want to burden you.”

  “If you were a burden to me, Odin, I wouldn’t have stayed on with you this far.”

  He does have a point, his conscience whispered. He could’ve been long gone the moment he left you off at the inn.

  Were Virgin a man of lesser values and of immoral stipulations, he could have easily turned his back on him on his deathbed and fled to the woods—toward, what Odin could only imagine, was easy pickings on travelers making their way around this hellacious part of the world. He’d attempted to rob him easily enough—had, in but a few swift movements, placed a knife to his neck and told him to turn over everything he had—so for him to have not done that was a miracle unto itself.