His hair, salt and pepper, was worn in a long braid that reached his waist, and had numerous ornamentations attached to it she couldn't identify, but had a faint tribal look to them. He sported a goatee as well, peppered with gray like his hair, that was nearly trimmed. It was his eyes, though, that struck her the most. Small and amber in color, set far to either side of his broad but crooked nose, they sparkled with intelligence and wit, making her feel off balance. There was something in them that seemed to look right through her.
"Stout is meant to be drank, not stared at, little mouse," he told her.
Giving him a snide look, she downed the half glass. She instantly wished she hadn't. Fire burned through her throat, making her choke and gag, as her eyes watered. It hit her stomach like a dragon had thrown up inside her, making her double over. For a moment, she couldn't breathe at all, and struggled just to stay upright in her chair, coughing violently.
The Ogre smirked and poured her another half glass. "You took that better than most of your race. Though, I strongly advise you sip this one, little mouse."
"Yeah, okay," she whimpered.
As her vision settled and her ability to breathe returned, she felt the warmth of the alcohol spread through her. Slowly, her rattled nerves settled, making her feel better than she had in a while. Still, she fingered the glass carefully, not ready for another taste of the strong, bitter whiskey.
"So, tell me what's wrong, then," the Ogre said softly.
Chara gave him a withering glare. "I appreciate the drink, and the coat, but I'm in no hurry to discuss my problems with a complete stranger."
"A pity," he shrugged. "I often find complete strangers to be the best people to share my problems with."
"Why's that?" she asked before taking a small sip of the stout, finding it burned less the second time.
He gave her a sly wink. "They aren't in the middle of the battle I wage, and can see the field far better with their unbiased eye."
She considered that for a moment before asking, "Why do you even care?"
"I'm a nice guy," he answered before downing another glass of the stout. "I see a young lady running blind as you were, I have to ask myself if there's anything I can do to help her find a road she can follow. You could say it's an old habit, one I call being a decent person."
Chara felt somewhat ashamed of herself as she mumbled, "Sorry. Like I said, I'm having a rough week."
"Anything to do with the citadel that attacked?" he inquired.
She nodded slowly, turning melancholy. "I lost a lot of friends to the Demon Seed that day."
"Tell me about them," he encouraged.
She shrugged a little, sipping at the whiskey. "Blessed, all of them. One an Ogre like you. Sabra Finiseye."
He nodded, his smile fading. "I knew her by reputation. A brave warrior, and a credit to her clan."
"She was my friend," Chara said slowly. "They all were. That bastard slaughtered them like they were sheep, too, hiding behind the King's face. I couldn't do anything to stop it. I didn't even see it coming. They were six steps ahead of me the whole damn time."
"You could not have known," he suggested with a kind smile.
"I was their tactician," she growled. "I should've guessed that they would do something to stop us. I should've been ready!"
Her glass shattered in her hand, shocking her. Jerking back, she stared at the blood flowing, mixing with the stout, making the cuts burn. She didn't cry out, just stared, as if she'd never seen anything like it before.
The Ogre pulled a scarf from his pocket and leaned across the table to wrap her hand quickly, before anyone saw and grew frightened. Chara blinked a few times, then looked at him, amazed at the gentleness he showed.
"A warrior must always control their anger, or that anger will control them," he said softly, patting her hand tenderly.
"I'm no warrior," she replied in shame. "I'm just a stupid girl from a small town who thought she could be more than a whore."
The Ogre mulled that for a moment, then settled back, asking, "And who says there's anything wrong with whores? Most honest women I've ever met. They know what they want, what they like, and are smart enough to get paid for doing it."
"I wanted to be something else," she said quietly. "I'm not, though. I ran my boyfriend off trying, and now even my best friend thinks I should run home and hide. Thing is, she's a Blessed of Ramor, so maybe she's right. Maybe that's just what I should do. Run home, marry a fat, stuttering butcher, and have his babies."
The Ogre said nothing, sliding his glass over to her and filling it full, keeping the bottle for himself. Her jaw worked in anger as she considered what he dared guess she'd never said aloud to that point.
"I thought they saw me as an equal. That they had faith in me. Now, I don't know. I'm not sure what to think."
"I'm guessing," he offered, keeping his voice low. "That the man I smell on you would not be the boyfriend you mention, then?"
She glanced up at him in surprise, then down again, her face flushing as she shook her head. "That was a mistake I made in a fit of anger."
"Did you enjoy it?" he asked.
"That's beside the point," she told him.
"Not really, it isn't," he replied. "Did you enjoy it?"
"Yeah, I did," she admitted. "A lot."
"Then it wasn't a mistake," he shrugged.
Chara took a quarter of the glass, then coughed, but held her composure. "It isn't that simple, you know."
"It really is," he told her with a grin. "Are you a woman who has seen battle, or are you a little mouse?"
Chara grimaced. "I saw plenty of battle when the Demon Seed attacked. I was in the middle of it."
"Then you are a warrior," he said. "You're not a child, nor a mouse. Warriors do what they must to stay strong, in their heart, even if others do not understand, or approve."
"I wish it was that easy, but I'm not a warrior, either," she said, her voice heavy with remorse. "I was lucky to survive."
The Ogre shook his head. "Luck is for cowards. If you fought for your right to live, and for those who stood alongside you, then you're a warrior. That's all there is to it."
"You make it all sound so simple," she sighed.
"It is simple, little mouse," he smiled. "You are the one making it complicated by thinking on it too much. Tell me, was this your first battle?"
"Sort of," she shrugged. "I stabbed a couple of Orcs in the back before, and helped my friend, the Blessed of Ramor, and my boyfriend fight a Dark Blessed. This was the first time I've ever seen so many Demon Seed, though. The first time I've ever had to really fight in what felt like a war."
He nodded slowly. "It's like this for everyone the first time they taste real battle. The aftermath, what my people call the Moment of Clarity. You look back on it, and wonder how you got out alive, dismissing your own skill as luck, and feel tortured by the thought of those who didn't live. Worry not, my little mouse, for it will pass, and you'll be stronger for it when it's over."
"But," she started, only to have him wave her down.
"You lived. Others did not. This is the nature of war. Some survive to fight again, while others do not. Next time, you may fall, while another lives, grieves, wonders why, and tries to fuck away the question with no answer," he told her.
She stared at him curiously. "Question with no answer?"
"Why am I alive," he told her. "It's the question everyone who faces real battle asks themselves, often more than once. It's a haunting question, for there is no real answer. Too many factors to consider, you see. It's always about the factors of the battle, why some live, and others don't.
“Right place, wrong time, stand when you should kneel, step right instead of left. There are billions of little nuances to the art of combat that can all mean live or die."
"That sounds like luck," she told him.
"Only to you," he chuckled. "I'm a Warmaster, though. I know there's no luck. Only skill, and the ability to weigh the factors in an in
stant."
"I get that," she nodded. "It's like a game of Masters."
The Ogre thumped the bottle on the table a few times. "Exactly, little mouse! It's like a game of Masters. You never win with all the pieces, because some fall. That is battle."
Chara downed some more of the whiskey and was surprised when the Ogre filled her glass again. "So, what you're saying is I got through because I had some skill and ability?"
"Only reason I've ever seen anyone survive," he shrugged. "But, it was your first real fight, so you've got that unanswerable question crowding your mind, and since you can't answer it, and as you said, ran your boyfriend off, you found a fun fuck to take your mind off it. That's just being a warrior, my little mouse."
"I keep telling you, I'm not a warrior," she shot back.
He gave her another of his sly grins. "And I keep telling you that you are. Who are you going to listen to? The Ogre, or yourself?"
Chara snorted laughter at that, realizing he had a point. "I don't feel like a warrior."
"Neither do I, truth be told," he sighed. "I feel like an old man. But I'm still alive after many battles, so a warrior I must be. Life is funny that way, little mouse. It never really quite conforms to what you think it is."
"So I noticed," she said as she leaned back, toying with her glass. "That doesn't answer the real question I'm asking myself, though. What do I do now? Run home and hide, as everyone wants, or fight?"
The Ogre took a long pull from the bottle before saying, "Well, allow me to be the one to pose this query, little mouse, as no one else appears to have done so as yet. What, exactly, is it that you want?"
Chara sat for some time, thinking about that. She stared into the blackish-amber depths of the stout, really asking herself what she wanted. Methodically, logically, she removed all emotion from that, dismissing Ramora and Esteban, focusing solely on the desire that burned deep inside her in the aftermath of the citadel attack. In the end, the answer was clear, once she shut everything else out.
"I want to kill every Demon-loving piece of shit out there."
The Ogre howled with laughter, thumping the bottle on the table merrily. "Well, then, my brave little mouse, that's exactly what you should do! Be damned with boyfriends, and Blessed alike! Take up arms, my girl, and wage war on them until the day you drop! Make them howl in fear at your name! Do it, and do it with pride, then drink heartily, fuck as you please, and to the lowest Hells with anyone who tells you that you cannot, for you're a warrior to the very core of your soul!"
Chara laughed at that, downing the entire glass of stout in a single go, and was pleased when she didn't cough even a little, though she did wince at the fire. "Even if I have to stand alone?"
"Even if you have to stand alone," the Ogre grinned. "At least you will be standing, on your terms, the way you see fit!"
"Yeah," she nodded. "That's just what I'm going to do. They can be with me on it, or they can fuck off!"
"That's my little mouse," he laughed.
Chara stood, nodding to herself. "I know exactly what I need to do."
"Good," he told her. "Go forth, and do it!"
"I'm going to," she shouted, then paused. "Oh, hey, your coat. You probably want it back."
He waved her off. "Return it to the Halward Inn after the rain stops. Tell them it's for the Ogre. They'll get it to me."
"You sure?" she asked.
He nodded emphatically, then dug a handful of gold coins from his pocket and rolled them to her. "Though, I would suggest you head down the street, and get some dry clothes, before you do catch your death, little mouse."
"I can't take your money," she insisted.
"Of course you can," he chuckled. "I'm giving it, aren't I? Off you go, brave little mouse. To war!"
She smiled brightly. "Thanks. For everything. Umm..."
"Mastiff," he told her. "Mastiff Bloodarm."
She nodded, holding out her hand. "Thank you, Mastiff."
"It was my honor, Chara," he said, shaking her hand with a firm, yet oddly gentle touch.
He watched her walk out, head up, and smiled. Such a brave little mouse indeed. He wished her well. Something told him, she was going to need it. The same thing that told him their meeting wasn't a coincidence, something that was confirmed a moment later when a Troll eased into the seat Chara had vacated.
"Zoe," Mastiff said, looking over at the tall, pale blue woman. "So, what was that all about?"
"What was what about?" she asked with a grin.
Mastiff settled back in his seat, frowning. So, it was to be the game, was it. He hated the game more than a little. Always, it was the game with Zoe, though.
"The brave little mouse," he said, waving at the door. "What's going on with her?"
"How should I know?" Zoe asked, her ice green eyes sparkling. "You're the one who talked to her. Not me."
The Warmaster sighed, rubbing his eyes as the Troll waved the waitress over and ordered a shrimp platter. The only thing he hated more than her little word games was seafood. He decided to have another drink of stout.
"I see you've gotten a haircut," he commented as the waitress left, waving the bottle at the short, spiky style she wore her white-blonde hair in. "What brought this on?"
"Time for a change," she shrugged. "Women do that, you know."
"I suppose," he nodded.
"You've gotten more gray," she said, holding out the glass Chara had left.
"Old men do that," he smiled, pouring it full.
"I suppose," she nodded.
They sat quietly until the waitress returned with the shrimp platter, setting it between them. Mastiff curled his lip at it as Zoe grabbed a couple and stuffed them in her mouth. He frowned a bit at that. Woman always ate like she was on the brink of starvation.
"So," he said at last. "What's the deal with the brave little mouse?"
"What makes you think I know anything about that?" she asked around a mouthful.
"Let's see," he mused. "You invite me to lunch in Lansing, having me arrive four days after the most glorious battle this city has seen in generations, arrange for me to meet you at this charming place that I will refer to politely as rustic, insist I not go inside until you arrive, which left me hanging around in a downpour, while you were thirty minutes late, putting me right in her path."
Zoe chewed slowly for a minute, then smiled. "You make it all sound so sordid, Tiffy."
"Don't call me that," he groaned.
"It's cute, like you," she replied, scooping up another handful of shrimp. "Maybe it was just a coincidence that you ran into her."
"I stopped believing in coincidence the day I met you," he told her with a snort. "Must we play this game?"
She shrugged. "We must. Sorry, Tiffy. Just the way things work."
He harrumphed at that. "Very well, then, my overly buxom annoyance, why did you set all this in motion, if not to have me meet her?"
"I'm not overly buxom," Zoe chastised him. "I'm perfectly proportionate for my height."
"Which is why you flaunt it so," he said, looking over the vest she wore unlaced halfway down.
"I am confident in my sexuality," she retorted with a trace of indigence.
Mastiff rubbed his temple, not wanting to be lured into another conversation about her breasts, like last time. It only left him frustrated after she ditched him to chase down a woman. Not that he overly wanted to go there, but still, it wasn't like she was unattractive. For someone who wasn't an Ogre.
"Tell me about the mouse," he begged.
Zoe smirked at him as she stuffed her face with shrimp. "Eat something."
"I'm allergic to seafood," he grumbled. "You know that. I break out in hives, which don't look very good on me with my complexion."
Zoe snorted laughter, then choked on a shrimp for a second, before getting control of herself. "Sorry. That was funny."
"You vex me greatly, woman," he groused.
Zoe grinned. "Your little mouse is important."
"
Of course," he muttered. "Everyone you have me run into accidentally seems to be. The question is why?"
She nodded as she ate some more shrimp, telling him around it, "That's the question, isn’t it? Let me give you a hint. My Goddess wanted to see if you could set her on the right path."
"Don't talk with your mouth full," he chided. "It's gross."
"I'm hungry," she told him. "Sue me."
Mastiff gave her an annoyed smile. "So, have I set her on the right path?"
Zoe shrugged. "Dunno. We'll see, I suppose."
"And when would that be?"
"The next time you see her," the Troll replied. "You'll either be her mentor, or her executioner."
Mastiff frowned. "I don't think I like the sound of that. She's just a girl."
Zoe stopped eating, giving him a dark look. "She's had her destiny changed, Mastiff. She's in flux. She can either be a force for good, or evil. We're waiting to see which it will be."
"Her destiny changed?" he asked.
"She was meant to marry a fat, stuttering butcher and have his littler of eight," Zoe told him.
Mastiff scowled deeply. "An unfit fate for one with the fire she possesses."
Zoe snorted. "That's the problem with you, Tiffy. You and all Ogres, really. You can't see the bigger picture."
"I cannot imagine how chaining anyone to a life they obviously didn't want can be good for anything," the Ogre rumbled.
The Troll's eyes darkened as she dropped her shrimp back on the plate, brushing her hands off on her slacks. "Fine. You want to know. I'll tell you. Six generations removed, down her bloodline, would've seen the birth of Jarisa of Rheumer, a Spellweaver and Blessed of Isel, who would overthrow the Master of Sorcery, liberate Qur, and return her Tradition to the rightful place of honor and glory, all while exposing the sorcerers for the frauds they are."
"One life," he argued.
"Nine generations removed," Zoe snapped. "Down her bloodline, would've seen the birth of Arnell Odeva, Blessed of Ramor, General of Oboro, who would lead the armies that knocked down the walls of Pirnot, driving the Demon Seed from their stronghold."
Mastiff glared off at nothing.
Rise (War Witch Book 1) Page 54
