Chapter 14: Brawling

[Trigger warning: this chapter contains physical violence, blood, racism, and sexual assault]

Chapter 14: Brawling

Tuvos, Day 8 of Melia

Winking Moons

Eclipse of Thyxia

Year 602

Star grass, root. See figure. A tonic and diuretic, the stems are approximately three gerds tall with smooth, glossy leaves. The flowers are white, just tinged with yellow, and appear dusted with a white powdery substance. Only the root is used, and that only internally. Clear alcohol is the best carrier for star grass, as the taste is strong.

—Arcane Herbs and Their Uses, Vol. 2

Evin and her strange new traveling companions had made their way into Liminey North, which was a section of land just before the Boradîc Sea jutted inland to form Trader Bay. They’d need to take a ferry further north across the bay in order to continue.

Her boots had become scuffed and muddy, her clothing stiff from sweat and dirt. The four of them washed in streams when they could and Craix helped them to forage and hunt for sustenance. Tadyath had some coin, but seemed to eschew highly populated areas, so stays in inns were rare.

That meant no wine or beer.

Evin missed it at first, but as time went on she became accustomed to going without. It was nice to feel so clear-headed. And she didn’t miss the hangovers at all.

Her comrades were pleasant folk to journey with, and quick thinkers, all. She didn’t fear any harm when they were near, which was no small thing after what she’d been through. Himes was jolly and huge and made her smile, full of ready jokes and anecdotes. He could always lift her spirits when she was low. Craix was clever and mysterious, with an aura of danger about her. Evin got the feeling that no matter how hard she strove, she’d never be privy to all of the older woman’s secrets. And she found Tadyath to be strong yet gentle, and very kind.

Often, Evin found herself considering that elusive piece of information she might be missing, or was simply too stupid to see. Why? her spirit called out into the emptiness. Why had the three of them suddenly materialized as important figures in her life? And what did they have to gain from helping her?

She’d begun having dreams lately, almost nightly, and all featuring the explosion. In her mind’s eye, she saw over and over again the way the molten heat leaked between the stones of her beloved brew shop and blasted the structure viciously apart. It was a trick of her memory, she knew, but she fancied she could still smell the charred lumber and spoiled inventory, acrid and stinging in her nostrils, and tempered by the meaty scent of burnt flesh.

She’d seen Wynn’s body. She’d seen everything. Cotter had done his best to shield her, but she’d seen their savaged bodies—all three of them. After that, Evin didn’t think her mind would ever be right again.

Each night, she cried a little to herself in the dark amid the smoke and uncertainty of their temporary campsites. She missed her sister fiercely, and the grief clawed at her insides like a rabid animal fighting for its freedom. On this last day however, she began to think that her situation might be a little worse. They could have kidnapped her against her will. Or they could be beating her. Or starving her.

Not that my life is so wonderful, she thought, sighing as the four of them walked a fielded plateau in North Liminey. It was perhaps four bells in the afternoon. Not that it hasn’t taken a colossally horrific turn that would make anyone at all question their trust, must less belief, in the Divine Pantheon. Evin thought of Calumn and wondered for the thousandth time what his design could possibly be in this maze of a life she’d been destined to traverse. She’d been left without a father from the start, then had lost her mother early. And now her sister had been taken from her. She was angry. She hated Calumn.

“What is it, Little One?” Himes asked her, interrupting her thoughts. “Your face is dark.”

She glanced at him. The big man had slung his travel pack over one shoulder and had a game hare, skin still on, fastened to his belt.

Evin thought for a moment about avoiding the subject, and then decided she might as well share her feelings. After all, the group had nothing else to occupy them—just endless road to travel. “Do you believe in Calumn?” she asked Himes speculatively.

He raised his eyebrows in thought. “No one’s asked me that in a very long time,” he replied. His voice sounded far away.

Up ahead, Tadyath reached a road sign and stilled for a moment, reading. His long locks hung in the still afternoon air, reaching all the way to his slim waist. After considering for a moment, he decided to take them down road that led north and west toward Utne. There was a tiny likeness of a house scrawled on the wooden sign at the crossroads that connoted an inn.

So we won’t be camping outside tonight, Evin thought with some relief. She was looking forward to sleeping in a bed again.

“I think I do,” said Himes in answer to her question. “Though it’s hard sometimes. I think I’m more afraid of a reality without the Divine Pantheon. It’s a comfort to hold to the Divine faith.”

Evin nodded.

“Do you?” he prodded.

“I used to,” she replied slowly. “I prayed, and made offerings, and tried to follow the lessons of the Divine Pantheon. Now I feel stung by them—punished. And I don’t know what I did wrong. It’s as though I’m on a game board and someone else is moving me around no matter where I deign to go. If the gods can plausibly allow such horrible things to happen to mortals, I suspect they either don’t exist, or they are so cruel that I have no wish to worship them.”

“I understand,” Himes said, nodding. He seemed to silently consider something for a moment, and then cleared his throat, continuing. “That’s completely understandable. You’ve been through much for your age. Though I think spiritual beliefs are complicated no matter who you ask.”

The group turned left at the road marker and continued on through the sparse meadows. With no trees to break the wind, it whipped all about them, playing with their hair and polishing their skin. Evin could feel her face beginning to heat up from the burn of the wind.

Just as her stomach had started to gurgle hollowly, a squat building came into view up ahead. Behind it stood a smattering of modest homes clustered about the dusty road.

It was strange to see how other villages were built outside of Liminey. Evin was accustomed to the lush hills and forests, moss and cobblestones of her hometown. Out here, all was carved wood, packed earth, and dried grasses. The wind whistled through the tiny settlement, and it looked—dead. Empty.

They had reached Utne.

The inn had no sign hanging from the eves, but on the front door, someone had simply scrawled Publick Inn.

The sun was just beginning to sink low in the sky, and the clouds had turned faintly pink.

When Tadyath opened the door, the smell of a rich, herbed stew wafted out and cradled them all.

Evin was relieved. When she’d noted the desolate state of the village, she’d half expected the inn to be deserted. She and the others stepped inside out of the wind gratefully.

There were only a few patrons scattered about the dark room. Evin guessed that the custom reflected the sparseness of the town itself.

Their group waited just inside the door while Tadyath approached one of the men behind the counter.

He wore a stained white eborel apron and had a thick, dark beard. As Tadyath drew near, the barkeep stared at the man’s dark, South Urdan skin with a look that suggested both fascination and revulsion.

In larger, well-settled towns where trade and education were valued, encountering someone of South Urdan heritage was quite common. Their striking features often contrasted mightily with lighter-skinned folk, but they were generally treated with respect and autonomy. Evin remembered hearing though that in earlier years, South Urdanese were mistrusted—and often mistreated. And that sometimes, it still happened in sparsely populated towns. Utne was as hardscrabble a place as she’d ever seen, and she took in a deep breath to guard against the tension that was beginning to boil in the modest inn.

Tadyath ignored the man’s rude look. “Good evening, sir,” he said. “Have you three rooms to let for the night?”

The barkeep’s eyes narrowed. “Only two,” he said tersely, then looked back and forth from Tadyath to his companions as if sizing them up.

Tadyath nodded slowly. “That’s fine,” he replied. “We can share. Do you have a pallet we can place on the floor for the little one there?” he said, indicating Evin with a wave of his hand.

“Aye, that’s fine,” said the man. “And we’ve room in the barn out back for you.”

Tadyath’s polite expression froze on his face, and Evin felt a horrible chill race up her spine.

“Excuse me?” said Himes in a low but challenging voice, pushing Craix and Evin gently aside to approach the front counter himself.

“That’s right,” said the barkeeper to Himes. “I can house you and the boy there, and the girl can sleep on a pallet on the floor.” Then he looked back at Tadyath and set his jaw. “We don’t allow southerners to sleep inside. It’s policy.”

Himes had flushed all the way to the roots of his crimson hair. “It’s a trench-fodder policy—”

Tadyath put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Shhhh,” he said. “Not now.”

“We’ll leave,” Himes said insistently to him, not bothering to lower his voice. “We don’t have to stay here.”

Tadyath nodded to him soothingly, placating him with; “A moment, please.” Then to the man at the counter, he asked, “Will you give us some of you stew for a few coins?”

The man nodded and then turned away, ostensibly to load up bowls of stew for them all.

Meanwhile, Tadyath put a handful of eccats down on the counter.

“I’ll not stand for this,” said Himes, fuming. “Why do you give him our money?”

“I’m with Himes,” Evin agreed, though no one had asked her. “I think we should leave. It’s obvious we’re not wanted here.”

“I understand,” said Tadyath. “And we don’t have to stay. But my bones tell me rain is coming tonight. And even if we don’t stay safely indoors where it’s dry, we should load up on some good, hearty food in preparation for what’s to come.”

Craix’s intense eyes were watching the stranger ladle a thick stew down into four bowls. Evin knew instinctively that she was making sure their repast was safe to eat.

The steaming vessels were set down before them all, the money collected, and they all sat down with their food.

The atmosphere was uncomfortable. Other patrons had begun to glance their way and were obviously whispering about the group of strangers.

Craix wordlessly reached out for their bowls, then examined and sniffed at each one by turn. She looked at Tadyath and gave a solemn nod. “It’s all right,” she said quietly, and they all raised their spoons and began to eat.

It was good. Rich, thick, beefy, with chunks of soft, peeled potato and sweet carrots big around as Evin’s skinny little wrist. It would have tasted even better if she had felt at all welcome in this odd establishment.

When they were nearly done, she became aware of a few diners sidling up to them—three close by, and a few more hovering in the background listening to the impending exchange.

“Ho, friends,” a large man with a substantial beer gut said by way of greeting. “Where are you headed this evening?”

“To Craestor,” Evin answered, a little too loudly. This place was ridiculously backward, and she’d had enough of it.

It was only after she’d spoken that she noticed Craix’s frantic head shake. Don’t say anything, her look seemed to warn.

“Craestor, eh?” the man asked. “Not to the university, surely?”

She looked down at an empty spot on the table. No one in their group spoke.

“This one’s about the right age for that,” the man went on, indicating Evin and slurring his words a little as he turned to look at his friends. “Fancy a little study?” he said, drawing even closer to them.

This is dangerous, Evin realized in alarm. She counted the number of beady, alcohol-glazed eyes trained on them. Eleven. A woman and four men, including the bartender, were staring them down, and another woman stood off to the side glaring at them out of one eye—the other was hidden by a patch.

When none of them responded, the man pounded hard on the table, rattling the empty dishware. “Eh?” he spat startlingly. “You a group of death-brewers?”

Tadyath stood calmly and addressed the man.

“Friend,” he said smoothly in his soft South Urdan accent. “I don’t know where your displeasure stems from, but if we’ve done something to offend, we are truly sorry. We’ve finished our excellent meal and will be leaving shortly.”

The man snickered a little. “Never heard a South Urdan talk so fancy,” he said. “I can tell you’re a brewer. I can smell your filthy potion stink from here.”

Himes stood up slowly, assessing the group that had gathered around them. “What of it?” he asked the stranger through clenched teeth. “We save people. We win wars. We keep your kind healthy.”

“Not around here, you don’t,” piped another man, sidling up next to Belly. “Not anymore. Our shop burned to the ground a couple weeks back. With the building ruined for us, half our work was done. We ran those filth-brewing bastards out of Utne and into damnation. And today, your stars must be aligned with Beili’s, because we’re about to do the same to you.”

Evin was becoming truly frightened.

Craix took her gently by the arm and the two women made their way toward the front door. “Wait outside,” Craix whispered. “It won’t take long.”

An aggressive and very ruddy-faced woman barred their way. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked with a cold smile. “We’re just getting started.”

“Our quarrel is not with you,” Tadyath was saying firmly. “Escorting a future student to Craestor isn’t—”

And the man with the beer gut punched him hard across the jaw.

Evin was horrified. Craix’s fingers on her bicep tightened so much it hurt.

The South Urdan recovered and stood slowly, a trickle of dark purplish blood coating his top lip. He wiped at it and looked up at his attacker, who was smirking triumphantly. The others locals puffed out their chests protectively and flanked their friend.

“Listen,” Craix said, low in her ear. “When this starts, you hide under a table. Don’t come out until I tell you. And make no noise. Understand?”

Evin nodded.

“I’ll give you a last warning,” Tadyath said shakily. “Stand down, and my group will leave you in peace. Keep pushing, and you could find yourself in a lot of pain.”

Evin was dismayed. Tadyath was so temperate and soft-spoken, Himes so jolly, and Craix so quiet. True, there was an aura about them that had once communicated danger to her—but that was before she’d gotten to know them. They were kind people. Other than a trenchful of fish taken down by Himes, Evin hadn’t ever seen them hurt anyone.

What will I do if they lose? she thought in sudden terror. She was furlongs from home and knew no one. No one back in Liminey even knew where she was.

I might die. I might die tonight, she thought wildly.

“Those sound like empty threats to me,” said Beer Belly. “What do you think?”

The other locals rumbled with soft laughter and one of them cracked their knuckles.

Next to her, Craix sniffed in amusement at this. That made Evin feel a little better.

“I assure you, they are not,” replied Tadyath evenly. “Last offer. Stand down or you will wish you had.”

In answer, the man wound up another punch.

It was so fast that Evin almost didn’t see it, but Tadyath’s right hand had crept down to a hide pouch hanging from his leather belt. He flicked the pouch lid upward and retrieved something from inside.

At the same time, his left hand darted up and caught his attacker’s punch.

The man’s eyes bulged, staring in disbelief at his beefy hand hand suspended inside of Tadyath’s deep brown one. Then Tadyath squeezed, and the man cried out.

While his attention was there, Tadyath’s other hand flew through the air and flung something at the ground by their feet. There was a sound like breaking glass, followed by a huff of incineration, and Tadyath dove backward and out of the way.

The vaporous smoke that had filled the air around the two men cleared slightly, and Evin could hear the man screaming.

Then she saw it.

Every square finger of his exposed skin was covered in little reddish-purple cuts.

“Get him!” the wounded man roared, pointing a bleeding finger at Tadyath, whose right hand had returned to hover around the pouch at his hip.

Belly’s friends mobilized.

Craix gave her aching bicep one last squeeze and Evin ran for cover, finding an empty spot under a nearby table.

She sized up the room. There was Tadyath, Craix and Himes, and they were circling up, their backs pressed snugly together.

Then there were the locals; Belly, obviously, and a short man with hardly any neck, the bartender with the dark beard, a very tall, big man with hands like spatulas, the one-eyed woman with the patch, and a the ruddy-faced woman who had stopped her from escaping earlier.

Tadyath’s group was outnumbered.

“Start with the leader,” heaved Belly, somehow getting his second wind.

Spatula-hands gave a growl low in his throat and strode forward, followed by the bartender.

This time, Tadyath cut them off, sinking a punch deep into Spatula-hands’ stomach. The man made a muted oof! sound and staggered a little.

The bartender took this opportunity to barrel head-first into Tadyath, pulling him off of Spatula-hands and shoving backward into one of the tables.

The force of the attack took Tadyath by surprise, and he sprawled back onto the wooden table, his legs dangling slightly. The barkeep smashed the back of his fist into Tadyath’s face.

The red-faced woman was staring down Craix. “Come here, pretty boy,” she said menacingly. “Let me warm you up tonight.” Something about the energy the woman emitted was truly evil, though Evin could not tell why. She got the feeling it was something the woman said often, and to boys much younger than she thought Craix to be.

Craix smiled darkly at the threat.

The woman drew a wicked-looking knife that glinted in the dim light of the inn and stalked closer.

Craix lazily picked up her own empty bowl, still sitting on the table, and brought it down hard on top of the woman’s head.

There was a spoon though, too, thought Evin. What happened to the spoon?

The ruddy-faced woman was dazed, but held on to her weapon. She tried to laugh it off as she took a stab at Craix’s chest.

Craix dodged easily, and quickly darted behind the woman with an effortless spin. She brought a sturdy arm around Ruddy-face’s thick waist. She whispered something in the woman’s ear, and then gave a fierce little wrench.

The woman gave a horrific scream and dropped the knife as Craix smirked evilly. Then she pulled frantically at the back of her skirt, which had appeared to bunch up behind her, until something else clinked to the floor. The spoon.

Ruddy-face left the bar and ran out into the night. Craix took the knife.

Now it was five-on-three.

Evin reminded herself soberly never to provoke Craix.

The man without a neck had moved forward to attack Himes. He wound up and threw a punch at Himes’ face, but the redhead backed away just in time. Next, the little man threw a jab at Himes’ chest, which he also managed to dodge. Frustrated, he kicked out toward Himes’ stomach, and this time, the redhead caught No-Neck’s leg and flung him backward into a set of chairs, all of which either fell over or splintered.

In the meantime, the bartender still had Tadyath pinned to the table. The South Urdan’s face was covered in blood, and his nose and one of his eyes had swollen grotesquely. The man with the barkeep prepared to slam his fist down into Tadyath’s face again, but Tadyath rolled off to the side and off the table. The man’s hand went down into the surface of the wooden table with a smack! and he winced, shaking it out.

Evin shook her head from her hiding place. This was an all-out brawl. They were destroying property. And somebody would likely be killed. Likely more than one somebody.

The barkeeper had moved to stand beside Tadyath and was preparing to kick his teeth in, but Craix sprinted across the room with her newfound weapon and leapt up onto the man’s back. She stabbed downward into his neck and left the weapon there, jumping down as the bearded man staggered away and fell to his knees.

Craix gave Tadyath a hand and the South Urdan climbed to his feet.

This was a side of Tadyath Evin hadn’t seen before. The man moved with an awareness, a kind of practiced grace. And there was something warlike in his eyes. His hand hovered always at the pouch by his waist, and she realized now that he was well-trained, perhaps even a master. He’s a slinger, she thought. A bombardier. One that has been taught to carefully calculate and deploy potions meant to effect certain square areas. That made him an intensely dangerous man.

By now, Belly had taken a swig of ale—as was probably his frequent wont, thought Evin—and returned to the fight. The ugly little purple cuts all over his body must have stung terribly. He turned to help up the man with no-neck. Spatula-hands spat on the wooden floor and stood to face his foes.

Evin didn’t see any sign of the one-eyed woman and wondered if she’d fled.

Tadyath was standing near Craix and was fiddling in his pouch again.

Himes noticed the three men gearing up for another attack and ran straight at them, bellowing. He picked up an empty pewter tankard on the way and tried to bring it down on No-Neck’s head.

The man dodged, but it gave Tadyath time to sling another potion at the group. The little vial hit Belly square in the gut and then fell to the floor at his feet with a crash!

There was a little puff of vapor, and then it dissipated.

Nothing happened.

No-Neck and Spatula-Hands Evin had begun to laugh, and Evin wondered if it this vial was a decoy until she saw Belly’s face.

His face looked utterly panicked, and his hands clutched claw-like at his own throat.

“What is it?” asked No-Neck. “What’s happened?”

Belly shook his head frantically, pointing at his chest.

He can’t breathe, Evin realized.

Spatula-hands turned to face Tadyath with death in his eyes. “Release him,” he said low in his throat.

“Can’t,” Tadyath gasped, short of breath. “That’s not how it works.”

No-Neck made a move to spring toward Tadyath but Himes tripped him. Craix left Tadyath to come over and kick the man with no neck hard between the legs.

There was a movement toward the back of the room, and Evin could barely discern the one-eyed woman slinking around in one dark corner. She was carrying—was that a crossbow?

Belly still wasn’t making a sound.

Desperate, and with Tadyath unguarded, Spatula-Hands stumbled forward and placed his hands about Tadyath’s throat. He squeezed.

“Release him. Take this from him. He can’t breathe,” the big man demanded with panic in his voice.

“N-neither… can I,” wheezed Tadyath through the man’s vice like fingers. His hands pawed at his attacker’s fingers as he tried in vain to pry himself loose.

Himes made a sudden movement to come over and assist, but Spatula-Hands looked at him warningly, giving Tadyath’s head a savage shake. “No,” he said. “No one moves. Your master is not in good health, and I will finish him if this death-potion is not called off.”

Off to the side, Belly had sunk to the floor, his hands still clutching at his chest. His face had gone blue.

Craix and Himes looked at each other helplessly. Tadyath met their gazes and shook his head.

And in the background, the one-eyed woman with the crossbow had positioned herself silently atop one of the tables and was drawing her weapon.

Evin had both hands clasped to her mouth.

If this slung martial material worked the way she thought it did, Beer Belly would suffocate shortly. And the man with the giant hands would strangle Tadyath. Unless… She glanced back at the one-eyed woman. She was taking aim at Tadyath, obviously just waiting for Spatula-Hands to move out of the way.

“Tadyath!” Evin cried. “Toward the door!”

The woman let the bolt loose.

It all happened in half a heartbeat. The crossbolt flew straight toward Tadyath. Tadyath raised his fists to grip Spatula-Hand’s collar.

It took Spatula-Hands too long to understand what Evin had meant by ‘toward the door,’ and as he turned to look, Tadyath, through a consciousness-consuming fog, had managed to shift the big man just enough to put him in the weapon’s deadly path.

There was a sickening thud, and Tadyath’s face was instantly coated in a spray of bright blood.

Spatula-Hands’ eyed dilated and his body went limp.

The bolt embedded itself in a side wall of the inn and stuck there, quivering. After passing cleanly through the man’s head.

Tadyath collapsed.

Evin shrieked and ran out of her hiding place, and Himes and Craix quickly tied up No-Neck and the one-eyed woman, who were the only two other survivors.

In Tadyath’s pouch, Evin found something that smelled like Minor Healing, and, pulling Tadyath’s lips apart, she poured it into the unconscious man’s mouth. Himes and Craix were there in a heartbeat if not faster, waiting to see if he would wake.

Tadyath’s eyed fluttered and he looked up, giving them all a weak smile. “That was fun,” he said.

* * *

Evin looked down at her aching feet, consciously kicking up little clouds of dust.

“Stop,” said Craix, annoyed.

Evin stopped.

Behind them, Tadyath limped along slowly, his features heavily bandaged. He took a slew of potions every few hours to ease the pain of his broken nose. Finally, since the accident at the Wheel and Well, Evin wasn’t the only one of the group in terrible shape.

Himes walked next to his friend, carrying both his own and Tadyath’s travel packs in an effort to make their journey a little easier.

After that night at the inn in Utne, the four of them had left the village hastily and hidden among the woods. They’d heard the angry shouts of the search party and seen the lit torches glittering through the trees, and had held their breath.

They’d managed to get a little deeper into the forest by the time the rain had started.

Himes had wanted to start a fire, but Tadyath was adamant that they must not, so they’d huddled close under a dense spray of leaves and had somehow made it through the night. At least it was Melia and there was no chance of them freezing. Evin had caught a cold the next day anyway though, which was why she was in such poor spirits now. Perhaps it was asking for a bit much from the Divines, but she’d had a cold recently and didn’t think it fair that she’d need to weather another.

They’d taken the ferry across Trader Bay the very next day. Luckily, news of the fight in Utne hadn’t made it to the shore by then, and Tadyath and his group slipped through without a problem.

“Calum’s feet,” breathed Craix next to her, and Evin looked up.

“What is it?”

The older woman pointed off into the distance, up the dirt road and in between two copses marking thick treeline.

Evin could just see a squatty-sort of stone building with corridors connecting four distinct towers.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Tadyath and Himes came up to stand beside them, and the latter placed a strong, comforting hand on her shoulder. “That,” he said, “is Craestor University.”