Three Rivers attracts bad actors like a corpse brings carrion eaters. Past generations built a third of the city on the western bank. Those structures fell to ruin. Now it serves as a hive for the aberrants. Nests and honeycombed hideouts. So it isn’t long before Alkara gets to test her new bow.
The hunter and her cat companion wend through Old Town Market, on the prowl for other prey. Even with its proximity to Three Rivers, traveling through the ruins requires preparation. Alkara searches for supply replenishments.
She passes a stand filled with bracelets, earrings, and other baubles. Her gaze slides over the pieces and she quirks her mouth. Nothing there would kill an aberrant without great persistence.
A fetid, rotting meat stench radiates from a rag-covered man standing in front of the stall. Alkara steps back, shoving a cloth over her mouth. Saliva fills her mouth. She swallows it down with the urge to retch.
The stall’s vendor stands with a pinched nose, staring arrows into the ‘patron.’ She seems of two minds, simultaneously pulling away but keeping close enough to watch the hulking figure. She shakes her head and shouts, “Move on then if you’re not buying nothing.”
The rag-covered man stares at the jewelry. He sways but doesn’t move otherwise. Guen growls. Alkara shrugs and turns to leave, “I know, Guen. Me too.”
Sucks, but not my—
“HEY! Give those back!” The stall owner’s high-pitched yell cuts into Alkara’s thoughts.
The big man tugs at a chain. The woman is on the other end, pulling as well. It’s clear who will win. The rag-covered man drags the woman half-across her stall, scattering baubles across the cobbles. Onlookers pause in their tracks, eyeing the jewelry but also the exchange.
The woman gasps, “Ah!” The man grips her wrist. Green flesh pokes out from the rags. The man grunts. Echoes of heavy footfalls buffet the market square. Calls for help accompany them. Old Town supplies ready guards.
He’s strong. Probably need more than a single guard—
The man in rags grows in size. Rags shiver and rip, exposing more green flesh to the sunlight. Villagers nearby rush to the woman’s aid. The man bats them with his free hand. The other clamps the woman’s forearm with no sign of struggle.
Alkara reaches a hand to her quiver, feeling for an arrow. If it’s a man, the city guards will deal with him. But something nags at her.
The hand gripping the woman, already large, fattens and stretches along her forearm. Definitely not a man. Alkara nocks an arrow— but too many villagers are between the her and the target. The man yanks the shopkeep’s arm and her skin splits lengthwise up to her shoulder.
That’s when the screaming starts.
Whistle chirps join the screams. Guards stream forward, bludgeoning the thing’s back and head. One blow tugs at the thing’s hood, revealing small horns and a mushroom cap. It turns, grinning, toward the guards, dragging the woman into the square. The thing’s teeth are pointed and short. The teeth sparkle and shine. A Xatha, then. But one that can shape change? They’re not exactly smart…
One guards stops mid-swing and stares. Others drop their weapons, arms drooping. One brave or foolhardy guard steps forward, now with sword drawn, and slashes down into the thing’s shoulder.
And stops without breaking skin. The guard, some poor Talaveshan by complexion, takes a single step back. Then the man-thing has her. It abandons the shopkeep and wraps both arms around the female guard. And squeezes.
Chaos descends on the market. A spurt of blood geysers from the female guard’s neck, spraying those foolhardy enough to have stayed. The Xatha swells further, enlarging to the size of a bull.
Alkara kneels. “Urdima’s strength and wisdom flow through you,” she touches Guen’s fur and the great cat grows as well. Alkara jumps back to her feet and stalks around to one side, clearing her sight line to the creature. “Back! Get back from it!”
The Xatha throws reckless fists in all directions. The guards backpedal, but too late. The thing strikes one at the shoulder and a sickening crunch follows. The guard falls to the ground, scrambling backward but too slow.
Alkara looses an arrow as the Xatha steps over the downed guard. It raises one meaty fist and the arrow strikes it in the ribcage.
The mythril-headed projectile sinks into the creature’s torso. A stream of blue fluid flows from the wound. The shaft of the arrow sizzles, smoke drifting from it in small cloud puffs.
The Xatha staggers away from the guard. It snaps its head toward Alkara, nostrils flaring. It keeps ballooning in size, now something close to a wagon.
Guen, despite her growth, pales in comparison. Alkara snatches another arrow from her quiver, “Guen, pounce in and out.”
Guen snuffs and pads away from Alkara, taking a circuitous route. The Xatha lumbers toward Alkara. Its huge foot slams down on the crawling guard’s leg.
The guard’s howls don’t phase the creature. The arrow shaft falls from its torso, melted in the middle. The Xatha grabs a market cart and launches it at Alkara.
Alkara dives to the side, rolling into a crouch. She draws back and looses an arrow. Tendrils of purplish light trail from the fletching.
The arrow takes the thing in the thigh, ripping through muscles and bone. A warmth swells in her chest.
By Urdima this bow is amazing!
The Xatha grunts, scowling. A few more steps will have it in Alkara’s face. She scans left and right for escape routes. Guen launches herself from the side, hitting the thing with all fours.
The monster reaches for the cat but she springs off its body in a flash of fur. It grasps at the air and then looks at its empty hand, brow furrowed.
Alkara looses another arrow, speeding to the side and around the market’s center as she does. She doesn’t watch its flight but knows the arrow found its target when the creature grunts again. She barely has to aim.
And boy do these arrows pack a punch.
Bolts from the remaining guards pester the Xatha. It raises a hand to screen its face. The bolts strike its skin without penetrating and fall to the cobbles.
Now to the creature’s left, Alkara looses another pair of arrows. They punch through at the Xatha’s knee, further wrecking that leg. But it shows no sign of slowing.
The thing grabs a guard and flings them into the air. The man’s yell fades until he smacks into something out of sight. The Xatha turns and bears down on Alkara once more.
It falters in its steps, thrown off balance by the damage to one leg. Guen bounds in and claws at the same limb.
Alkara aims for the thing’s eyes as Guen leaps to safety. An arrow sinks into its cheek. “Tch!”
The Xatha rips the roof of a market stall away and throws it in Alkara’s direction. Fabric flutters through the air, twisting up and plummeting in a heap.
The pair watch it fall then look to each other. The Xatha snatches the rest of the stall and tosses that too. This object proves more reliable.
Alkara launches an arrow under the projectile and dodges to the side. The stall clips her ankle. She cries out and clutches at the wound.
The creature roars and stumbles back, clutching at its face. It glares at Alkara with its one good eye and takes a step toward her. Guen streaks in, raking at the Xatha’s ankle.
The creature leans down to swipe at Guenwyvar, but she dashes away and out of reach, giving Alkara a chance to loose two more arrows into the thing’s skull.
The arrow grind across its skull, digging superficial furrows into its skin. Alkara pops to her feet and pain shoots through her leg. “Fuck!” She collapses to the ground.
The Xatha swings a fist the size of a cart at the huntress. Alkara plucks a piece of wood from the broken stall. “Grow like the tree of Urdima!”
Splinters elongate, shifting and spreading in odd directions. And meet the fist.
Whatever kept the thing from being wounded, whether natural, magical, or aberrant, falters. Spear-sized shards of wood puncture the fist. And begin to sizzle.
Caustic smoke stings Alkara’s eyes. The creature rears back with a roar, leaving chunks of flesh on the wood. Goop drips onto the cobbles near Alkara.
Shit.
Her eyes widen. She scrambles to her feet, heart pounding into her ears. “Thanks Urdima.” The Xatha’s roar drowns the appreciation out.
Everywhere the creature stumbles, blue blood drips into puddles. And the cobbles crackle under the corrosive fluid. The Xatha swings out at whatever is unlucky enough to be nearby.
Stalls are blown to smithereens. A tethered horse neighs once, and then the Xatha clobbers it on the side of the head.
Alkara limps forward, away from the puddles the Xatha left. Her breath comes in ragged intervals. She blinks at a blur. “Guen?” Her thoughts solidify on the idea.
A crash sounds from nearby. That wasn’t Guen. Alkara looks anyway. The Xatha had crashed into the side of a building. A blurry building.
Her ears burn from inner fire, threatening to melt away. That same fire radiates through her chest and into her toes and fingers. “But Xatha don’t have poison blood…” No one is nearby. She blinks her eyes in an uneven tempo, but everything remains out of focus.
People are speaking nearby but their words don’t register. Their mouths warble. Alkara walks past them toward the fallen Xatha. Some—thing sits on the roof of that wobbly building. Like a… small monkey.
Alkara laughs. She bends forward, throwing that sound into the stone of the square. Guen mews nearby. Alkara grips her pantlegs, pushing to steady herself. “Guen! You wanna catch the birdie?” She looks back to the roof. Nothing is there. She smiles and closes her eyes and tips backward onto the brick.
Alkara, Dre, and Chiron trudge toward the familiar territory of the Melted Griffin. Guens pads behind. The grime of the day spreads in front of them, announcing their presence. Most gave way.
The hubbub of the tavern meanders through the streets to meet them a few buildings down. Alkara groans. A crawling sensation fills her stomach. She huffs, “Well, let’s get this over with.”
Probably some sort of fight—
The thought dies as the door bursts open. Glin stands in the frame with arms open. “Heyo! There’s the lady of the day!” A chorus of cheers erupts from the tavern. Glin waves them in, “Get in here!”
The trio, quartet with Guen, slow. A surreal sensation drifts over them. Two men exit, thick cords of muscle wrap their arms. They pull Alkara forward, into the tavern. Once inside they lift her up onto their shoulders.
Thunderous cheers congest the room, choking out all other sounds. Patrons crowd the men, thronging the front of the tavern. Glin presses the small of Alkara’s back, steadying her.
Alkara blinks, dazed. Everyone stares at her. Brew sloshes from mugs. People stomp. Uncle Iro sits in a corner with a smile as wide as the room. Alkara shrugs at him with one raised eyebrow. He laughs and lifts her mug to her before taking a draught.
What the hell…?
Alkara’s throat tightens. Guen weaves through the crowd and joins Uncle Iro. Glin’s voice peeps through gaps in the cheering. “I said, ‘you know what Yizel? You’re abso-lute-ly right!'” She pauses for another cheer, “‘Why shouldn’t we celebrate?!'”
She slaps Alkara’s thigh, “So here she is, ready to kill tankards of my finest.,” Glin puts a hand to her mouth and lowers her voice, “cheapest, ale.” Boos erupt from the assembly. “Okay, okay. Not the cheapest. But she’s gonna knock ’em down like she knocks down these aberrants!”
A copaishan man calls out above the din, drawing out the vowels, “So drinks are on the house, right?” Laughter bubbles around him and ripples through the room.
Who… is that Eryl?
Glin holds up a hand, “Settle down. This one might get a couple, but there isn’t enough to quench all of yer thirsts.” She shakes her head, “Now I was giving a speech. Our young hunter did something special out there. And then again. And again. She’s been a bane to the foul creatures of the Wastes.” Nods from the crowd reinforce the statements.
“If’in one of you lot do half as much, we’ll talk drinks.” She stares most-likely Eyrl down, but a smile cracks across her lips. “Not to mention the guilds. She’s given them a black eye, worse than Albin’s there.” She points to one of the men. “We’re all safer here because of her, and it’s ’bout time we told her thanks. So,” Glin nods at probably Eryl, “if you or anyone else can get Alkara to let you buy her a drink, sure! After I show my appreciation.”
Heat raises through Alkara’s neck and smothers her cheeks. She looks down at the top of Glin’s head. Most times drinks were as liable to be spilled on her as they were offered. Those were the easy ones since Glin had the drunkards kicked out. The bow attracts lewd comparisons about being bent over. Alkara lets Guen deal with the worst and the bar is low; none are polite.
Except Sengmar.
Pangs spear her heart. Her smile falters. Sengmar’s worth bears remembrance and celebration, not her. The pang diminishes to a dull ache.
“Alkara? Care to say a few words?” Glin gestures with her mug.
Alkara shakes her head. She peers into the few gaps in the crowd, maybe some could be squeezed through to get her out of sight. “Nah, Glin, speeches and me are like… well we don’t go together.”
“Tell us a story!” Again from the man Alkara is certain is Eryl.
The crowd roars. Alkara’s cheeks burn hotter. A story? She hasn’t told a story at the Melted Griffin in… well since Sengmar died. She stares for a bit, then swallows. “Ah, come on, gimme a break! You think I have energy to entertain you lot after a day in the Wastes?”
The crowd clamor together at her usual opening. Alkara squeezes her lips together, but the smile catches anyway. Her muscles complain about the day’s tasks, but something deeper tugs at her. She taps her porters and points to a nearby table. They carry her there and place her atop.
She catches Uncle Iro’s eye again, he nods at her. Chiron and Dre had joined him. Alkara whistles low, “Guen!” She needn’t yell. Most of the tavern-goers had fallen to an anticipatory quiet. The panther slips through the men and women and leaps onto the table.
Alkara tips an invisible mug to her mouth, “Anyone?” Magically a mug is thrust into her hand. Nothing like a bit of theatre. She guzzles the ale and tosses the empty tankard down. “Well,” Alkara pats Guen’s head. Some story will emerge in time, they always do.
That little pang niggles her mind. She smirks. Sengmar will be remembered.
“Back when we walked in fields of gold, there was a family serving a duke, not too far to the north.” Alkara’s voice carries past the crowd, spreading into all corners of the room. The patrons hush down to nothing as she speaks, “They fought hard for their lord during various wars, and earned a knight’s rank and honor for their troubles.”
“But this family was greedy. It wasn’t enough. They searched high and low for ways to increase their power. They sent their daughters to woo the sons of the Duke and the Earl. Depths below, they’d have even settled for a Viscount or a Baron! But the best they could do was the merchant families, who had no where near the power they do here in Three Rivers. They sent their sons to squire for the most powerful knights of the land, but could only earn that honor from the knights who had little talent, and even less ambition. Generation after generation they failed to rise through the ranks. Thinking themselves cursed, they sought aid from the Twilight Realms.
“Now there were legends of a portal nearby. A portal to the fey wild and the Court of Melancholia.” Alkara pauses for the gasps and the murmurs.
“One son’s ambition, not to mention his pride, was greater than the rest. With no brothers, shortly after inheriting the family titles and honors, he ventured out into the small forest next to their city, in search of this portal. And what do you think he found?” Alkara lets the question hang in the air.
She shrugs. “At first, he found nothing, as these stories tend to go. But in his vanity and obsession, the young man refused to give up. He began to suspect that their guide was keeping them away from where the portal might be found, so he sent them away. The guide warned him of the foolishness of such a decision. Wandering the forest alone is not for city folk, you see.
“But the man was growing paranoid. He ordered the guide back to the city under the pretense of bringing more men to help with the search. And as soon as the guide was gone, plunged himself and his men into the heart of the little forest. And where-to does this tale lead?”
“They became hopelessly lost. Their supplies dwindled, as none knew the skills of foraging and hunting. One by one, his men died from eating the wrong mushrooms or drinking foul water.
“Sick, and almost mad, the man continued. Holding onto life and mind through sheer determination to earn the power his family had always deserved.
“One day, the man stumbled across an unnaturally still pond. He stared into it blankly, until he realized at the bottom of the pond was a ring of thorns.
“‘This is my chance!’ He whispered to himself. ‘That’s the portal. It must be!'”
Alkara smirks as she takes a swig of her ale. She wipes her face with her forearm and continues. “The man dove into the pond and swam down further and further into its depths. It seemed to him that it was deeper than he first realized, but still he refused to give up. His lungs burned for air and his eyes sparked with light. And as he reached through the ring of thorns, his palm flattened against smooth stone, and he knew no more.
“So is that the end of our tale? Does the foolish young man die, leaving his family heirless?” Alkara smiles wistfully. “Some might say it would have been better if he had. But then, we’d have missed out on the story of the true hero the family would one day birth. When true courage and honor was finally born into a family of cut-throats.
“No. Our young man lives to tell his tale. And the legend says he awoke, not in the fey wild, but in a guest chamber in the House of Melancholia itself. An absurd claim, some might say. Humans are never rescued and taken directly to the Court.
“Nevertheless, the legend says, with the help of a fey named Cervin, the young man secured a deal with the Court: they would help the family gain power, for the promise of hospitality. The fey would always be welcome in his family’s house.
“A small price, the young man thought. But he was filled with bitterness when the small price gained him a small reward: a mere barony, as opposed to the power he felt he was promised. Still. Power is power. And this family was clever. They grew the new seed of power they’d been given well. Generation after generation they climbed higher and higher till eventually they’d reach the rank of Viscount.
“But even though they felt cheated, they kept their promise. A family as clever as they knew better than to cross the fey. And so when Cervin arrived to enchant a fey-ring in the family gardens, they were met with no resistance.
“Over the generations the family became known as House Alfur, friends of the fey. They began to live longer. Some showed strange affinities to magic. And some were even born with fey-like hues to their skin.
“No one knows how or when the fey-blood was introduced to the family. They just know that once a generation, a child is born fey-touched. And here, my friends, is where our hero arrives.
“The fey-touched lad showed little evidence of his lineage. Only when the setting sun shone on his skin could one see the red-orange shimmer of his fey heritage. Exceptionally gifted in the arcane arts, the lad was also exceptionally lacking in ambition. He studied with a teacher, known to them only as Mask. And it wasn’t ambition for power that drove his abilities or his progress, but his genuine love for knowledge and learning.
“It wasn’t long before the lad caught wind of his family plotting once again to secure yet more power. Only this time, they were going for the top. This time, they were going to assassinate the Earl and the Duke.
“The treasonous talk alarmed the lad, but he didn’t believe they would actually do such a thing. He had grown used to his oldest brother’s constant talk of plots and boastful words that never saw action. And so our hero believed his family to be satisfied with their station, regardless of their words.
“Until he stumbled upon his teacher casting a dark ritual. The mage in the center of the arcane circle was bound and gagged, and cried for help as he saw the lad enter the room. The lad, stunned into silence, did not regain his composure in time to save his fellow practitioner. As his teacher finished the spell, the mage disappeared.
“It was then that the lad learned that his family was far from satisfied with their station. Still harboring bitterness from their last deal with the fey, evidently they had invited Mask, not just to teach the lad, but to spearhead their efforts to take out the Earl and the Duke, and frame a neighboring duchy’s mages for it.
“Now that he knew, the lad was told that he was not only expected to aid them in their endeavors, but also serve his brother as the court wizard, to ensure that no one could do to him what they were about to do to the Duke.
“The lad, a much better liar than myself, pretended to go along with the plan, learning as much about the plot and the rituals as he could. Until one day, he slipped through the fey-ring, made his way through the fey wild, and pleaded with Strepein of the Court of Melancholia to stop his family.
“The fey are a cruel, demanding people. And our hero was not yet seventeen. Smart, but hardly an expert in dealing with the fey. They not only demanded his services and aid in the future, they demanded two children. To save two lives, they said, they would require two lives in exchange. The lad’s firstborn, and his secondborn’s firstborn. Thinking it unlikely that he would ever have children anyway, the lad agreed.
“But Lord Strepein is clever. House Alfur acquiring the Ducal seat could only benefit them. They promised their aid to the lad, and lent it to him. But they held back. It wasn’t enough. When the lad betrayed his family, he was easily overpowered, and the family’s plot succeeded.” Alkara pauses at the gasps and can’t help but smile. “What was our hero to do?” She shrugs.
“His mother, unable to bear the thought of his execution, helped him escape to a neighboring duchy. But the lad was unsatisfied. Driven by his need to see justice done, he tried to spread the word of his family’s dealings. But the evidence was against him: everyone knew that magical signatures don’t lie. They knew the wizards were from another neighboring duchy. And no one would believe his story of his teacher’s ability to mimic those signatures.
“And so the lad’s story fell on deaf ears. Until one day, he saw a pretty lady. The prettiest lady he’d ever seen, he thought. ‘Excuse me, miss?’ He said.” Alkara swallows, her throat closing. She takes another swig of her ale to stall and then clears her throat. “He said, ‘Excuse me, miss?’ And the lady looked up at him from her meal, completely surprised. She was staring kind of rudely, I might add. The lad continued, “Sorry for startling you. But I was afraid if I waited too long I’d lose my courage.’ The boy paused and swallowed, then met her curious gaze. ‘You are quite simply one of the most beautiful women that I have ever seen.'”
The room is silent as Alkara gives the moment a beat. “The lad’s sincerity, more than his words, was what caught the attention of the lady. That one moment of courage would change both of their lives forever.
“But that, my friends, is another story.” She finishes to audible moans and cries of discontent and smiles mischievously. “What? I can’t tell you the whole thing in one sitting! Glin would kill me if I didn’t get you lot back here begging for more!”
As the room erupts into laughter and the folk begin to shuffle around, Alkara makes her way to her family. She’s stopped several times, some thanking her vigorously either for the story or for stopping the creature in the Old Town Market.
Chiron spots her trying to make her way through the crowd and stands up on his chair, putting his hands to his mouth. With exaggerated deference he calls out, “Make way! Make way or she’ll snuff you like an aberrant!”
Alkara glares at Chiron playfully, but with another round of cheers and laughter, the crowd does part for her at least a little. By the time she makes it to her family’s table, there’s food and more drink set out for them. Glin pats Alkara on the shoulder as she passes by and Uncle Iro gets up to pull Alkara into a hug.
“Well done. Eating out of the palm of your hand. And I never thought I’d see the day where you’d refer to yourself as a lady,” He finishes with a laugh.
Alkara laughs with him, “Yeah well. It probably won’t end up being me. Might change the ending. We’ll see.”
Uncle Iro squeezes her and lets her go, returning to his seat. Alkara sits and tucks into her food. She’s starving.
After a few minutes, Dre says quietly, “I didn’t know Sengmar had promised them children.”
Uncle Iro glances at Alkara before sighing and answering Dre, “He believed that since he hadn’t actually been able to save the Duke and the Earl that the deal was off. I warned him that the fae don’t work like that. Twice. I don’t think he believed me.”
“Do you think that was Cervin that came to talk to Alkara?” Dre continues.
Uncle Iro just shrugs, “Could be. I didn’t get around to asking them their name.”
“And Sengmar didn’t exactly include a description when he told me the story.” Alkara murmurs.
Dre nods, then sinks back into her thoughts. Alkara looks at her with some concern, but finishes her bowl first. “Something wrong, Dre?” She asks as she pulls over her second bowl of food.
Dre’s eyes flicker up nervously, “Cassius says kids are going missing at the Dorsey Home again.” She looks back down, “I didn’t want to say anything. With the party and all.”
Alkara’s mouth drops open, her spoon hovering in front of her face. “I don’t care about the party! When did they start going missing?”
“And who’s Cassius?” Chiron asks with a frown.
Alkara starts. She hadn’t even thought to ask that question.
Dre hesitates, then shrugs, “Just… a boy at the orphanage… I see him when I visit sometimes.”
Alkara narrows her eyes. Dre’s about as bad at lying as she is.
Dre fidgets under Alkara’s stare, “He says it happens on and off. It started again a few months ago. He’s tried to report it to the headmistress, but he says she ignores him. Rationalizes it. Kids run away from the Home all the time, that sort of thing.”
Alkara frowns, “Who’s working on it?”
Dre shakes her head bleakly, “No one. The Home says it’s a private matter and won’t hire anyone to investigate.”
Alkara’s frown deepens as anger begins to flare in her chest. Dre knows firsthand what’s actually going on. And everyone is sitting on their damn hands? Alkara glares into her stew and shoves more into her mouth, chewing furiously. Someone at the Dorsey Home is up to something. And Alkara is going to find out what.
Alkara starts a bit as Uncle Iro starts chuckling. She glances over at him and realizes he’s staring straight at her with a knowing look. Her cheeks start to burn with embarrassment, “What?”
Uncle Iro just smiles. “Oh, just the look in your eye.”
Alkara glares back down at her food and shoves more into her mouth. She can feel Uncle Iro’s eyes are still on her, but she refuses to look back up. “I’m just gonna… see what I can find okay? When I have some down time…”
“You mean when you’re not training the caravans on your days off?” Uncle Iro says with a smirk.
Alkara furrows her brow in frustration. He’s right. She’s always working. And when she isn’t, she was teaching any merchant caravan who came to town. Not for pay of course. That would probably get her fired. And then killed.
But at least her training seemed to be helping. There’d been no more wholesale slaughters. The small escorts the caravans could pay for were more effective now that they weren’t so helpless themselves. Alkara shrugs awkwardly. “I’ll… I’ll find time. I can do it. Someone has to.”
Uncle Iro shakes his head, “Pick your battles Alkara. You can’t save everyone.”
Alkara slams her fist on to the table, “Yeah, well. If no one else is going to do anything then I have to at least try.” She says through gritted teeth.
Uncle Iro presses his lips together and sighs as he stares at her. After a few moments he gets a thoughtful look on his face, “Let me look into it first, okay? Reconnaissance isn’t exactly your strength.” He smirks. “Maybe we even give Cato the Younger a chance to redeem himself.”
Alkara growls at his suggestion, but can’t think of a better idea, so she just nods.
“Good.” Uncle Iro nods as well. “When is your next training session?”
Alkara shrugs, “In a couple days. They leave in about a week and are nervous about heading back up to the capital with so little protection.”
Uncle Iro nods again, “I think I’ll tag along this time.” He says thoughtfully.
Alkara’s head snaps back up and she almost chokes on her food, “No!”
“Fame going to your head already?” He says playfully.
Alkara scowls, “No. And you know it. But if you get involved, they might target you too.”
Uncle Iro’s smile shifts to one of dark amusement. “I’m counting on it.”
Alkara gives him a confused look. He just shrugs.
“Whoever is messing with us is covering their tracks exceptionally well. Neither Cato nor Sage can make heads or tales of the situation. It’ll be easier to learn more with some…” He trails off, playfully searching for the right words, “Share of the spotlight.”
Alkara sighs with exasperation. “You’re not giving me choice are you?”
Uncle Iro smirks, “Not this time.” He sits back, casually crossing his arms, “You can only mess with the cubs for so long before the mama bear gets involved.”
Chiron snorts, “Bad news for the folks who don’t realize you’re the mama bear.”
“Even if they did. This mama bear has never been what she seems.” Dre says with a small smile.
Alkara glances at the two of them and then looks back at Uncle Iro, smiling in spite of herself. “Fine.”
“You lot doin’ alright? Can I getcha anything else?” Glin says cheerfully as she comes up to their table.
Alkara shakes her head and looks up at Glin, “I think we’re fine Glin, but–“
“Speak for yourself Alkara! Another ale please Glin! On Alkara’s tab!” Chiron chimes in with a big smile.
Glin laughs. “Anything else?”
Alkara rolls her eyes at Chiron and then shakes her head. “I’m fine Glin, but thank you.”
After confirming that Dre and Uncle Iro were also fine, Glin leaves to grab Chiron’s ale.
“Alkara,” Uncle Iro nods behind Alkara. “Who is that guy, and why does he keep looking at you?”
Alkara looks over to see Eryl drinking alone at the bar. She feels a brief twinge of guilt. “Oh. Uh. That’s Eryl. He’s just a friend. We drink together sometimes.”
Uncle Iro arcs an eyebrow at her briefly but then goes back to frowning as he studies Eryl, who is now studiously looking the other direction. “He’s an awkward fella isn’t he? Something… strange about him I can’t put my finger on…” He trails off.
Alkara shrugs, “Just a normal guy, Uncle. An accountant with the Exchequers.”
Uncle Iro barks a laugh and looks at Alkara, “An accountant? Never figured accountants were your type.”
Alkara’s face feels like it’s on fire. “We’re FRIENDS. Okay?”
Uncle Iro shrugs, “Why stop there? Drinking buddies might not exactly be the best foundation for a relationship, but I’ve seen worse.”
Alkara stares down at the table. She cannot believe this is happening. “Can we go back to talking about the orphans please? Or something else? ANYTHING else?”
Thankfully Glin returns with Chiron’s ale. She slides it over to him while playfully nudging Alkara on the shoulder, “How about that intro though, eh? Word to page, no selective prints.”
Alkara laughs nervously, “It was fine Glin but please be careful. If you cause too much trouble they’ll burn your tavern down.”
“I’d like to see them try with you in my back pocket!” Glin scoffs and winks at Alkara. “Oh! I almost forgot, Yizel wanted me to give this to you. She’s the owner of the jewelry stall you saved.” Glin pulls out a small pouch and hands it to Alkara. Alkara, feeling even more embarrassed, pulls out a necklace. Tiny emeralds crowd a larger one in a pronged arrangement. Alkara blinks at it.
Glin continues, “She says she knows someone with a reputation like yours probably doesn’t have much use for fine jewelry. But if you ever do decide to dress up someday, you’ll have something to wear with it.” Glin smiles with compassion and sighs. “Yizel was a mess earlier Alkara. Even so, she said you took that thing out quicker than a Milper snatches rabbits.” Glin stills, a small frown appears. “The chirurgeons said she’ll keep the arm.” She nods, “You really are good at taking those things out. She said she wishes she could give you more.”
Alkara shakes her head, “It’s nothing. Really. But tell Yizel I said thank you. I’ll be sure uh… I’ll make sure to wear it to the first fancy party I ever go to.” Alkara can’t help but smile at how ridiculous she’d feel if she ever did actually go to a fancy party.
“Hm.” Uncle Iro mulls something over, all eyes on him. Then he says, “Alkara Aberrant-Bane.” He winks at Alkara, “It’s got a nice ring to it.”
Alkara’s brows crinkle in confusion, “What?”
While simultaneously Glin gasps in delight, “Alkara Aberrant-Bane!”
Alkara startles, look back and forth between the two. “What are you talking about?”
“Welcome to the Melted Griffin, the Aberrant-Bane’s favorite tavern!” Glin rehearses with glee. “It’s perfect!”
“Now, wait a minute–” Alkara tries to interject.
Glin looks at Alkara, “Oh, right. I should ask you first. Can I call this your favorite tavern? This is your favorite tavern, right?”
“Well, yes, but–“
“Excellent! Now I’ll have to spread the word somehow… maybe Heron will help me… he owes me a favor…” Glin starts muttering to herself as she dashes off to find whoever is calling her name.
“Wait!” Alkara cries out, but Glin is gone. “Oh no.” Alkara groans and puts her head on the table.