Tales of the Void

Treble in Tenor

A Short Story by

Black Waltz 0

†††

The smell in the tavern within the Tenor slums was unlike any other BW had experienced in her short, and albeit interesting life. She had been through villages and towns and even a port or two, but she had never been to the city before. The city was like a dozen towns wedged together very tightly, with another town placed on top in the middle just for good measure. Buildings grew taller than she had ever seen before, made of stone and metal blocking out the sky and the green grass that was meant to be below.

Then there was the castle. It stood alone above everything else, its central spire catching the light of the sun. The city of Tenor itself was below that; supposedly a beautiful epicentre of trade, culture and bounty. It was a place that BW and her comrades would never get a chance to see, as discards were forbidden to enter the gates of Tenor true. It was both a religious and socially beneficial thing, guaranteeing that an alastor would never be able to get inside the city walls.

The slums were good enough for poor natives and discards like them. The atmosphere in the tavern was thick with alcohol, smoke and that sticky quality created when too many people gather in the same space. They had managed to find a table mostly to themselves, except for some travellers drinking noisily at the end and the people sitting at the tables all around them boxed them in. It was only BW, Warren and Ravendor at the table so far, with Zagtakh off in the crowd somewhere promising them drinks.

They had been on the move since daybreak and it was already the evening, although the tall buildings and bright lights of the slums blocked out many of the stars. She had fallen asleep while leaning against Ravendor’s shoulder, and while he would have had a problem with this normally it was better than being pressed up against some drunk and smelly unknown. The bar was truly packed, which would have made perfect sense were it the weekend but unfortunately he had lost track of the days long ago.

Warren was sitting not far along the table, resting his chin in his hand and looking bored. This was his first time in the big city of Tenor but he was used to places like this, having lived on and off in Tenor’s sister city Dainan for a good part of his life. “Do you think that BW will find a place to live here?” He asked, trying to make some conversation over the hard-to-ignore background noise.

“I’d like to think so. They say that anybody can blend in here and become lost within the crowd. I am hoping that is what will happen to this girl.” Ravendor replied, his arms carefully folded. He had no real obligation to hang around and make sure that BW stayed alive, but he was friends with Warren and Zagtakh and they were interested in keeping her out of harm’s way. He supposed that he also wanted her to stay safe and away from the inquisition, for sympathy’s sake.

“Why do you think Acheron wants to capture her so badly? Could it be because of something she’s done?” Warren wondered, but that would be pretty much impossible. Ever since she had come to the Void people close to them had already been watching over her. It seemed unlikely.

A drunken roar of laughter came from a corner of the tavern as Ravendor replied. “I do not know. I believe it has something to do with the night when Aria burned.” He theorized. That was when it had all started.

“But Magi was the one blamed for starting the fire. They’re still looking for him even now. You don’t suppose they think it was BW too, do you? I don’t think she’s that kind of person.” The android argued, defending the unconscious BW. She was quick to anger, yes, but he didn’t think she’d burn a village for no reason. Besides, she had an alibi, and she had been one of the first few people organizing rescue parties to save the town.

Ravendor shrugged his shoulders, jarring BW slightly but not waking her up. “Magi is not that kind of person either. My greatest concern is whether or not Acheron will find her, even here. It depends on whether she is capable of maintaining a low profile.” But even as he said it he had doubts about that. “Still, it can be surprisingly easy to hide something in plain view of the seeker. It is well known that the regent of Tenor is Acheron’s greatest ally. Perhaps they won’t search so extensively here.”

“Let’s hope so.” Warren agreed as Zagtakh returned to their table. He was carrying three pints with him, and in the dusky, dusty light of the tavern they glinted like liquid amber. He took a seat across the table from Warren and passed everyone their drinks, spilling at least one of them slightly.

“Keh, you’d think in a place like this they’d have serving girls to bring over the suds.” He grumbled, but not negatively. He was just glad he could finally sit down and rest his weary feet. It had been a long day.

“If they do they’re probably rushed off their feet. This place is packed.” Warren commented, looking around. Nearly every seat was filled, save for those playing pool or darts or requesting a song from the two travelling bards set up near the bar.

“They don’t have anything more… refined?” Ravendor inquired hopefully. He much preferred quality over quantity and it had been a long time since they had stopped by a tavern serving anything other than greasy food and beer. The food was untouchable, but he didn’t want to admit that he was gradually developing a taste for the drink.

“What? Hey, I’m not paying for anything swankier than this! If you don’t want it then pass it back to me.” Zagtakh both refused and offered at the same time. The drinks were on him tonight, as the other two had put their coin together to afford a ‘passable’ set of rooms at the inn, a step up from sleeping in the slums as they otherwise would have had to do.

Ravendor pulled the pint closer to him as Zagtakh reached over for it. “I’m fine, thank you.” He smiled playfully.

He must have bumped BW at that point as she finally stirred from her nap. She straightened up in her seat and rubbed her eyes sleepily, trying to suppress a yawn. “Uh…? Damn, I nodded off again. What time is it? Is it still daylight?”

Zagtakh glanced over through the rough glass of the tavern windows. “S’dark now. The streetlights are on.” The slums were covered in a dark orange haze, like the sun had left radiation dispersing in the streets.

Still mostly asleep, BW turned towards Ravendor who was having a drink. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I don’t wanna fall asleep in a strange place like this. I might wake up in a burlap sack all tied up or worse.” She complained, nudging him in annoyance.

“You looked so tired from walking all the way here. I think you needed the break. Besides, nobody’s gonna tie you up and put you in a sack while your friends are here.” Warren interrupted. Maybe it would have been best if BW had stayed at the inn. This discard tavern was well known for its rowdiness and bar fights.

“You cease being a nuisance when you are asleep. I did not wish to ruin that.” Ravendor finally replied, making a point not to look at her as he continued to smile contentedly.

BW stuck her tongue out at him childishly and hopped up from her seat, stretching out her stiffness and getting uncomfortably close to hitting some huge, bald man right in the back of the head. “I am starved right now! ‘Haven’t eaten since yesterday. I’m gonna go get something nice to eat from the bar, so make sure nobody steals my seat, okay?”

She heard enough ‘okays’ that she needed to hear so she disappeared into the crowd of beer and bodies, fighting her way through the tide to get to the bar. The three men were alone again once more.

“You know, I’m curious.” Warren said, picking up the conversation from where it had been dropped earlier. “Why are you guys following BW? It’s not like she’s special or anything.”

“Why are you following BW, Warren?” Ravendor asked, reversing the question at his friend.

“Oh, I thought that was obvious. I want to make sure she settles down someplace where Acheron can’t find her. I have this terrible feeling that somebody or something will do something terrible to her if there’s nobody around to protect her.” Warren explained with an artificial sigh. “On that note I hope BW finds a place in the Void soon, because I have lots of other things to do. I miss Dainan; my home.” He pointed at Ravendor with his free hand. “What about you? You don’t even seem to like her that much.”

“Hm, she isn’t that bad I suppose. She just gets on my nerves sometimes.” He conceded without much resistance. It was fairly obvious that if Ravendor had actually really disliked BW he would have left long ago. “To be honest I am very curious over the reason why Acheron so adamantly wants to capture her. I believe this goes beyond the burning of Aria and I want to see ultimately where it goes. Maybe I will be of some help.”

Zagtakh laughed. “The both of you are way too serious! I’m just here for the hell of it. It’s kind of the sense of adventure. Travel, exercise, broadening my horizons, and looking at all the lovely women in the world!”

When Zagtakh had been saying that Ravendor had been part-way into his pint. He couldn’t help but laugh and he nearly choked on a mouthful of beer. He put his glass down and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief pulled from his pocket, still chuckling.  “Zagtakh, I hope you don’t think they’d ever be looking back at you. They would all run away in terror.”

For a second Zagtakh seemed hurt, but then he glared back at the other man and placed his large hands on the table. “Why would you say that? I’ll have you know I’ve never had any women run away from me before. They like me.” He grumbled.

“You do realise that paid women do not count, right?” The dark-haired man replied with a patronizingly punchable smirk on his face. This time even Warren laughed, even if it was only for a short moment.

But strangely enough instead of becoming more riled up by that comment Zagtakh calmed down, letting it slide. “Aw, I don’t care. I got no reason to prove anything to you. I know what I get and that’s good enough for me. But you, Rav, you seem a little too eager to make fun of somebody else for your own good. Maybe you’re the one who needs a good woman right now.” He guessed with just a hint of slyness.

The other man watched him carefully for a few moments. Eventually he stood, adjusting the clasp on his cloak. “Touché, my monstrous friend. I concede there are many different kinds of women in the Void so at least one or two may find you attractive. I hope never to run into them. As for me, I spend every waking moment with you sorry lot. I am going to find somebody more pleasant to look at. I will see you later.”

Without another word Ravendor left the table, leaving Warren and Zagtakh on their own. That didn’t last for long, though, as BW returned to the group with a wooden bowl full of something hot and steamy in her hands, with bread rolls under her arms and one in her mouth. “Whsfts ffuing nn?” She asked, muffled by her burden.

“Zagtakh managed to drive Ravendor away.” Warren explained as BW passed him to get to her seat. The android looked thoughtful. “It makes me glad that I never have to worry about stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what?” BW asked innocently as soon as she could take the bread roll out of her mouth, sitting down in her original seat. The bread was still slightly warm from the oven and smelled delicious.

“Women.” Warren answered casually. “I never have to worry about needing or wanting them for some sinister purpose. I’ve always found it kind of funny how organic natives and discards jump like trained animals when it comes to the hope of fulfilling a biological urge.”

“When you describe it like that you cheapen the entire thing, you know.” Zagtakh put forward. “And that just stinks rotten when you’ve spent a lot of money on a single thing. Besides, wasn’t there a girl way back in Aria that you liked?”

Warren tapped the table with an index finger, enjoying the discussion. “Ah, but that had nothing whatsoever to do with biology. I just happened to think that she was very interesting. I just can’t wrap my mind around what drives you organics into those irrational chains of thought and action. I will never be able to emulate it.”

“You never know. You don’t even remember how you were made.” BW chipped in as she sawed through one of her bread rolls with a knife. The blade was sharp, so if she made a mistake she chanced slicing right into her palm. The girl continued after a pause. “I mean, I didn’t even know you could drink until a few weeks ago. Tell me there’s some kind of rationality in that, huh?”

Warren shrugged dismissively and said something very un-android-like. “If it works it works.”

“Hey, what’s that you got there, kid?” Zagtakh asked BW, leaning over the table to get a better look. They had been living off trail rations and whatever they could find in the wilderness for almost a week now, so it really smelled good.

BW put a protective arm down on her side of the table. There was only just enough for one. “It’s slices of lamb with gravy and bread. Go get your own if you want some, ya leech.” She goaded. It wasn’t just ordinary, average mutton like the kind you’d find in Aria or Bybble, but actual baby lamb. There was no way she was going to share.

“That’s fine. I don’t eat everyday anyway. That’s how I keep my strength up under adversity. I call it the warrior diet!” Zagtakh replied triumphantly, flexing a bicep. It was true that he had arms the size of small tree trunks. “See these? It’s all protein and discipline!” He laughed.

The mage girl poked his arm. There didn’t seem to be much give. It was all muscle. “Yeah, but still… I bet Warren is stronger than you anyway.” She guessed.

“Huh?” Warren responded after he heard his name being spoken. He had actually stopped paying attention to the conversation about a minute ago, instead reading some of the panels and plaques that had been hammered into the wall.

“What?” Zagtakh exclaimed as well, incredulously. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! I’m twice as strong as that lump of metal over there!”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.” Warren sounded hurt.

“I just figure that metal’s gotta be stronger than flesh. That’s why the knife cuts the meat and not the other way around.” BW haphazardly added, cutting up some of her gravied meat as she did so. Suddenly she had an idea and brightened. “Ooh, I know! Why don’t you two arm wrestle to see who is the stronger one!”

Zagtakh and Warren exchanged a glance. The table was big enough for it once they moved the now mostly empty beer glasses out of the way. But still, at least one of them had reservations. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea. I don’t want to cause a scene.” Warren muttered.

“Actually that sounds like a lotta fun. I’ve never wrestled with a metal man before. I’ve seen you punch through stone and all kinds of armour and monster guts before; I’d like to see what it’s like to be pitted against something like that.” Zagtakh mused, warming up to the idea.

“Yes, but using strength to defend yourself and using it just to show off are two separate things. I never earned this strength, so why would I want to show it off?” Warren protested, frowning. In truth he didn’t want to accidentally injure his friend.

“Aw, come on. It’s just for fun. Don’t be a wet blanket.” BW added between munches.

He was outnumbered two to one, so Warren inevitably gave in. They were meant to be taking a break and having fun anyway. If anybody got hurt, well, he was right there to fix them up. “All right, why not? Just remember to use your good arm instead of the other one, Zagtakh.” He conceded, reminding his friend.

“Both my arms are good, no thanks to you.” Zagtakh replied cryptically. “So are you right or left handed? I never bothered to ask before.”

“Ha ha ha.” Warren laughed robotically, sarcastically, in a flat monotone. It was rather creepy. “I’m ambidextrous. Give me your right hand.” He demanded, leaning part-way over the table.

“Huh? What’re you guys talking about?” BW cut in, curious. She had a feeling some sort of exchange or reference had flown right over her head. She wanted to catch and scrutinize it if she could.

“Zagtakh damaged his arm badly some years ago and he still blames me for it. I received some really angry unintelligible letters for a few months after that.” Warren explained, taking Zagtakh’s hand. His own hand was slightly smaller compared to that of his friend.

“That’s because I was savin’ your life some your own stupid mistake!” He grinned, his tone between a blame and an attempt at aggravation. “Back then he couldn’t even heal feeling back into it. I was stuck in a sling for ages!”

BW hadn’t really been aware her two friends had known each other for that long. Warren completely ignored the chide. “Well that’s all in the past now, isn’t it? You’re the one who wanted this arm wrestle so let’s go. BW, can you do the countdown for us?”

The girl leaned back happily in her seat. She would have even clunked her boots up on the table were she wearing anything other than a dress or a shirt. “Sure! Get ready for it! Three, two, one! Wrestle!”

All in all the entire match lasted less than fifteen seconds. Zagtakh practically attacked Warren with his strength and the android held it steady and unwavering for a little bit, then Zagtakh suddenly slammed his arm down onto the table. It was over just like that. Warren rubbed his wrist in mimicry of feeling any actual pain. “Gee Zagtakh, you really are strong. I didn’t stand a chance.” He smiled diplomatically, pulling away.

But Zagtakh looked anything but pleased. After a few moments of being confused he grew indignant, any sense of triumph over winning lost. “Hey, you weren’t even trying! What’s the fun in that?” He grumbled.

“I’m sorry. I just think the competition is stupid…” Warren apologised, backed into the corner by his friend’s outburst.

There was an awkward silence for a while. BW didn’t like it. Warren’s non-competitive spirit and Zagtakh’s overly competitive one was going to put a damper on the entire evening. She would have been happy to wrestle Zagtakh herself, but she was well aware that he would snap her arm like a dry twig. She wracked her mind for an answer and devised one without delay. “Hm, how about we try a little incentive to make things more interesting?” She asked.

“What didja have in mind?” Zagtakh mumbled, still annoyed.

“You guys have a rematch, and the loser has to be the slave of the winner for the next two days!” BW giggled, finding the concept either way hilarious.

“D-Don’t be silly, BW! I don’t want to end up being a slave. Isn’t slavery illegal in this part of the Void, anyway?” Warren protested hastily, the very thought downright unnerving.

“Yeah… but there’s lotsa places where it ain’t!” Zagtakh declared in reply. He loved to gamble, and upping the ante made things much more fun.

“Well then,” BW began as she licked a smear of gravy off her wrist, “this time you should try your hardest to win. You gonna hold hands now? Just tell me when to start the countdown.” She smirked with glee.

Both eagerly and hesitantly the two men took each other’s hand again. Zagtakh wasn’t worried. He felt he had the least to lose compared to his friend. He was sure that he’d win, in which case he was going to work his new acquisition like a dog. “’m ready.” He announced.

Warren wasn’t clueless. He had a fair idea of exactly what Zagtakh was thinking. To avoid a terrible fate like that he’d have to actually try this time. He hoped that Zagtakh wouldn’t be too disappointed when he inevitably lost. “I’m ready too.” He replied as well.

“Okay then! Three, two one, go! Wrestle!” The girl cried, raising a hand with a flourish.

This time it was different. It was pretty obvious that both men were trying their very hardest not to be enslaved. Zagtakh’s muscles were significantly larger than Warren’s and bulging with the exertion of trying to force his opponent to the table, but Warren’s muscles were made of metal or hydraulics or whatever it was beneath those plates of armour. If anything they were evenly matched.

It went much, much longer than fifteen seconds this time. Every so often Warren would get extremely close to pushing Zagtakh’s fist to the table, but then he would get a second, third or fourth wind and pull him right back to the starting point again. The competition didn’t go unnoticed by the drinkers in the tavern, either. Eventually their table was crowded with spectators, eager for a show.

Many seemed to be on Zagtakh’s side, but quite a few were cheering for Warren as well. BW had to sidle along in her seat as somebody emblazoned with dragon tattoos took Ravendor’s old seat, but she didn’t mind. She was too busy cheering with everybody else to notice.

Eventually there seemed to be a chance in both Warren and Zagtakh’s posture, which to the watchers there who had seen many a match before told them that it was nearly over. Warren was winning, no matter how much Zagtakh puffed and sweated and strained. His muscle weren’t burning and he had no organic handicap. He was going to win.

All of a sudden there was an audible ‘snap!’ which was nearly drowned out by the roars and cheers of the audience. It sounded somewhat like a piece of metal breaking under high tension. BW heard it easily but before she could guess what it was it was already over.

The android immediately found his arm slammed down into the table. The limb up to the elbow had gone completely dead. A tremendous cheer rose up around them as Zagtakh let go and stood in triumph, holding his arms out to receive all the kudos, along with lots of back-slaps and arm-punches from other members of the tavern.

BW inched over to the android and leant over against his shoulder. “Are you alright? Not hurt?” She asked in consolation.

“I… think my arm is broken.” Warren answered in surprise, trying to move his fingers.

She took him by the hand and lifted it, then let it drop back down to the table. She smiled anxiously. “Well that sucks. How are you going to be a good slave with only one arm?”

Warren folded his arms and lowered his head onto the table in reply.

“Gya ha ha! And flesh and blood defeats steel once more!” Zagtakh crowed, ever the image of the triumphant winner. He pointed at Warren who looked up at him from his folded arms. “Welcome to the world of servitude, slave! You may call me Master Zagtakh now.”

“Do I really have to?” Warren almost whined, looking to BW for support or help.

“What’s your problem? You’re a robot, so shouldn’t slavery be right up your alley?” BW chimed, making it rather obvious whose side she was on. “Don’t worry. It’s only for a few days.”

“Right! So come on, let’s hear it! ‘Maaaaaster Zagtakh…” He dictated, stretching out the words.

Warren stood. “Go to hell.” He said, and then stormed away.

After watching him leave BW turned back to her last friend at the table. The crowd has already completely dispersed in lieu of finding better things to do. “Uh-oh! I think we made him mad! He never swears.” She laughed.

“Eh, he’s just being a bad sport. I don’t care.” Zagtakh answered in the midst of his unshakeable good mood. He rose as well. “I reckon this calls for another few pints!”

“Hey wait, you can’t leave me here by myself! Scary strangers, burlap sacks and ropes you know!”

“What are you, eight? Take care of yourself for a while!”

A new disruption in the tavern caught the attention of all. Somebody had broken a glass on the floor, but not due to a mistake or the clumsiness of the owner. They had hurled it intentionally to make a point. It was the work of a tall, fairly muscled man with skin the colour of brown sugar. He looked furious.

And of course the person he seemed to be furious at was Ravendor. They were both standing at the bar with a similarly complexioned girl to the angry man between them. Pieces of broken glass littered the floor at their feet. Ravendor didn’t seem to be very perturbed by the sudden action. “That was my drink you have spilt.” He accused calmly and smoothly.

The dark-skinned man glowered at him and as he spoke there was a slight drunken slur to his words. “I don’t give a damn! That’s my sister you’re trying to chat up, you slimy discard!” He growled, trying to puff himself up even bigger.

The sister in question put her hands on her hips and scowled at her brother, fiercely embarrassed that he was creating a scene. She and the ranger had been having a pleasant conversation until her brother had come back from a game of darts, catching a flirt between the both of them. It had sent him into an overprotective rage. “Stop it, Bahir! We’re just talking! He’s been very charming to me!” She scolded, annoyed.

Bahir thumped his fist on the table, causing a few glasses on the bar to rattle. “How would our dear Ommah feel if she could se you being so promiscuous now, Nadirah? Especially with a discard from the gods know where. I won’t stand for it!” He yelled, stumbling over some of the more complicated words.

Ravendor looked at him for a moment, and then resumed his conversation with the young woman. “So your name is Nadirah? That is such a lovely name. Is it Endian? I am not familiar with the language.” He smiled.

The girl blushed from the compliment. “It’s Echucan, actually. I’m from southern Echuca. It means ‘precious’ or ‘rare’.” She murmured.

“An apt name.” Ravendor agreed mere moments before Bahir roughly grabbed him by the clasp of his cloak and pulled him away from the girl, close to his face. The ranger narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Do you mind? You are interrupting a private conversation.”

“Put him down, Bahir. You can’t manhandle every man who says a kind word to me. I’m not a child anymore.” Nadirah ordered to no avail.

“Oh yeah? Well maybe if I beat the crap out of him you’ll learn not to talk to strangers!” The man hurled back, lifting Ravendor off his feet with one hand and drawing back a fist with the other. It looked like the arm wrestle wasn’t going to be the only show of strength in the tavern that night.

“Please, there is no need to be uncivilised. You should not fight in a place where you will be easily humiliated.” Ravendor said, making a half-hearted attempt to talk the Echucan out of it. He didn’t look that worried.

“You’ll think differently when I bust up your pretty face!” The man roared, and then swung.

“Kef Bahir! No!” Nadirah shouted ineffectually, reverting back into her native dialect for a second.

There was a second smash near the bar as Ravendor blindly grabbed an empty bottle of beer off the table and broke it in Bahir’s face. The glass shattered into hundreds of pieces all the way up to the bottleneck, giving Ravendor a handful of sharp glass that he quickly tried to discard, ignoring the stinging pain. His adversary let go of him and he found his feet once more, taking a step back out of arm’s reach.

Bahir cried out, pieces of glass cutting into his cheek and brow. He cringed and shielded himself for a moment, glaring at the other man. “That was a bastard trick, scarface!” He growled, advancing on him once more.

Blood was dripping down the Echucan’s face and chin now, so Ravendor guessed that he wouldn’t be the only scarface around for much longer. Blood was dripping down his fingers too, but once he got around to pulling all the glass out they’d only be shallow cuts, nothing more.

From somewhere in the crowd BW and Zagtakh were observing this little spectacle. It was kind of hard not to miss it, to be honest. “Hey, shouldn’t we do something?” She murmured to her friend. “Ravendor’s gonna get flattened like a pancake any second now!”

Zagtakh was grinning. This was his kind of entertainment. “Nah, this is Tenor! It’s every man for himself down here in the slums!” He declared with relish.

When BW turned back to watch the fight her eyes caught onto something that Ravendor was doing, or was about to do. As if in slow motion she watched his hand sweep up to his chest, to where she knew his shoulder holster and gun were hidden beneath his cloak. She bit her lip. He wasn’t going to open fire in a crowded tavern, was he? Was he going to shoot dead somebody he had met only minutes earlier?

But then he stopped, as if it had been some kind of aborted reflex action, and ducked down instead to avoid a powerful punch. People started cheering for this new turn of entertainment, one that was way more competitive than the first. Instead of using a weapon Ravendor came forward fast, punching Bahir in the mouth with a wet crunching sound, one that made both BW and Nadirah flinch.

BW had forgotten that Ravendor was exceptionally strong, too. Nowhere near as strong as Zagtakh or Warren, of course, but enough to pull a drawstring tight enough to pierce the thick scaly hide of any alastor. It sounded like he had almost fractured the Echucan’s jaw. Bahir recovered quickly though and reciprocated with a left hook of his own, leaving his mark square and true and nearly knocking Ravendor right to the ground.

The ranger had an instant bloody nose and a split lip when he got his equilibrium back. From his belt he drew a small hunting knife. “All right, I’m getting sick of this now. How dare you strike me!” He hissed, but instead of attacking him with the knife he threw it blade-first into the floor beneath them.

It became stuck between two slats of wooden flooring, with the torchlight behind him casting Bahir’s shadow over the top. It pierced the shadow of his right leg. Bahir’s eyes suddenly bugged out of his head. “My leg! Somebody has impaled it! I can’t move!” Amidst the immobilizing agony he put two and two together and howled; “You filthy black magician!”

Obviously coming from Echuca he had never seen Elmdynirim hunting magic before. Ravendor tackled him then, sending both the larger man and himself crashing into a table and overturning it, all the drinks and food on it flying every which way. It became an utter melee on the floor, full of punches and kicks, shoving and slashing. The glint of a dagger appeared at one point and Ravendor made a yelping noise as it gashed his arm, and all the while both of them kept getting pressed into all the broken glass on the floor.

Meanwhile Nadirah looked very close to bursting into tears. “Will the two of you please stop it? You’re both acting like animals!” She cried.

“Are you alright, miss?” Warren asked, emerging at her side from the crowd.

“There’s so much blood on the floor…” The woman whimpered.

“Oi!” The bar owner shouted over the din, coming out of the kitchen with a dirty rag in his hands. “If youse two don’t cut it out I’ll kick ya out for the rest of the night, do you hear me?”

Warren knelt down and even with only one working arm managed to separate the two men from the melee. He forcibly helped them both to stand and put himself between them as it seemed to stop the fighting. “Come on; is this any way to act in public? You’re making the young lady cry.” He told the both of them, trying to negotiate.

Bahir spat blood on the ground as Ravendor plucked his hunting knife out of the floor. The large Echucan man looked to his little sister, who was doing just as Warren had described. Some semblance of reason finally came down over his thick skull. “Oh Nadi, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just did not want to see what happened to Ommy happen to you too.” He apologised.

The young woman came up and wiped the blood from her big brother’s face with a napkin. “I’m grown up now, Bahir. I don’t need you to protect me. You’ve wounded an innocent, kind man for no real reason.” She sighed.

BW plucked a shard of glass out of Ravendor’s back, causing the man to jump. “Oh, I see now why you always fight long range. It’s because you end up like this, right?” She giggled.

The ranger groaned. “BW, please. Don’t do that without warning me first.” He gasped.

The owner descended down upon all of them. He didn’t look happy. “I think you lot better leave now before you make a total mess out of my tavern.”

“Do we have a choice?” BW asked hopefully. It was probably awfully cold and dark outside by now.

“Nope. Get the hell out, all of ya.”

Through all the blood and dishevelment Ravendor smiled at the owner. “My good man, you could not pay me to stay any longer.” He told him.

Later on everyone was gathered on the curb outside of the tavern, even Zagtakh who was one of the few who hadn’t actually been kicked out. BW was picking small pieces of broken bottle out of Ravendor’s hand for him, because it was a little less painful than having to do it himself. Bahir and Nadirah were having a conversation in their own native language, and though BW didn’t understand a word it certainly sounded strained.

“Man, there’s like a dozen pieces stuck in here.” The mage girl complained, dropping the slivered of glass into the gutter. As their healer Warren would have done the job instead of her, but BW’s hands were smaller and much more precise.

“This has not been a good night.” Warren sighed, holding his non-functional arm.

“What’re you talking about?” Zagtakh asked. “It’s been a great night so far, and it’s barely even started yet!”

“Are you going back inside?” BW questioned, half turning towards him.

“Yeah. I’ll be back at the inn later tonight though. What’re you guys going to do?”

Warren thought for a moment. “I’m going to make sure Ravendor hasn’t broken anything then I guess I’ll go find a blacksmith to fix my arm. Um… hopefully it’ll turn out to be fixable…” He added anxiously.

“I am rather certain nothing is broken.” Ravendor said, pulling his hand back from BW when she was done.

“What about your nose? It bled an awful lot.” Warren grabbed Ravendor’s nose to make sure.

“Waugh! Don’t do that!” The ranger cried, pulling away.

“Well, at least it’s not broken.” Warren smiled in consolation. BW giggled while Zagtakh masked a chuckle.

Eventually the two Echucans finished talking and Bahir left on his own, hesitantly, limping away into the night. Nadirah watched him go then walked over to BW and her friends, but the only person she really focussed on was Ravendor. “I’m very sorry that had to happen. It’s my fault. Bahir has always been overprotective of me ever since I was a child.” She smiled prettily. “It might seem a little strange but I am glad you beat him up a bit. Maybe now he’ll start to realise he can’t control me forever. Thank you.”

Even while he was sore and aching Ravendor still managed to turn on the charm. “I would fight far greater foes for the chance to spend the evening with you, my dear.” He reassured her.

Nadirah nodded, bashful yet flattered. “But oh, you’re still hurt right now. You said that you’re not from around here. Would you like me to take you to the hospital? It’s not that far away. They have doctors and white mages there than can patch you up in no time.” She offered.

“But I can easily-” Warren began to say.

Ravendor cut him off before he could get another word out. “That would be lovely, Nadirah! You are too kind to me.” He shot Warren a shut-up-you’re-going-to-ruin-everything look.

They left together, leaving BW and the others behind. She caught a few snippets of their conversation as they too faded away into the night; “So what is your name, anyway? It can’t actually be scarface…” “In truth I do not have a place to stay tonight. Can you recommend…”

Under the brightness of the streetlights there were only three people left. Warren rolled his eyes in exasperation. “You see, this is exactly what I was talking about earlier. Humans do the strangest things for affection.”

“I told you he was desperate for a woman.” Zagtakh chortled.

“Ew.” BW said, preferring not to think about it.

“I’m going to find a smithy now. It’s not really that late, so one should still be open.” Warren announced, stepping out of the range of the streetlamps.

“Remember slave! I want my breakfast two hours after dawn! Eggs, bacon and steak!” Zagtakh called after Warren as he walked away.

“Yeah… yeah, something like that.” Warren smiled before he was gone, sounding to BW like he had no intention of remembering it.

“Alright kid, see ya later. The inn’s in that direction. You don’t need an escort.” Zagtakh said, pointing down one of the mains streets with a thumb.

BW waved. “G’night Zaggy! See you in the morning!”

When he went back to the tavern BW walked to the inn on her own. She wasn’t afraid, not really, because even though she didn’t have her weapon handy she still had magic at her disposal.

So this was the kingdom of Tenor. Even if it was just the slums, and even if it was just the worst and ugliest part of the city…

She kind of thought that she could get used to it here.

-fin-