Tales Of Grimea (8 page)

“You know what. Don’t read people’s minds
without permission, Percy.” Like many, Hwosh had been initially
wary of the man’s abilities, but was won over by his character.
Unlike magic, the forces of psionics were relatively new and little
understood by the common man.

“Ah, but for that you’d have to work on your
defences a little, my good friend,” exclaimed the older man,
sweeping a side of his blue robe in a grand gesture. Hwosh stepped
over to him and sat on his only sofa. Conveniently, it was just
wide enough for three. “How did it go?” asked Percy, and Hwosh
waved away the question.

“Well enough, but it’s just as I feared. The
job wasn’t for a Worg, but for a poison pouch and secrecy.” At
that, Percy furrowed his eyebrows in concern, coming over from the
tome he had been trying to decipher for the past month and finding
place on a chair across from the warrior. “Why go through the
trouble if you can just buy better poison?”

At that, it was Hwosh’s turn to frown.
Sometimes it was difficult to remember how brilliant Percy could
be. It was a paradox of sorts, to see someone so smart being simple
minded like that. Then again, Adra was the same way, so the warrior
counted it as a blessing for his psion friend. “The guards track
poison bought legally through merchant ledgers, and you can’t get
that many types anyways. Besides, Uncle Salim said whoever
commissioned this job wanted to get caught eventually. If you ask
me, the only logical conclusion is they want to scare someone by
using that kind of poison. If you catch Worg poison early enough,
you can treat the victim. If not, you’ll at least know it was an
assassination.”

Percy whistled slowly, looking at Hwosh with
renewed respect. “Are you sure about becoming a warrior? You’d make
a good scholar, if a bit on the muscly side.” Hwosh mocked lunging
at the man and he flinched, causing the warrior to laugh. Good to
know he wasn’t reading his mind at the moment.

“So what’s for dinner today? And where’s
Adra?” Usually, Percy’s lover was inseparable from him. Despite the
two being different in many concrete ways, her age being foremost
in that list, the two still got along amiably. At first, the
warrior had even suspected foul play on the psion’s part.

“Oh, she went to Hydra’s temple for a quick
prayer,” answered Percy, giving the warrior pause. Hydra… that was
the goddess of… “Luck?”

“Exactly. You know, for a Lorian you really
don’t know much about religions, do you?”

“Nah, not really my interest. Uncle saw early
on that I had no faith in gods and forces beyond our understanding.
He let me be. Besides, the eastern religion is much simpler. One
god, almighty. You’re rewarded in the afterlife based on how much
you did for the opportunity given. I have no patience for all that
Regalian nonsense about nine gods and distributions of powers and
flowery glass. They’re all about pomp and the priests fancying
things up.”

“Huh.”

“You know? Last month Niners talked up a
storm at the council all about how they’re underfunded for golden
chandeliers at their temples. The councillors showed them El’s
temples. Mud and clay things, they were. All their funds go to
charity, and the Niners went back disappointed. Anyway, religions
are just nonsense, so it hardly matters. All empty promises and
claims no one can prove. I thought you’d agree.”

By the time Hwosh implied that question,
Percy was deep in a mug of tea he’d prepared earlier. The man
spluttered for a bit and the scent of lavender filled the air. “I
mean, I see what you’re saying,” he gasped a few coughs later, “but
the more you learn about the world, the more amazing it seems. I
don’t mind people believing what they want. Besides, there are
concrete benefits that come from organized groups like religions.
Unity and peace of mind, that sort of thing. People commit suicide
less often too.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. I say to each their own. Adra’s a
Niner, and it makes her happy. Who am I to butt into it? Most
psions feel the same way, because we can see exactly how deeply
each person cares about his or her religion. It’s a beautiful
thing. Besides, she might very well be right. Who knows? Can’t
really prove her wrong, can we?”

Hwosh thought about it for a second, but he
had made up his mind about such things a long time ago, upon seeing
a small dog being kicked away by a priest’s handlers. The man had
watched on in contempt at first. Then the dog had died, and people
started booing him. The priest had then raised his arms wide and
announced a revelation, saying the dog was going to the third
circle of Sol’s heaven, for his owner had died the night before,
just shy of sundown. As the simple beggars began to cheer, Hwosh
kept the truth about the dog’s owner to himself. Poor old Shemsa
still didn’t know where her puppy had disappeared that day. “Bah,”
he announced, “If it makes them happy, then sure, but if the sun is
dragged across the sky by Sol’s invisible rope each day, then I’m a
yal.” Nobody wanted to be a yal, due to the stink.

Too late, Hwosh noticed the slightly distant
look Percy was giving him. Before he could empty his mind, the man
smiled in a sympathetic manner. “Don’t do that,” he warned the
psion again. This time, the old man actually looked sorry.

“I didn’t think there’d be anything that deep
on your mind, friend,” he apologized. “It’s just the best way to
train you in keeping your guard up against psionics. We can’t
usually read beyond the surface of thought easily. Just a hint of
what the person is like, and what’s occupying their mind at the
moment. If I went deeper too fast, you’d notice and be able to
fight it.” Being Percy, he moved to the other side of the room and
got another cup for Hwosh. Sighing, the warrior took the slightly
cracked thing. The tea was made of multiple herbs, but he could
clearly identify ginger in it. It was soothing and sweet.

After a while, Percy and Hwosh began to talk
of other things, starting with types of herb teas, then how much
water a person needed, and finally exercise. Hwosh was a fanatic
when it came to training, but Percy was also fit for someone
focused on his mind. The man had picked up some far eastern poses
and stretches somewhere and had been practicing them for ten years.
Being relatively tall for a Lorian, Hwosh was certainly no giant,
and wouldn’t even be considered too large in Regalia. Still, his
fighting style was focused on brute strength, and his enormous
relative strength was due to similar tactics as well as sheer
training.

“I still don’t get why people don’t do these
things elsewhere,” said Percy with apparent frustration. It was now
a little dark outside, and Hwosh went to light a candle while his
next door neighbour ranted. “Regalia’s knights are supposed to be
the cream of the crop, but when I was researching for my health all
they implemented was hard lifting, endurance and meat!”

“Come on, we’ve talked about this. The
defence you ge-“

“I know!” interjected Percy, hands flailing
in his usual emotion. Hwosh hated people interrupting him, but
stayed his tongue patiently. “Don’t they realized that by mixing
flexibility and muscle exercises, you can develop higher strength
in a smaller body? Think of the mobility, the health when you get
older!”

“Yes, but how are these impressive when
someone looks at you? How does it help you stop a blow? I
understand that higher quality muscles have many benefits, but the
fact remains that more mass and a harder body can save your hide in
a fight, or even war. Endurance is a big factor, and their approach
has its own merits.” For all his brains, Percy had a way of letting
logic escape him at times.

At some, point, Percy realized that Adra had
been gone longer than usual and started getting antsy. After about
half an hour of that, he finally snapped and decided to go out to
Murata’s tavern for a quick meal. Hwosh offered to accompany him,
since he was rather famished despite uncle Salim’s excellent stew.
He went to the barely furnished room thirty four to deposit most of
his coins and changed out of his leather armour in favour of brown
pants and a long grey tunic before coming back out to find his next
door neighbour waiting at the door. “Why so worried?” he asked of
the warrior with a sly grin.

Realizing what was about to happen, Hwosh
instantly summoned the image of a date tree to the forefront of his
mind. Large and towering, its roots lay tired from trying to suckle
out of dried crusty earthy. Its leaves were green, however, and
seemed to fan out to block out the sun’s disapproving glare and it
was heavily laden with red fruit. A brown trunk connected those two
parts, offering inviting handholds for whoever felt like having a
piece. A bee buzzed around the garden, and Hwosh could hear a
solemn wind trying it’s best to- “Well done,” announced Percy with
a laugh. “Soon enough you’ll learn how to channel that incessant
inner monologue you seem to have stuck in your brain to confuse
whoever tries to read you. I think you’ll be a natural at it, but
for now this method will have to do.” The man put on his trademark
spectacles upon his slightly bent nose. Not many in Lor wore such
things, and the old psion was striking enough with his ever-present
Indellektian blue robe as is. Hwosh didn’t see much sense in the
slightly tinted apparel because Percy had admitted to having normal
eyesight, but he’d gathered that the old man thought they improved
his looks.

Murata’s tavern was less than five minutes
away from Hwosh and Percy’s apartments, but almost seemed like it
was part of a completely different city. Contrasting with clay
house neighbours all around, Murata had went through the trouble of
bringing wood with him from his home town to build Splinter. Many
innkeepers were simply doing a job, but for the thin tall Regalian
his tavern was akin to a home. Loud music could be heard from the
place, and a few regulars were already staggering away from the
warm orange glow spilling from doors and portals kept almost
permanently swinging, either in arms or within blows of one
another.

Hwosh and Percy silently made their way
towards the tavern, although Percy was decidedly friendlier towards
those he saw around him. Some smiled back at him and returned his
waves, even sharing the occasional drunkard nonsensical laugh, but
others eyed the man in suspicion. Murata’s was a place which served
not only alcohol, food and games, but also good old Regalian
nostalgia.
I hope nobody picks a fight with him today,
thought Hwosh absentmindedly. It had happened a few times before,
but each time the psion from Indellekt had managed to diffuse the
situation, and Hwosh was unable to determine whether that was due
to his nature or abilities.

When they went through that wide swinging
front door, the two were swept up almost immediately in Splinter’s
atmosphere. The undiluted strength of glowing lights, hopping
music, and medley of banter struck the two with the full brunt of a
wave. After a few seconds, even Hwosh found his tense body
unwinding, and he fingered the chain of beads and trinkets dangling
from his bandanna’s side with a mind slightly less plagued than
usual.

The place was crowded, as it was every night.
Patrons sat around table to play games or drink. There was no space
reserved for dancing, but serving girls and boys pranced around as
they went. It was apparently a Regalian custom and Murata’s staff
were thoroughly trained in it. Hwosh made his way towards a
recently abandoned table, mind already on fried chicken and
mushrooms, but a gasp from behind made him turn around.

Percy stood in the middle of the room with
his mouth open and face looking slightly vacant. Before Hwosh could
say anything, the man blinked. For a second, his expression
bordered on anger, but then he started rubbing his beard. Without a
word the old turned right and went to another part of the tavern,
whipping his long hair aside to avoid a candle here and there.
Hwosh debated going after the man, but immediately finding an empty
table in Murata’s was a rare occurrence. Burning with curiosity
about whose mind his friend had felt and what he had gone off to
do, the warrior sat down. In less than a minute, a friendly
waitress came over. “Hello, Xera,” said Hwosh, feeling a smile come
over his features and brushing a hand through his shock of black
hair. She was always nice and could remember orders better than
most, so the warrior always felt reassured when Xera was the one to
serve him. It happened rather often, actually. He found it strange,
however, that she was named after such a far off city. Nobody knew
much about the cities in that north-eastern continent across the
sea, what with the Mist and sea monsters. As far as anyone know,
the only way you could leave V by sea was south.

“Hey there, biceps,” she answered with a
nicer smile than given to the group of women she had served just a
second earlier. Hwosh ordered two meals promptly, not wanting to
waste Xera’s time chattering on a busy night, and she raised an
eyebrow high. “Oh, Percy’s with me today,” he explained.

“Coming right up. You watch yourself, okay?
Wouldn’t mind patching you up again, but I’d rather see you safe
and sound.” The warrior wondered if she had a sore throat, for she
sounded a bit off.

Hwosh could see a particularly disgruntled
fellow a ways off tapping his glass impatiently. Xera’s hip swayed
to place itself between him and the man, causing Hwosh to turn his
gaze up at her. “Thanks a lot for back then, Xera,” he told the
tall bronze woman. He wondered how old she was, because she’d been
working at Murata’s for almost as long as he knew of the place. “I
was really inexperienced, but I’m sure I won’t be needing any more
patching up anytime soon. I don’t get into fights here anymore and
Adra’s really good at stitching whenever I’m not careful out there.
Anyway, I think the man over there is-“