Tales Of Grimea (9 page)

“Who is Adra?” asked Xera suddenly, then she
thought for a second. “Oh, is she that brunette you and your old
friend keep coming here with?”

“Yeah, they’re together.”

“Oh.. Oh!” A short laugh escaped her copper
lips all of a sudden. Although she was not pale and thus lacked
those luscious red ones so common on Regalians, Hwosh found her own
rather nice. “Oh, she’s
his
girl!”

Hwosh drummed his fingers on the table in
slight annoyance. What did she know about Adra and Percy’s
relationship? “I… doubt ownership is part of the deal.”

“No, but, I mean… Just look at him! I doubt
she’s with a guy like that out of love. You know, there are other
ways to woo a girl.” Subtly, Xera rubbed her fingers before her
face with a wink, causing Hwosh to sigh. Ignorance.

“That will be all, Xera,” he remarked
quietly. The girl’s eyes widened, and the dismissal caused her to
gulp before turning hastily and apparently brushing at something on
the front fringe of her hair. When she went out back, Hwosh hoped
she doesn’t cause their food to be late because of his mannerisms
with her.

A few minutes later, a serving boy brought
Hwosh two generously heaped plates of chicken upon a bed of well
grilled mushrooms. The warrior felt then it was high time that
Percy found his way back. He focused very hard, conjuring the old
man’s image as vividly as if he were before him. The man had said
psions were trained to notice when someone directed his thoughts at
them, and true to his words, Hwosh felt an eventual slight tug at
his mind. This was a method they used to communicate at times, and
with some effort the warrior could also send entire sentences to
his friend. This time, however, Percy’s touch felt more forceful
than usual.
Not now
, the psion whispered, and Hwosh could
almost hear an angry voice speaking the words.
I’m having an
argument. No need to come.

The warrior almost got to his feet then,
anxious to help his friend. No matter how fit for his age Percy
was, he wasn’t going to beat someone in a fist fight. The psion’s
words, however, had seemed firm in their tone, and so Hwosh
remained at his seat, casting an unfocused gaze at Splinter’s front
door and the guests coming or leaving. Murata was in as usual,
standing at the bar counter in his uniform and pouring cups for
this patrons. Many didn’t drink, and so the thin grey haired
Regalian needed to keep fresh supplies of juices for those.

Hwosh had just decided to set upon his
slightly warm meal when Percy appeared from his right side, an
annoyed frown still clouding his features, and pulled a seat next
to him. The warrior was about to ask him what was wrong when the
obvious cause leapt around to his other side in all of her grinning
glory. Adra was dressed in a red vest, slashed vertically in places
to show off high quality white linen beneath it, as well as red
pants and brown hide boots. Her neck length curls were left as
unkempt as always, and she had brown gloves tucked into a handy
belt she always paraded around. “Heya, Hwosh! Hunt went well?”

The warrior found her enthusiasm almost as
infectious as her lover’s, and smiled in turn. “As well as
planned,” he answered, “What’s up with spectacles over there?” Adra
and Percy were the only two Hwosh felt remotely comfortable talking
to that way. Aside from uncle Salim, of course.

Spectacles grunted. “I can’t believe you’d
let us wait so long for you, Adra!” he exclaimed.

“Why, I thought she just got here after going
to Hydra’s temple?” inquired Hwosh calmly, starting to
understand.

Adra tried to interject then, almost elbowing
the warrior as she did. “Wait, that was be-“

His friend laughed again, obviously having
upset himself by way of memory. “Yeah! The goddess of luck! This
one,” a finger scratched behind his ear, his other hand waggling in
Adra’s direction in accusation, “has been gambling here for the
past few hours! Leave us in hunger, she thought!”

Adra looked suitably admonished, but still
managed, “I said I’m sorry! I know I promised to come back earlier,
but it was going so well!” Hwosh’s ears perked at that. Adra was an
excellent gambler. Perhaps the luck, calculation and daring
combination was part of what made her such a shockingly fine
merchant, despite humble starts and a lack in funds. She always
made more than she lost, and if she said it went well…

“How much did you win?” he asked, then added,
“What game was it?”

“Oh, Baki.” Hwosh’s skills at the game’s
strategy aspects were passable, and his knowledge of battle tactics
aided him well, but he was never able to get accustomed to the
game’s gambling and deceitful side. “Do you really want to know how
much I made?” All of a sudden, Hwosh became less sure and he shook
his head slowly, causing Adra to laugh. Then she turned to her
lover. “Anyways, Purr,” she said, her voice sounding immediately
different to Hwosh, “I said I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”
Uncle Salim had once told the warrior that people’s voices go husky
when in the presence of someone they had feelings for. He wondered
if the old man in the blue robes knew about that little fact, or if
he could even hear the difference in her voice. Hwosh’s senses were
honed by training and frequent treks both to Ramlah and the
wasteland out west.

“Gah, fine. You’re a lousy appointment
forgetting dummy of a merchant, but you’re my dummy… So, you’re
cooking tomorrow, huh?” Percy cocked his tall starry sky hat
backwards as Hwosh and Adra gave each other an incredulous
look.

“What!” they exclaimed as one, not quite
believing their ears. “Do you want us to get poisoned, man?” added
the black haired warrior, almost feeling a cold sweat coming down
his chiselled back. Adra didn’t say anything, possibly agreeing
with him.

Percy grinned and defended himself by saying,
“Hey, she wanted to make things better, okay? I love the girl, and
so want to taste something she made.” Adra didn’t say anything for
a second, but when she did it wasn’t about the topic at all.

“You love me?” she asked, then added, “I
mean, I love you too. Uh, um, what do you want to drink? I ate
already.”

That evening they played many games, ranging
from darts, some more Baki, to arm wrestling. Percy and Adra, true
to their nature, were much friendlier to others than Hwosh and so
managed to strike up many conversations while he remained passive
except with the two of them.
Even a scholar from Indellekt can
make more friends than me,
thought the warrior, brushing some
spilt beer from his tunic. Then again, it was no surprise, with how
great Percy was. At some point, a slightly tipsy Adra clapped him
on the shoulders and tried to get him flirting with a nice enough
redhead in a complementing dress. It didn’t go well, for her mind
was as blank as the cup she kept trying to get him paying for, and
in a few minutes a bored Hwosh found himself jumped by the merchant
again at the bar. He was talking to Murata about a breed of drakes
they had far north when she exclaimed “Hey, Murata, how has the
place been shaping up?”

“Oh,” answered the man in his extremely
courteous yet well measured manner, “If it isn’t our little plain
crusher.” The term was used to refer to Baki players, for the
game’s goal was to crush the other’s hand of warriors in
predetermined numbers of moves. Murata smiled slowly and said,
“People are starting to call you a crimson princess because of how
well you play, but I told them you’re more like a thorn in their
sides than anything else.” The name seemed to catch Adra’s fancy
and she grinned. Hwosh sometimes thought that the highly
intelligent tavern owner and he had a few things in common, barring
social abilities. None had a slur to sling the man’s way.

“They just can’t play well enough,” she said,
clapping the bartender on one shoulder, but Murata turned his
attention to Hwosh. “Warrior, did you say? There’ll be success
aplenty for a lad with that kind of head on dependable shoulders.
It’s a shame you didn’t show up much earlier, and now only do with
these two.” His grey eyes twinkled with fierce intelligence, and
yet nothing in the bartender’s body language betrayed interest.

The young man waved off Murata’s question,
for privacy was to be treasured. “I only moved here a few months
ago. Used to live east of Themra.” His words elicited a whistle
from the man.

“Rough parts, those are,” he said with a new
air of respect, reading Hwosh’s implied meaning perfectly. The
warrior hadn’t said where exactly he’d lived, and Qir wasn’t the
only place east of Themra.

“He had a good uncle to take care of him,”
replied Adra before Hwosh could say anything. The warrior felt his
heart skip a bit, then slight annoyance as Murata’s grey eyes
twinkled ever brighter. He had no doubt the man from Regalia, as
street wise as he was, knew exactly who Adra had meant. Many Baneen
held high ranks, and were sometimes seen as agents of Salim Qamar
for their undying loyalty to the kind old man. Some even called
them an order or exclusive club dedicated entirely to him. As Hwosh
thought furiously, he felt Murata’s eyes scan his fingers in a semi
casual manner, looking for a tell-tale pinkie ring. Not finding
anything, the man let the matter go. “Young man, I wonder if you’d
be willing to do a job for me,” he said in measured tones, and
Hwosh felt curiosity brimming in him, despite feeling he’d only
been asked due to the new piece of information.

The warrior leaned forward as Murata
continued calmly, his lips barely touching each other as he spoke,
“There’s a wine I need to prepare for some special guests coming in
next month, and I’ll need some help with it.” Hwosh’s hand went
instinctively to the string of beads hanging from his bandanna in
thought, wanting to tell the man that he didn’t know anything about
wines or brewing.
Did people even brew wine, or was there
another word for it
? Before he could say anything, however, the
bartender chuckled and clarified, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m quite
proficient in the preparation, but the wine needs to be stored with
a single high quality Scegel feather within the bottle. Normally
I’d buy one from a merchant friend of mine, but I’ll need more
feathers than that. I’ve been told to procure thirty bottles, so
that’s thirty feathers, and at that point it’s easier to have
someone get me the birds themselves. There should be ten magical
ones per bird. You get me four, just in case, and I’ll reward you
with fifty Regalians for the birds and the danger.”

Hwosh didn’t know much about wine, but he
certainly knew about beasts. Getting high quality Scegel feathers
was not easy, and he was certain Murata could get someone else for
the job, but fifty Regalians for four of them was excellent money.
He wondered if the man wanted to secure trading agreements with
someone who might be one of uncle Salim’s Baneen, despite Hwosh’s
apparent lack of a ring. However, he also knew that the shrewd man
would undoubtedly make a large profit from the feathers, not the
mention the carcasses themselves. This was a legitimate offer, not
purely a political one. “Deal,” he answered with no hesitation,
despite being slightly wary of the job at hand. He’d hunted the
birds before, but never for feathers.

“So what did you think of Percy?” asked Adra
suddenly, “Enough of all that work nonsense, you boys can talk
about it tomorrow morning!” Despite her words, Hwosh knew that Adra
was a clever competitor herself and had listened carefully, perhaps
taking notes for when she had enough capital for similar
endeavours.

“Quite right, red thorn.” remarked Murata
with another calm chuckle. “He’s a good man, and extremely smart.
I’m happy for you, finding a kindred fun loving spirit.” Hwosh
found it curious that the man with the unkempt grey hair had spent
so long chatting with them and ignoring other costumers. Naturally,
he hadn’t missed a beat in his work, pouring and taking money as
only a natural service person could, but he was known for spending
his time with costumers equally, chatting well-meaningly and
patiently with each of his patrons. He hoped it didn’t interfere
with the man’s business.

“He’s pretty great,” agreed Adra
wholeheartedly. “Some people bug us because of the age difference,
but I don’t really mind. Fact is, I’m happier with him than I’ve
ever been, so what are forty som- oops, you weren’t supposed to
know that.” For once, the merchant looked embarrassed. In the
orange glow, Hwosh even wondered if her heart shaped face had
acquired a pinkish tinge.

“He’s gotten into a few issues here at times,
but seems potent in befriending people. These days, with tensions
between Indellekt and Regalia being what they are, I’m glad to see
us getting along so well. I apologize for the least of my
countrymen.”

“That’s alright,” grinned Adra, “It’s hard to
get into a fight with a mind reader who doesn’t want to do it.”

Murata froze as she clapped his shoulder
playfully. Slowly, he looked from Hwosh to Adra in disbelief. “He’s
a psion?”

“Um, yes,” answered the woman, starting to
look slightly worried from the man’s expression. “Haven’t I told
you before?”

The tavern owner put his elbows on the bar
counter, gesturing the two closer. With their heads close together,
and the two starting to feel wariness and confusion, he whispered,
“Luckily no one was focused enough to hear that, but you two need
to understand that psions are rare. The ability to know what a
person is thinking can be more terrifying than cold steel,
especially in Lor. This isn’t Indellekt. I’m sure he knows that,
but you two need to be careful. People don’t trust mind readers,
and it would be best if people think him a simple scholar.” The
sounds all around seemed suddenly subdued in the seriousness in
Murata’s tone, and Hwosh thought Splinter’s owner had enough
intensity in his eyes to burn a hole through him.