Chapter 1

Blood Calling

1. Merry Meet...

It wasn't until he had finished both monastery ales and had moved on to his third tankard containing the infamous Thirsty Cock-ale when he noticed a new face sitting next to him. It was a young girl of maybe fourteen and, while with her willowy figure and fair skin she could have been called pretty, her most striking feature could not be seen but felt. Her aura betrayed a sense of complete bewilderment, as if she had slumbered all her life and had just woken up into a completely different world. For a moment Reynaer could not avert his eyes and the girl noticed his gaze.

            The delicate figure drew herself up and returned his stare. "What?" Her eyes were narrow and sharp, causing her to look a little angry even when she wasn’t.

            Reynaer started as if waking from a trance and gathered his wits. "Oh, I'm sorry, good lady, I just thought... I sensed something different in you. My apologies for staring, I'm a bit travel-worn."

            "And on your third tankard, I see."

            As the man laughed and shook his head, he noticed that the room tilted. The ale had already started its work. "Usually I would protest, good lady, but it seems you are right, this ale shot straight to my head even though I can take a few."

            "Well, I've heard those are a bit stronger than the regular stuff you get around the world, or so I was told by my m... never mind." She had gone pale and returned to staring into emptiness.

            The barmaid walked up to her. "Say, how old were you again?"

            The girl flinched and stumbled with her words. Reynaer turned to the barmaid. "Say, Catrain, she's with me. Could you tell me how strong these ales are?"

            The woman smiled and winked. "The Carengie's extra strong, the Varvig's got even more punch, and the Thirsty Cock kicks like a mule, the strongest ale anywhere!"

            "Huh, no wonder they kicked in fast. Well, give her a Carengie and a Thirsty... no, a Varvig for me. I need to regroup before going head to head with the Cock again."

            Catrain looked the girl up and down but smiled as she poured two tankards and placed them on the bar. Reynaer paid for the drinks and handed one to the girl.

            She accepted the drink without much ceremony. "Thanks, whoever you are. I don't really have money."

            "It's all right, I got some from a couple of lads down the road."

            The girl blew a waft of black hair out of her eyes but the raven strands swiftly returned to where they had just been.

            She held out her hand a bit shyly. "I'm Fyen."

            Reynaer's large, calloused fingers closed around her small, delicate digits as he shook her hand. How fragile she seems!

"Nice to meet you, Fyen. My name's Reynaer."

Then they both turned to their drinks and felt oddly comfortable sharing the project of consuming ale in silence.

Fyen felt the ale of her third tankard bubbling in her head. She had also calmed down a little. The strange, unshaven man seemed to somehow share her hatred at the world, at society. Several convictions and resolutions drifted in and out of focus as she weighed her options and plans. Some, however, kept drifting back and it were those that felt the most comforting. She dismissed them several times but they always came back. It was like trying to convince a fresh piece of wood to stay underwater.

            First, my days as a child are over, done with, history. No child can survive the world alone as it is. This means... well, several things I guess. One is my appearance. I can't look like a child anymore! I must look like an adult, like someone... who can take care of herself. Black, everything black. No more colors, no more beauty, no decorations or smiles. They leave you just too vulnerable. No birthday cakes either. Birthday cakes are for the weak! From now on, everything I have, everything I own, will be expendable, replaceable, disposable. Then it won't hurt if it breaks or gets lost. And I will carry a weapon. That strange man carries three swords and a dagger. He also looks... somehow... casually dangerous. I could ask him what to get and where. Then I will go up against the Sons all by myself. I don't care if I live or die! Besides, who would help me anyway? I can trust only myself.

            Oh, and these damn shoes! My feet are still wet and cold! No matter that I got them for my fourteenth birthday, I will wear black, replaceable, expendable, disposable boots from now on, boots that keep my feet dry. And armor, without armor I'm practically inviting hurt and pain. Need for better body armor, that's what I have. Again, the man will know, I will ask him. In a moment.

            And the arts... I will turn them as black as my hair, as black as my future clothes, as black as my heart. I will seek out the deepest, darkest magicks I can find and I will immerse myself, my soul, my very being into them, become one with darkness, learn to wield it. Yes, things are definitely about to change, for little Fyen is little no more. Fyen is... being ogled by some scrawny douche? What the hell?

Desiderius was on his second pint of ale and he had just eaten a jelly cake. His eyesight sharpened and blurred while the room revolved around him and then stopped only to start its movement again. The boy sat on the edge of a crude, wooden bench which was riddled with splinters stinging his buttocks. He still carried a bagful of broken eggs on his back and he smelled of horse-dung.

            Now I have definitely hit an all new low, Desiderius thought to himself. He raised his finger to order another pint but wasn't sure if the barmaid noticed him. Waiting for his drink that might not come, he looked at the girl again. There was a beautiful, dainty girl sitting on the other side of the tavern. About seventeen maybe, precisely the same age as myself, Desiderius reckoned. Raven-black hair and pale skin. Yes, she looks like a sorceress, like an enchantress... maybe I could tell her about my battles against the terrible swamp-beast and other monsters. No, I should! It would be a crime not to tell her!

            Desiderius stared at the girl. He could not take his eyes off her anymore. In fact, it was soothing to look at her as it kept the room from spinning. What a delicate face, melancholy eyes... too bad I can't see what kind of boobs she has. Hopefully not too small. But wait, who's the beefy bloke next to her? Now now, wait a minute, doesn't that fellow have those madman's eyes... isn't he all ruggedly handsome and stuff and I bet the pretty number is all over him in no time unless...

            “Unless I get there first!” Desiderius bellowed but his outburst went unnoticed because the tavern had livened up over the course of the evening.

Everyone was talking or singing or pinging and banging their pints of wood and metal together. Desiderius stood up and swayed heavily. He started a determined wobble towards the corner of the bar where the girl and the madman sat. She was looking directly at him but for some reason betrayed bewilderment and even anger instead of longing and adoration. Probably angry at Mister Beef Shoulders, Desiderius reasoned and wobbled faster. He tried not to bump against too many patrons or pieces of furniture on his way and was relieved to finally reach the bar. In a suave manner he leaned his elbow on the counter and addressed the girl.

            "Good evening, m'lady, this is indeed your lucky evening because now you have a chance to meet a real warrior, that is, the beater of the beast-swamp." Desiderius cleared his throat. "So this one time I fought this monster, um, it had well-defined muscles that flexed under its skin while sweat sparkled like diamonds... pearls! I mean very shiny rocks! And the warrior, who is yours truly of course, had like these amazing flaky fangs and I would end the beast and my life with it! Let me tell you how, um, so me and my sheep Snappy hovered in the air with these great balls..." Desiderius paused for breath and to gather his thoughts, most of them lost in a pool of ale.

            To his surprise, the girl was staring at the unshaven man sitting next to her and not at Desiderius. Her face was not glowing with enthusiasm either, not like Desiderius had imagined it would when he was telling his magnificent story. This bar counter seems awfully comfy, very soft, mobile almost, Desiderius thought and flashed a charming smile at the girl.

            "This nimrod giving you trouble, talking about his balls and whatnot?" the imposing man asked the girl.

            "What? I never!" Desiderius yelped. He squinted his eyes to take a better look at the man. First he saw two men entwined together until his eyesight regained control over the effects of alcohol.

            "Nah, it’s fine, Reyn. Let's just order another round of Cock"

            "She's the one talking about cocks and stuff!" Desiderius exclaimed.

Instead of replying, the big man was looking down. Desiderius followed his gaze and realized, with a slight tinge of panic, that he had been leaning on the man's shoulder all along. With terror, he looked the man right into his pale eyes and remembered what he had pushed away from his mind just minutes ago. This is the man who shoved me right into that hill of horse-shit! Desiderius felt the atmosphere grow tense. He didn't care about charming the girl anymore, he swore he would never drink again, and hoped he wouldn’t have broken all those valuable eggs. The man seemed to grow like a thunderstorm in front of him. A fist is a-coming...

            "Excuse me," said a voice to the left.

Mirlín looked around the tavern hall. It was more or less full, just like she had expected. But she was thirsty and hungry and she didn't care if there was a herd of oxen blocking her way, she was set on getting her refreshments.

            There were people standing shoulder to shoulder before the bar counter apart from one small space left between a skinny, haggard fellow and a broad-shouldered, armored man. Apparently the skinny fellow wanted to keep his distance. Deciding that the free spot was hers, Mirlín waded through the crowd, her face partly hidden by the wolf hide.

            "Excuse me," she said.

            The man glanced at her and gave room. "No problem."

Mirlín had noticed from the corner of her eye how a thin, young, and slightly fragrant youth had jumped a foot or two away from the man at the counter just when she had arrived next to him.

            Strange bloke, Mirlín thought and then addressed the barmaid: "Evening, I'd like to have something to eat, like... a loaf of bread and some cheese, please."

            "Sure, anything to drink?"

            "What's your strongest beverage?"

            "That'd be the Thirsty Cock, miss," the barmaid answered.

The corner of Mirlín's mouth twitched. "I'll have that, then. Been one of those days..."

            "Take my advice, good lady, try the Varvig first. That Cock packs quite a punch." A deep voice on her right said.

            "I can take a punch," Mirlín replied, glanced at the man next to him, and, for a moment, got fazed by his striking features. He had a fierce, chiseled face and eyes like pale-blue icicles. He seemed like he had been through many wars though he didn’t look even forty yet. I bet this one has seen a lot, been to many places... and talked to many ladies before.

            "I'm sure you can, good lady," the man said and lowered his voice to a whisper, "but just between you and me, Varvig actually tastes better and packs a decent punch to boot."

            Mirlín glanced at the barmaid impatiently, wondering how long it would take for her beer and meal to arrive so she could return to her room, eat in peace, unpestered by strangers, and, after that, fall asleep knowing she was safe. Or as safe as I or anyone can be.          

            She drew the hide tighter around herself and ran her fingers over her sword and knife to make sure they were still in place and to feel the comfort of cold steel close at hand. It struck her strange that the man next to her had three swords. Granted, two were lying at his feet, sheathed, but it was still slightly suspect.

            "Don't listen to him, lady! The Cock's really good," shouted a fair-faced, seemingly quite intoxicated girl who was sitting next to the man.

As if you have any idea, Mirlín thought to herself.

            "She said it again! Why do I always have to dive into horseshit for talking about cocks and balls and she just gets free drinks and all... stuff," the slightly fragrant youth exclaimed and swayed closer to Mirlín.

The woman could not make much sense of what he was talking about and lost her interest when she finally got her meal and a tankard of ale. She looked at the foaming beer and wondered which one of the ales she had actually gotten. Then she realized she should have ordered her drink in a bottle as there was a large sign behind the bar stating that patrons weren't allowed to take their tankards outside. Oh... bugger me... well, I guess I can finish just one pint quickly. I'm sure one pint in a busy tavern never hurt anyone. Then I'll go.

            "Say, that's a great wolf hide!" the youth said and swayed even closer.

He had a pleasant, young though presently drunken face. He appeared less than proficient at holding his liquor.

            "My name is Delirious... Devirious... Derevous... Desirous…"

            "Uh-huh?" Mirlín raised her eyebrows. "Pleasure meeting you, Des... Des...? And thank you," she replied and feared that the boy might eventually sway over the counter and onto the beer barrels behind the barmaid.

            The tall man and the young, delicate-looking girl had been engaged in an animated discussion earlier but now the man turned back to Mirlín. "How rude of me! It is not in my nature to turn my back to a lady. My name is Reynaer, Reynaer Walraven, a soldier of fortune or, as of late, misfortune."

            Suave. But why’s he with the girl? A mismatched couple if I ever saw one. Then again, most men prefer their meat young and tender.

"Misfortune? How come?" Mirlín asked, took a sip of her beer, and was surprised at how smooth and full the flavor was for a supposedly strong ale.

            The man turned and spat on the floor. "I got this horse as a gift from a woman but the animal was just as treacherous as its mistress and while I was... incapacitated, the thing buggered off with most of my stuff! Luckily I came across two random twerps in the forest. They had just bounced a rider and I got some silver off them. I wonder if it was theirs or the rider's."

            "That you will never know, will you?" Mirlín asked and smiled for the first time that night.

            "Well, you know what they say: ‘if you have to ask, you'll never know,'" he said returning the smile and finishing his beer.

            Mirlín thought he was rather amusing in his own way so she asked the barmaid to pour the old man a new pint to which he exclaimed: "Hey, I'm not old! Or maybe I am, I don't know," and his gaze sunk back into the frothy tankard.

            At the same time the black-haired girl craned her head around Reynaer and peered at Mirlín. "Say, what's your name, lady? Have you said it? I haven't heard it yet. I'm Fyen. I haven't got a mum." After the last words she withdrew and followed Reynaer's example, staring into her almost empty tankard.

            "I haven't got a mom either—"

            "You haven't?" Fyen asked with tears rolling down from her narrow, tapering eyes.

            "No. And I'm sorry for your loss... Fyen," Mirlín answered but she felt no real pity for the girl. Not yet. This was the way the world worked.

            "Thanks, I guess. I'm not sure if my mum's still alive or where she is," Fyen said.

            "That's terrible. What’s her name?" Mirlín asked.

            The girl gulped down the rest of her ale along with a few tears before replying with a cracking voice. "Ayleth, her name's Ayleth. The priests and soldiers of the Sun took her away. I hate them," the raven girl sighed and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her blue dress.

            "Cocks! Bloody cocks everywhere!" the young man, whose name was still a mystery to Mirlín, shouted from the floor.

Apparently the youth had sought a more horizontal mode of existence at some point though Mirlín hadn't noticed him fall down. 

            Reynaer looked at the boy and raised his eyebrows. "I'm sure glad I'm not in the same place as that lad, wherever it is."

Mirlín nodded, smiling behind locks of ashen hair. She looked into her empty tankard and frowned. Well, I guess it's time to go... but what that girl just said. About the Sons. They would know... maybe I could get new information if I stayed. Yeah, two pints in a busy tavern never hurt anyone. Mirlín waved at the barmaid and ordered a Varvig.

I knew it! That's what's been eating away at her! She lost her mother and now she's in a bar, drinking her ass off among complete strangers. Poor girl, shit world. Damn world! Reynaer remembered his own childhood momentarily but shoved the thoughts aside as his tankard had emptied itself once again.

            "Oi, Catrain, love, be a dear and pour us three another round." The barmaid looked at Fyen who was nodding against her pint. Reynaer noticed it too but insisted. "It's ok, it's ok, she's with me," as if that made sense.

            "Whatever. What'll it be this time? Cocks all-round?" Catrain asked, smirking.       

            "Well... can't see why not..." Reynaer said wondering why, oh why the brewers had chosen such a name for their beverage. Then he turned back to his last fully conscious companion. "The niblet was right, you know."

            "Right about what?"

            "You still haven't told us what to call you," The man replied.

            The woman laughed. "You have any idea why I might be reluctant to share that information with you?"

            Reynaer looked up in thought. "I have plenty of ideas all right, and many of them actually make sense, contrary to the trend of this evening, but please, enlighten me."

            The woman opened her mouth as if to reply but then stopped, frowned, as if hesitating, and then sighed. "Mirlín," she said and took a sip of her drink.

            "A good name, I'll drink to that," Reynaer said and took a hearty swig.

            The woman followed his movements intensively with her dark eyes as if trying to figure out what he was made of.

            As Reynaer lowered his tankard, he noticed that Mirlín was still staring at him. "Won't find beer in my tankard, love, it's empty. If you want more ale..." he said with a grin.

            The woman snapped out of her thoughts and turned to the barmaid. "Hint taken. Two more, please."

            Reynaer was a little surprised but in a good way. "Why thank you! The world was still young the last time a lady bought me a drink."

            "Hard to believe, you being such a charmer and all."

            "It's the brown brigandine," Reynaer sighed. "Should've bought a trendy black one and the lady folk would be all over me!"

            "Well, she's all over you." Mirlín nodded towards Fyen, who had passed out against the man's shoulder with drool dripping over his armor. "She your young bride or what?"

            He gave a short laugh but shook his head. "Nah, just met her here today. The kid seemed really shaken about something, you know, in a bad place."

            The corners of Mirlín’s mouth twitched slightly. "And she's in a better place here with you?"

            Reynaer shrugged. "Better here with me than out there with somebody else. I'm not big on trusting people and the kid needs someone to watch her back while she blows off some steam. Didn't go the smartest way about it but I guess she could've done worse."

            "Done smarter than I did, that's for sure." Mirlín said quietly.

            Reynaer laughed. "Or I! The world's a pretty strange place for a kid to grow up in. Gotta be really lucky not to get all bent backwards while growing up."

            "Well, if your intentions are honorable, she's one of the lucky ones," Mirlín sighed.

            Reynaer looked into the woman's eyes for a moment and then smiled. "You got a place for her to crash? She might be local but I have no idea where she lives and she's in no condition to give directions."

            Mirlín nodded. "You three can have my place at the nearby inn."

            "What about you then?"

            She emptied her pint. "Well... I know when it's time to move on. My gelding gallops tonight."

            Getting the gist of what she said, Reynaer gave her a mockingly stern look. "Listen, I don't mean to get all protective white knight on you or anything, and I'm in no way implying in the slightest that you couldn't take care of yourself, good Mirlín, but I really would sleep better if you slept it off with the rest of us losers at the inn." Then he prodded the young man on the floor with his foot. "Besides, could use a hand with Cocks here, what with probably having to carry the kid as well." Mirlín bit her lip and furrowed her brows. The man wiped some of Fyen's drool off his armor. "I'm not big into pajama parties either but these two are..."

            "...wasted. But you look strong enough a man to carry them both," Mirlín pointed out, smiling.

            "Not gonna twist your arm here, just figured it would've been kinda nice for a change, what with us all being these hardcore world-haters and loners," he said with a wink, noticing that his last word had made Mirlín wince.

            She sighed, pouted for a moment, and finally stood up, tossing Fyen over her shoulder with surprising ease. "Let's go, then. But I warn you, I always sleep naked."

            For a moment Reynaer didn't realize he had one foot on the young man's head. Recuperating, he laughed. "Two barfing kids, an old drunk, and a naked lady. Kinda has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

            The young man on the floor seemed to have heard the word ‘naked' for he opened his eyes, closed them again, and shouted: "Cocks!"

As the night was turning into morning and the weary foursome scrambled towards the inn, Fyen came to. She realized she was staring at the ground from the height of a few feet and her head kept bumping against a woman's backside.

            "Cocks, bloody cocks everywhere..." she muttered before passing out again.