Fyen scanned the room she was sharing with Mirlín. It was bigger than the last one and much nicer. There was even a carpet on the clean, wooden floor, and a fire inside a stove sparkled in the far corner of the room. Well sure, the price is almost double but I still got a few hundred silvers left and... well, I'll only need them for, like, two more weeks or so. Hm, soon I'll probably be dead anyway. No need to worry about money.
"Which one you want, Mirl?" Fyen asked, motioning at the two beds which were the same size but one was next to the window while the other was closer to the door.
"Does it matter? You're probably going to crash in my bed anyway," the woman replied with a smirk.
The raven girl grinned. "It's fun to crash in your bed! It's so warm and cozy," she purred with closed eyes. "And your hair always smells nice!"
Mirlín gave the girl a mockingly stern look. "I did not give you permission to hop into my bed anytime you want."
"Of course you didn't," Fyen replied equally in jest, blinking her eyes as she threw her sack carelessly on the bed beside the window.
"You girls coming down for supper?" Reynaer's voice sounded from the hall. Mirlín adjusted her wolf hide and stepped to the door.
"Just a minute!" Fyen shouted as she counted a handful of silver coins she had put in her purse.
She had taken her sword off her belt and now looked at it, wondering whether she should take it to the tavern or not. Oh to hell with it... Instead the girl checked her dagger was secure in its sheath before heading out and following the others into the inn's tavern.
Despite the comfortable rooms, the bar was somewhat less cozy. It was still early in the evening yet many patrons were already drunk, shouting at each other and laughing loudly. Maybe I should've taken that sword after all. Fyen, you have to be more careful! This isn't Kumby anymore. Reynaer always carries his sword and Mirlín has hers. I can't rely on them always saving my ass, the girl thought, feeling oddly comfortable with the several new, rather rude expressions she had picked up from Reynaer’s speech. In any case usually nothing happens so let's hope nothing happens tonight. Nothing probably will if I keep my eyes open. I won't get too drunk and I'll just sit quietly and try not to draw attention to myself. Besides, I've handled myself all right so far and I do have my dagger with me.
The room was big and most of the racket was focused around the bar. The four of them chose a table next to the back wall. Fyen sat down, glad to have a stone wall behind her back in such a place. Reynaer caught the barmaid's eye and waved her over.
"Evening. What can I get you?" she asked.
"Four ales, please." Then he turned to the others. "You folks want food?"
Mirlín nodded. "I'll have some bread, butter, and cheese."
Desiderius scratched his head and decided to have a jelly cake.
"I'm not hungry right now," Fyen said.
"But you hardly ate during dinner!" Mirlín protested.
The girl shrugged. "I know but I'm really not hungry. I just want to have something to drink and then crash."
The truth was that for some reason Fyen felt threatened even though she was with her friends who were more than capable of handling random trouble makers. It was something about the atmosphere of the tavern that made the girl uneasy and caused her to lose her appetite.
Reynaer ordered a slice of bread and some bacon to go with his pint and then called the barmaid back. "On a second thought, bring two ales for me. I feel thirsty." The woman marked it down and disappeared into the kitchen.
Fyen looked around the room and saw many faces she didn't like. Close to the bar was a group of middle-aged men who made most of the noise in the tavern. She also spotted various other aesthetically challenged patrons but thought that since this town was near a large bridge it was bound to have lots of riffraff going through it every day. Thinking about it, she wasn't entirely sure whether she and her companions counted as riffraff or not. Still she pulled up the hood of her cloak, wanting to disappear into the shadows.
Finally the barmaid reappeared carrying a large wooden tray with plates and tankards filled to the brim. To their surprise the quality of the food and drink far surpassed that of their previous lodgings. Reynaer wolfed down his meal in seconds and finished the first tankard with one gulp. Then he sat back and savored the second, watching the others eat and drink with a content smile on his face.
"Are we about halfway to the city by now?" Mirlín asked between mouthfuls.
Nodding, Reynaer pulled out a parchment out of his sleeve. He rolled it open and showed them the map. "It's a bit longer from here to the city than it was from Kumby to here but the terrain should be faster the other side of the river. Of course, if we try the moors we might make even faster time."
Desiderius had just shoveled a spoonful of jelly cake into his mouth and sprayed jelly all over the table, asking: "Which moors were those?"
Reynaer wiped bits of jelly off his brown brigandine. "The Doomoors. During summer it's passable but spring and autumn... it's always down to luck."
"But it's a shortcut?" Mirlín asked.
The man nodded while taking a large swig. "Yeah, should save us a few days if we make it through."
Swallowing, Desiderius piped in. "I hear those moors are haunted."
Reynaer looked at him with a puzzled expression. "No more haunted than that cake you're stuffing your face with."
Desiderius eyed his cake suspiciously and put it aside. "I'm full."
Fyen laughed, not only at Desiderius but also because she had just realized that despite the uneasiness caused by the rowdy patrons around her, for the first time in a while she was truly happy. Even the face in the river seemed to disappear into the distant past along with the screams of the dismembered creature back in the woods.
Feeling a bead of sweat trickling down her back, Fyen decided to sacrifice stealth for comfort and took off her cloak. She had been quiet, listening to the others talk, enjoying their voices and the good ale and now her tankard was empty. This is going to be a good evening, I just feel it!
"I'll go get another one," the girl announced and stood up.
Having finished her ale rather quickly, she already felt pleasantly drunk, confident, and a little foolhardy. As she walked to the bar, several middle-aged men around her grinned at each other, one of them burped, following her backside with his eyes.
"I'd sure like to pound that tight little ass!"
They all laughed at his remark but Fyen didn't react in any way. Instead she ordered another ale and pretended not to hear it though she realized she may have unwittingly invited the remark by leaning over the counter while she waited for the barmaid to draw the beer. What a bunch of creeps! She handed the silver to the woman behind the bar and turned around, set on not letting anybody ruin her evening even though her knees felt like jelly.
Thinking how Reynaer or Mirlín would react to people hassling them, she swayed slightly after swirling around a little too fast to face the jeering men. “You're all old enough to be my granddads! Isn't it time you old wankers went home instead of shitting yourselves here among us normal folk?" The men laughed and stared at her backside as she walked away saying loudly: "All men are disgusting!"
She went back to her friends and sat down next to Mirlín. At the same instant the blonde woman and Desiderius slammed empty pints against the table, both wiping their mouths. Apparently there had been some kind of a drinking challenge going on. Desiderius let out a massive burp, then retched, and slammed a palm over his mouth in order to keep the ale and jelly cake down.
The blonde woman leaned over to Fyen. "Were those geezers pestering you? ‘Cause we could, you know, give them a beating afterwards," she slurred, her dark-blue eyes not quite focused.
The girl shook her head, smiling. "They were just being normal, utterly disgusting men. No offence, Reyn, Des."
Both men shrugged and concentrated in their ales. It occurred to Fyen that she might have avoided the entire situation just by wearing her cloak. Then she would have looked like a young boy or at the very least her backside would have been covered. It was strange how a body part to which she had never paid much attention was suddenly a conversation piece.
They all sat in silence for a while but after some time Fyen noticed that a few tables to their left a woman in her thirties kept staring at her. Finally the girl locked eyes with the woman and raised her eyebrows inquisitively. The woman stood up and walked over to their table. She had short, sandy hair, a sharp, aquiline nose, and wore a pair of too tight black leather hose and a short leather armor under which drooped a generous sausage roll.
She sat down next to Fyen, put her arm around the girl's shoulders, and whispered, with the smell of old ale in her breath: "Just ignore them, that's what I do. Us women, we got to stick together, right?" The woman's hand caressed Fyen's shoulder. "Now why don't you and I go upstairs and I’ll make you feel like no man ever can." She smiled lewdly, sucked her middle finger, and put her other hand on Fyen's slender thigh.
The girl shoved the woman's hand away. "Fuck off, creep!” Surprised and angry, Fyen’s eyes narrowed. “You're just like the men, even worse!"
The woman stood up, grabbed Fyen by the throat, yanked her up on her feet, and pinned her against the wall. "You little bitch!" she snarled.
Out of the corner of her eye, Fyen saw Reynaer holding onto Mirlín's shoulder, stopping her from rushing the chubby woman.
“No, she can handle herself!" Reynaer hissed, lowering his voice.
Knowing her friends wouldn't intervene caused adrenaline to flood Fyen's body. Her hands became cold, her heart beat fast and hard, and suddenly she could only see what was right in front of her. The woman's grip around Fyen's throat tightened, so she stared right into the woman's eyes and watched as they opened wide and looked down.
The girl's dagger had sunk an inch or two into the woman's exposed, flabby belly, and Fyen hissed through clenched teeth: "Let go of me now, you fucking bird-brain, before I gut you like a fucking pig!"
The woman let go of Fyen and staggered back holding her bleeding belly, all the while muttering: "Crazy bitch, crazy bitch," as she stumbled out of the tavern.
Fyen wiped her dagger on the table cloth and slid it into its sheath as she sat back down. Her hands were shaking and she was breathless but she felt a certain amount of deception was in the very core of these things. She was also quite pleased at how she had managed the situation, at her choice of words, and she was sure Mirlín and Reynaer would be proud of her too.
Mirlín laughed and punched the girl softly on her shoulder. "Little Fyen isn't so little anymore! But I gotta tell you, if Reynaer hadn't held me back, I would've ruined your spectacle of bravery."
The girl grinned. "I almost pissed myself when she grabbed me but I guess it was kinda fun." It was fucking fantastic! She chuckled, glancing at her friends. "Also, it was good practice considering that we're going up against the Sons who'll probably be swinging blades at us."
Reynaer looked at her, smiling in a peculiar way. "We could have stopped it any second but I thought we'd give you a chance to stand up for yourself."
Still seated, Fyen made an exaggerated bow. "Oh, thank you ever so much, kind sir," her voice dripping sarcasm.
“That was so cool, with all the blood and the cursing! Great stuff!" Desiderius exclaimed and started scribbling frantically on his notebook.
“But Fyen, bird-brain?” Mirlín asked.
Reynaer grinned at Fyen. “Your verbalization does need a little work.”
Bird-brain! the girl groaned in her head, her cheeks red as she realized how ridiculous the lame insult sounded, an insult her mother had used when she had talked about people she didn’t like, a word that was soft enough to be appropriate to her little daughter’s ears.
“Next time you could say something along the lines ‘I’ll cut off your head and poo down your throat, you poop-head,’” Mirlín suggested.
“I’m sorry, all right!” Fyen cried, painfully embarrassed. “I was just… I was so freaked I couldn’t think straight.”
“Just forget about the fat cunt,” Reynaer said dismissively. “You did well.”
Fyen nodded though her ears were still burning. Next time at least try to talk like a grown-up, all right? She thought of the word Reynaer had just used and even though she didn’t know what ‘cunt’ meant, it sounded harsh and hard and if he used it, it must have been a good insult.
After a few more rounds Fyen was reeling on her seat. They had started talking about fighting and both, Reynaer and Mirlín shared stories of the many violent encounters they had survived and Fyen listened intently, clinging to every word.
"So since he asked so kindly, I shoved him down a flight of stairs, and before his jackass friend realized it was time to stop talking and start fighting, I'd smashed my bottle on his head," Reynaer chuckled.
"That's fucking sweet!" the raven girl laughed, spilling some of her ale. "And Mirlín, I can't believe you knocked out a guy by shoving a cauldron on his head!"
The woman smiled and sipped her ale. "I just grabbed something. How was I supposed to know it was a cauldron?"
"Well, I'll go for another round. Anybody else want more?" Fyen asked.
The others still had their drinks so the girl stood up and went to get one for herself. During the course of the evening, the tavern had grown noticeably more crowded and there was actually several people waiting to be served around the bar. Eventually Fyen spotted an opening but just as she was stepping to it, a woman appeared right in front of her. She had been there longer than Fyen but feeling reckless and inspired, certain that both of her cool friends would have done the same, she used her shoulder and elbow to shove the woman aside.
"Hey!" the taller woman exclaimed.
Fyen ignored her and leaned on the counter, waiting for her turn. She felt a hand grab her left arm.
"It's my turn next," the brunette said.
"Oh fuck off, you cunt," Fyen spat and aimed a hard shove at the woman's chest.
The grip around her upper arm was surprisingly strong and the brunette yanked Fyen off-balance and as she leaned on her left foot to avoid falling down, she felt a hard kick knock her feet off the ground. It felt like the world was turned upside down and then she just found herself on the hard wood floor, lying at the feet of the woman.
Just as Fyen’s aggressor was about to aim another kick, this one at her head, someone grabbed the girl. "Come on, let's go." Suddenly Mirlín was there, helping the girl up and dragging her away. “We don’t want trouble,” she said to the brunette, who was eyeing them both suspiciously but eventually turned to the bar and ordered her drink.
"Nice dive," Reynaer said approvingly.
"Har-har," Fyen mumbled, her pride and vanity deeply wounded. "Should've let me kick her ass..."
"That's what I was afraid, that you'd kick her ass so bad you'd wind up unconscious," Mirlín said, sounding awfully sober all of a sudden.
Just as the girl was about to retort, Reynaer leaned forward and spoke, this time without humor. "In case you didn't notice, what with being busy looking for something on the floor, that woman knew what she was doing. She's riding with mercenaries and, judging by her gear, she's one too. I bet you didn’t notice she had two daggers under her cloak and a sword on her back. Those folks fight a lot so next time if you want to push somebody around, choose your target more carefully. All right?"
Once again her cheeks aflame, Fyen sighed. "I just... I didn't mean to..."
Her previous success was now completely marred and once more she was just a silly little girl trying to scramble along in the world of adults.
"It's all right. Actually someone who looked a lot like her, except she was a hooker, wiped the floor with me once..." Mirlín said, squinting her eyes at the brunette who had by now gotten her tankard and returned to a group of heavily armed, rugged-looking men.
Feeling immense gratitude at the woman, Fyen looked up, her green eyes wide. "Really? What happened?"
"I was older than you, just gotten on the road, much like you now, and I happened to step on the wrong toes. I gave her attitude and she slapped me around until I got the good sense to get the hell out of there," Mirlín chuckled and downed her pint.
Eyeing the woman somewhat strangely, Reynaer then turned to Fyen, as if in a hurry to change the subject. "I got my ass handed over to me too when I was a kid. Several times in fact but this one time when I was still a restless youth, I had some words with this big fucking guy in a tavern and decided to punch his lights out. I did punch him with all I got but the bastard wasn't even fazed! Instead he ate the punch, looked me up and down, and proceeded to knock my fucking lights out."
"Hard to believe you got your ass kicked," Fyen said with awe.
Reynaer laughed. "Actually I'm very thankful for him. It was one of the biggest lessons of my life. See, he could've killed me if he'd wanted or make me so hideous no woman would ever look at me again. Instead, he cracked a few ribs and bruised my eyes. While being beaten I realized that. He didn't knock out a single tooth and even left my nose straight. So yeah, choose your opponents very carefully," the man concluded and raised his tankard. "To smart fighting!"
Fyen laughed and raised her still empty pint. "Hear, hear."
"Are you writing this all down?" Mirlín asked Desiderius, trying to take a peek at the boy's notebook.
He pressed the book against his chest and cried: "No! I mean yes! Or no... well, maybe."
Shaking her head, Mirlín leaned back, dug out her purse, and after looking inside, sighed. "Money seems to disappear so quickly. I'm sure this otherwise intact purse has a gaping hole on it somewhere," she said, turning the purse this way and that.
Reynaer dug out his own purse and shook it, painfully aware of the lack of jingling. "I'm kind of running low on cash too." His eyes met Mirlín's. "Say, why don't you and I go see if we can find a place to resupply for tomorrow?"
The woman nodded and turned back to Desiderius. "You and Fyen can grab a few more pints and have a good time, eh? No need for all of us to cut short our evening."
The young man shrugged. "Sounds excellent to me."
Fyen tried to protest but before she could argue, Reynaer had stuck another tankard into her hand. "You sit there and drink your ale. Besides, me and Mirlín are too old to get drunk every night, you kids enjoy it while you can." With that they headed out of the tavern hoping Fyen would just this once stay out of further trouble.
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