Taking it as a personal challenge, Marcius assumed the practiced air of a scholar, unconsciously straightening himself as he eyes glazed over with memory of texts read long ago. "Triundral, also known as The Broken One, was the supposed father of the Pantheon. He was wild, capricious, and unpredictable, all symptoms fitting for a God of Chaos. Legends speak of him leveling whole cities in his rage, only to repent his actions and bless the people that so angered him with gifts for generations. Good and evil had no bearing on him. In fact, early scholars speculated that he did things merely for amusement. Eventually, his children, our current gods, rebelled against his rule, unable to take the chaos that followed all he touched. They craved order, and after a mighty battle that shook the heavens, they attained it. Triundral was injured; forever bereft of the use of his arm and eye, and thus became known as The Broken One. He has disappeared since then. Whether or not he is dead, or even if gods can die, is something known only to the gods themselves. Most religions in Faelon choose to strike the existence of him from their records, for such a god could not be followed, for he had no real laws or rules to follow. Most find the mere existence of such an irresponsible god abhorrent." Marcius licked his lips, seeming satisfied with himself as he finished.
Simon was dumbfounded. He blinked once. Twice. Three times. Never before had it been put so. . . so. . . eloquently? Some measure of his astonishment must have passed to Marcius, for his smile just got wider as his apparent success. Letting out a low whistle, Simon searched for a response. "Well, I am impressed!" he said truthfully after a couple of seconds, "Not many know what you have said, and even less could put it so. . . succinctly."
Marcius's smile reached his ears. "Thanks, Simon. Though I can't really take all the credit. I'm just merely reciting things I have read. Things I have read far too many times!" He gave a dry chuckle at some inner dark humor.
"Scholar, I take it?"
"Ah-" Marcius started to respond, before Alicia interjected.
"Yes," she said, "Marcius and myself are journeying scholars, and Jared is our bodyguard."
Simon didn't miss the discreet looks exchanged between the three. The sense of something wrong grew stronger; they were hiding something, he could feel it.
Even if they were scholars, which he believed to be a lie, what would they be doing in the most dilapidated tavern in Harcourt? The more he tumbled such thoughts in his head, the less it made sense. Well, like he always said, when smoke obscured the truth, one merely had to prod the flame.
"Excuse me for my bluntness, my fair lady, but I don't recall your name as being Marcius," he shot her a disarming smile to soften the reprimand before turning back to Marcius. "Now, Marcius, what is it that you do? Are you a scholar?" Simon put on his most innocent face.
It was a useless gesture, and Simon knew he had erred when he saw all three jaw lines tighten and the general temperature of the table seemed to drop drastically. The formerly relaxed faces were now guarded and wary.
"We're going to retire for the night," Alicia said tersely, standing up, "Thanks for the conversation, master bard." Simon didn't even bother to correct her, his mind was too busy racing to find a way to hastily patch up whatever line he had crossed.
"Oh, please stay for a couple more drinks? It is awfully lonely here, with just a bunch of working men to talk with," and figuring he should throw them the benefit of the doubt, "It's not often that I get to talk with scholars."
Jarrod shot him an apologetic smile as he stood up and pushed in his chair, "Sorry, Simon. Alicia's right, we've got to hit the hay. Thanks for the song. May your God watch over you."
It was only Marcius who stayed at the table with Simon. Both Alicia and Jared shot him puzzled looks. "Marc?" Alicia asked.
Marcius nodded. "I feel like staying here a bit longer. It'd be nice to relax with some music."
"Come on, Marc." Jared prodded, "We have an early day tomorrow. It'd be wise to catch a few winks."
Simon recognized the internal struggle going on within Marcius, and he was wise enough to also see an opportunity when one presented itself. "Come on now, if he wants to stay, let him stay. He's big enough to look after himself, plus I'll be here to watch his back if I am wrong."
"I don't recall invi-" Alicia began sharply, before being cut off by Jared.
"It's alright, Alicia. He's right, Marcius is his own man. G'night to you both," Jared spun on his heel, dragging a protesting Alicia by her arm as he led her up the stairs.
"Hmmmm. . . " Simon threw Marcius a suggestive eyebrow and a lewd wink, "Wonder what he was in a hurry for?"
The dusty-haired boy chuckled nervously, dismissing Simon's thinly veiled innuendo. "It's not what it looks like. It's just that they worry and have a habit of trying to coddle me."
Simon shot him a disarming grin, "Ah, well. Let us drink then?" he said, pushing a mug toward the man before picking up one for himself. "You'll stay to chat and hear me play, right?"
"Of course."
And get drunk as you wait. Simon grinned into his cup. It was fortunate for him that it also happened that drunks have loose tongues. There was no mystery that a little beer couldn't solve.
Chapter 19
Jared closed the door behind him before turning around. "I know what you did to get us our freedom."
Alicia kept her back to him. She looked remarkably small with her shoulders close together. "Do you?"
"Yes. I don't know if I should thank you or be disappointed. Perhaps both."
"Disappointed, huh?" she whispered, and it was something in the way she said it, a nearly indiscernible flutter in her voice that alerted Jared that perhaps he had said something wrong. The Mage turned, remarkably calm, and Jared allowed himself a brief moment of relief, that she'd let his comment slide. "Jared Garalan, privileged son of Gary Garalan, please tell me on what grounds that you have the right to think that your opinion of me matters?"
Alright, that hurt a bit, he admitted to himself. Not that he'd show her that. "We are companions on the road. It only makes sense to care about each other."
She stood her ground. "Have I not shown that I care? If you knew of another way out of the problem we were in, one that allowed me to keep my pants on, I'd be more than welcome to hear it."
Jared had no words to counter her logic and a heavy silence fell between the two. It was a tense standoff. Her, defiant and proud, and him, unsure and yet unwilling to back down.
He broke first. "I'm sorry," he said candidly, "I just wish we could have found some other way."
"Are you sorry for me, or sorry for Marcius?" she asked quietly.
"I do not understand."
"You can't protect him for the rest of his life, you know," Alicia said, shrugging, "I don't like what I did, but it got the job done. We are here, and we are alive. He can continue living his fairy tale world. I won't say anything if you don't either. This can just be between us."
Jared opened his mouth, intent on denying her words, but found that he couldn't. She was right, in a way. There was just something so blithely honest about his friend, and he found that he wanted to protect Marcius, even if it was a losing battle.
Something akin to sadness passed over the Mage's features then, as if she had seen how accurate her words were and regretted them. "Perhaps his innocence can last until we reach the Academy," she said. "Though it most assuredly won't last once he enrolls. He'll either adapt or get crushed. The Academy will quickly force him to grow up."
The bluntness of her words, the utter certainty of truth, alarmed Jared. "Can any place truly be that bad?"
Alicia's smile was mirthless and dark. "Hell, you'll find, has many forms. Nothing is more ruthless than a house of ambition. Cruelty is a product of power." She turned around, going back to unpacking her sleeping roll. Jared, straining, almost missed what she said next. "After all, it made someone like me."
❧ ❧ ❧
Simon needed to clear his mind. This was a lot to take in, and he needed the smell of fresh air and the constant rhythm of his feet to calm his nerves. The humorous part of him didn't fail to point out that if he really needed fresh air, what was he doing walking along the streets of Lowtown?
He ignored it.
A wizard? Plots by the Academy? Captured by the infamous Solokovian bandit group and walking away from the encounter?
It was an amazing tale, like something he would tell over a roaring campfire to an enthralled group of travelers in the dead of night. And the worst part was that Simon believed Marcius. The man was drunk, but didn't seem the type to embellish things.
It didn't hurt that he offered to show the bard some spell play to prove his tale, which Simon was quick to stop. Everybody wanted money here, and money followed wizards around, or so everyone believed. Marcius would have had his throat slit and pouch emptied before the sun had risen.
Simon found himself strangely excited. Wizards! Magic! He'd spent his life looking for adventure, a trait which contrasted sharply with his strong sense of self-preservation. Still, everyone knew wherever magic was, great events followed. He believed that rumor more than the gold one and had that familiar itch, like a personal song that he felt rather than heard. Things had gotten stale here, and now there was opportunity. He'd be a fool to overlook it.