The Weave of Fate

by S L Matthews

  “I walk in here one day and you’re not here. I ask around, and no one’s seen you. I find out you sailed to the far end of the world, as far from Wyvern’s Rest as the fastest ship will take you.”

  Cooper picked up his mug, frustrated to find it still empty.

  “Then, I’ll be happy.” He extended his mug, toasting Taryn, as a stale, warm breeze rushed through the inn.

  The tavern doors flew open. Plastered chips tumbled from the walls as the morning sun penetrated the old inn. An impossibly large man, stretched into a brilliant white robe stumbled into the room, bumping into tables and knocking over glasses. “S-sorry, I’m sorry,” he stuttered.

  Despite his flamboyant attire and head-turning antics, it seemed to Taryn the man was trying to be discrete, though his efforts proved wildly unsuccessful. The stranger clutched a leather satchel and ducked his head in shame. He lifted his apologetic hands as a cloak of silence fell across the bustling tavern. With all eyes focused on him, he scurried through the inn.

  The stranger barreled through the crowd, his robe catching on tables and chair legs as he swept toward a group near the stairs. “You’ve gotta get me out of here! There’s been a mistake!” he cried, crashing into their table.

  Taryn watched a dark, burly mercenary calmly lean forward and whisper, “Sure thing, Aerent.” His lips curled into a wicked smile. “We’ll take ya back−for 250 marks.”

  The large stranger’s eyes grew wide, “Two−two hundred fifty? But, it only cost a hundred to get here!” He backed up, sliding his satchel from one arm to the other.

  The mercenary leaned closer.

  With a smile, the shadow-faced man said, “Well, if we gotta go back, that’s twice as far. Cost you twice as much, Thibold.” He fell back into his chair, swinging his boots onto the table with a resounding thud. Mud splattered onto the enormous man’s white robes as he recoiled.

  Taryn exchanged mischievous glances with Cooper and Jorel, then turned their chairs toward the action. They sipped ale and snacked on stale peanuts while the stranger’s eyes darted from one mercenary to the other, all of whom met him with the same, devilish grin. His gaze wandered from the table. Thibold’s expression flushed when the whole tavern met his eyes, enthralled in his demise.

  He spun back to the table of mercenaries. “Fine, Rowan. Fine!” He panted, then reached into his robe. A curious expression crossed his face. His forehead wrinkled before reaching into his robe with the other hand. His look turned to panic as he spun, desperately scanning the floor and under the tables.

  “Looking for something?” came a perverse chuckle, followed by a rhythmic jingle. Taryn looked up to see Rowan dangling a dirty old coin purse in the air, an evil grin erupting across the mercenary’s face.

  “That’s my cue,” Cooper stated, taking a sip of Jorel’s ale.

  Taryn shot his brother a determined look. “No, Coop! You don’t have to butt into every fight.” But as usual, his words fell on deaf ears. He leaned to Jorel, pleading, “You’re his friend. Stop him from doing something stupid.” Jorel, however, wore the same devilish smile as the mercenaries, clearly enjoying the show.

  Taryn looked back to the stranger, whose face had turned red. His eyes darted between Cooper and Thibold as the large man raised a finger of disapproval. Thibold’s lips pursed before opening in a torrent of reprimand.

  “Well, well…looks like you gentlemen brought the party,” came Cooper’s light-hearted voice. Cooper stood from his chair and walked toward the group. Pulling his wet, jet-black hair behind his head, he tied it off and straightened his worn vest, long faded from its original shade of black. He adjusted his cuffs, ensuring they were properly aligned to his sleeves.

  “Dammit Coop,” Taryn said. He reached across the table to grab Cooper’s arm, but his brother was already out of reach, wearing a clever smile that grew with each step.

  Taryn slapped the table. “Every time!” He threw an elbow into Jorel’s arm, an act Jorel was quick to return, though with much more force.

  Taryn backed away, throwing his hands toward Cooper. “Couldn’t you try to stop him? Just once?”

  “This ain’t your cause, Coop,” bellowed Rowan in his distinct, guttural voice. “Best mind your business.”

  A sly grin came across Cooper’s face as he looked back to Thibold. “Why, business is my business,” he proclaimed. “For example, this man here.” He waved his hand once again, “this is a business man.”

  Cooper spun, waving his arms before the attentive crowd. “This man, however,” he continued, swinging a pointed finger to the dark mercenary, “is an idiot!”

  Laughter erupted throughout the tavern as Rowan vaulted to his feet. His chair slid into the corner behind him, crashing into Ava and the young boy she was consoling. Taryn’s heart skipped as Ava fell to a knee. She spun, shooting a lethal gaze at the table of mercenaries. Ava stood to face them. Taryn held his breath as she shielded the boy and snuck behind Rowan.

  Taryn jumped to his feet. “Jorel, we have to stop this.”

  Jorel, however, did not appear to share Taryn’s concern. He raised his mug toward the skirmish and said, “There you are then, little one. Go stop it.”

  Taryn’s gaze jumped to his brother, then to Ava before returning to Jorel, who added, “As I thought. Sit down then, you’re ruining the show.”

  Rowan snarled his teeth and withdrew his dagger, shifting the coin purse to his free hand. With reckless abandon, he lunged at Cooper, a glint of steel reflecting the candlelight. Thibold tip-toed across the floor, emitting a piercing shriek that echoed throughout the tavern.

  Cooper twirled away from Rowan. He spun and fell into an empty chair, allowing the momentum of his legs to swing onto the table. Cooper looked across to the other mercenaries, gave a sarcastic nod, and downed Rowan’s ale.

  The mercenary stumbled forward, falling into Taryn and Jorel’s table. Taryn looked on in shock while Jorel greeted Rowan with an apologetic smile and a raised glass.

  “You see, ladies and gentlemen,” Cooper proclaimed. “In the time it took this man to swing his baby dick sword, I’ve learned three important things.”

  Rowan slammed his fists into Taryn’s table, his teeth clenched in anger. He spun around and lunged once more at Cooper, planting his dagger through the seat of the empty chair. He reeled in disbelief, his weapon lodged deep into something other than his target.

  Cooper spun away from the table and threw his arm around Ava. Rowan paused for a moment as he studied her form. His eyes followed the curve of her breasts, down through her waist.

  Ava gave the man a guiled look of pity, then folded her arms across her chest.

  What is she up to, Taryn wondered, recognizing her subtle expression.

  “One−this man is very slow,” Cooper interrupted, wrapping his arm around Ava’s shoulder.

  “Two−” he added, reaching for Ava’s hand. Cooper pulled her palm to his lips and offered a subtle kiss between her fingers. “This fellow loves the ladies. But in this one’s case, don’t we all?”

  The crowd cheered, hooting and whistling as Ava bristled. Taryn’s face flushed with anger as Ava’s expression turned to one he’d seen far too often in the belly of this inn.

  “Enough!” Taryn shouted, glaring at the onlookers.

  “And three−”

  Rowan yanked his weapon out of the chair and jumped to meet Cooper. Ava met his advance, unfolding her hands to reveal a small leather coin purse.

  “He’s not a very good business man,” Cooper added, pulling the purse from Ava’s fingertips. He gave it a hearty shake, provoking the same rhythmic jingle.

  Taryn threw his hands in the air in disgust. “She picked it. Of all the people in this room, she just had to…”

  Jorel threw an elbow into his side and scowled in a broken, gravel voice, “Shut it…she’s good.”

  Rowan’s eyes widened. His arms dropped to his hips, feeling around his belt. “You—you little…,” he began as he glared at Ava, who
met his gaze with feigned innocence.

  “For if he were a man with any business sense,” Cooper interrupted, raising the coin purse high overhead. “He would know the true value of his coins.” He reached into the purse and pulled out a single, rusty mark holding it for the crowd to see. “This one isn’t worth shit! Do you know why?”

  He waited for Rowan’s response, but the mercenary just stared at Ava, each exchanging looks of contempt.

  “Because it’s filthy!”

  The tavern once again erupted in laughter.

  “In order to add value,” Cooper continued, “it must first know beauty.” He leaned toward Ava once more and pointed toward his cheek, turning his head slightly. She quickly obliged by gifting a small kiss upon his chin.

  Cooper stood proud as Taryn’s jealousy grew. “Will that work,” she added softly, her face flushed with embarrassment.

  “No, actually,” Cooper said. “That had nothing to do with it…but I appreciate it, just the same!” The crowd once again let loose a roar of laughter while anger shot across Ava’s cheeks.

  “Please, my dear…would you do us the honor of kissing this coin?” Cooper said, offering the old piece to her. She glowered at his mischievous grin for a long moment, then curled his fingers over the rusty coin.

  “No,” she said, turning her back to Cooper. Without a second glance, she headed to her table.

  Rowan approached, weapon ready.

  Cooper spun and met his gaze. He flashed his hands and twirled them about before revealing a flawless, golden coin.

  The mercenary stopped dead in his tracks.

  “To recognize value,” Cooper said, flicking the coin into the air, “you must recognize beauty.”

  The tavern crowd gasped as the golden mark tumbled end over end, falling into Rowan’s outstretched hand.

  Cooper resumed his seat next to Jorel and Taryn. He tossed the leather purse down on the table at an empty chair and, with a flourish, waved his hand toward Thibold, beckoning him to join them.

  | Chapter III

  Tone of Understanding

  T aryn’s soft eyes followed Ava to her seat. She carefully folded her arms under the table and turned to the young boy, still cowering in the corner. It was clear something was on her mind, but Taryn knew she would never tell him. He leaned over the table while Thibold arranged his chair.

  “Are you okay?” Taryn whispered. Ava turned her shoulders, but her head stayed fixed on the corner of the tavern.

  Her voice was distant, barely lifting over the crowd. “I think so. He just needs time.”

  Taryn leaned in closer. “Ava. Are you okay?”

  The question seemed to startle her. She twitched at the words, turning back to meet Taryn’s gaze. Her eyes drifted to Cooper as the meaning appeared to take hold.

  “I’m fine. It’s fine,” she said, offering a slight smile. She was lying, of course. Taryn knew every one of Ava’s smiles, and if he knew one thing for certain, she was not fine. Taryn glowered at Cooper as his brother settled back into his chair.

  “I suppose you’re pleased with yourself?”

  Cooper smiled, then eyed the vivid newcomer. “Took several for myself,” he chuckled while Thibold fell into his chair. “Assumed you wouldn’t mind.”

  Jorel laughed and slapped Cooper on the back as Thibold grabbed the purse and gave it a hearty shake. Taryn and Ava, however, remained unimpressed by Cooper’s performance.

  Thibold’s chair groaned. “Well yes…Uh…thank you?”

  Taryn eyed the table of mercenaries as they clamored about, reveling over their perceived turn of fortune. He nodded at their table. “Friends of yours?”

  Cooper rifled through the inner pockets of his leather vest, withdrawing several small, colored vials. “Nah,” he said dismissively, tipping his head toward Jorel. “Rowan served with us under Captain Ferael a few years back. Didn’t have much sense then…assumed he wouldn’t have much now.” He ordered his crystal vials in a line, tapping each one until they were perfectly straight.

  Ava stopped rubbing her wrists and shot an obscene look at Cooper. “So, he washed up too, then?” Cooper scoffed at the notion. He threw his hands in the air, adding insidious laughter to the uncomfortable silence.

  Cooper shrugged his shoulders, realigning a red vial ever so slightly. “Honestly, I thought he was hung with the rest of them.”

  Taryn shook his head, looking back to the mercenaries. “So you and Jorel weren’t the only ones, then?”

  A deep scar ran from the bridge of Jorel’s nose to his ear, joining several smaller lines as they created a mesh of torturous history across his face, a permanent expression of annoyance. He squinted, surveying the leather satchel draped over Thibold’s chest. He waved his hand across the tavern, muttering in a brutish tone, “S’pose you’ll be on the Promenade with the rest of ‘em?”

  Thibold jumped, clutching at the leather strap. He squeezed the bag, drawing it into his chest. “The Prom−oh, the ship. Yes, I just need to…” He glanced around the inn, as if searching for someone unseen. “I need to warn someone first.”

  Though he answered the question, it was clear his mind was still set on the magic trick just performed before his eyes. Thibold turned back toward the mercenaries, who were all admiring the golden coin, then gave Cooper a questioned look. “So you’re a…Parai?”

  Taryn coughed, shooting ale through his nose. Jorel snorted and Cooper stared at the stranger, dumbfounded by the accusation. “You think my brother is a−a dragon-touched?”

  Cooper grew serious. “Are you asking me if I’m a no-skill, talentless, born-with-it hack?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, no. I have real skill, my bloated friend.” He motioned to his line of crystal vials. “Alchemy. That is where the real magic is. Not parlor tricks and party favors. Real magic.”

  Taryn scoffed. “Dragon-touched. Coop, you wouldn’t know a Parai if they were sitting at the same table with you.”

  A confused expression washed over Thibold’s face. He angled his head back toward the mercenaries and asked, “So then, did you−is that really a…”

  “Nah,” Cooper said quickly, picking up a golden-colored vial. “It’s fake. An’ I supposed they’ll be figuring that out soon.” He gestured in the direction of the docks. “So, you might want give that warning while you can.”

  Taryn sat up, imploring his brother. “You’re gonna get caught one of these days, Coop. I told you to stop doing those tricks.”

  “Tricks?” Cooper cried out in disbelief. “I study under the finest alchemist in Wyvern’s R−“

  “Studied,” Taryn corrected him. “You studied. Hurst tucked his tale and ran. Your old mentor fled this town, just like everyone else. Unless you forgot.”

  Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “Not everyone left, little brother.” His gaze darted from Ava back to Taryn. “Yet.”

  Taryn stared down his older brother, pleading him not to mention Ava.

  “Is that what you two were arguing about?” Ava asked, her voice innocent and lifting.

  “No, of course n−“

  “Yes,” Cooper snapped.

  The brothers glared at one another. A quiet tension fell across the table. Thibold eased against the back of his chair under Jorel’s intense, crooked gaze. Ava grew nervous, her eyes darting between Taryn and Cooper.

  “Taryn,” Ava said. “What’s going on?”

  Jorel’s voice cut across the table. “Oh bullocks. The scrawny street rat loves you and the ugly street rat thinks he’s gonna die here because of you.” He leaned toward Thibold. “Now what’s in the bag, whitey?”

  Ava’s mouth gaped, as if words were begging to spring forth, yet there was nothing to say. She reached for Taryn’s mug, yanking it from his grasp, to which he offered little resistance. His gaze fell away from the table, ashamed.

  Thibold’s eyes bounced between Taryn, Cooper, and Ava in nervous anticipation while Jorel leaned closer, lusting for whatever answer came first.

  “Yo
u’ll have to excuse him,” Cooper said, coming to his feet. He cupped a hand to the side of his mouth and whispered, “This is why we don’t let him out much,” nodding toward Jorel.

  “My lady,” Cooper said as he properly addressed Ava. “Cocker,” he added to Taryn. “I believe my silver-tongued friend may have worn out our welcome.” He gave an unceremonious yank on the back of Jorel’s collar, pulling him from his chair. Cooper leaned onto the table, his serious gaze landing on Taryn.

  “Suppose I’ll see you again tomorrow?” Cooper slipped away, weaving through the crowd and out the door. Jorel followed, flinging curses at the patrons he shoved out of his way.

  Thibold remained silent, fidgeting in his seat. He reached into his robe and pulled out a small slip of paper, mouthing the words to himself. “Yes, well, I was wondering. Would you be able to point me in the direction of Viktor Wr−”

  Ava slammed her mug onto the table. She glared at Thibold, who fumbled the folded note into his lap. Taryn followed the maze of fractured cracks in the glass to Ava’s slender fingers. The raised skin on her wrists and arms were twisted, dark ink, an elegant tapestry etched into her flawless skin. The mark of a slave.

  “Oh, I-I didn’t know you were a…” Thibold began, his words trembling.

  Ava stood, placed her palms against the worn wooden surface and leaned across the table. “A what?” she demanded. “What is it you think I am?” Her voice no longer carried the refined, soothing pitch Taryn knew. All hints of sincerity were lost.

  Thibold wobbled from his chair, attempting to stand with her, but lost his balance and fell backwards into his seat. His gaze quickly faltered, unable to withstand the intensity of Ava’s stare. Taryn’s heart sank and a deep pit formed in his stomach. His shoulders slumped while his gaze drifted to the balcony, praying it was empty. Taryn felt Thibold’s nervous eyes, but his concerns were no longer with the odd looking stranger.

  “Viktor Wray?” Thibold concluded.

  Not again. Not now, Taryn thought.