Dryad Eyes, part 35.
So, I had wanted to reach a conclusion on this by November. I had this idea, that I would complete Dryad Eyes and then go to work on something else, some new story, for NaNoWriMo this year. However, instead, I think I will use this month and the mentality I would have applied for that to this, and simply drive this story forward like I started out doing a year ago.
That is what I hope to do, anyway. So, more DE on the way, folks!
This entry was not all written today. It was spread out over the course of the past month. It comes in at 5,952 words. I hope you enjoy it. I went in a far, far different direction than I had originally planned to go with this entry. Lol
Night fell early upon Keeper's Gateway. That thick, ever encroaching darkness was fed, nurtured, by the pregnant clouds overhead, and the ancient, imposing mountains that loomed on either side of the old fortress. Beyond the city, where the winter was not being kept at bay by the mystical tools that Geran had employed, had reached a depth that was nearly equal to the height of a grown man on horseback. Everyone knew that there would be no further travel in this season, except by emergency means, until the weather had cleared. If the situation became too dire, Geran had already made plans for evacuating the city under the protection of the mighty elven wizard, Ganatal. After all, this was the first true winter that the current residents had spent in Keeper’s Gateway, which had reopened but the year before amid a heap of climate changes brought on by that same wizard’s breaking of the chaotic magic that had claimed these lands for so many years. This year, with the snow and the bitter, bitter cold, the local weather patterns were actually shifting back toward what should be normal for the region.
Along a street that had been recently cleared of the accumulated snow, though more had already begun to collect upon it, a solitary figure strode toward his intended destination. His body language spoke of frustration, of a day spent in mental turmoil, and his attire, a heavy black cloak with a deep hood that was drawn forward over his face, spoke of a desire to remain at least somewhat anonymous. Of course, given his size, and the hint of red that was visible in the portion of his beard that remained exposed, it was not exactly difficult for anyone who looked closely to guess at his identity. Geran Fireface, the Battle King of Keeper's Gateway, was never an easy man to miss.
Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he ignored the handful-and-a-half of other people that had braved the weather and shared the street with him. Like any tried and true veteran of so many battles, he was aware of his surroundings, and those that populated them, if only peripherally. The bulk of his mind remained with Charis, his bride-to-be, and the strange sort of fight that they had had that morning. She had said things to him that had cut him to the quick, and although he suspected that she was for some reason not exactly in her right mind, he was only beginning to be able to reflect on what had happened without seeing it all through a familiar red haze. His temper was the stuff of legends. Quick to anger, impulsive, and as stubborn as the earth beneath his feet, Geran had carved himself a name and a myth early in his life, thanks mostly to luck and to his array of physical gifts that set him apart from most mortal warriors. Only in recent years had he, along with his enemies, come to learn that his mind was his greatest weapon yet. As he had learned discipline, so did he become ever more dangerous. It had taken a jaunt in another dimension, a higher plane of existence, to drive that point home for him. He had seen the potential that lay locked away within himself, and had returned with a new focus and outlook on life. Still, however, there were a hundred instances every day that tested his resolve. At times, he struggled mightily to maintain his composure. It just so happened that his bride-to-be, Charis, was of course one of the few people in the entire world with the power to circumvent all of the mental checks and defenses he had built for himself.
Ahead of him, just becoming visible through the swirling flurries of snow, Geran caught sight of a familiar sign. Welcome to Big Thom's Tavern, it read, and he sighed his relief to himself. At last. Hardier than most, the onslaught of winter was beginning to wear on him. The bitter, blowing coldness sank through his clothing and into his powerful limbs, where it became a dull, steady ache. Ready for some respite, and growing eager to see the person he had decided to visit, he hurried his steps. A moment later, he slipped into the door beneath the sign.
The inside of Big Thom's was nothing special. From the hard wood floors, to the paneled walls, to the scarred tables and the drunken clientele, it was exactly what one would expect to see when the word 'tavern' was mentioned. There was, however, one very specific difference, and that was Big Thom himself. He was a big, burly mountain of a man, with no hair and a white mustache, who pointedly preferred his given name, Thomas, and was not shy about telling people so. Sometimes, he would lend a hand and personally serve tables. Often, he would simply stop and speak with people, his conversation ranging from giving directions, politics, to telling tales of battles, both recent and long past. A personal favorite of his, of course, was the Battle for Keeper's Gateway. He was an old soldier, and had boldly come forward out of retirement to stand on the walls in what he had been certain was a futile effort to stem the flow of Kerim Thiathe's army into the Free Kingdoms of the North. With a voice that was gruff and full of passion, in tones so heartfelt that no Story Teller could hope to top, he would speak of the heroes who fell in that battle, those who survived, and, of course, of the Battle King, who had personally saved his life at least three times.
The old soldier in question caught sight of Geran as he entered the building. He raised one bushy, white eyebrow as he gave the cloak and deep hood image a once over, then simply nodded. That was a relief. There was little that happened in Big Thom's that Thomas missed, and he was certainly not fooled by the Battle King's non-disguise. However, as far as he was concerned, it was far from his place to out a guest who seemed to be making even a feeble attempt at remaining incognito. Geran appreciated that, and made a mental note to list it among the man's many virtues.
Raising his right hand and pointing toward the ceiling before the tavern owner could look away, the would-be stealthy King made a silent query. Is she here? was the unspoken question. It was not the first time that he had done thus. With a slightly darkened expression, Thomas responded with a stiff nod. He then, very deliberately, shifted all of his attention elsewhere. Geran was unsure as to whether he should laugh of sigh. It seemed that the old man, in spite of several attempted explanations, was still under the wrong impression concerning the nature of these visits. Ah, well, the man that was sometimes called 'Fireface' thought. It was not as if such a rumor could damage his reputation any further at this point. Making his silent and careful way across the room, pausing only for a moment to guide a particularly drunken patron from his path with a steady hand, he walked up the narrow little staircase at the rear of the tavern. At the top stood a sturdy looking wooden door. Geran knocked on its surface. Almost immediately, there came a loud pop, and then a heavy, wet thump from inside the room. This was followed closely by the sound of running feet as they hammered their way across from the furthest side of the building.
A woman answered the door. In another lifetime, she would have been quite pretty. In this one, however, her simple, blue dress was stained in a dozen spots, and covered with a leather apron. Her pale blonde hair was wild, tangled, and swirled about her head in a glorious display of disarray. A pair of brass-and-leather goggles hid away nearly half her face, leaving only her small, pink-lipped mouth, with its perfect white teeth, on display. Once upon a time, Geran might have been taken aback. That certainly was not the case anymore. He had known what to expect. In fact, the garish headgear had been a personal gift from him, given to her in the interest of protecting her eyes against her various, noxious hobbies.
"You!" The woman exclaimed. She was out of breath, her chest heaving. It occurred to Geran then that, perhaps, she was quite attractive in spite of her strange accessories.
"Me," the Battle King agreed. He wrinkled his nose then, reacting to the acrid smell that was following her through the doorway. "Everything okay, Eda?"
"No! I have to hurry!" Her blue eyes were wide and wild, and the lenses that covered them intensified the effect nearly tenfold. It was almost frightening. "I dropped it!"
"Dropped what?" Then, as if thinking better of the question, Geran grabbed her by her slender shoulders with his huge hands and turned her around. He pushed her back into the room ahead of himself. "No, never mind. I will help. You can explain when we've fixed it."
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"Crisis averted!" Eda proclaimed. A big smile split her face, now fully visible, and she all-but pranced away from one of her many tables. There were half a dozen long, sturdy tables that dominated the room in which they sat. Each of them held an impressive array of items, half of which Geran had no idea what were. Normally, he could smell herbs, potions, gunpowder and a hundred other things when he visited Eda. Today, however, it was all overshadowed by the acrid smell that still lingered about the room. Truth be told, he was not entirely sure which was worse.
Aside from the tables, there were three other pieces of furniture in the room. There was a small, disheveled bed tucked away in the furthest corner of the room. Several changes of clothing, most being simple dresses that matched the one that Eda already wore, were folded neatly and draped across the footboard. Two chairs were placed nearest the door. One was large and, while threadbare, nicely cushioned. It may have been white at one point in time, but it had become a filthy yellow. The other, which was smaller, harder, and the color of vomit, was Eda's favorite. Hence, Geran sat in the former. Eda herself, bearing two small cups of tea, handed one to Geran and held onto the other as she flopped down into her chair. An hour had passed since his arrival, and the two of them had spent it in a flurry of physical activity. There was a large scorch mark on the door. Dozens of deep, fresh gashes, which looked like claw marks, littered the floor. The tattered, stinking remains of Geran's shirt had been kicked into a faintly smoking pile beside the door.
“So it would seem,” Geran agreed. He took a sip of the tea, then, and savored the warmth for a moment before speaking again. “So, what would possess you to summon a Sleppy? I never took you for a demon worshiper, especially one so... “
“Revolting?” Eda finished his sentence for him. She did not do this because she knew him so well that she could do it often, but because there was ever an impatient eagerness about her. Often, in the time they had known one another, had she done such and been entirely wrong about what he had been about to say. It was embarrassing for her, but less so because of the casual manner in which he shrugged it off. Most people generally got somewhat offended, even when she was correct. Geran, on this day, simply grunted his affirmation. He had been about to say ‘disgusting,’ but revolting? That worked as well. The young woman shrugged in response to the query she had helped him complete. “I was curious. Even among demons, it is... pretty rare to find a creature with no redeeming attributes of any kind. I wanted to find out, you know, if maybe I could study its slime, or its insides, to find some hidden element within it that had some kind of medicinal properties. Or who knows what, you know? I quite honestly never expected it to be dangerous.“
This apparently tickled Geran’s sense of humor, and his booming laughter filled the rather large room. It irritated Eda at first. It was a reflex, that tiny well of anger that almost took shape just behind her eyes. She did not take well to being mocked at laughed at. However, she knew that there was nothing malicious in his laughter. In fact, it was quite funny, was it not? At length, his amusement caught in her, and the silvery, clear sound of her laughter laced itself together with his. When finally the began to be able to still themselves, he was the first to speak. Wiiping at his eyes, he said, “Eda, you are one of my dearest friends, and I love you. I‘ve got to say, though, that your ability to be both absolutely brilliant and completely dim witted in the same breath never ceases to amaze me.”
“Awww, that’s just what my father used to say!” Seemingly disinterested in the act of drinking, she placed the cup of tea that she had hardly yet touched on the floor beside the old, high backed chair in which she sat. Geran wondered if it would still be there the next time he came to visit. Even before the sleppy demon and the chaos that it had caused, the room that Eda inhabited was a cluttered and messy realm. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment as a new idea gripped her mind, she would walk away from something, like a misplaced teacup, and forget about it entirely until she either kicked it over or had it pointed out to her. Thomas, who had once lived in this very apartment when he had first moved into Keeper’s Gateway, made a point of visiting her once a week for exactly that purpose. She had lucked into this space, as she had arrived in town on the very day that the tavern owner finished removing his things to a house several blocks away. He had a certain philosophy about trying to not take his work home with him, and that was easier at a greater distance. Eda had heard about the available space, the rumors of what might be done with it, and had approached the old soldier with an offer he simply could not refuse. She shared with him a very special brewing process that she had personally developed, she claimed, during her time in the Southern Soldarian University, prior to being kicked one for taking far too many creative liberties with the chemical, alchemical, mystical, supernatural and biological lessons that they had taught her.
“So,” Eda prompted Geran, once again displaying her impatient nature. “What brings you here? Clairvoyance? Women’s intuition? I know you’re a man, and all, but being part Dryad...”
“Hush, you.” The Battle King snapped, his voice sharp, and furrowed his brow into his best imitation of his angry scowl. His hostess was less than impressed. She did not even favor him with the faintest hint of being unnerved. Instead, she stared at him, with a slight smile and the clear intention of paying attention to whatever he might say. A smile split his face, and he shook his head, shrugging. It occurred to him then that, if he did not begin speaking, she would assume that it was her turn again, and her likely subject of choice would be him making so many non-committal gestures in a row. “I needed a friendly ear, and I haven’t seen you in a month or better.”
“Oh! A friendly ear! We’re friends now, and you are going to metaphorically dump your problems on me!” Eda seemed genuinely surprised at this, and Geran wondered for a moment if she were about to ask him to leave. Had he presumed too much in coming to speak with her? Then she leaned forward, her expression attentive and a bit too eager. “Okay, I’m ready. Proceed.”
Again, where others might take offense, Geran found himself amused by Eda’s lack of social grace. She would, in his mind, forever on some levels be that same awkward young woman that had been trying to discuss, logically, the existence of multiple Gods to a pair of traveling priests. Unfortunately, the followers of Askig Scure were not a particularly open-minded lot. Their religion taught that theirs was the One God, the Eldest God, and that all others were pretenders. From demons lords to wizards that had traded their humanity to hell in exchange for increased powers, the ways in which the disciples of Askig Scure explained away these ‘false Gods’ followed a common, easy-to-follow theme. When Geran had intervened and spirited Eda away from the increasingly red-faced men, she had been innocently pointing out that Askig had not appeared in history until after the Breaking and could not likely claim to be one of the Elder Gods that were thought to have been involved in the world’s creation.
With that memory firmly in mind, Geran was able to begin his tale of a more recent, less pleasant story with a small, gentle smile on his lips. He began with what she knew. The revelation of his mixed parentage and the controversy surrounding that had become common knowledge in the few short days since his announcement. There had been some rumblings and rumors of discontent from the City Council, but for the most part, they seemed content to do as most of the citizens of Keeper’s Gateway were doing, which was lay low until the weather had let up. From there, he began to break new ground. He spoke of Vy Miegga, their short-lived relationship, and her extreme reaction to his revelation. That led him seamlessly into the situation that had arisen with Charis that morning.
What was it that made Eda so easily relatable? Geran often wondered. It was not a romantic attachment, or even a remotely sexual attraction. That was not the nature of their relationship, and besides, he had Charis. Perhaps it was because she, too, was an outsider. Like himself, and most of his customary companions, she was entirely another animal when compared to the average person. Sure, all of them had other friends, family, all of whom were supportive. This was a given. Still, they each stood out from the pack, either by nature or by deed. Geran was a dryad, certainly, but he was also the only male of their kind and that set him apart from the others, while being of their kind set him apart from most of the world at large. For Eda, it was her mind. It was powerful, intense, hungry and never, ever seemed to stop or even slow for a break. If she was sometimes several steps ahead of him, and sometimes spoke far above his head on a given subject, he simply appreciated the fact that at least he did not, ever, have to repeat himself to her.
When Geran reached the end of his tale, which was where he voiced his concerns over Charis’ state of mind and whether or not she had been tampered with by an outside power, he expected to have to wait while his friend considered her reaction. She did that, sometimes, sitting quietly for a too long moment as she gave careful thought to what she was about to say. This was not one of those times. “It is possible, you know. I trust your instincts, so I would go so far as to say that it is even likely. To answer your question, though, I haven’t the foggiest idea as to what it could be. Not that I can’t think of anything. I can. In spades. Off the top of my head, I can think of eleven natural predators, twenty-four common demons, and seventeen gods that derive their power from the psychic plane and would cause exactly the kind of behavior you described. In this apartment, not counting what I know I can find downstairs, I have eight... no, nine chemicals, and six herbs that can be used to do it, and that is without getting particularly creative in how they are applied.”
“Oooh!” Growing suddenly excited, she sat upright in her chair. Her eyes got wide, and were lit from within with curiosity and anticipation. “Maybe she is being blackmailed! I’ve never known somebody that was being blackmailed! I think.”
“I think I hate you.” Geran said in a flat tone. He did not mean it, of course. Still, she had learned enough of tact to at least try to appear sheepish. “I really do. Some help you are, Ms. Know-it-all.”
“Well,” she said, a bit cautiously, and giving him a speculative look. “I could give you my professional opinion. You may not like it, though. And it will cost you.”
“Hnh.” Discontent, but interested, he responded. “Name your price, woman.”
“Not the first time you’ve said that, I’m sure.” It was Geran’s turn to look a bit sheepish. His was a more earnest reaction, however. “I want some of those pastries that your friend, Kella, makes. Thomas is an excellent cook, but he doesn’t do sweet very well, and I haven’t been able to get up there to get them with the weather being the way it has been!”
A smile touched his face at the mention of Kella. The old woman could be a bit overbearing, but he liked her. That was why he had employed her, personally, and given her some authority over the serving staff inside the Keep. His smile grew, evolving into a bit of short-lived laughter as he readily agreed to Eda’s demands. “Very well. Speak your mind, then, friend. And rest assured that I will bring you your requested bounty on my next visit.”
“Alright then. But don’t say that I didn’t warn you!” The brilliant young woman admonished him. Geran was, for a moment, left wondering over what exactly he might have gotten himself into with this. It did not matter, he decided, without contemplation. An honest opinion was exactly what he had been looking for. Eda looked him squarely in the eye, and gave him exactly that. “The real reason you came here, I think, wasn’t at all to get an honest opinion. You wanted me to confirm what you were thinking, because demon-y stuff? You can deal with that. It isn’t as scary as the human-y relationship stuff that you’re still learning how to deal with again. So, what you really need to do is suck it up and go talk to her, fight it out if you have to, and figure this thing out, because it is really possible that this whole thing is just her being all human and freaking out because she’s confused and scared and has a bad case of cold feet.”
“Cold feet? I’ve given her no reason to mistrust or doubt me--”
“Now you’re getting back to one of those things that we both know. Because what you just said? That is a big, stinking, steaming pile of manure.”
“What?” Geran gaped at his friend as if she had grown another head. He had expected directness, to be sure, but perhaps not something quite so direct.
“Oh, come on. How could anyone mistrust you? It isn’t like you’re the biggest, baddest, most intimidating man in all of the Free Kingdoms. You’re a living legend. A walking, talking, mythological figure, and if you don’t like it, you should stop beating up on the heroes from my homeland!” She gave him her best scowl, which served to lighten the mood. Eda, a citizen of Soldaria, had been duly impressed when Geran had lain low the mighty Orun. Her one disappointment was that she had not been there to see the method which the Battle King had used to bring down the Lion. “And, well, you have a reputation, don’t you? I mean, Thomas has always taken me at my word, and he looks up to you like no other, but I don’t think he really believes me when I assure him that you and I are only friends, and that we don’t do a bunch of sexy things when we’re alone up here together.”
At length, Geran considered her words. He considered them carefully. A grim cast fell over his features. An incredibly huge portion of Eda’s social awkwardness came not from her inability to understand others, but from their inability to grasp what it was that made her tick. As clumsy as her words could at times be, and as poorly as she might deliver them when they were not, she often had good, strong insights into people and their motivations. She had read him quite well. He had been somewhat intent on having an answer from her that supported what he had wanted to hear. It said a great deal about her, and their friendship, that she was able to delve into that hidden, human corner of his intentions and in no way made him feel as if she were judging or thought less of him for it.
Finally, choosing to not comment on Thomas or his possible misperception, he said simply, “I had hope that she and I were beyond that already.”
“Some things don’t disappear overnight. That’s the problem with being a big jerk a lot before deciding to settle down. Sometimes it will take people time to come around,” the brilliant, if erratic and eccentric woman sitting before the Battle King gave him a smile and reached out to pat his knee. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but from the stiff set of her wrist and the quick, uncertain jerkiness with which she performed the little motion, it was clear that she was entirely uncertain as to whether or not it was appropriate. It was, in fact, fine with him, though it occurred to him that having her hands anywhere near his lap would only reinforce certain opinions if the owner of the tavern beneath them were to choose that moment to pay them a visit. “Really, Geran. If cold feet are the worst thing you have to deal with from her, then you are doing pretty well in my book. Especially given your ‘romantic’ history with... well, nearly every woman in the Keep besides me. And if it is something else, like some stupid sleppy-face decided to put a demonic charm on her, so much the better. I’d say you were luckier still.”
A moment of silence passed, and then Eda’s eyes widened. She was mortified. “That didn’t sound quite right. I mean, I didn’t mean... it wouldn’t be a good thing if that were the case, I just meant...”
“Hush, you.” The Battle King’ placed a hand over his friend’s, still on his knee, and gave it a squeeze. His smile helped her to relax from the small bout of panic that had set in on her for a moment. How could he get angry with her? There was not a malicious bone in her entire body, small though it was. “I know what you mean.”
"What if," he began, and then thought better of it. Seeing the slight frown on Eda's face, however, he knew that 'never mind' was not an option. Taking a long breath to steel himself, in much the same manner as he might before plunging into battle, he asked the question that had drifted to the forefront in his mind. "What if you are right, that this is a case of her being 'human-y,' but the problem is not temporary? If I only just discovered her, simply to lose her... "
"There you go, being a big, stupid jerk again."
"Pardon?"
"She loves you!" She declared, as if that explained everything. Did she not understand that, sometimes, things were more complicated than that? Apparently not, though she certainly seemed to be aware of the sentiment. The look in Geran's eyes made the statement before he could give it voice, and Eda rolled her eyes in response. Then she spoke, very slowly, as if she were explaining a fairly obvious fact for some poor fool that should have known better. "I've only ever seen the two of you together once, and even I know that you are her world. Whatever happens, you've got to have more faith in her than that. If this problem is hers, she will get through it. I promise. With your help, no doubt. And if it isn't, if it comes from some crazy outside source that falls into your particular realm of expertise, then you will kill it and everything will go back to normal. And, maybe, if both problems exist and they get tangled up into one huge, convoluted mess? Then you'll help each other through it. That's how these things work!"
"Hnh." Geran gazed at his friend for a long moment. Such optimism, such compassion, such intellect. If Charis were not in the picture, he realized for the first time, Eda might very well be. She was a woman like no other. He was lucky to call her his friend. "I will take your word for it."
"You better."
From that point forward, their conversation turned casually down different, less serious pathways. This happened not by any spoken agreement, but by the silent understanding that passed between the two of them that they had each had enough of this treacherous topic. Geran needed time, both to absorb his friend's advice and observations and to consider how to apply these things to his situation. He also needed distance, in order to consider it clearly. They spoke again of Orun the Untamed, the Lion of Soldaria, and of Kimera's efforts to restore the man that Geran had ruined. Was this wise? Eda had wondered. The Battle King had simply shrugged, and reminded her that he had won the fight. He would again, if he had to. Lost somewhere between being satisfied and being skeptical at that answer, the brilliant young woman had turned her comments toward Soldaria itself, her homeland. She talked of her mother and her long dead father, her precious pets, and the education that had been made available to her as a citizen. Geran agreed that public education was something that the Free Kingdoms should look into establishing, and had spoke, in turn, of what had been made available to him only through his father's status and money.
Hours later, when the conversation had run its course, Geran emerged from the door at the top of the stairs. Eda stood with him a moment, reminding him of his promise to bring her pastries on his next visit. They laughed together, and then she thanked him for his help in recapturing the sleppy creature. With that, she surprised him with a brief, tight hug, and then disappeared back into her room. Physical expressions of her feelings, or at least of affection, did not come naturally to this particular woman. After a moment, Geran turned away and descended the steps with a smile on his face. He was feeling far better than he had when he arrived. Keeping good company could have that effect on a person.
On his way down, just before he headed across the tavern floor to exit through the front door, Geran paused suddenly before the nearest table. He stared at the pair sitting there, and blinked slowly, several times. It seemed to him that he knew them, or should know of them somehow, but try as he might, he could not place them. A strange, mental blanket of fog seemed to roll in, obscuring whatever memory their faces were tickling. Any other time, when he was not tired and preoccupied with personal issues, he might have said that the effect seemed unnatural. It might have caused him to stay a moment longer, to apply his famously insurmountable will to piercing that strange barrier. This night, however, he was and he was, and therefore he did not.
"Need something friend?" The larger of the two people he was looking at asked. His voice came in an ugly rasp that made the ear want to recoil from the sound. There was something particularly odd about that one, from his darker-than-night eyes to the fact that he seemed strangely underdressed for the season. These facts, minor observations, leaked into Geran's mind, but did not sink in quite far enough.
"No, no." Geran shook his head. He was far too tired to try to piece together a puzzle he was not even sure existed. He had more important things to worry about, namely finding Charis in order to have a much-needed conversation with her. Failing that, he would simply rest, and delay the task until the morning. "I thought I saw somebody I knew. Have a good night."
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"You see?" Erek, nude save for the blackened lines that had been carved into his flesh on the night of his resurrection, chuckled a bit madly, unable to contain his mirth as he watched the Battle King move away from their table. It had taken his every effort to disguise himself and his companion from that one's gaze, and he was left giddy by the experience. "Four hours. You counted them yourself. What do you think he was doing up there, alone with her for so long? Asking for relationship advice? Heh!"
Charis did not answer. Numb and carefully neutral, she did not allow herself any reaction. This was one of those moments in her life where she knew she had to keep her composure. If she did not, nothing but red madness would follow. Quietly, deliberately, she took her thundering, raging emotions in hand and stuffed them down into the deepest pit of her belly, where no one but her could witness their fury. Try as she might, however, she could not hide all of that turmoil from the demon at her side. Certainly not, she reminded herself with a grim shudder, while she wore its mark on her body. It grinned at her, baring its pointed fangs. In the depths of its dark eyes, a bit of red flickered to life. The more terrible the emotion, the more it liked the taste.
Had this thing really been human, once?
"And for all his talk of how he cares for you, how he loves you, all it took was a small, mental suggestion from me to keep you entirely off of his radar. I didn't even have to try." It was a lie. Oh, what a lie. Meddling with even the barest portion of the King's mind had been a monumental task on a level of which he had not been expecting. Geran had actually reacted to his first suggestion, which had been so mild, so soft, that it was akin to simply brushing one's hand against a man's back to guide him in the proper direction. It was, Erek felt, a testament to the strength of his ever-growing powers that he had been able to recover himself and maintain his facade while the man's eyes had been on him.
"That is telling, don't you think?" The demon, which had once been but a hateful mercenary, asked this of his companion while exerting a small, mental tug that compelled her to answer.
"Yes." Head down, Charis hissed the answer through her teeth without looking at her captor.
That is what I hope to do, anyway. So, more DE on the way, folks!
This entry was not all written today. It was spread out over the course of the past month. It comes in at 5,952 words. I hope you enjoy it. I went in a far, far different direction than I had originally planned to go with this entry. Lol
Night fell early upon Keeper's Gateway. That thick, ever encroaching darkness was fed, nurtured, by the pregnant clouds overhead, and the ancient, imposing mountains that loomed on either side of the old fortress. Beyond the city, where the winter was not being kept at bay by the mystical tools that Geran had employed, had reached a depth that was nearly equal to the height of a grown man on horseback. Everyone knew that there would be no further travel in this season, except by emergency means, until the weather had cleared. If the situation became too dire, Geran had already made plans for evacuating the city under the protection of the mighty elven wizard, Ganatal. After all, this was the first true winter that the current residents had spent in Keeper’s Gateway, which had reopened but the year before amid a heap of climate changes brought on by that same wizard’s breaking of the chaotic magic that had claimed these lands for so many years. This year, with the snow and the bitter, bitter cold, the local weather patterns were actually shifting back toward what should be normal for the region.
Along a street that had been recently cleared of the accumulated snow, though more had already begun to collect upon it, a solitary figure strode toward his intended destination. His body language spoke of frustration, of a day spent in mental turmoil, and his attire, a heavy black cloak with a deep hood that was drawn forward over his face, spoke of a desire to remain at least somewhat anonymous. Of course, given his size, and the hint of red that was visible in the portion of his beard that remained exposed, it was not exactly difficult for anyone who looked closely to guess at his identity. Geran Fireface, the Battle King of Keeper's Gateway, was never an easy man to miss.
Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he ignored the handful-and-a-half of other people that had braved the weather and shared the street with him. Like any tried and true veteran of so many battles, he was aware of his surroundings, and those that populated them, if only peripherally. The bulk of his mind remained with Charis, his bride-to-be, and the strange sort of fight that they had had that morning. She had said things to him that had cut him to the quick, and although he suspected that she was for some reason not exactly in her right mind, he was only beginning to be able to reflect on what had happened without seeing it all through a familiar red haze. His temper was the stuff of legends. Quick to anger, impulsive, and as stubborn as the earth beneath his feet, Geran had carved himself a name and a myth early in his life, thanks mostly to luck and to his array of physical gifts that set him apart from most mortal warriors. Only in recent years had he, along with his enemies, come to learn that his mind was his greatest weapon yet. As he had learned discipline, so did he become ever more dangerous. It had taken a jaunt in another dimension, a higher plane of existence, to drive that point home for him. He had seen the potential that lay locked away within himself, and had returned with a new focus and outlook on life. Still, however, there were a hundred instances every day that tested his resolve. At times, he struggled mightily to maintain his composure. It just so happened that his bride-to-be, Charis, was of course one of the few people in the entire world with the power to circumvent all of the mental checks and defenses he had built for himself.
Ahead of him, just becoming visible through the swirling flurries of snow, Geran caught sight of a familiar sign. Welcome to Big Thom's Tavern, it read, and he sighed his relief to himself. At last. Hardier than most, the onslaught of winter was beginning to wear on him. The bitter, blowing coldness sank through his clothing and into his powerful limbs, where it became a dull, steady ache. Ready for some respite, and growing eager to see the person he had decided to visit, he hurried his steps. A moment later, he slipped into the door beneath the sign.
The inside of Big Thom's was nothing special. From the hard wood floors, to the paneled walls, to the scarred tables and the drunken clientele, it was exactly what one would expect to see when the word 'tavern' was mentioned. There was, however, one very specific difference, and that was Big Thom himself. He was a big, burly mountain of a man, with no hair and a white mustache, who pointedly preferred his given name, Thomas, and was not shy about telling people so. Sometimes, he would lend a hand and personally serve tables. Often, he would simply stop and speak with people, his conversation ranging from giving directions, politics, to telling tales of battles, both recent and long past. A personal favorite of his, of course, was the Battle for Keeper's Gateway. He was an old soldier, and had boldly come forward out of retirement to stand on the walls in what he had been certain was a futile effort to stem the flow of Kerim Thiathe's army into the Free Kingdoms of the North. With a voice that was gruff and full of passion, in tones so heartfelt that no Story Teller could hope to top, he would speak of the heroes who fell in that battle, those who survived, and, of course, of the Battle King, who had personally saved his life at least three times.
The old soldier in question caught sight of Geran as he entered the building. He raised one bushy, white eyebrow as he gave the cloak and deep hood image a once over, then simply nodded. That was a relief. There was little that happened in Big Thom's that Thomas missed, and he was certainly not fooled by the Battle King's non-disguise. However, as far as he was concerned, it was far from his place to out a guest who seemed to be making even a feeble attempt at remaining incognito. Geran appreciated that, and made a mental note to list it among the man's many virtues.
Raising his right hand and pointing toward the ceiling before the tavern owner could look away, the would-be stealthy King made a silent query. Is she here? was the unspoken question. It was not the first time that he had done thus. With a slightly darkened expression, Thomas responded with a stiff nod. He then, very deliberately, shifted all of his attention elsewhere. Geran was unsure as to whether he should laugh of sigh. It seemed that the old man, in spite of several attempted explanations, was still under the wrong impression concerning the nature of these visits. Ah, well, the man that was sometimes called 'Fireface' thought. It was not as if such a rumor could damage his reputation any further at this point. Making his silent and careful way across the room, pausing only for a moment to guide a particularly drunken patron from his path with a steady hand, he walked up the narrow little staircase at the rear of the tavern. At the top stood a sturdy looking wooden door. Geran knocked on its surface. Almost immediately, there came a loud pop, and then a heavy, wet thump from inside the room. This was followed closely by the sound of running feet as they hammered their way across from the furthest side of the building.
A woman answered the door. In another lifetime, she would have been quite pretty. In this one, however, her simple, blue dress was stained in a dozen spots, and covered with a leather apron. Her pale blonde hair was wild, tangled, and swirled about her head in a glorious display of disarray. A pair of brass-and-leather goggles hid away nearly half her face, leaving only her small, pink-lipped mouth, with its perfect white teeth, on display. Once upon a time, Geran might have been taken aback. That certainly was not the case anymore. He had known what to expect. In fact, the garish headgear had been a personal gift from him, given to her in the interest of protecting her eyes against her various, noxious hobbies.
"You!" The woman exclaimed. She was out of breath, her chest heaving. It occurred to Geran then that, perhaps, she was quite attractive in spite of her strange accessories.
"Me," the Battle King agreed. He wrinkled his nose then, reacting to the acrid smell that was following her through the doorway. "Everything okay, Eda?"
"No! I have to hurry!" Her blue eyes were wide and wild, and the lenses that covered them intensified the effect nearly tenfold. It was almost frightening. "I dropped it!"
"Dropped what?" Then, as if thinking better of the question, Geran grabbed her by her slender shoulders with his huge hands and turned her around. He pushed her back into the room ahead of himself. "No, never mind. I will help. You can explain when we've fixed it."
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"Crisis averted!" Eda proclaimed. A big smile split her face, now fully visible, and she all-but pranced away from one of her many tables. There were half a dozen long, sturdy tables that dominated the room in which they sat. Each of them held an impressive array of items, half of which Geran had no idea what were. Normally, he could smell herbs, potions, gunpowder and a hundred other things when he visited Eda. Today, however, it was all overshadowed by the acrid smell that still lingered about the room. Truth be told, he was not entirely sure which was worse.
Aside from the tables, there were three other pieces of furniture in the room. There was a small, disheveled bed tucked away in the furthest corner of the room. Several changes of clothing, most being simple dresses that matched the one that Eda already wore, were folded neatly and draped across the footboard. Two chairs were placed nearest the door. One was large and, while threadbare, nicely cushioned. It may have been white at one point in time, but it had become a filthy yellow. The other, which was smaller, harder, and the color of vomit, was Eda's favorite. Hence, Geran sat in the former. Eda herself, bearing two small cups of tea, handed one to Geran and held onto the other as she flopped down into her chair. An hour had passed since his arrival, and the two of them had spent it in a flurry of physical activity. There was a large scorch mark on the door. Dozens of deep, fresh gashes, which looked like claw marks, littered the floor. The tattered, stinking remains of Geran's shirt had been kicked into a faintly smoking pile beside the door.
“So it would seem,” Geran agreed. He took a sip of the tea, then, and savored the warmth for a moment before speaking again. “So, what would possess you to summon a Sleppy? I never took you for a demon worshiper, especially one so... “
“Revolting?” Eda finished his sentence for him. She did not do this because she knew him so well that she could do it often, but because there was ever an impatient eagerness about her. Often, in the time they had known one another, had she done such and been entirely wrong about what he had been about to say. It was embarrassing for her, but less so because of the casual manner in which he shrugged it off. Most people generally got somewhat offended, even when she was correct. Geran, on this day, simply grunted his affirmation. He had been about to say ‘disgusting,’ but revolting? That worked as well. The young woman shrugged in response to the query she had helped him complete. “I was curious. Even among demons, it is... pretty rare to find a creature with no redeeming attributes of any kind. I wanted to find out, you know, if maybe I could study its slime, or its insides, to find some hidden element within it that had some kind of medicinal properties. Or who knows what, you know? I quite honestly never expected it to be dangerous.“
This apparently tickled Geran’s sense of humor, and his booming laughter filled the rather large room. It irritated Eda at first. It was a reflex, that tiny well of anger that almost took shape just behind her eyes. She did not take well to being mocked at laughed at. However, she knew that there was nothing malicious in his laughter. In fact, it was quite funny, was it not? At length, his amusement caught in her, and the silvery, clear sound of her laughter laced itself together with his. When finally the began to be able to still themselves, he was the first to speak. Wiiping at his eyes, he said, “Eda, you are one of my dearest friends, and I love you. I‘ve got to say, though, that your ability to be both absolutely brilliant and completely dim witted in the same breath never ceases to amaze me.”
“Awww, that’s just what my father used to say!” Seemingly disinterested in the act of drinking, she placed the cup of tea that she had hardly yet touched on the floor beside the old, high backed chair in which she sat. Geran wondered if it would still be there the next time he came to visit. Even before the sleppy demon and the chaos that it had caused, the room that Eda inhabited was a cluttered and messy realm. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment as a new idea gripped her mind, she would walk away from something, like a misplaced teacup, and forget about it entirely until she either kicked it over or had it pointed out to her. Thomas, who had once lived in this very apartment when he had first moved into Keeper’s Gateway, made a point of visiting her once a week for exactly that purpose. She had lucked into this space, as she had arrived in town on the very day that the tavern owner finished removing his things to a house several blocks away. He had a certain philosophy about trying to not take his work home with him, and that was easier at a greater distance. Eda had heard about the available space, the rumors of what might be done with it, and had approached the old soldier with an offer he simply could not refuse. She shared with him a very special brewing process that she had personally developed, she claimed, during her time in the Southern Soldarian University, prior to being kicked one for taking far too many creative liberties with the chemical, alchemical, mystical, supernatural and biological lessons that they had taught her.
“So,” Eda prompted Geran, once again displaying her impatient nature. “What brings you here? Clairvoyance? Women’s intuition? I know you’re a man, and all, but being part Dryad...”
“Hush, you.” The Battle King snapped, his voice sharp, and furrowed his brow into his best imitation of his angry scowl. His hostess was less than impressed. She did not even favor him with the faintest hint of being unnerved. Instead, she stared at him, with a slight smile and the clear intention of paying attention to whatever he might say. A smile split his face, and he shook his head, shrugging. It occurred to him then that, if he did not begin speaking, she would assume that it was her turn again, and her likely subject of choice would be him making so many non-committal gestures in a row. “I needed a friendly ear, and I haven’t seen you in a month or better.”
“Oh! A friendly ear! We’re friends now, and you are going to metaphorically dump your problems on me!” Eda seemed genuinely surprised at this, and Geran wondered for a moment if she were about to ask him to leave. Had he presumed too much in coming to speak with her? Then she leaned forward, her expression attentive and a bit too eager. “Okay, I’m ready. Proceed.”
Again, where others might take offense, Geran found himself amused by Eda’s lack of social grace. She would, in his mind, forever on some levels be that same awkward young woman that had been trying to discuss, logically, the existence of multiple Gods to a pair of traveling priests. Unfortunately, the followers of Askig Scure were not a particularly open-minded lot. Their religion taught that theirs was the One God, the Eldest God, and that all others were pretenders. From demons lords to wizards that had traded their humanity to hell in exchange for increased powers, the ways in which the disciples of Askig Scure explained away these ‘false Gods’ followed a common, easy-to-follow theme. When Geran had intervened and spirited Eda away from the increasingly red-faced men, she had been innocently pointing out that Askig had not appeared in history until after the Breaking and could not likely claim to be one of the Elder Gods that were thought to have been involved in the world’s creation.
With that memory firmly in mind, Geran was able to begin his tale of a more recent, less pleasant story with a small, gentle smile on his lips. He began with what she knew. The revelation of his mixed parentage and the controversy surrounding that had become common knowledge in the few short days since his announcement. There had been some rumblings and rumors of discontent from the City Council, but for the most part, they seemed content to do as most of the citizens of Keeper’s Gateway were doing, which was lay low until the weather had let up. From there, he began to break new ground. He spoke of Vy Miegga, their short-lived relationship, and her extreme reaction to his revelation. That led him seamlessly into the situation that had arisen with Charis that morning.
What was it that made Eda so easily relatable? Geran often wondered. It was not a romantic attachment, or even a remotely sexual attraction. That was not the nature of their relationship, and besides, he had Charis. Perhaps it was because she, too, was an outsider. Like himself, and most of his customary companions, she was entirely another animal when compared to the average person. Sure, all of them had other friends, family, all of whom were supportive. This was a given. Still, they each stood out from the pack, either by nature or by deed. Geran was a dryad, certainly, but he was also the only male of their kind and that set him apart from the others, while being of their kind set him apart from most of the world at large. For Eda, it was her mind. It was powerful, intense, hungry and never, ever seemed to stop or even slow for a break. If she was sometimes several steps ahead of him, and sometimes spoke far above his head on a given subject, he simply appreciated the fact that at least he did not, ever, have to repeat himself to her.
When Geran reached the end of his tale, which was where he voiced his concerns over Charis’ state of mind and whether or not she had been tampered with by an outside power, he expected to have to wait while his friend considered her reaction. She did that, sometimes, sitting quietly for a too long moment as she gave careful thought to what she was about to say. This was not one of those times. “It is possible, you know. I trust your instincts, so I would go so far as to say that it is even likely. To answer your question, though, I haven’t the foggiest idea as to what it could be. Not that I can’t think of anything. I can. In spades. Off the top of my head, I can think of eleven natural predators, twenty-four common demons, and seventeen gods that derive their power from the psychic plane and would cause exactly the kind of behavior you described. In this apartment, not counting what I know I can find downstairs, I have eight... no, nine chemicals, and six herbs that can be used to do it, and that is without getting particularly creative in how they are applied.”
“Oooh!” Growing suddenly excited, she sat upright in her chair. Her eyes got wide, and were lit from within with curiosity and anticipation. “Maybe she is being blackmailed! I’ve never known somebody that was being blackmailed! I think.”
“I think I hate you.” Geran said in a flat tone. He did not mean it, of course. Still, she had learned enough of tact to at least try to appear sheepish. “I really do. Some help you are, Ms. Know-it-all.”
“Well,” she said, a bit cautiously, and giving him a speculative look. “I could give you my professional opinion. You may not like it, though. And it will cost you.”
“Hnh.” Discontent, but interested, he responded. “Name your price, woman.”
“Not the first time you’ve said that, I’m sure.” It was Geran’s turn to look a bit sheepish. His was a more earnest reaction, however. “I want some of those pastries that your friend, Kella, makes. Thomas is an excellent cook, but he doesn’t do sweet very well, and I haven’t been able to get up there to get them with the weather being the way it has been!”
A smile touched his face at the mention of Kella. The old woman could be a bit overbearing, but he liked her. That was why he had employed her, personally, and given her some authority over the serving staff inside the Keep. His smile grew, evolving into a bit of short-lived laughter as he readily agreed to Eda’s demands. “Very well. Speak your mind, then, friend. And rest assured that I will bring you your requested bounty on my next visit.”
“Alright then. But don’t say that I didn’t warn you!” The brilliant young woman admonished him. Geran was, for a moment, left wondering over what exactly he might have gotten himself into with this. It did not matter, he decided, without contemplation. An honest opinion was exactly what he had been looking for. Eda looked him squarely in the eye, and gave him exactly that. “The real reason you came here, I think, wasn’t at all to get an honest opinion. You wanted me to confirm what you were thinking, because demon-y stuff? You can deal with that. It isn’t as scary as the human-y relationship stuff that you’re still learning how to deal with again. So, what you really need to do is suck it up and go talk to her, fight it out if you have to, and figure this thing out, because it is really possible that this whole thing is just her being all human and freaking out because she’s confused and scared and has a bad case of cold feet.”
“Cold feet? I’ve given her no reason to mistrust or doubt me--”
“Now you’re getting back to one of those things that we both know. Because what you just said? That is a big, stinking, steaming pile of manure.”
“What?” Geran gaped at his friend as if she had grown another head. He had expected directness, to be sure, but perhaps not something quite so direct.
“Oh, come on. How could anyone mistrust you? It isn’t like you’re the biggest, baddest, most intimidating man in all of the Free Kingdoms. You’re a living legend. A walking, talking, mythological figure, and if you don’t like it, you should stop beating up on the heroes from my homeland!” She gave him her best scowl, which served to lighten the mood. Eda, a citizen of Soldaria, had been duly impressed when Geran had lain low the mighty Orun. Her one disappointment was that she had not been there to see the method which the Battle King had used to bring down the Lion. “And, well, you have a reputation, don’t you? I mean, Thomas has always taken me at my word, and he looks up to you like no other, but I don’t think he really believes me when I assure him that you and I are only friends, and that we don’t do a bunch of sexy things when we’re alone up here together.”
At length, Geran considered her words. He considered them carefully. A grim cast fell over his features. An incredibly huge portion of Eda’s social awkwardness came not from her inability to understand others, but from their inability to grasp what it was that made her tick. As clumsy as her words could at times be, and as poorly as she might deliver them when they were not, she often had good, strong insights into people and their motivations. She had read him quite well. He had been somewhat intent on having an answer from her that supported what he had wanted to hear. It said a great deal about her, and their friendship, that she was able to delve into that hidden, human corner of his intentions and in no way made him feel as if she were judging or thought less of him for it.
Finally, choosing to not comment on Thomas or his possible misperception, he said simply, “I had hope that she and I were beyond that already.”
“Some things don’t disappear overnight. That’s the problem with being a big jerk a lot before deciding to settle down. Sometimes it will take people time to come around,” the brilliant, if erratic and eccentric woman sitting before the Battle King gave him a smile and reached out to pat his knee. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but from the stiff set of her wrist and the quick, uncertain jerkiness with which she performed the little motion, it was clear that she was entirely uncertain as to whether or not it was appropriate. It was, in fact, fine with him, though it occurred to him that having her hands anywhere near his lap would only reinforce certain opinions if the owner of the tavern beneath them were to choose that moment to pay them a visit. “Really, Geran. If cold feet are the worst thing you have to deal with from her, then you are doing pretty well in my book. Especially given your ‘romantic’ history with... well, nearly every woman in the Keep besides me. And if it is something else, like some stupid sleppy-face decided to put a demonic charm on her, so much the better. I’d say you were luckier still.”
A moment of silence passed, and then Eda’s eyes widened. She was mortified. “That didn’t sound quite right. I mean, I didn’t mean... it wouldn’t be a good thing if that were the case, I just meant...”
“Hush, you.” The Battle King’ placed a hand over his friend’s, still on his knee, and gave it a squeeze. His smile helped her to relax from the small bout of panic that had set in on her for a moment. How could he get angry with her? There was not a malicious bone in her entire body, small though it was. “I know what you mean.”
"What if," he began, and then thought better of it. Seeing the slight frown on Eda's face, however, he knew that 'never mind' was not an option. Taking a long breath to steel himself, in much the same manner as he might before plunging into battle, he asked the question that had drifted to the forefront in his mind. "What if you are right, that this is a case of her being 'human-y,' but the problem is not temporary? If I only just discovered her, simply to lose her... "
"There you go, being a big, stupid jerk again."
"Pardon?"
"She loves you!" She declared, as if that explained everything. Did she not understand that, sometimes, things were more complicated than that? Apparently not, though she certainly seemed to be aware of the sentiment. The look in Geran's eyes made the statement before he could give it voice, and Eda rolled her eyes in response. Then she spoke, very slowly, as if she were explaining a fairly obvious fact for some poor fool that should have known better. "I've only ever seen the two of you together once, and even I know that you are her world. Whatever happens, you've got to have more faith in her than that. If this problem is hers, she will get through it. I promise. With your help, no doubt. And if it isn't, if it comes from some crazy outside source that falls into your particular realm of expertise, then you will kill it and everything will go back to normal. And, maybe, if both problems exist and they get tangled up into one huge, convoluted mess? Then you'll help each other through it. That's how these things work!"
"Hnh." Geran gazed at his friend for a long moment. Such optimism, such compassion, such intellect. If Charis were not in the picture, he realized for the first time, Eda might very well be. She was a woman like no other. He was lucky to call her his friend. "I will take your word for it."
"You better."
From that point forward, their conversation turned casually down different, less serious pathways. This happened not by any spoken agreement, but by the silent understanding that passed between the two of them that they had each had enough of this treacherous topic. Geran needed time, both to absorb his friend's advice and observations and to consider how to apply these things to his situation. He also needed distance, in order to consider it clearly. They spoke again of Orun the Untamed, the Lion of Soldaria, and of Kimera's efforts to restore the man that Geran had ruined. Was this wise? Eda had wondered. The Battle King had simply shrugged, and reminded her that he had won the fight. He would again, if he had to. Lost somewhere between being satisfied and being skeptical at that answer, the brilliant young woman had turned her comments toward Soldaria itself, her homeland. She talked of her mother and her long dead father, her precious pets, and the education that had been made available to her as a citizen. Geran agreed that public education was something that the Free Kingdoms should look into establishing, and had spoke, in turn, of what had been made available to him only through his father's status and money.
Hours later, when the conversation had run its course, Geran emerged from the door at the top of the stairs. Eda stood with him a moment, reminding him of his promise to bring her pastries on his next visit. They laughed together, and then she thanked him for his help in recapturing the sleppy creature. With that, she surprised him with a brief, tight hug, and then disappeared back into her room. Physical expressions of her feelings, or at least of affection, did not come naturally to this particular woman. After a moment, Geran turned away and descended the steps with a smile on his face. He was feeling far better than he had when he arrived. Keeping good company could have that effect on a person.
On his way down, just before he headed across the tavern floor to exit through the front door, Geran paused suddenly before the nearest table. He stared at the pair sitting there, and blinked slowly, several times. It seemed to him that he knew them, or should know of them somehow, but try as he might, he could not place them. A strange, mental blanket of fog seemed to roll in, obscuring whatever memory their faces were tickling. Any other time, when he was not tired and preoccupied with personal issues, he might have said that the effect seemed unnatural. It might have caused him to stay a moment longer, to apply his famously insurmountable will to piercing that strange barrier. This night, however, he was and he was, and therefore he did not.
"Need something friend?" The larger of the two people he was looking at asked. His voice came in an ugly rasp that made the ear want to recoil from the sound. There was something particularly odd about that one, from his darker-than-night eyes to the fact that he seemed strangely underdressed for the season. These facts, minor observations, leaked into Geran's mind, but did not sink in quite far enough.
"No, no." Geran shook his head. He was far too tired to try to piece together a puzzle he was not even sure existed. He had more important things to worry about, namely finding Charis in order to have a much-needed conversation with her. Failing that, he would simply rest, and delay the task until the morning. "I thought I saw somebody I knew. Have a good night."
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"You see?" Erek, nude save for the blackened lines that had been carved into his flesh on the night of his resurrection, chuckled a bit madly, unable to contain his mirth as he watched the Battle King move away from their table. It had taken his every effort to disguise himself and his companion from that one's gaze, and he was left giddy by the experience. "Four hours. You counted them yourself. What do you think he was doing up there, alone with her for so long? Asking for relationship advice? Heh!"
Charis did not answer. Numb and carefully neutral, she did not allow herself any reaction. This was one of those moments in her life where she knew she had to keep her composure. If she did not, nothing but red madness would follow. Quietly, deliberately, she took her thundering, raging emotions in hand and stuffed them down into the deepest pit of her belly, where no one but her could witness their fury. Try as she might, however, she could not hide all of that turmoil from the demon at her side. Certainly not, she reminded herself with a grim shudder, while she wore its mark on her body. It grinned at her, baring its pointed fangs. In the depths of its dark eyes, a bit of red flickered to life. The more terrible the emotion, the more it liked the taste.
Had this thing really been human, once?
"And for all his talk of how he cares for you, how he loves you, all it took was a small, mental suggestion from me to keep you entirely off of his radar. I didn't even have to try." It was a lie. Oh, what a lie. Meddling with even the barest portion of the King's mind had been a monumental task on a level of which he had not been expecting. Geran had actually reacted to his first suggestion, which had been so mild, so soft, that it was akin to simply brushing one's hand against a man's back to guide him in the proper direction. It was, Erek felt, a testament to the strength of his ever-growing powers that he had been able to recover himself and maintain his facade while the man's eyes had been on him.
"That is telling, don't you think?" The demon, which had once been but a hateful mercenary, asked this of his companion while exerting a small, mental tug that compelled her to answer.
"Yes." Head down, Charis hissed the answer through her teeth without looking at her captor.