Chapter 99: Volume 2 Epilogue: Fancy

Epilogue - Fancy

“… Anything I could ever want, was it?”

Odain leaned in. “Anything money can buy,” he said. He placed his arms on the table. A scarred surface with chipped edges. Features one would expect from a retired soldier, not a table in a tavern. Vulgar words filled the air. The smell of liquor and unwashed sweat mingled. Dice rolled on tables and worn playing cards were slapped down. A number of chairs were tipped over. No one cared to pick them up. Some drunks slept in them, backs to the floor and legs in the air.

Aarondel Caranel stared at the flask in his hands. He took a large swig and slammed the thing down, adding to the table's many bruises. Droplets rolled down the sides of his lips. Shabby lamps on a table here and there made the liquid seem amber in color. The black haired youth pulled out a coin from his pocket. A copper quarter. Worth only a sip of ale or a one day old loaf of bread. He turned to face the bar where a plump and aging woman smiled timidly at limp attempts to woo her by men twice her age but similar in size. Aarondel threw the coin at the nearest man leaning over the bar counter. He was taking a drink from a bottle when the coin struck the rear of his head. The man choked on his drink and slammed the bottle down against the counter.

“Which Ashborn threw that?” the man hissed as he turned, alcoholic spittle flying out of his mouth and getting caught in an absurdly long beard.

“Ooh, the tough guy act,” said a scarred fatter man beside him. This one had a number of knives on his belt. “You ain't wooing no one with those limp arms o'yours. And I mean all three of 'em.”

The bearded man smashed his bottle, spilling drink on his clothes, the counter, and the floor. He stabbed the fatter man's arm with the improvised shank.

A fight broke out.

Odain ground his teeth. A disgusting place with disgusting people. He wanted to be in this hell hole no longer. Kovar was once a spot of beauty and relaxation when under Theodore Coraine's rule. A year under pirates and this is what had become of it. “Your answer, boy?” Odain demanded, finger!ng a Gatestone in his pocket.

Aarondel crossed his arms, keeping a wary eye on the chaos behind him. Glass shattered. Chair legs were used as clubs. Knives came out and wrestling matches tipped over tables full of food. “I don't like it here. Everything is broken. The tables. The chairs. The bottles. Flames. Even the women. Anything new arriving is used and damaged before a tenth of the first night ends. You're saying, I can leave this Ash blessed pig pen, and become a Lord just like that. An all I gotta do is follow you?”

“Land of your own,” Odain said. “Manors of your own. Civil people to revere you. Soldiers to obey you. Food you've only dreamt of. Drink you'd never taste here. C—”

“Not sure about that one. Plenty of worldly drinks down here.” Aarondel took another sip. A bottle flew over his shoulder, making him jump.

Odain twitched. He wasn't fond of being interrupted. “An exception then. But Red Vine, the chief town of your rule, is known for its wines. And lastly of course, expensive courtesans to make yours.”

The boy downed the rest of what he was drinking. He leaned in, eyes glimmering with candle light. “Is that right? And what do you get out of the deal, mister…”

“Odain.”

“Right. Odain. We pirates are hoarders you see. What you're offering, it's great and all. But what am I trading away for something so sweet?”

Odain stifled a smirk. He had Aarondel where he wanted. Scourge like these were easy to please. Life spent trudging through dregs and all they cared about was themselves. They were wary, of course, of having their hard stolen belongings stolen away, but they would jump towards the next best opportunity. Whoresons who'd never evolved beyond animal senses. Shiny and pleasurable objects are all that drove them. “You are the only living heir of High House Caranel. What I get is security in Xenaria's northern regions. And an ally. Simply put, if I ask for you to do something, you will do it. Naturally, I will never ask for absurdities that would disorient your elegant living conditions.”

“Absur what now? Quit it with the rich folk language,” Aarondel said, frowning and waving his hand as if swatting at a fly. “Or I might just decide to rob you instead. Speaking like that 'round here ain't much different than pulling jingling pants down for a piss. If the pockets are full, we'll take it no matter the situation.”

Crude analogy, but somewhat amusing. There was a type of literacy among scavengers. They had fancy sayings for almost any scenario. Not the fancy civilized people would imagine. But a different kind. Fancy, after all, had a subjective definition when applied. Odain wrinkled his nose. He watched a fist fly into a mouth and teeth shards fly out. A bar stool was smashed on a thick arm. The stool broke rather than the arm. The plump barkeeper had her face covered, fingers spread for a single eye to peek through and lips mumbling what appeared to be pagan prayers.

Fancy or not, it was animalistic, and thus classified as illiterate. “Will you come, or won't you?” Odain asked, growing increasingly nauseous in this environment.

“You mean, will I come or will I be dragged like a dog? I've been around enough bags to know which ones full of dust and which one's full of stone. Your eyes are made of stone. Jagged and sharp and entirely unfit to throw punches at.”

“Intuitive. A good trait for a lord,” Odain praised. Aarondel had him fixed with a spiteful glare. He was considering killing. No one would question a death while chaos reigned. Flames. No one would question a dead body on this Goddess forsaken island.

“I'll come,” the youth finally said. He slowly stood. The chaos in the room quieted for a moment. A few pairs of eyes turned his way. But he made for the door —which was cracked at the knob and hung from a single hinge, pushed it aside and headed out into the night.

Chaos resumed in earnest.

Odain rose to get up as well, clicking his tongue at his liquor stained boots. Lavish black boots once belonging to Madrivall Aegis. He buttoned up the front of his dirty brown coat —he'd needed some cover to approach a place like this conspicuously— and headed out as well. Aarondel was staring at the three moons in the sky. Three crescents, Leona's smile greater and wider than her sisters. “Reach the mainland with whatever vessel you wish. Head for the port town of Assak. I'll have an escort awaiting you there.”

Aarondel raised a brow. “Why can't I take whatever vessel you've arrived on?” Odain near clicked his tongue again. He couldn't well explain Chronary and Gatestones to a complete stranger. He needed to return to Emeria. He hadn't yet tested whether the Crown of Control's captivity worked from extreme distances. “Hold on,” the youth continued. “I didn't hear of any vessels arriving to the island recently. How long have you been here?”

Odain narrowed his eyes. Didn't hear? So the boy had some degree of influence around here. Though, he seemed hardly into his late teens at best. Maybe not entirely animalistic. Better to be wary of him than regret it later. Some scoundrels evolved to attain cunning and ambition after all. “I've some other business. Assak, Lord Caranel. From there, you will be taken to the capital. We will meet again th—”

Aarondel gripped Odain's arm and pulled him in close. “If I smell even a hint of a trap—”

“Trap?” Odain scowled. Strangely, the boy's breath didn't reek of alcohol. “You aren't important enough to be singled out for a trap. But your father was highborn enough for me to seek you out at the least. Remember, boy. I'm granting you this power. I can easily take it away.” He grabbed Aarondel's wrist with his free hand and squeezed hard.

The youth pulled away. “So you aren't all words,” he grumbled. His gaze was drawn by a flame haired woman who stomped down the dreary street and entered the tavern from where Odain had just left.

“An acquaintance?”

“Ac what now?”

“Someone you know,” Odain reiterated while rolling his eyes. Could this beast even read? No matter, someone would do that for him until he was taught how.

“No,” Aarondel said. Screaming erupted from within the tavern. The wrathful shrieking of a woman silenced all others. “Assak? The one much farther west than Qalydon, right? I'll be there soon enough. This escort, how do I recognize them?”

“They'll be wearing robes with a three petal flower on it. The only ones. Someone intuitive like you won't miss it.”

Aarondel grunted, sticking both hands in his coat pockets and walking down towards the harbor where dozens of vessels of varying sizes were moored.

Odain slipped into an alley and snapped a Gatestone. The pale blue circle appeared shortly after, showing an image of the queen's quarters. He stepped inside. Emeria was sleeping, silver crown still on her head, and lines of dried salt on her cheeks.

Odain slipped out of the room. Everything was clicking together so fancily.