Heroes of Veritas: Bardic Inspiration (Book 2)

Chapter Twenty: My Mama Don't Like You

With the distraction called Ellie gone from the guild hall for the day, Ian felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Though he knew that he’d done nothing wrong, he couldn’t help but feel just a little guilty whenever she was around. Guilty, and at the same time wary. She was far pricklier in this world than she’d ever been in their previous life. Elise might look soft and sweet, but under that people pleasing exterior was a hard edge of biting sarcasm and a flash pan temper. It was no wonder that she and Moltar got along the way they did; they were more alike than either would ever admit.

In the end, one weight got lifted only to have another added, as with Elise away that also meant that some of her work got shifted to his shoulders. Moltar slapped a stack of papers onto the guild commander’s desk, looking frustrated.

“We really need to make some movement on hiring these trainers. I think I finally found someone to be our swordmaster, but we need a master archer. Elise keeps saying she has someone, but she keeps putting it off.” Moltar grumbled. “So, I pulled the latest ads. We should go through them, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The pair looked over the stack of advertisements, debating over the various candidates, until they’d separated the wheat from the chaff. Then, they each picked their favorite. It turned out, they both liked the same candidate best.

“All right.” Ian said, smiling faintly down at the ad in his hand. “Let’s check this one out first. I have a good feeling about it, and Appleton is pretty close to here.”

Ian and Moltar made the short ride over to Appleton at a relaxed pace. It felt good to get out of the guild hall; he was starting to worry that his chair might start molding to the shape of his ass. Speaking of, he really needed to hit the training grounds if he wanted to keep his rear in reasonable shape. Maybe after this he’d convince Moltar to do some sparring.

Ian hitched Snowball up to a post outside of a cozy looking inn and tavern. The sign that hung above the door featured an old, cheerful looking monk brandishing two flagons of ale - one in each hand. Moltar looked up at the sign with a vague expression of trepidation on his face, which made Ian hesitate to go in.

“The Drunk Monk, eh? This place feels kinda familiar,”  the paladin said, giving his horse a pat. “Have we been here before?”

“I haven’t…” Moltar replied, looking like he was trying to place where he’d heard of the tavern himself. After a few seconds, he shrugged. “I dunno. The guildies probably come here sometimes.”

Ian pushed his way in through the tavern door, looking around, his customary faint smile coloring his expression as he took the place in. It was as cozy inside as it was outside, with a number of tables arranged around a small platform stage which was presently unoccupied. It was clean, warm, and had the feel of a friendly neighborhood bar with rosy cheeked bar maids going from table to table with pitchers and an equally hospitable looking old man - probably the aforementioned drunk monk himself - manning the bar. It wasn’t terribly busy, but a number of adventurer types were already seated and enjoying an early lunch.

The old monk behind the long, curved, polished wood bar perked up when the commander and his second entered, smiling for a brief moment before his face darkened. He leaned forward to the two people seated at the bar in front of him, whispering something that Ian couldn’t hear - though he could tell from how the old man was glaring and slowly turning more red that it wasn’t anything good.

The two people at the bar looked like adventurers; rangers, Ian thought. The first was a man with a weathered face, stubbly chin, squinting brown eyes, and reddish brown hair that fell to his shoulders. He wore a deep burgundy cloak and brown pants, and had a short sword on his hip. The man looked over his shoulder, snorted a little, then shook his head.

The woman next to him was tall, with long legs encased tight black leather pants and boots. She wore a high-necked vest-like black and green top that tied in the front, but no shirt under it, leaving her muscular arms exposed. She had wavy black hair that was shaved on one side and braided down the edge of the shaved section. When she turned in her barstool to look at the newcomers, she grinned, and he could see the distinctive gold scratch that cut across one of her eerily familiar almond shaped green eyes.

“Well, well, well...what do we have here.” the black ranger said, grinning at the paladin and his oathbreaker friend like the cat that was about to get the canary.

“Er...does my reputation precede me…?” Ian asked, instantly feeling intimidation wash over him.

“Give the boy a break, Darrie.” rumbled a smoky voice. It was the man next to her, who spoke. “At least let him say what he’s here for.”

“Are you Darien of the Golden Fletchings?” Ian asked, brightening up a little. “I was hoping to speak to you. I’m Astredian Lionette, Guild Commander of the Dire Beavers.”

“I know who you are, son.” Darien said, spitting out the last word like it was an insult. “What do you want?”

Seeing that Ian was now at a bit of a loss, Moltar stepped up. He was not particularly charismatic, but since Ian was floundering he felt compelled to step in. “We’re looking for an archery master. We saw your ad on the market board, and were hoping to hire you…”

Darien laughed. It was a full bellied laugh, and she even slapped her knee a few times. The burgundy cloaked ranger smirked a little himself, chortling. Moltar and Ian glanced at each other, waiting for the strange woman to stop laughing, feeling increasingly confused. These strangers clearly knew something which the guild leaders did not.

Darien eventually stopped laughing, wiping away a tear that had gathered at the corner of her eyes. After taking a long breath, she said, “No. And none of my people will help you, either. f**k the f**k off, little boy, before I kick your pansy ass.”

Then, the old man behind the bar popped up, pointing at them with his long stick. “...And don’t ever come back! You’re barred!”

The old monk came at them then, nearly flying over the bar. Before either man had a chance to react, they’d been forcefully expelled from the bar by the end of his jabbing bo staff.

“Hey-HEY! What in the void?!” Moltar shouted as he stumbled out the door of the tavern, nearly falling face first into the dirt road it sat on.

Ian turned about to try and say something, and flinched back when the door of the tavern slammed in his face. “I have...no idea.”

A few minutes later, as the two men were arguing about whose fault this was, the burgundy cloaked ranger stepped out of the tavern. He leaned on one of the nearby posts as he withdrew a long pipe from inside his cloak.

“You know, son, if you really wanted Darien as your archery master you should have just let Ellie ask.” the man said as he lit his pipe. Ian and Moltar paused in their argument to look at the man, who smiled wryly at them before puffing on his pipe a bit. “Darrie might not like you, but she loves her daughter.”

Ian’s expression fell, “Daughter?”

“Damn it. I knew I heard of that place before...” Moltar said, not for the first time since they got back to the guild hall.

“By her people...did she mean all the Golden Fletchings? Does this mean we won’t be able to hire anyone to be our archery master?” Ian said, groaning as he sat heavily in the chair behind his desk. “Damn it. This is why we have a no guildies rule, Moltar. This is shit.”

Moltar frowned, and shook his head. “There have to be other archery masters we can hire. Maybe Elise can smooth things over with her Mom when she gets back.”

“That woman hates me. Even the old monk was pissed. Did you see his face? It was purple! What the hell did Elise tell them happened between us?” Ian said, growling a little at the end.

“No idea.” Moltar said, crossing his arms over his chest, pacing back and forth across the paladin’s study as he glowered at nothing in particular. “We can’t do anything about that, anyway. But you...you have to get a handle on your past. We could have saved some trouble and walked away if you’d recognized them. They obviously knew you. You must have met them before.”

Ian growled, and swept some of the things from his desk onto the floor in frustration. He knew that Moltar was right, though he was still pissed that Elise threw him under the bus. Then, his eyes fell on one of the only things that hadn’t gotten knocked off his desktop - a box with a velvety red ribbon wrapped around it.

“Fine.” Ian said, his voice flat. His breathing, which had grown harsh with his rising temper, slowed as he made a decision. “I’ll work on the memory thing.”