2.2 Preparations
Zevran got ready for the combat training. He put his trousers and shirt on, laced his boots . Finally he took the gloves in his hands and thoughtfully looked at them for a moment: Unadorned, but well worked, made of soft leather. He ran the thumb down the side seam. Last night he had dreamed of his mother's gloves. Once again... As he stepped out of the room, Goisar passed by.
"See you at the sparring room," Zevran said lowly.
The older boy turned, hit him with a piercing gaze, nodded and went on. Hate was a competitor, they both appreciated.
***
One thing rankled Zevran enormously - he still had no tattoo and was still not a "complete" Crow. Although he had completed the training earlier than most of the other crowlings, he had to wait for his inauguration until he would be sixteen. Why so senseless rules? Hadn't he proven long enough, how good he was?
He stood in front of the mirror and with the tip of his dagger he traced the half-moon-shaped line over his eyebrow, which he soon would have there.
Would he look good with it? Of course he would! He smiled into his own countenance, then he dragged his hand through his blonde hair and set off to appear at Taliesen's meeting in time.
***
Taliesen moved around the elven boy, as if he would examine an animal on the market. Or a slave ... Zevran decided to take it easy, grinned wryly, and used the time to appraise the human on his part. He was tall, imposing, good looking. Although not nearly as good as Sergio.
The young man finally paused in front of Zevran, raised the left arm of the boy and looked at the inside, where the tendons were apparent under the skin. Finally he embraced Zevran's upper arm with his slack hand: "Maker, how thin you are!"
Zevran quickly wrested himself free, grabbed Taliesen's wrist and twisted his arm on his back: "Thin, maybe, but not weak," he laughed.
"I would advise you to let me go, immediately!" Taliesen hissed threateningly.
The elven boy instantly loosened his grip and raised his arms in an apologetic gesture, still chuckling. Taliesen shook his arm and massaged his wrist. "Specializations?"
"Stealth, poison, dagger, sword. And seduction." Zevran emphasized the last word and looked at Taliesen, amused, with half-closed eyes.
The young man smiled and nodded, "What about cracking locks?"
Zevran chuckled: "Never needed. So far, all doors were open to me." He blinked his eyes.
Taliesen sighed: "In other words: No. So you have to come up with an idea. I need the copies of all letters between the mayor and senator Lorenzo. Copies, I say. The originals will stay where they are. No one should notice anything."
Zevran shrugged his shoulders and walked towards the exit. He did not worry about the success of his mission.