Chapter 25: Insert your favorite term for drunk here.

Deek sighed as he steered his horse up the main street into Haven's merchant district. He hadn't been back here in years. He'd lived in the slums of Haven for the vast majority of his childhood, such that it was. He was quite the experienced thief before an unexpected growth-spurt had ruined his prospects in the lucrative business of cat-burglary. However, it at least had put him on the path to a well paying honest job with lots of room for advancement, and advance he did! He'd started out as an underling helping to guard a gem merchant's caravans against thieves. Who better than an ex-thief to point out the weaknesses that thieves exploited. Now, years later, he was the captain of the Caravans' guards.

He noted a young pickpocket working his trade off to the side of the street, lifting the belt-purse off some over confident young noble out celebrating Beltane. He didn't say a word for several reasons—the first was that the boy looked half-starved, and he knew how it felt to go to sleep hungry. Second, the noble was already beyond drunk, and his purse looked mostly empty. Lastly, the noble looked as if he could afford to lose a little wealth, if his now destroyed red velvet jerkin was any indication.

He glanced back at the Caravan with its guards and merchants. This was their last stop for a while. The merchants and the Caravan's beasts would be resting here and selling their goods under the watchful eyes of Haven's guard. This meant that he and his men had time to relax, unwind, and sightsee. He'd warned his men earlier to stick to the upper and middle class districts in their drinking, gaming, and wenching. He knew what the lesser districts of the proud capital city were like, having grown up there himself.

He'd be thankful when they finished here, so that he could collect his pay, leave his horse with the rest of the Caravan's beasts, and go find a quiet tavern to hole up in for a few hours.

~~~***~~~

Skif groaned into his mug of ale. Today was Beltane, and he'd discovered this morning that his eldest daughter had celebrated May Eve in the company of Healer I'Ryk. He wasn't drinking to escape his problems, not at all—no, he was drinking to keep himself from skinning the man! His Companion Cymry, was fine with the excursion as long as he didn't get drunk. He chose the Griffin's Egg over any of the other taverns in Haven for the simple reason that it was a relatively nice establishment that wasn't frequented by guildsmen, trainees, or bards! No herald in their right minds went to a tavern full of bards voluntarily!

--Even if they weren't in Whites.

He took a swig of his golden ale, trying not to swear like the lowborn boy he'd once been. It was harder then he would have thought possible. Heralds weren't exactly a chaste bunch, and neither were Healers. He'd always know and accepted that fact, but this was different.

This was HIS DAUGHTER!

He glanced up as two men wandered into the tavern both talking animatedly about what they'd been doing over the past years, and speculating over the rider of a certain Companion mare. Skif snorted, glad he wasn't wearing his Whites—he didn't want to deal with other people's problems right now! He glared back down into his mug, and took another long swig, ignoring Cymry's playful chiding, refusing to surface from the mug of ale until someone called out his name inquiringly.

It wasn't a voice he recognized.

That ruled out any of the Heralds, Healers, Bards, and the bulk of the Mages and trainees from all four circles. Any of them would have addressed him as 'Herald Skif' or in the case of another Herald the honorific would have been Brother. Curious, he raised his head and looked around. The two men who had just come in stood a few feet away, oddly silent as their eyes met. For a moment, he was rendered entirely speechless.

He closed his mouth with an audible snap. "Deek, Lyle?" he gasped. "Is that you?!"

The two men nodded and suddenly Deek burst out laughing. "Well, looks like the w'ole family's getting back toget'er; who's going to show up now, Raf? By now I know old Bazie's dead of old age, unless you say ot'erwise!"

Skif winced at memories of flames rising high into the sky late one night at the mention of old Bazie's name. He knew his former colleagues would have no idea how their old mentor had died. As for Raf, he didn't know what had become of his former friend after he'd been caught. He closed his eyes briefly, and then set his mug down.

"Nay, my old friend; Bazie is long dead, along with the two new boys he'd taken in. A fire in the night while I was out lifting to feed us all," he said simply, kicking out a pair of stools for the two men to sit upon. I'd have foolishly died along with them if it wasn't for Alberich. He thought mildly, closing his eyes against remembered pain. He relaxed, feeling the pain recede as Cymry wrapped him in a protective blanket of love and comfort.

When he opened his eyes again, Deek and Lyle had taken the offered stools, and Lyle was currently ordering himself a glass of red ale from the lovely young waitress Deek was currently eyeing. He frowned. He'd hate to have to arrest his former friend and brother, but he was a Herald regardless of his lack of uniform, and this was a respectable establishment where the only thing for sale was the ale, the food, and the rooms upstairs, not the company of the tavern maids. If Deek stepped out of line, he'd find himself tossed out on his ear, respectable law-abiding citizen or not!

When the tavern maid turned her attention to him, Skif ordered another pint, and tried not to gape like a ninny when Deek ordered a pitcher of Cyszer. It was relatively new to Valdemar, having come over from White Gryphon, with the Kalend'a'in a little more than a decade ago. Cyszer may have looked and tasted like apple cider, but it was most definitely not. In fact, it was among the strongest drinks to be found anywhere, if not the strongest! A single shot of the stuff took lightweights into the realm of drunken idiocy. A mug-full was usually enough to knock anyone else on their ass. The most he'd ever seen anyone drink was two mugs full.

The normally heavy-weight guard who did so had spent the next day hanging over a privy for his troubles!

The fact that Deek had ordered an entire pitcher full of the stuff truly startled him. "I hope you're not expecting any help drinking that." He chuckled.

"No, not much, though the two of you are more than welcome to share a round, if you think you're man enough." Deek replied with humor.

Skif snorted derisively. "Thank you, but no; I'm rather fond of my stomach lining, and Nyara would have my hide if I came home that drunk!"

Lyle laughed. "I can understand that—my wife would not be 'appy if I came 'ome drunk eit'er."

"Am I the only free man left in the group?" Deek asked mildly. "Having to worry 'bout what the wife would be thinking should I come home drunk? Watching you two makes me glad I aint never settled down!"

Lyle laughed again. "You're just mad I got me a misses, a litter of children, a few grandkids, and a good plot of farmland, you wandering old dog," he joked as the tavern maid handed them all their beverages of choice.

Deek pulled a passable counterfeit of annoyance, but Skif could read the man's body language with ease. "I'll have you know I enjoy roving," he retorted.

They all laughed.

"So," Deek said after the moment had passed. "Lyle tells me he settled down with a nice farm girl and had a family" The man took a sip of his Cyszer before continuing, "but it seems to me that you haven't told us what you've been up to these past few years."

Skif took a swig of his ale. "What have I been up to these long years?" he asked. "Well, let's see—I met a lovely lady by the name of Cymry, who proceeded to turn my life on its ear and made me an honest man. I was there when the war with Ancar broke out; saw firsthand what he and his men did to their captives when they got their hands on a friend of mine. Worked undercover for a few years dealing with refugees from Hardorn, took a trip to exotic lands, met Nyara, and fell in love. Then I came home and settled down. I went from being an honest thief with barely any family to speak of to a slightly devious man of action, with three kids, a wife, and a lovely lady with whom I spend an inordinate amount of time, and what amounts to the biggest extended family you could ever think of."

He smirked at the look on both of their faces.

"You sly dog," Deek crowed.

Lyle gaped at him, his mouth hanging open comically. "Does your wife know about this other lady?!" he cried, aghast.

Skif took another swig of his ale before replying, "About Cymry? Lord Dark and Lady Bright, of course she does! I'd never get any work done, and how in the nine hells would I explain the long absences from Haven otherwise?"

He shifted in his stool and took another swig of ale, taking note of the newest tavern patron. Wearing the clothing of a civilian rather than his trainee grays, he stood out rather drastically amongst the milling middleclass and noblemen as 'out kingdom nobility'. It wasn't surprising since he was wearing his own clothing. Having been given a uniform to wear, with another one in the foreseeable future, neither Conrart nor Yozak had ever bothered to buy Valdemaran street clothing.

"Conrart," he called, waving the young man over. "Come join us."

Conrart inclined his head and ambled over.

Deek eyed the young noble warily, noting the expensive fabrics of his long-sleeved, high necked white over-tunic, with its deep blue trim, matching blue under shirt, brown fitted leggings, and well made brown boots. "Since when do you associate with an easy mark?"

"I may surprise you," Conrart retorted mildly, as he settled himself down onto a stool. He moved easily, as if the sword at his hip were a part of him.

Deek snorted. "I'm surprised you weren't robbed blind on your way here, little lordling," He replied derisively.

Skif watched quietly as the young noble born half-Dæmon narrowed his eyes briefly, his characteristic impassive mask falling quickly back into place. "I may be high born, but I have never suffered from the misconception of noble invulnerability."

Deek raised an eyebrow at Conrart's retort, then he laughed. "I think I'm going to like you, puppy."

Conrart snorted, but gave no further reply. By this time, the bar maid had noticed their added guest and made her way over, setting an empty mug down in front of him.

"Thank you," Conrart told her retreating back, before turning his head and addressing Deek. "May I?" he asked, calmly gesturing towards the pitcher.

Deek raised an eyebrow. "Sure, but be careful; Cyszer's not a drink for the lightweight."

Conrart's impassive mask remind firmly in place as he poured himself a mug full of the murky brownish amber liquor. "Thankfully, I'm no light weight." He replied calmly, taking a sip of the sweet concoction.

~~~***~~~

Skif sighed. Conrart was most assuredly …. Well, drunk wasn't the word—plastered fit better. Thankfully he was a quiet drunk, more inclined to curl up in a corner and pass out than to cause a ruckus. As such, the tavern master wasn't inclined to throw the boy out. Skif knew from his dealings with both Conrart and Yozak that this was likely the first time Conrart had ever been inebriated. He wondered idly if it was just the Cyszer's kick, or if the boy had actually had a reason for allowing himself to become too intoxicated to stand. Either way, the trainee was going to wish he hadn't come morning—Cyszer induced hangovers were far from pleasant.

"I told him Cyszer wasn't the drink for a lightweight," Deek muttered as Conrart groaned into his folded arms.

Skif glanced at him from across Conrart's back. "I feel compelled to remind you that you've barely touched your second mug, and that Conrart has actually finished a mug and a half."

Deek snorted. "At this rate, I can finish off a good three mugs tonight, and still be lively enough to make it back to where my men and I are staying."

Lyle chuckled. "And how much of a mess would you be leaving in your wake, for the Guards and 'eralds to be cleaning up come the morrow?"

Skif sighed and glanced over at Conrart. The boy was hunched over the table with his head buried in his arms, quite clearly too drunk to stand. What could have motivated him to get plastered on his birthing-day? And why had he come here alone? It was true Yozak had left on circuit just two weeks ago, and that I'Ryn and Tykir were off on Circuit as well, but Austin had yet to receive his Whites, and I'Ryk and Elizabeth were there as well. As two of Valdemar's leading authorities on Change-children, they were permanently assigned to Haven.

So why was the boy alone and not out celebrating with his friends? These were questions he'd had earlier and put out of his mind. Oh well, he could always question the royally drunk trainee on the ride home to the palace, because there was no way he was letting the boy go home this drunk on his own, Companion or no Companion.

He rose gracefully to his feet, and after setting a few silvers on the table top, grabbed Conrart's slim but well muscled shoulders. "Come on Trainee," he said simply, leveling the young man up and out of his chair. "Let's go take a nice ride," he added as he slung the boy's arm across his shoulders.

Conrart stiffened at the word 'ride' and he briefly wondered why. The younger man muttered something in his own language. His words were already nearly incomprehensible by the language alone, but were further garbled by a drunken slur.

Skif sighed. "Cymry," he called aloud, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't wearing his whites. "Will you and Vanyel have someone get you ready, please?"

: It's done, Chosen. The stable boys are saddling Vanyel and me as we speak; we'll be ready and waiting for you as soon as you get to the Stables. : Cymry's reply was prompt.

"Come on Trainee," he said quietly, as he half carried Conrart across the tavern common room and out to the Stables. "Let's get you home."

Deek came up on Conrart's other side and grabbed one of the younger man's arms, pulling it up and across his shoulders. "Here, let me help, and don't talk to yourself like that. People are going to think you've lost your marbles."

Skif ignored him; he wasn't a Herald, he wouldn't understand. "Lyle," he asked instead "can you get the door?"

Lyle stepped forward, opened the door to the stables, and froze at the sight of the two fully tacked Companions waiting calmly in front of the door.

Skif slipped easily around the former thief turned farmer and into the Stable, still supporting Conrart. Vanyel settled himself down into the straw, making it easier to get his Chosen into the saddle. Skif steadied the younger man carefully as Vanyel rose gracefully to his feet. "Will you be able to balance him or should I bind his wrists to the saddle?" he asked the stallion, as he looped the reins over the saddle horn.

: He's never been drunk before, but I can balance a toddler on my back if I have to… he'll be fine. Thank you, Herald Skif. : Vanyel replied, his voice a vaguely amused broad send.

Skif blinked, startled by a voice other then Cymry's speaking into his mind. "You're quite welcome, Companion Vanyel," he replied calmly.

"Herald?!" Deek and Lyle yelped in perfect harmony.

Skif turned his head and offered the pair of them a mischievous smile. "Deek, Lyle, allow me to introduce you to the lovely lady in whose company I spend an inordinate amount of time, the Companion Cymry."

Deek blinked up at him. "You became a Herald?!" he gasped. "But- but you're a thief! Thieves don't get Chosen—only the bloody pure are worthy of a Companion!"

Skif offered his friends a small smile. "Companions Choose where there is need," he replied simply, swinging up into his saddle with an easy grace. "It was nice seeing the two of you again. Now I really must be getting the trainee back to the Collegium before the dean decides to kill me."

Cymry and Vanyel turned and exited the stable in a maneuver an actual horse would never have been able to accomplish. For a while, Skif sat quietly in his saddle. Conrart didn't seem like a talkative drunk, but he knew it would be easier to get information out of the normally reclusive Heraldic Trainee when he was intoxicated. He was actually quite worried about the boy's tendency to hide himself away on his birthing day, rather than celebrating it with friends.

Last year on Beltane, the boy had holed himself up in his room with only Yozak for company—he hadn't even eaten in the common room. At the time, they'd all written it off as simply being that the two hadn't really known anyone or the customs of Valdemar. However, the two had celebrated Yozak's birthing day with all their friends nearly a year later, as opposed to simply sharing silent company.

"Do you miss your family?" he asked tentatively.

Conrart blinked at him for a moment before responding. "Sometimes," he replied mildly.

"What about today? It is your birthing-day and you always seem to hide yourself away, rather than celebrating." Skif gently pressed the issue.

"Why celebrate something that isn't really worth celebrating?" Conrart asked quietly, slumping even further into his saddle.

Skif raised one bushy eyebrow. "I don't get it; don't you nobles celebrate every family member's birthing-day with grand parties?"

Conrart looked at him for a moment. "My birthday is the first of May, Beltane day." He shook his head lightly, and Vanyel had to shimmy sideways a bit to keep the boy in his saddle. "On Beltane Eve, my family would gather for the festivities. Come morning my family would rest, and then an hour before sunset my uncle would take me out for a 'ride', supposedly for some male bonding. Then when we got home from what was always the most excruciating hour and a half of the entire year, Mother had rounded up every bloody noble to celebrate the birth of her nationally despised, worthless half-human son. As the guest of honor, I was expected to stay through the entire damned event, and dance with every eligible lady and lord, in addition to anyone else who asked for my Shinou-be-damned hand. All the while listening to them verbally bash the worthless half-breed disgrace of the Von Spitzweig family! So forgive me if I've never seen any reason to celebrate the blessed event."

Skif flinched. Well, he had asked. "That bad, huh?" he inquired.

"You have no idea," Conrart drawled.

"You have worth here; your blood has nothing do with anything, and the Heralds could care less if you were born of two separate species," Skif told him gently, as he hauled Conrart down out of his saddle, and helped the boy back to his room, leaving their Companions in the expert care of the palace stable hands.

He continued to ask the boy pointed questions as he got him tucked securely into bed. It was devious and he knew it, but this was probably the only way they would ever get any information out of Conrart. What he found both worried and pleased him. Conrart had plenty of reasons to be mistrustful, yet he wasn't. He was quiet and reclusive, but he was also proud and strong.