Chapter Two: Making Enemies
The following morning dawned bright and clear. There was a jubilant mood as the street filled with the sounds of criers, sizzling food, and the fermented smell of ale. Music twirled around every tent peg as bards did their work, and the laughter of the crowd lifted up like a song in its own right; a joyous, raucous hymn of humanity. Through it all, Molly strode. Three sand-filled sacks, a holdover from his circus days had drifted from pocket to hand, and he was tossing them in the air, one after another. It was very nostalgic, and Molly felt self-assured, content, and ready for whatever life had to offer.
Fjord's voice filtered through the ambient noise. "I'm telling you, Beau, you keep that stick to yourself or we're going to have words."
"Ah, mind your own business. I was just twirling it."
"You came this close to my face."
"Gee, Fjord, I didn't know you were such a baby."
That, too, was comforting. An unexpected development, but not a bad one. Six months ago he would have laughed in the face of anyone who told him these people would mean more to him than coin, but it was safe to say they'd stepped over that line some time ago. Take Fjord, for example. You learned a lot about someone by seeing how they folded their socks, so to speak. He was a good man. Sometimes too good, maybe, but Molly liked him. The others, too.
A pace or two behind him walked Jester, pointing out various commodities to Yasha, and bringing up the end of their group was Caleb, who was holding Nott's hand. With her hood pulled up and her mask affixed, they really did look like a parent leading a child, though only the Mighty Nein knew which was which. Those two were already drifting back. No doubt they'd get lost in the crowd at some point, up to their own devices.
A sudden shout broke the peace of the morning, and Molly tensed. It was more barfight than battle, but there was still an edge to it that put his hackles up. He glanced at Fjord, who was already moving. Together, they headed toward the disturbance. Molly found himself in a central courtyard which displayed town news, and at the moment, tournament information. Hawkers sold tickets nearby, and it seemed that a number of participants had gathered to posture and boast. Molly stopped at the edge of the crowd and took in the scene.
There was a man – no, not a man. A half-orc wearing quality boots of midnight-colored leather, with silver-threaded runes adorning the hemline of his cloak. His face was smooth and young, paler than Fjord's, but with none of the scars that gave him character. Sharp eyebrows quirked over eyes like chips of mica, and even smiling, his mouth looked as though it had been negotiated from an edge.
Molly turned to a villager on his left. "Who's that?"
"Talisman Salvatore, a sorcerer from over the hills. He just electrocuted a cat. See?"
Mollymauk saw a scorched patch of ichor and fur blackening the cobblestone. It smelled like raw meat. His lip curled. What was the point of that? A stray cat did no harm to anyone. He glanced over his shoulder for Caleb, but didn't find him. Small mercies.
Snaps of residual energy zipped between Talisman's fingers. His line of sight roved over the crowd. "Anyone else?"
As an intimidation tactic, it was effective. Eyes fell away. It was hard to watch, honestly. Molly hated bullies. That this guy had the power to back it up only made him a nastier piece of work. Nor was he alone. There were two others. One was an orcish barbarian, grey skinned and heavily muscled. The other, a lean human wearing a hood. Rogue, Molly wagered.
The excitement had attracted several children. In their eagerness to get near the action, a pair of them, an ashy-colored tiefling and a human boy, jostled until an awkward shove sent one of them stumbling onto the cobblestones. As he fell, his arm tangled in the hem of Talisman's cloak.
Had such an accident happened in any other street or town, what happened next would have been inconsequential. If it had involved the Nein, Fjord would've brushed dirt from the boy's pants while Beau shot off borderline rude advice about the importance of keeping your balance. Nott would've thrown in a ghoulish grin, but Jester's pastry bag would serve as a suitable distraction. And Caleb, who probably hadn't looked much different than this kid once upon a time, might even have offered up one of his tentative smiles.
But Talisman wasn't the Nein, and his mouth knifed downward. He turned on his heel, pebbles scrapping under his boot. "Are there even more pests here for me to deal with?"
The boy's eyes darted. Barefoot and bone-thin, he had the shabby look of a kid who belonged to no one. "I didn't meant to."
The barbarian grabbed the kid by the back of his tunic. "Do you know what I hate, Sisk?" Talisman continued. "Clumsy fleshbags who don't mind their manners." He held up the edge of his cloak, examining it with care. "I do believe you tarnished my cloak."
"I'm sorry! Please. I don't have any coin, but –"
Lightning zipped through Talisman's fingers as he said, "Dogs get punished."
"Hey!" Muscles tense to act, Molly was spared interjecting himself by another voice bellowing into the square. He saw the look of raw anger on Fjord's face and knew things were about to get interesting. Smiling, he drew a scimitar from its sheathe and stepped forward. Beau as well. The two of them shadowed their friend, subtle and not-yet-engaged, but present should they be needed.
Talisman did a double take. Perhaps it was because, even at a glance, Fjord's heritage was clear enough. "Another of the true bloodline," he said with interest. "What a surprise. It's not often I come across kinfolk in this part of the country."
Fjord's chin jutted, and Molly wondered if he regretted his missing tusks in situations like this. Did he crave the validation they lent among his fellow orcish people, or did he prefer the demarcation, especially when it cast him in such stark contrast to a pissant like Talisman? "You're not my kin, and I'd like to know what the hell you're doing, picking on a kid."
"This piece of garbage damaged my belongings."
"What? Did your coat get a smudgie-wudgie?" Jester pipped up, irreverent as always. "Boohoo. I feel really sorry for you."
Talisman's sneer, if anything, intensified. "I see you keep mixed company. That's unfortunate."
"You're not exactly flying solo yourself," Fjord said.
"These two? Well, Sisk is a childhood companion, and as for our third..." He glanced at the human man situated somewhat behind them. "He's a means to an end, aren't you, Bekkit, dear?"
The hooded member of their party turned away but said nothing.
"As for myself, I am Talisman Salvatore, champion of a thousand battles." Talisman gave a flourishing bow that seemed only partially serious. "My father's tribe was the Red Claws of Greystone. I'm known there. Who are you?"
Fjord's jaw tightened. "I'm Fjord."
"Just...Fjord?"
Molly looked at his friend, thinking of the bits of personal history they'd shared. There'd been stories over tankards, and when Molly prayed over his swords at night, Fjord often sat alongside, staring at his own weapon in reverent confusion. Very little of that, however, had hinted at Fjord's relationship with his own people. He was an orphan, that was all Molly knew. Whether Fjord himself knew much more than that was a mystery.
Fjord cleared his throat. "Look, me and mine are participating in the tournament, so if you're spoiling for a fight, why not wait until then? In the meantime, take your hands off that kid, and we'll go our separate ways."
Molly knew instinctively that Fjord's attempt to defuse the situation would only whet this fellow's appetite for conflict. "I don't appreciate orders, Just Fjord," said Talisman.
"You don't seem to be taking my meaning. It was a suggestion, the tournament being so near. I don't know about you, but I like to fight on a battlefield, not brawl in a public square like a half-wit teenager. But, hey, if you want to force things..."
'That a boy,' Molly thought. This was what he most admired about Fjord – his cunning. It was the reason they looked to him when it came to social graces. He, more than any of them, was a seer of people, and if that sometimes also allowed him to be a manipulator of people? In Molly's humble opinion, so much the better.
The look on Talisman's face made it clear he knew exactly what Fjord was up to, but that didn't mitigate the challenge. It was a matter of saving face now, and Molly had seen enough of how Talisman operated to know that ego drove him. The decision made, he lifted his shoulders in a kind of shrug and hitched his head at Sisk. The barbarian growled but let the kid go, and, like a rabbit out of a snare, the youngster disappeared into a sea of arms and legs.
Which left Fjord and Talisman, each with their own set of companions, locked in tense standoff. Things could have either fizzled or exploded from there, had it not been for a tiny green hand slipping into Talisman's belt pouch. She was all but invisible to the average person, but Bekkit moved like a snake, and then he had Nott by the arm. Nott hissed, flailing. She probably could have taken him, but the struggle knocked her hood back, and in that moment of full exposure – there in front of everybody – she froze.
Talisman's cheeks flushed. "Beast!"
Fjord's hands rose. "Now, wait, Talisman. Let's slow this down."
The man did not wait. "How dare you steal from me." He snatched Nott's throat. Nott squeaked in terror, but Talisman's grip was tight. "Broil in your own skin, thief."
Before he could activate his magic, Talisman's back erupted in fire. He bellowed as flames tore across his cloak and shoulders. Had it been allowed to continue, it might have done serious damage, but before it could, Sisk was beating it with his bare fists, scrunching and twisting the cloth. It tore, and a bundle of smoldering fabric lay discarded on the ground. Heaving, his hair disheveled, Talisman's snake-eyes roved the crowd.
"Who did that?"
A figure lowered a blackened hand, and Molly's heart thrilled because, oh, this was going to be good. Caleb had arrived, and he was pissed. If there was one thing that could draw a fight out the man, it was threatening Nott. He stepped forward with no trace of fear. "Let her go."
Bekkit stared at the outstretched hand which had so recently reduced a cloak to ash. There was a moment of hesitation, a slight slackening of his grip, and Nott seized the opportunity. With a deft twist, she dashed for Caleb's side. Once she was safe, the two of them faced Talisman.
"If you are smart," Caleb said in a voice strongly marked by his Zemnian roots, "you and your people will leave my friends and me alone."
Talisman drew his head back, and Molly knew what he saw. A human man dressed in a dirty coat that did little to hide his meager frame, even if his cheekbones hadn't stood out in sharp relief. Unkempt and unshaved. An equally grubby goblin hanging onto his belt. Honestly, Caleb couldn't have looked less impressive if he tried. Talisman sneered. "Is this your contender, Fjord?"
He wasn't. When they'd discussed their choice of a mage for the tournament, they'd decided on Fjord. For one thing, Fjord was the more versatile fighter. He could also take a hit, which Caleb definitely could not. This was cemented by memories of Caleb laying unmoving on wet cave floors, or sagging, impaled on a pike, or – gods above – dazedly pulling crossbow bolts out of half-healed flesh. In short, none of them had any desire to see their squishy wizard in mixed melee combat. So, yeah. Fjord it would be.
But Caleb's unsuitability for tournament combat had nothing to do with his actual ability as a mage. Throw in the ferocity that Molly saw at the present moment, and you had a very serious opponent. Even a casual observer could sense it, and the crowd backed off, leaving open space around Caleb and Nott. Talisman, likewise, focused until the air between them sang with arcane energy. It made the hair stick up all along Mollymauk's arms.
Clouds built overhead as Talisman spoke. "Fine. Drown the pups and cull the mutts, as they say. Perhaps you, too, need a lesson."
Without further warning, a thunderbolt sizzled from his hand like a tongue of death. It crackled over his knuckles, radiating in a long, twisting line directly at Caleb and Nott. Jester's gasp was audible, and Molly cursed as he activated his swords. However, before any of them could react, Caleb's Shield snapped to life. For a sparse moment, it wavered as though it might not be enough, then burst into even more vivid life. Arches of electrical energy glanced off to die as they reached the ground or fizzled in the air over the crowd.
Caleb called upon his element, and the courtyard turned into a furnace. Talisman barely had time to draw on his own defenses before he was hammered by the flames and thrown back into Sisk. Both of them hit the dirt, on their backs like beetles. Meanwhile, remnants of fire and smoke twisted around Caleb's face, drawing his copper-colored hair around his ears so that he looked like something more than human, almost elemental, with his arm still extended.
Then the fire died, both in the air and in Caleb. He shook his head, darted a prey-like glance at the people surrounding him, and went completely rigid. Nott tugged at his arm, and in an instant, both of the shiest members of the Nein disappeared entirely. In their wake was Talisman, who came up seething. When he found Caleb gone, he swung around to the opponent he could still see.
"You'll pay for sending your wizard dog to attack me, Fjord of Nothing. You and your people will regret meeting Talisman Salvatore of the Red Claws of Greystone."
Jester blew a raspberry. "You smell like poop," she said. "Your mother would be ashamed of you!"
Molly edged around to Fjord's side, flanking him. "Caleb's a funny guy, you know. Shy as anything, but he doesn't take kindly to racist bastards. None of us do, as a matter of fact. So perhaps you had better scoot along before things get really nasty." There was a familiar sound, boots and buckles, and Molly looked up. "Ah, perfect timing."
Crownsguard were filling the courtyard. They weren't alarmed, but their faces were serious, and it was clear they were here to break up whatever was disturbing the peace. Fjord's gaze cut to Talisman. "I'm not looking for a quarrel."
Talisman had time for a parting shot. "Spoken like a true milk-blood."
From the way Fjord's face paled, the pejorative was one he knew well. Molly elbowed him, keeping him mindful that he had allies. Putting their backs to their future opponents, the two of them retreated together. Jester was talking animatedly to one of the crownsguard. "And there was this little boy he tried to shock with lightning, which is not a very nice thing to do, and that's when things really started to get icky – "
'Ma'am," said the guard, sounding tired. "Were you or were you not involved in this altercation?"
Jester's lavender eyes were as big as buckets on her open, unassuming face. "Me? Of course not. I'm just a beautiful young lady out for a stroll."
The guard did not look convinced, but he let her statement be and turned instead to Fjord. "And you? We won't have a disturbance in this town, no matter what kind of feuds are in place."
Fjord winced at almost the same time Molly did. "There's no feud. I've never met that guy, and I didn't attack him."
"That's right," Jester pipped up. "That was someone else."
Beau agreed. "Yeah. Some hobo. Lots of fire. Nothing to do with us."
"Right," said the guard, already turning toward his fellow guards, who were speaking to Talisman. He spared them a hard look before he left. "Just keep it together while you're here. Fighting is to be in the arena only. We won't hesitate to jail anybody who breaks the rules, and you'll be liable for damages to the town. Understood?"
Molly saluted lazily. "Of course, officer."
When he was gone, the group shared significant looks. Fjord rubbed the ridge between his eyes, the very picture of someone who was nursing a serious headache. "Well, that happened. It doesn't matter so much for us three." He indicated himself, Beau, and Yasha. "But I wouldn't exactly call that 'lying low' on Caleb and Nott's part. Might mean we should change some things."
"They're still the best for the job," Molly said. "Besides, I don't know that it was so bad. If you ask me, that guy was begging to be brought down a notch." His nose wrinkled as he spoke. There were few things he hated more than the way folks divvyed themselves up. As a tiefling, Mollymauk had often been on the wrong end of that kind of prejudice.
They were just leaving the square, rejoining the festival on the interior streets, when they were interrupted by a quiet cough from the shadows between two stalls. Out of this space stepped a teifling, grey in color with the wiry look of a kid who hadn't yet reached puberty. He raised his shoulders. 'Trying so hard to be big,' Molly thought with a mixture of admiration and melancholy.
"Well, hello," he said. "Did you need something?"
The kid swiped at his nose. His expression was like one of Jester's doodles, the ones she drew at the corners of her journal and flipped through with her thumb to make them move. It slipped between awkwardness, anxiety, and determination. Finally, though, the kid settled on determination. He gestured at the shadows, and another kid joined him. It was the boy from the courtyard, the one who'd tripped into Talisman.
They stood together, facing the Nein. "We wanted to say 'thank you.' For what you did."
Molly looked over their dirty faces and the way they slouched so close, and he knew what he was seeing. Street folk stuck together. Jester reached out a finger toward the bruises on their bony knees and elbows. "Are you okay? I could..."
The tiefling jerked out of her range. "We don't need nothing. We just wanted to tell you. Mica and me, we've been together since we was almost babies. I didn't mean to push him. If he got really hurt, I would have..." His tough façade cracked, along with his voice.
Fjord stepped forward. The children tensed, but he was so deliberate in his movements that they didn't run. In that deep voice of his, the one that could sound so reassuring when he put his mind to it, Fjord said, "It's good that you boys are looking out for one another. We all need friends in the world. We were happy to help."
The human boy, Mica, flushed straight to his ears. A hero had undoubtedly been born. That it was Fjord, a half-orc like Talisman, was nice in a way. It went a ways toward proving one bad apple didn't spoil the whole batch, so to speak. The tiefling was a little more reserved, but he wasn't shrinking away. "Thanks," he said, one more time.
"Our pleasure," said Beau, and because she was a softie underneath all that gruffness, she yanked a handful of coins out of her belt pouch and shoved it into the kids' hands before stalking off down the road. Both boys stared at the unexpected bounty.
"Keep that under wraps so you don't attract any unwanted attention," Fjord advised, then gave them both a pat on the head that – because he was Fjord – managed not to come over condescending.
The tiefling said, "We didn't see where the other one went, the...the goblin." He swallowed, like he wasn't exactly sure what to think about that. And yeah, fair. Goblins hardly had a reputation for being anything but bad news, especially for those at the edge of a herd, like these boys doubtless were. "If you see him, will you tell him we said 'thanks'?"
"Nott will be happy to hear that," Jester said. "We will be sure to tell her."
"And the fire mage."
A subtle flinch went through the group, and Molly was glad Caleb wasn't around to hear that appellation. It was the kind of thing that would've had him staring into space for the rest of the evening, and nobody wanted that. Dammit, festivals were supposed to be fun, not filled with sharp, trauma-laced edges. Though it was possible that ship had sailed. 'Please don't be off, sinking into a brown study somewhere.' Molly directed his thoughts into the ether, hoping they would somehow reach Caleb wherever he was hiding with Nott.
More quietly that before, Jester assured, "We will tell him."
With a final look back and a feeble wave, the boys retreated, and the Mighty Nein were left once more to their own devices. "We ought to be called the Sentimental Nein," Molly said.
"Yeah, yeah," Fjord said.
Jester put her hands behind her back, tail swishing. "Ooh. That's what we should do once we get famous and rich, guys. We can go around and help all the little kiddies that need help."
"Not enough coin in the world for that," Mollymauk said, and a little more sobriety crept into his voice than he intended. He saw it echoed in Fjord as he turned away.
