Seeking Revenge

CHAPTER THREE: LARKEN

"Larken! Get in here and tend to the bar as I hired you to do!" my boss yells from the front. Derk, the owner of this pub and inn, is a stout old man who looks like a piece of old leather, smells of tobacco, and puts all Warriors to shame with his tough persona. Although, I suppose his mind is dulling in his ripe age considering how I've been ordered to tend the bar and then wash the dishes in five-minute intervals since this morning.

I sigh, unclench my fists, and make my way to the front for the hundredth time, wondering how much longer I'll have to stay in this town. I'm usually posted somewhere for three to five days, depending on how long it takes for the others to track Ksenia and try their best to take her down.

Ever since Ksenia had been accused of murdering her parents at the age of thirteen, she has been known and loathed by Warriors all over Faeland. In the five years she's been on the run, she has depleted our population to about three-quarters of our original size. Quite impressive, in my opinion.

Everyone else seems to wholeheartedly believe the accusations appointed to her by the Council, but me? I'm still skeptical. Then again, I'm always skeptical when it comes to the Council. After so many years of working for them, it becomes obvious that they operate beneath a web of lies and deceit. The thing that frustrates me the most is that they produce just enough truth to keep from getting caught. That's why, every time I return from a mission, I feel like darkness has consumed a little bit more of my soul. The mark most likely didn't deserve anywhere near the punishment they had me deal them.

I throw myself into the monotony of serving customers until my attention is captured by the sound of the door swinging open. The creature stepping through the door seems to be pushed across the threshold by the wind, her dress furling about her legs. She tugs her hood further over her face as she sets her bag on the ground. She doesn't look like much, but the intensity of her magic captivates me. I hardly noticed myself making my way around the bar, striding across the room to meet her.

"May I help you?"

Surprised, she jumps back, bumps into a man passing by, and starts to fall. Snapping out of my trance, I reach out and grab her by the arms, pulling her upright just in time. I'm about to apologize for scaring her when I feel something wet on my hand. I look down and see... blood. My gaze moves to her arm. The scraps of fabric tied around her bicep are crimson red and completely soaked through. It must be deep.

"Let's have a look at that. It might need stitches," I tell her, and take her hand. On the way to the back, I gesture for a nearby bartender to take her bag to a room upstairs.

When we make it to the back, I let go of her hand and hastily wipe off a nearby stool, gesturing for her to take a seat. Briefly scanning the room, a pail by the back door catches my eye. "I'm going to get some fresh water. Stay put."

Breathing a sigh of relief, I lean against the door. Though I can still feel her magic, the distance makes it more bearable. She has such a tempting aura, unlike any I've felt before. Get a hold of yourself, I order. The last thing you need is for someone to find out what you really are. 

With a shake of my head, I push myself away from the door and draw some water from the well before heading back inside. In a cabinet above the washbasin is a kit with a needle, thread, and some fresh bandages. I make a stop over there, dousing the needle and thread in a fresh bottle of liquor before pouring the rest into the pail. My own stool screeches across the floor as I drag it next to the girl's.

I'm about to remove her soiled bandages, but she pulls her arm out of reach.

"Don't you think a Healer should be doing this?" she asks with a glare of distrust. I chuckle. If she knew how many wounds I've had to dress in my lifetime, she would pick me over a Healer any day.