The Daughter Of Stones

Chapter Two. Never Pick A Fight In A Pub

Not far from the clean streets and polished houses of Greystone Forrest, the grand Capital of the kingdom, stood Billinfort village. It was the opposite of the city in every way imaginable - houses were poor and wooden, roads resembled a freshly mushed darkberry puree, and people walked, ran, shouted, and laughed everywhere.

There were no income-related limitations in Billinfort, therefore, the majority of the population was poor. And where there's poverty, there's life. Of course, it was a hotbed of crime, a haven for all kinds of outlaws and guilds, but it was also fun in its peculiar way. Perhaps, it had something to do with art because art is poor too, and so Billinfort had plenty.

One more thing the village was famous for - its taverns, inns, and places where tired travelers could get a decent beverage. Drinks, fights, brawls, celebrations - Billinfort pubs had it all.

One of the oldest among them, the "Twitty Princess," was busy as usual. Farmers, tired of the preparations for the upcoming Harvest Festival, merchants cutting deals behind the Royal Tax Office's back, soldiers from the assigned garrison - all wished their cups full and their heads light.

A table in the far east corner, although often forgotten by barmaids and known for long waits to order, offered a great view of the rest of the pub. That happened to be exactly what the man occupying this table was looking for.

He took a sip from the wooden jug and slowly placed it back on the table, without taking his eyes off a figure in a dark gown-like garment, sitting alone at one of the tables.

"The nerve of this guy," he said to his companion, a huge lady in leather armor. She reached for her cup, and a tiny taburete squeaked, barely holding the pressure of her mighty weight. "I mean, look at him, drinking in a pub filled with soldiers, like nothing happened."

"Is he our calajad?" asked the woman, finishing her drink in one big sip.

"He's a dark wielder, alright. An Augmentor, enslaved a whole village just two days' ride from here," said the man.

"Well, what is he doing here? His place is at the Greystone Forrest in the Royal Palace," the woman let out a laugh. The man smiled and shook his head.

"Careful, Brienne, those jokes can add a few extra feet between your head and your shoulders," he said, scratching his curly black hair.

"I think I'll be alright," Brienne huffed. "Besides, I've got a future king at my side, that ought to get me out of trouble."

The man laughed into his cup.

"I told you, I have nothing to do with my ancestry. And my blood nowadays is as royal as a pig's. Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we're just a couple of calajad hunters, getting our hands dirty for the right amount of money."

"Can't run from your family, Bal Harriott," Brienne shrugged. "You'd be a better king than Ikalot. Honestly, anyone would be better at this point."

"Anyway, politics aside," Bal reached into a leather bag on his left and fished out two silver amulets, one with a jade incrustation. "I think that will be enough."

His companion took a suspicious look at the amulets while he tied them over his neck and adjusted the black collar of his shirt. She let out an angry grunt.

"You're going to pick a fight in the 'Princess'?"

"We'll see where it goes," said Bal, shivering as one of the amulets set off a thin yellow line all around his body. "You got your keepers on?"

"Yes. Wait. Let's drag him out?" Brienne pleaded, appealing to Bal's reason. "It's a great pub."

"Then swing your axe with care," Bal responded, nodding to a huge double-bit axe with a heavy metal knob on the handle. "I don't want to fight him here. I want to talk. But who knows how it ends."