Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 38: Liar Liar

It had taken an hour of solid oration, but by the time Brand had reached the fifth stanza of Archdeacon Ferzinand's theory on the metaphysical properties of the Magicka Majora, Glamma had quickly fallen asleep. She lay sprawled out amongst the many pillows on the bed, heavy bosom heaving in slow, rhythmic snores.

She looked beautiful there, all still and quiet, and Brand would have loved nothing more than to lay there with her and feel her touch, but he had more pressing matters to attend to.

It was obvious from the start Keela was trying to hide something from him. Tossing him into the brothel with barely a goodbye had been his clue, and given the countless times she'd disappeared only for trouble to rear its ugly head, he was keen to investigate.

The witch was up to something, and Brand was going to find out why. He pulled the hood of his cloak tightly around him and pulled back the slat of his window. It was a small drop from the second story down into the nearby alley, the magick in his staff helping him fall as gently as a feather to safety. He hit the ground with a soft crunch, walking quickly till he'd reached the adjacent street and melted into a nearby crowd.

The festivities had only grown during Brand's absence, people hooting and cheering, smiling and drinking, jostling scarecrows hung on poles with nooses around their necks. He got a good look at one of them as a villager meandered past. Straw hair poked out of the back of its head, a mean sneer painted over its canvas face with charcoal.

He tried to get a closer look, but another man ran past and knocked him over, not even stopping to apologize. Someone caught him by the shoulder, pushed him back up, toes teetering to stay upright before he collided into a woman's backside, both of them screaming as they went squawking down the street.

"Shit!" The world rolled in Brand's eyes as he barreled over and over, gravity accelerating his momentum. He heard more people starting to shout, some jumping out of his way, some starting to laugh. One person thought it funny to kick him and keep him tumbling. His fall came to an abrupt and painful end as he reached the bottom of the road and came to a skidding stop facedown in the dirt, staff following after like a faithful dog.

Brand didn't want to get up. He wanted to lay there and die where he knew he belonged. In the street with the worms. How he ever thought of finding Keela in the first place was beyond his reckoning now. More people were starting to laugh, gathering around to stare at his blundering idiocy. He sighed, puffed out dust, and decided it was high time to stop eating dirt.

There were a few amused onlookers, a few concerned ones as well. Brand peeled himself off the ground and flopped into a nearby bench where a few drunks were laying about to sober up. He didn't bother wiping the muck off his clothes. More than likely he'd be up to his chin again with the stuff once Keela decided to continue their mad journey skulking through the woods.

His hand dangled over the edge of the bench, the tips of his fingers tingling as dirty rivulets of water plopped off onto the ground. Wet and filthy. Truly a divine combination of sensations. He never felt closer to Nido than he did now. Why in all the seven hells the Vangen liked worshiping a dead Goddess in the first place he would never comprehend, but she was likely spinning in her divine grave with laughter at the sight of him either way.

"Ow!" Brand jolted upright as something barbed scraped against his fingers. He looked down, half expecting some monstrosity crawling out of the ground to devour him, but it was only a black cat. It stared up at him with yellow, glowing eyes, a tiny bell jingling on its collar.

"Well I'll be," he murmured under his breath. "How did you survive this long, little guy? I'm surprised the people here haven't snatched you up and cooked you for supper by now. You must be quite the clever thing."