The Sorcerers of Infinity/14

fifteenth chapter
'''"The True Nature of a Dancing Diva"

None of them had heard him come, save for the split-second of the clinking of his black armor. He was somehow there, and now he was staring at them. Rather idly, Garril admitted, but there was a tacit maliciousness in his red gaze. Did he still remember.

“You,” he said in a deep rumbling voice, pointing at Garril. Garril froze. Maybe he did remember, after all those years. “You are the nephew of that singer last night,” he said next. “Give this to her.” And Syrregain handed him a small pouch, before turning away on his heels and walking down the cobblestone path.

Garril was taken aback in shock. He felt the pouch, tossing it around in his hand. It made a soft rattling sound each time it moved around in his palm.

“Sounds like money,” Solnel commented. “But you never know with him. Open it.”

Garril untied the blue ribbon that pinched in the pouch shut, and looked inside. It actually was money, Elvin czronas to be precise. Garril was openly surprised—he had not seen so much money ever since he was banished. He touched it; the money was real.

“Oh wow,” Ardray gasped. “I’ve never seen an Elvin coin before. It’s quite elaborate isn’t it?”

“A failing of ours,” Garril said, holding a coin to the light. He studied its features—the golden eagle, the wreath of laurel, and the inscribed numbers. “These coins are all worth 50 czrona,” he breathed with some amazement.

“How much is that?” Solnel asked. He drew a sparkling golden coin from the pouch, admiring the intricacy of its design.

“A lot,” Garril replied. Taking the coin from Solnel, he drew the pouch closed once more. He stood up back on the marble-stoned street and prepared to head back inside the citadel. Suddenly, a wash of regret came over him, and he dreaded going back inside. He took an unconscious step back, and half-turned toward the city.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Ardray asked, taking a quick back-glance at the heavy walnut wood doors. She scanned his face for just a moment, and then was struck by a sudden knowing. “I get it,” she said to Solnel. “He doesn’t want to go inside. He thinks Vankesa will be angry.”

“Oh,” Solnel said, understanding suddenly. He crossed the short distance between Garril and the doors, and grabbed the downcast young man by the shoulder. “Listen, world-saver. If you don’t figure out how to work with Vankesa, then we’re all going to die. Now come on and reconcile.”

“You sure about that?” Garril asked, letting his friend lead him back toward the door. “I mean, he is a little bit...”

“Unstable? Yes, I know. But you can learn to live with it, right?” Ardray pushed back the door and held it open, as Solnel and Garril entered the citadel. She let go of it, letting it close with a heavy click.

“Right...”

The trio eventually found their group eating a large breakfast provided by the Baron in the dining room. The smell of fried eggs, baked ham and different breads ruthlessly tore down Garril’s resistance, and he immediately sat himself at a chair without thinking. A plate was already laid out in front of him, and it already had a buttered slice of warm bread and eggs and ham on it already. He attacked the food ferociously.

“Good morning to you too,” Rhylor said with a smile, tossing back the flaming orange lock of hair that was in his face.

“Slow down, dear,” Tarja said calmly from across him. “Or you’ll...” She left it hanging, patiently slicing at a piece of ham with a knife.

“Or I’ll what?” Garril asked, before suddenly coughing. He threw his hands to his throat, clutching it. Readily enough, he coughed out a rather large and not-thoroughly-chewed piece of ham. “Oh, that’s what...” he said sheepishly.

“Yes, that’s what,” Artturi said with a full mouth. “Take it from me—chew your food before you swallow.”

“And that is coming from the greatest choker in all of Elvinia,” his sister said mildly. He leered at her with steel in his eyes; she glared coolly at him.

“You two are like little babies,” Elinan noted smilingly, eating her bread.

From Garril’s spot, he watched the scene with some amusement, while he—slowly now—continued to eat his breakfast. He felt a light tap on his left shoulder and when he looked in that direction, he found Solnel, who was discreetly pointing somewhere to Garril’s right.

“Isn’t there something you’d like to say to someone?” he asked him. When Garril followed Solnel’s finger, he immediately found Vankesa quietly eating with his head down in the chair beside Ardray.

“Fine,” Garril said. When he stood from his chair, there was suddenly silence, and idle clinking in the background. He felt all eyes on him, as he grudgingly crossed the short distance between he and Vankesa. “Vankesa...” he started falteringly.

“Yes?” he replied with a florid twist to his voice. Garril could tell that the man was going to enjoy every single second of that humiliation.

“I just wanted to say that...” Garril began as Vankesa reached for a banana and began to peel it. “...that it was wrong of me for...” He swallowed hard as Vankesa slowly, savoringly peeled off the final section of peel on the fruit. “...for starting such violent misconduct...” Vankesa slowly slid the end of the fruit into his open mouth, all the while looking at Garril questioningly.

“Go on,” he said in a devilish manner, sliding the banana further into his mouth.

Garril swallowed hard; “And I’m sorry I hit you.” He finished with that statement, staring at his feet to avoid everybody seeing his bright crimson blush. To his absolute horror, Vankesa even began slowly licking around the banana—Garril even thought he saw the edge of his mouth upturn in a satirical smile. “I—I have to go,” Garril said, and he dashed out of the room.

“That man is corrupting my nephew,” Tarja said, placing her chin gracelessly on her hands.

“Why, Tarja,” Vankesa said with feigned shock. “I can’t believe you just said that.” He said it with an absolutely straight face. Then his emotionless expression broke and he laughed, nearly choking on his banana.

Later in the morning, Rhylor had finally once again joined with Garril, Ardray and Solnel. With some reluctance, Vankesa had agreed to come; but only after he was reminded that they had left their weapons with the smith for long enough.

“That old man had better taken good care of my swords,” Vankesa mumbled a little speculatively.

“He did,” Rhylor assured him. “Suthan is the finest smithy outside Gerodathia.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Vankesa said skeptically.

It did not take them long at all to find the smith’s shop once again. They all remembered its recognizable mustard-yellow banner that was being flied outside of the door. As they neared the smithy, Garril looked up at the sign, carefully examining it.

“What an interesting script,” he said, noting the stroke-like characters.

“Yes,” Rhylor assured him, almost seeming to glow. “I will tell you about it later. But we should probably get that sword of yours first. I’d imagine Suthan is a little tired of holding onto an Elvin sword for so long.”

“What’s so wrong with Elvin swords?” Vankesa asked a little mildly as they descended the spiraling staircase toward the center of the smithy.

“Gerodathians are constructed a little differently,” Rhylor told him. “Whereas Elvins are a bit of a shorter race, Gerodathians are taller, and have generally bigger hands. Suthan probably thinks your swords are...” He scoured his mind, searching for the right word. It nearly took him the rest of the descent down to find the perfect words to describe, but he eventually came to “diminutive little things”.

At the bottom of the stairwell, Garril and Vankesa had icy demeanors splayed on their faces.