The Ylverani

By God’s tooth, that child almost dropped me to my knees! The child’s birth had echoed through the land, and he could have pinpointed the exact moment that it’s fragile body was brought forth from the womb.

Custos sat in the shadows and stared down into his ale, twisting his mug in long, slow circles first one way and then the other. A chill had been trying to work its way down his spine and through his limbs, and he kept his body rigid to prevent any witness to the unease he was feeling.

The door of the old tavern flew open, the strong winds that had been building throughout that afternoon aiding in the newcomer’s efforts. A man of athletic means and refined features entered the tiny, dank tavern, and Custos shifted in his chair. The table that he had taken was untouched by the few beams of daylight that thread into the tavern, and he sat hunched over his ale, as one might if they were looking for answers from within its amber depths. When the man glanced around the establishment, he knew that his sanctuary was about to be invaded.

A barmaid approached this man, anxious to provide him with any assistance that he may need...or want. Her heavy bosom strained against the laces that worked to contain them beneath the shamefully thin cloth, and her face bore an expression of a petulant child when he cast neither glance nor interest at the endowment that she was offering.

As was typical for him, Custos sat with his hood drawn over his brow and had long since mastered the art of an unassuming peasant. He watched as the barmaid was waved away with an impatient hand, and her frown deepened to a scowl as her prey disregarded her without much consideration to her wares. Although not what he would call beautiful or charming, she still had a youthfulness to her features and figure that no doubt could charm most men who entered this establishment. Taking a pull on the room temperature ale, a deep frown creased his brow at the bitter aftertaste that indicated maybe too much hops, or lack of proper cleanliness.

The man moved across the creaking boards that reeked of aged liquor and ale, moving toward Custos’ table. Having found who he was looking for, his strides were confident in their pursuit, and Custos’ lips tightened into a thin line. His already rigid back grew more taut, and he could feel the tension form into a knot around the nape of his neck and shoulders.

‘Not happy to see me?’ The man forced a smile and grabbed the vacant chair, flinging himself onto it. Once comfortable, he ripped his riding gloves off his neatly manicured hands. They were strong hands masqueraded behind well-groomed fingertips, a surgeon’s hands.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Lochlann?’ The frown on his face bore deep, and there was no doubt his words were that of mere propriety.

‘Ah, Custos,’ he leaned across the table and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Tis always a pleasure to see you as well.’ Lochlann smiled, but there was a tightness about his mouth that held no humor. This section of town was beneath his standing, and to venture here as he was would come with its risks. Lochlann had made a name for himself in the King’s house, and his tailored clothes and polished appearance certainly brought on many gawks and stares from the regular patrons that were at varying stages of their intoxication.

Being seen with him would force him to find a new tavern from which to blend in plain sight. Custos remained silent and simply watched Lochlann, waiting for him to reveal why he sought him out.

The crease in Lochlann’s brow deepened, and he let out a breath. He leaned forward and whispered, ‘We need to speak.’

Custos shrugged while keeping a vigilant watch from his perch. Lochlann brought more attention than he would have cared for. He brought a small, thin, splintered piece of wood to his mouth and chewed hard. ‘Say your peace.’ He looked this man square in the eye, and stared hard at him with distaste at being approached. For a fleeting moment, the hint of fear and desperation stared back at him.

’She needs your help. They need your help!’ Lochlann was looking at him as if watching for a reaction. Custos sat stone-faced. Lochlann reclined in his chair, his back rigid and his hands clasped loosely on the table in front of him. He started to stroke the soft part of his hand with his thumb. ‘Perhaps I misjudged you. It may be that you have no care if Sarah lives or dies.’ Lochlann peered at Custos with a tense jaw, and he felt a chill. ‘Or that they use that child of hers against your own kind.’

The mug thudded hard against the table as Custos bowed his head more deeply, nearly connecting chin with chest and shrouding his face once again in darkness. The ale sloshed dangerously in the mug it was served in, and a few drops of its soothing liquid splattered on the heavy wooden table. Custos studied those drops and breathed deep, taking in the noxious odor of the tavern. The smell of urine, mold, and stale alcohol permeated the air, but it was familiar to him. ‘You don’t know what you would ask of me,’ he grounded out through tight lips.

‘I would not ask it if I thought there would be any other way.’

The barmaid lingered just beyond earshot, casting glances at the two men deep in conversation. Watching her from beneath his hood, he could sense her lingering appraisal of the man that now sat across from him.

A few tables over, a small band of men started to shift restlessly in their seats. Taking another long draw on his ale, he paused and said, ‘The baby arrived early.’

Lochlann nodded his head, the frown dancing across his brow. ‘Aye, that he did.’

‘So, male it is, eh?’

‘Aye.’

Staying in shadows, he mumbled, ‘This is not my fight.’

‘Don’t you believe? The Ylverani...your mother...’

Custos cut Lochlann off. ’My mother? My mother has her own purpose for existing.’ Lochlann’s eyes grew wide, and his mouth dipped open just a breath. Ylverani were not known for exhibiting emotions like anger or rage. Custos took another draw on his ale. The mug was feeling light under his grasp when he returned it to the table, but there would not be another. ‘I see she has neglected to share my...shortcomings with you.’

‘Whatever your perceived demons, they are yours to bear. Do not ask others to perish for your faults.’ Lochlann shifted in his chair, and turned his attention to his fingers. ‘It is your talents that we have come to seek out. It is you that we need.’ He shifted his look to meet Custos.

‘Then you are a fool. Those talents may not only end my life, but may expose the child and his mother.’

‘You have remained hidden long enough.’

‘And it has spared me.’

‘To do what? Live this life of mediocrity? Is it the stench of these establishments that appeal to you? Maybe the lurid companions that are so easily come by? Or, pray tell, is it the bonds of trustworthy mates that keep you perched upon your chair?’ Leaning forward, he continued. ‘You can only keep so many paces before you catch up to yourself.’ Lochlann stood. Grabbing his gloves, he started picking at lint that was not obvious to Custos. Without making eye contact, he said, ‘Maybe you just need to remember who it is you are, and not that which holds you back.’

Custos watched him with narrowed eyes. After a few seconds, he let his gaze slide around the tavern before dropping them back to his ale. He picked the mug up. ‘You mind yourself leaving. Company awaits you.’ He nodded at Lochlann.

Lochlann turned to follow his line of sight. Only one of the restless crew remained from the other table, and he was keeping close watch of Lochlann’s movements. ‘Alas, yet another obstacle.’ He looked back at Custos. “Unlike you, I understand their worth.’ Lochlann hesitated for a moment, and then swivelled on his heels. As he did, he bumped square into the barmaid.

The drinks she balanced on her wooden tray spilled everywhere and created a massive amount of chaos. Custos remained seated at the table and a small smirk unwillingly passed over his lips. He watched as Lochlann used that chaos he created as a means to escape. Gripping the handle of his mug, he chuckled into its shallow contents. Lochlann was a clever one, and had a way of getting out of most situations. He even had a way of getting what he wanted.

The lone stranger that had been watching Lochlann stood and made his way for him. Moving towards the back exit, Lochlann side-stepped and ducked to miss those that would see him punished for dropping a lass on her arse, or maybe it was more primal than that as their mugs of ale seeped in and soaked the wooden floor slats. The lone man focussed on Lochlann and his gait grew long and fast to catch up with the man of means.

As he passed several tables, he put out a lean, thin arm to grab Lochlann. His arm made a slight sweeping motion as it flew forward in a path to seize Lochlann’s shoulder and stop his escape. As his arm rounded the peak of his motion, his tattered sleeve caught fast on a nail that loosened from its hold in a massive support beam of the old tavern. His shirt ripped to his elbow as he fought to free himself. When the nail had reached the end of its journey, it released the offending cloth that had seen better days. With its release, the man lost his footing and fell square on another’s table, spilling the contents over the floor and on the men that had been nursing the liquid that had cost them their day’s wage.

Lochlann disappeared through the exit without anyone to disturb his progress, and Custos shook his head. Standing, he threw a coin on the table and pulled his hood and cloak close to him. The once stalker now fought to free himself and stared dumbfounded in an effort to find the offending object that had impeded his progress. Naturally, Lochlann knew that he would intervene to help his escape, and knew that he would not allow the child to be used against his people. The only question left is what to do with the child...and his mother?