UnFamiliar Pathways (Familiar Magic Book 4), page 21
>
With a wry sense of amusement, Dascha asked, << At this point in my life, I am not sure if the two are mutually exclusive. >>
Arrested, the immense feline murmured, << You might just have a point! That does not change the fact that you are ignoring something essential for you to do. We have tried to hint about our expectations, but you, like those before you, tend to be a bit stubborn and thick when it comes to taking hints. I have tried to communicate with you, and my brother has tried to talk to your Witch. Neither one of you is listening very carefully! >>
Stung, Dascha responded without thinking, << Has it occurred to either you or your brother that if you are having problems communicating with multiple people that the problem is not with them but with you? Trying to do something over and over again when it is not working is obviously a sign of a lapse in judgment or skill. Since you are so confident in your ability and your widespread knowledge, I suggest you figure out a better way. Maybe you could email, or perhaps you could send notes in a bottle! Figure it out, and stop blaming the rest of us when it is you that repeatedly has the problem! >>
As soon as Dascha finished speaking, she was almost buried under feelings of danger and how inappropriate her response had been. Fighting back from her sense of inadequacy, the stubborn Familiar focused on her connection with her Witch. From a distance, she felt Zhanna’s instantaneous and open-armed rush of energy and reassurance. No matter what any God or Deity chose to do, Dascha knew her Witch would back her up.
As she realized this reassuring fact, her heart rate slowed down, and the young cat straightened up and stared the massive feline facing her in the eye, waiting for his response. She thought to herself, If he is going to blast me out of existence, I am going to go on my own four paws, not cringing with my belly in the dirt!
There was a stretched, silent moment when no one said or acted. Just when Dascha thought she was going to break under the strain, the immense cat broke into hissing laughter. Almost incoherently, she heard him say, <<… would not have believed that anyone was brave enough to throw that in my teeth. I guess my sister that commands the Seers and she that leads the Witches are both right. You and your Witch are something special, both together and apart. >>
Relieved, Dascha asked him directly, << What is it that you want me to do? >>
The archetypal cat was suddenly serious as he answered her, << If your friends are going to survive, you must teach them how to take their primal shape before they leave the floating connecting dimension. Ensure that they can shift their form at will and are comfortable in their altered bodies. This is something critical that only you can do, and it will make all the difference in their ability to return to you. Do this without delay! >>
Dascha felt the impact of his words and knew that they were stating absolute truth with the way that they resonated through her bones and echoed in her mind. The Familiar turned to leave the crossroads just as she heard the large cat add, << Oh, by the way. Make sure you get some of that intriguing armor also. You are going to need it very soon! >>
Dascha had no chance to ask any further questions as she was abruptly swept back into the warm spot in the sun where she had fallen asleep. Zhanna was standing by her side, calling her name. When the black Familiar opened her eyes and looked at her Witch, she saw that the woman was carrying a bale that seemed to be fine leather.
Zhanna was asking, “Are you ready to go?”
Standing up and stretching, Dascha answered, << Of course, I am ready. >>
Tucking the shielded bag of artifacts that she had created securely into her belt, Zhanna settled the wrapped and tied bale of leathers from the Land Kraken that she planned on showing the Clothier firmly in her arms.
Together, the Witch and Familiar moved in concert through the portal.
Chapter 40 – Ambushed
Badger Hole Bar
Dascha and Zhanna moved through the expected tunnel of swirling chaos to emerge through the portal doorway into the Badger Hole Bar taproom. Usually, they were greeted by Madrik and Wynn, but this time the Witch and Familiar felt like they were ambushed.
Almost before they could take a single breath, the woman and cat from Tellus were surrounded by gesticulating and jabbering mercenaries. Her eyes wide, the young Witch looked over the top of what seemed like a huge crowd to meet the amused glances of the BHB’s Anchor and waitress.
Dascha immediately jumped for the mantle over the fireplace, her hair fluffed out, and her back arched. Even there, the Familiar was not safe. Executing another type of ambush, Spidercat immediately dropped next to her on the shelf with a solid thunk, and Wynn’s kitten leaped lightly up to the feline Familiar’s other side.
Staring from Dascha’s outraged form to the mob surrounding her, Zhanna mouthed, “What is going on?” The young Witch glanced in appeal at the two broadly grinning people. She looked so piteous that Madrik broke out in laughter. Unable to resist her unspoken plea for help, the BHB’s Anchor moved to her rescue.
Alastair had moved across the floor to her left side as the young woman had been engulfed by the waiting mercenaries. Madrik approached on the right. Raising his voice as he reached the embattled Witch, Madrik announced, with amusement threading through his tones, “Come on, ladies and gentlemen! Let the poor woman get all the way settled before you jump all over her. Surely you can give her that much breathing space!”
Most of the mercenaries looked embarrassed, stepping back away from Zhanna and muttering apologies under their breath. However, one female mercenary managed to grab Zhanna’s upper arms and begged with tears standing in her eyes, “Please, Zhanna! We heard that you were bringing artifacts of your own creation for the Clothier to set into a new type of armor that you and she were collaborating on.
“TT also said that you have new material for that armor! Any artifact that you have created that would help either for protection or weaponry can make the difference of life and death every time we go out on a mission. We leave the day after tomorrow on the first assignment that has been classified by the Mercenary Guild Commander as high risk. If there is anything that could help us, whether it is an artifact or material that will make better armor, please, please, let us buy it from you!”
Zhanna was so startled that she broke into speech without thinking, protesting, “These are the first Magical objects I have ever made! I do not want to bet your life on a practice exercise! Dorinda, both the artifacts and the possible material for the armor are just experiments!”
Before the female mercenary could respond, an irate voice rose from another table, grating out, “Women should not be involved in making armor! It is ridiculous to think that anyone of the female persuasion could create something that a sensible person would bet their life on. You need large muscles and a lot of Guild knowledge to make good armor, and no untested girl should try to con hard-working mercenaries out of anything!”
The room went deathly silent in shock as everyone’s gaze was drawn to the burly form sitting all by himself at a six-person table. Deep red and unruly hair and beard were grizzled with grayish-white, and the craggy lines of the big man’s face accentuated his frowning expression.
Scowling eyes and a beetled brow completed his look of disdain and barely controlled anger, as the powerful, older man glared in confrontation at the slender Witch. Rising to his feet, the man towered over Zhanna by more than a foot and moved toward her with the lumbering grace of a rhinoceros.
His voice gaining volume as he came closer, the man thundered, “I have been a Master Armorer for more than 100 years! Fifteen years as an apprentice, followed by five years as a Journeyman, meant that I earned my rank. No little twit should be allowed to dabble in such a highly skilled field! Be assured I will do everything I can to stop you from endangering any of the mercenaries at the Guild!”
Moving with deceptive quickness, the massive man charged Zhanna as if he were going to run her down. Alastair moved to block him but was swept away with a single blow of the Armorer’s massively muscled left arm. Madrik began to intercept the attacker, as viciously thorned branches sprang from different sections of the floor, signaling the BHB’s participation in Zhanna’s defense.
The BHB’s Anchor felt more than saw Alastair rolling back to his feet and smoothly turning the move into a charge toward the attacking man. Vincent came rushing out from behind the bar where he had been helping Brechal, armed with a wicked-looking baton.
Peripherally, Madrik caught the echo of the BHB as it sent an urgent request to Doucette. Since the buildings communicated with each other more in images than in words, the BHB sent a snapshot of the emerging brawl in the taproom, followed by a picture of the Clothier rushing through the BHB’s door.
Unsure of the reason for the urgency, Madrik stuttered in his advance toward Zhanna. Immediately realizing that the split second of delay meant that the Armorer would reach the young Witch before he could help defend her, Madrik felt his anger rising in protective frustration and braced himself for the fight that would come.
Madrik’s assistance alone would have been too late and possibly too little to save Zhanna from fright and injury. However, Dascha had seen the exact instant that the big man had begun to move. Fury welled up in the Familiar’s core, and she sprang like a released crossbow bolt from the mantle toward her Witch. As her strong but small body cut through the air like a hot knife through butter, Dascha’s form exploded into the enormous structure of her primal shape.
Although her leap had propelled an average-sized cat off the mantle, less than a couple of instants later, the animal that arched over the top of the young Witch and slammed into the charging figure of the Armorer was a half-ton of enraged black sabertooth feline. The collision of the huge man and the massively muscled cat created such a loud reverberation that many of the mercenaries in the room flinched in sympathy.
When the two towering figures smashed into each other, it was the man who was bounced backward to crash on his back in the middle of the floor. For the first time, his expression showed something other than anger. The intense look of shock might have been satisfying to Zhanna, but at this point, the young Witch found her fear and astonishment overwhelmed by a tidal wave of fury.
As Dascha leaned her weight on the man’s arms, pinning him to the floor with her oversized paws, the immense sabertooth cat brought her snarling muzzle against the now fearful man’s face. Her vision tinged red, Zhanna dropped her bundle on the closest table, and stalked toward him, snarling her outrage in a curse-filled tirade, “May your blankets never warm, and fleas multiply in your crotch! Your chisels will always break, and your hammers never strike true! Idiocy is its own reward, and it is apparent that you are too ignorant to learn from yours!”
Ignoring the fact that he was pinned to the floor with the scimitar-armed massive paws of a half-ton cat, the Armorer rode his fury into a growling diatribe of frustration. “Women do not know their place anymore! Nothing is sacred, and your soft little fingers are everywhere! Women fighters trying to pretend they are as good as men, curtains and pillows cluttering up the clean lines of a room, it is a crying shame! Nowhere did I agree that my world could be taken over by such deceptive creatures!”
Chapter 41 – Taking Sides
Badger Hole
Genevieve had just finished recording the last pair of measurements for the two cats when she felt Doucette jerk to attention. The entire building rattled for an instant before the Clothier was inundated with a deep sense of urgency and the rapid arrival of a set of images. Usually articulate and loquacious, Doucette was so upset that he could not find his voice. Instead, the sentient building chose to inundate his Anchor’s mind with pictures that burned with a frantic light.
First came the image of a thick trunked deep-rooted tree that somehow encompassed the Badger Hole Bar, stretching its limbs and roots over a wide area. This picture glowed with fury and worry, and Genevieve’s heart felt like it was jumping in her throat as acid burned like a rising fountain in her chest.
The next image sent Genevieve up on her feet and sprinting for her studio door to the outside. It showed Zhanna standing together in the Badger Hole Bar taproom with a young female mercenary that the Clothier had met and spoken to a few times, as an immense, angry man charged them. In the moving image, Genevieve saw Alastair flung to the side and knew that the two women were in acute danger.
Just before the Clothier exploded through her doorway, the voice of Gingher shouted, “Madame, catch!”
Stuttering her steps, Genevieve turned for an instant and saw the lethal-looking shears flying through the air at her. The young woman reached up and snatched the paired blades out of midair, only to twist and continue running as she slipped her ally into the pocket of her dress.
The final image that Doucette sent to his Anchor made Genevieve choke back a laugh. Reserving all of her breath for her running, the Clothier was highly amused by the picture that showed her running at high speed from her studio to the Badger Hole Bar. Funny that I am doing precisely what the BHB asked for, even before I got the request. I wonder if I am becoming too predictable? she thought to herself.
Still at a full-on sprint, Genevieve crashed through the main door of the BHB only to pull up abruptly at the drama that was playing out in front of her. For a moment, her mind could not process what she was seeing. The only thing that was crystal clear was the voice of the angry man whom she had seen in the visual message charging at her friends.
The Clothier realized that in the few seconds it had taken her to get to the taproom, some significant actions had occurred because the man was lying on the floor. He was securely pinned to the ground by the massively clawed paws of the most enormous feline that Genevieve had ever seen.
For a moment, Genevieve felt a shiver of fright and her skin raised in goosebumps. Then the large cat had looked up, and the Clothier recognized Dascha’s eyes looking out of the enormous head. All of the tension that the panting woman felt dissolved into nothing and Genevieve once again took a deep breath. Carefully, she began to make her way over to where Zhanna stood, shaking in fury.
All of a sudden, Genevieve’s ears started to work again, and as she continued toward Zhanna, she curled her lip at the hate-filled speech against women that was tumbling out of the big man’s mouth. Totally ignoring his presence, the Clothier made a slight detour around his pinned body, reaching her hands out to embrace the shaking Russian Witch.
“Are you all right,” she asked softly, searching Zhanna’s face for signs of pain. When Genevieve saw only righteous anger, the Clothier straightened up and turned to look at the supine man.
Her dark eyes snapping with anger, Genevieve pointed with her sturdy but elegant finger at the man, and asked with utmost disdain, “Who brought this bad-mannered puppy into the taproom?!” Looking around, she saw no one looking guilty. Mercenaries were staring at each other and looking around, but no one spoke up. Finally after a long pause, Dorinda answered her, saying, “He came to put a proposal in front of the Mercenary Guild today. Apparently, he asked the Guild if he could be our dedicated Armorer. He must have come here after the meeting to get a drink.”
There were matching snorts of sound from the Witch and the Clothier, followed by Zhanna’s still angry voice, saying, “It is a good thing that I trust Dov to not do something as stupid as hiring this man as the only Armorer for the Guild. His attitude and blind adherence to outdated thinking would make him a danger to every single one of the mercenaries that was sent out on assignment.”
The still-pinned big man on the floor let out a cry of outrage and strained against Dascha’s anchoring paws as he roared, “Women cannot make armor! Everyone knows that! They should not even try to fight, let alone fight against strong opponents! I would have been signed up if they did not have blasted women on the governing Council of the Guild. They probably knew that I saw through them. One all dressed up fancy in black as if she really knew how to do anything useful when it came to a blade! The other was even worse, wearing the uniform of a General!”
There was a cold draft as the tall woman in black leather seemed to materialize next to the Clothier. A small smile on her face, Zhanna looked over and said, “Hello, Cynthia! I hope you heard what this idiot just said because I am getting a little tired of listening to him.”
Cynthia, the head of the covert arm of the Mercenaries Guild, moved her lips into the semblance of a smile, all the while tracking the big man’s actions with her side vision. In her normal icy tones, the woman answered, “I most certainly heard what he said. After his offensive performance in front of the Governing Council, both Dov and I were worried that he would find some way of making trouble.”
Quietly, Genevieve asked, “Why was he not escorted out of the Badger Hole? We certainly do not need his type of undisciplined behavior anywhere around us.”
Before the Assassin could respond, the big man shouted once more, “I am a Master Armorer! You should be honored that I offered my services! No one here has the breadth of my knowledge or the skills of my hands. Why can you not understand that?”
Suddenly, Genevieve’s patience snapped with the abruptness of a breaking stick. Once again, the petite woman pointed her finger at him and said in an angry tone, “You, sir, are an ignorant, bad-mannered idiot. There is more to providing protection for people than the technical abilities to create something strong. It also requires an understanding for whom the item is being made and for what use they employ it.”
Unable to respond directly, the man loudly grumbled, “I do not even understand why they told me I have to get along with the building. That makes no sense, buildings are not alive!”
Moving over toward him with the smooth glide of a stalking predator, Cynthia leaned to catch his gaze with her own, saying clearly and icily, “As Dov told you clearly until we have an official Armorer installed as an Anchor at the Forge, we will be sourcing our equipment, specifically the protective garments and armor, from a variety of vendors. Since you were not Called to be the Armorer, we will not agree to an exclusive contract with you. I am positive that most of those words you understand. Do not try our patience any further.”
With a wry sense of amusement, Dascha asked, << At this point in my life, I am not sure if the two are mutually exclusive. >>
Arrested, the immense feline murmured, << You might just have a point! That does not change the fact that you are ignoring something essential for you to do. We have tried to hint about our expectations, but you, like those before you, tend to be a bit stubborn and thick when it comes to taking hints. I have tried to communicate with you, and my brother has tried to talk to your Witch. Neither one of you is listening very carefully! >>
Stung, Dascha responded without thinking, << Has it occurred to either you or your brother that if you are having problems communicating with multiple people that the problem is not with them but with you? Trying to do something over and over again when it is not working is obviously a sign of a lapse in judgment or skill. Since you are so confident in your ability and your widespread knowledge, I suggest you figure out a better way. Maybe you could email, or perhaps you could send notes in a bottle! Figure it out, and stop blaming the rest of us when it is you that repeatedly has the problem! >>
As soon as Dascha finished speaking, she was almost buried under feelings of danger and how inappropriate her response had been. Fighting back from her sense of inadequacy, the stubborn Familiar focused on her connection with her Witch. From a distance, she felt Zhanna’s instantaneous and open-armed rush of energy and reassurance. No matter what any God or Deity chose to do, Dascha knew her Witch would back her up.
As she realized this reassuring fact, her heart rate slowed down, and the young cat straightened up and stared the massive feline facing her in the eye, waiting for his response. She thought to herself, If he is going to blast me out of existence, I am going to go on my own four paws, not cringing with my belly in the dirt!
There was a stretched, silent moment when no one said or acted. Just when Dascha thought she was going to break under the strain, the immense cat broke into hissing laughter. Almost incoherently, she heard him say, <<… would not have believed that anyone was brave enough to throw that in my teeth. I guess my sister that commands the Seers and she that leads the Witches are both right. You and your Witch are something special, both together and apart. >>
Relieved, Dascha asked him directly, << What is it that you want me to do? >>
The archetypal cat was suddenly serious as he answered her, << If your friends are going to survive, you must teach them how to take their primal shape before they leave the floating connecting dimension. Ensure that they can shift their form at will and are comfortable in their altered bodies. This is something critical that only you can do, and it will make all the difference in their ability to return to you. Do this without delay! >>
Dascha felt the impact of his words and knew that they were stating absolute truth with the way that they resonated through her bones and echoed in her mind. The Familiar turned to leave the crossroads just as she heard the large cat add, << Oh, by the way. Make sure you get some of that intriguing armor also. You are going to need it very soon! >>
Dascha had no chance to ask any further questions as she was abruptly swept back into the warm spot in the sun where she had fallen asleep. Zhanna was standing by her side, calling her name. When the black Familiar opened her eyes and looked at her Witch, she saw that the woman was carrying a bale that seemed to be fine leather.
Zhanna was asking, “Are you ready to go?”
Standing up and stretching, Dascha answered, << Of course, I am ready. >>
Tucking the shielded bag of artifacts that she had created securely into her belt, Zhanna settled the wrapped and tied bale of leathers from the Land Kraken that she planned on showing the Clothier firmly in her arms.
Together, the Witch and Familiar moved in concert through the portal.
Chapter 40 – Ambushed
Badger Hole Bar
Dascha and Zhanna moved through the expected tunnel of swirling chaos to emerge through the portal doorway into the Badger Hole Bar taproom. Usually, they were greeted by Madrik and Wynn, but this time the Witch and Familiar felt like they were ambushed.
Almost before they could take a single breath, the woman and cat from Tellus were surrounded by gesticulating and jabbering mercenaries. Her eyes wide, the young Witch looked over the top of what seemed like a huge crowd to meet the amused glances of the BHB’s Anchor and waitress.
Dascha immediately jumped for the mantle over the fireplace, her hair fluffed out, and her back arched. Even there, the Familiar was not safe. Executing another type of ambush, Spidercat immediately dropped next to her on the shelf with a solid thunk, and Wynn’s kitten leaped lightly up to the feline Familiar’s other side.
Staring from Dascha’s outraged form to the mob surrounding her, Zhanna mouthed, “What is going on?” The young Witch glanced in appeal at the two broadly grinning people. She looked so piteous that Madrik broke out in laughter. Unable to resist her unspoken plea for help, the BHB’s Anchor moved to her rescue.
Alastair had moved across the floor to her left side as the young woman had been engulfed by the waiting mercenaries. Madrik approached on the right. Raising his voice as he reached the embattled Witch, Madrik announced, with amusement threading through his tones, “Come on, ladies and gentlemen! Let the poor woman get all the way settled before you jump all over her. Surely you can give her that much breathing space!”
Most of the mercenaries looked embarrassed, stepping back away from Zhanna and muttering apologies under their breath. However, one female mercenary managed to grab Zhanna’s upper arms and begged with tears standing in her eyes, “Please, Zhanna! We heard that you were bringing artifacts of your own creation for the Clothier to set into a new type of armor that you and she were collaborating on.
“TT also said that you have new material for that armor! Any artifact that you have created that would help either for protection or weaponry can make the difference of life and death every time we go out on a mission. We leave the day after tomorrow on the first assignment that has been classified by the Mercenary Guild Commander as high risk. If there is anything that could help us, whether it is an artifact or material that will make better armor, please, please, let us buy it from you!”
Zhanna was so startled that she broke into speech without thinking, protesting, “These are the first Magical objects I have ever made! I do not want to bet your life on a practice exercise! Dorinda, both the artifacts and the possible material for the armor are just experiments!”
Before the female mercenary could respond, an irate voice rose from another table, grating out, “Women should not be involved in making armor! It is ridiculous to think that anyone of the female persuasion could create something that a sensible person would bet their life on. You need large muscles and a lot of Guild knowledge to make good armor, and no untested girl should try to con hard-working mercenaries out of anything!”
The room went deathly silent in shock as everyone’s gaze was drawn to the burly form sitting all by himself at a six-person table. Deep red and unruly hair and beard were grizzled with grayish-white, and the craggy lines of the big man’s face accentuated his frowning expression.
Scowling eyes and a beetled brow completed his look of disdain and barely controlled anger, as the powerful, older man glared in confrontation at the slender Witch. Rising to his feet, the man towered over Zhanna by more than a foot and moved toward her with the lumbering grace of a rhinoceros.
His voice gaining volume as he came closer, the man thundered, “I have been a Master Armorer for more than 100 years! Fifteen years as an apprentice, followed by five years as a Journeyman, meant that I earned my rank. No little twit should be allowed to dabble in such a highly skilled field! Be assured I will do everything I can to stop you from endangering any of the mercenaries at the Guild!”
Moving with deceptive quickness, the massive man charged Zhanna as if he were going to run her down. Alastair moved to block him but was swept away with a single blow of the Armorer’s massively muscled left arm. Madrik began to intercept the attacker, as viciously thorned branches sprang from different sections of the floor, signaling the BHB’s participation in Zhanna’s defense.
The BHB’s Anchor felt more than saw Alastair rolling back to his feet and smoothly turning the move into a charge toward the attacking man. Vincent came rushing out from behind the bar where he had been helping Brechal, armed with a wicked-looking baton.
Peripherally, Madrik caught the echo of the BHB as it sent an urgent request to Doucette. Since the buildings communicated with each other more in images than in words, the BHB sent a snapshot of the emerging brawl in the taproom, followed by a picture of the Clothier rushing through the BHB’s door.
Unsure of the reason for the urgency, Madrik stuttered in his advance toward Zhanna. Immediately realizing that the split second of delay meant that the Armorer would reach the young Witch before he could help defend her, Madrik felt his anger rising in protective frustration and braced himself for the fight that would come.
Madrik’s assistance alone would have been too late and possibly too little to save Zhanna from fright and injury. However, Dascha had seen the exact instant that the big man had begun to move. Fury welled up in the Familiar’s core, and she sprang like a released crossbow bolt from the mantle toward her Witch. As her strong but small body cut through the air like a hot knife through butter, Dascha’s form exploded into the enormous structure of her primal shape.
Although her leap had propelled an average-sized cat off the mantle, less than a couple of instants later, the animal that arched over the top of the young Witch and slammed into the charging figure of the Armorer was a half-ton of enraged black sabertooth feline. The collision of the huge man and the massively muscled cat created such a loud reverberation that many of the mercenaries in the room flinched in sympathy.
When the two towering figures smashed into each other, it was the man who was bounced backward to crash on his back in the middle of the floor. For the first time, his expression showed something other than anger. The intense look of shock might have been satisfying to Zhanna, but at this point, the young Witch found her fear and astonishment overwhelmed by a tidal wave of fury.
As Dascha leaned her weight on the man’s arms, pinning him to the floor with her oversized paws, the immense sabertooth cat brought her snarling muzzle against the now fearful man’s face. Her vision tinged red, Zhanna dropped her bundle on the closest table, and stalked toward him, snarling her outrage in a curse-filled tirade, “May your blankets never warm, and fleas multiply in your crotch! Your chisels will always break, and your hammers never strike true! Idiocy is its own reward, and it is apparent that you are too ignorant to learn from yours!”
Ignoring the fact that he was pinned to the floor with the scimitar-armed massive paws of a half-ton cat, the Armorer rode his fury into a growling diatribe of frustration. “Women do not know their place anymore! Nothing is sacred, and your soft little fingers are everywhere! Women fighters trying to pretend they are as good as men, curtains and pillows cluttering up the clean lines of a room, it is a crying shame! Nowhere did I agree that my world could be taken over by such deceptive creatures!”
Chapter 41 – Taking Sides
Badger Hole
Genevieve had just finished recording the last pair of measurements for the two cats when she felt Doucette jerk to attention. The entire building rattled for an instant before the Clothier was inundated with a deep sense of urgency and the rapid arrival of a set of images. Usually articulate and loquacious, Doucette was so upset that he could not find his voice. Instead, the sentient building chose to inundate his Anchor’s mind with pictures that burned with a frantic light.
First came the image of a thick trunked deep-rooted tree that somehow encompassed the Badger Hole Bar, stretching its limbs and roots over a wide area. This picture glowed with fury and worry, and Genevieve’s heart felt like it was jumping in her throat as acid burned like a rising fountain in her chest.
The next image sent Genevieve up on her feet and sprinting for her studio door to the outside. It showed Zhanna standing together in the Badger Hole Bar taproom with a young female mercenary that the Clothier had met and spoken to a few times, as an immense, angry man charged them. In the moving image, Genevieve saw Alastair flung to the side and knew that the two women were in acute danger.
Just before the Clothier exploded through her doorway, the voice of Gingher shouted, “Madame, catch!”
Stuttering her steps, Genevieve turned for an instant and saw the lethal-looking shears flying through the air at her. The young woman reached up and snatched the paired blades out of midair, only to twist and continue running as she slipped her ally into the pocket of her dress.
The final image that Doucette sent to his Anchor made Genevieve choke back a laugh. Reserving all of her breath for her running, the Clothier was highly amused by the picture that showed her running at high speed from her studio to the Badger Hole Bar. Funny that I am doing precisely what the BHB asked for, even before I got the request. I wonder if I am becoming too predictable? she thought to herself.
Still at a full-on sprint, Genevieve crashed through the main door of the BHB only to pull up abruptly at the drama that was playing out in front of her. For a moment, her mind could not process what she was seeing. The only thing that was crystal clear was the voice of the angry man whom she had seen in the visual message charging at her friends.
The Clothier realized that in the few seconds it had taken her to get to the taproom, some significant actions had occurred because the man was lying on the floor. He was securely pinned to the ground by the massively clawed paws of the most enormous feline that Genevieve had ever seen.
For a moment, Genevieve felt a shiver of fright and her skin raised in goosebumps. Then the large cat had looked up, and the Clothier recognized Dascha’s eyes looking out of the enormous head. All of the tension that the panting woman felt dissolved into nothing and Genevieve once again took a deep breath. Carefully, she began to make her way over to where Zhanna stood, shaking in fury.
All of a sudden, Genevieve’s ears started to work again, and as she continued toward Zhanna, she curled her lip at the hate-filled speech against women that was tumbling out of the big man’s mouth. Totally ignoring his presence, the Clothier made a slight detour around his pinned body, reaching her hands out to embrace the shaking Russian Witch.
“Are you all right,” she asked softly, searching Zhanna’s face for signs of pain. When Genevieve saw only righteous anger, the Clothier straightened up and turned to look at the supine man.
Her dark eyes snapping with anger, Genevieve pointed with her sturdy but elegant finger at the man, and asked with utmost disdain, “Who brought this bad-mannered puppy into the taproom?!” Looking around, she saw no one looking guilty. Mercenaries were staring at each other and looking around, but no one spoke up. Finally after a long pause, Dorinda answered her, saying, “He came to put a proposal in front of the Mercenary Guild today. Apparently, he asked the Guild if he could be our dedicated Armorer. He must have come here after the meeting to get a drink.”
There were matching snorts of sound from the Witch and the Clothier, followed by Zhanna’s still angry voice, saying, “It is a good thing that I trust Dov to not do something as stupid as hiring this man as the only Armorer for the Guild. His attitude and blind adherence to outdated thinking would make him a danger to every single one of the mercenaries that was sent out on assignment.”
The still-pinned big man on the floor let out a cry of outrage and strained against Dascha’s anchoring paws as he roared, “Women cannot make armor! Everyone knows that! They should not even try to fight, let alone fight against strong opponents! I would have been signed up if they did not have blasted women on the governing Council of the Guild. They probably knew that I saw through them. One all dressed up fancy in black as if she really knew how to do anything useful when it came to a blade! The other was even worse, wearing the uniform of a General!”
There was a cold draft as the tall woman in black leather seemed to materialize next to the Clothier. A small smile on her face, Zhanna looked over and said, “Hello, Cynthia! I hope you heard what this idiot just said because I am getting a little tired of listening to him.”
Cynthia, the head of the covert arm of the Mercenaries Guild, moved her lips into the semblance of a smile, all the while tracking the big man’s actions with her side vision. In her normal icy tones, the woman answered, “I most certainly heard what he said. After his offensive performance in front of the Governing Council, both Dov and I were worried that he would find some way of making trouble.”
Quietly, Genevieve asked, “Why was he not escorted out of the Badger Hole? We certainly do not need his type of undisciplined behavior anywhere around us.”
Before the Assassin could respond, the big man shouted once more, “I am a Master Armorer! You should be honored that I offered my services! No one here has the breadth of my knowledge or the skills of my hands. Why can you not understand that?”
Suddenly, Genevieve’s patience snapped with the abruptness of a breaking stick. Once again, the petite woman pointed her finger at him and said in an angry tone, “You, sir, are an ignorant, bad-mannered idiot. There is more to providing protection for people than the technical abilities to create something strong. It also requires an understanding for whom the item is being made and for what use they employ it.”
Unable to respond directly, the man loudly grumbled, “I do not even understand why they told me I have to get along with the building. That makes no sense, buildings are not alive!”
Moving over toward him with the smooth glide of a stalking predator, Cynthia leaned to catch his gaze with her own, saying clearly and icily, “As Dov told you clearly until we have an official Armorer installed as an Anchor at the Forge, we will be sourcing our equipment, specifically the protective garments and armor, from a variety of vendors. Since you were not Called to be the Armorer, we will not agree to an exclusive contract with you. I am positive that most of those words you understand. Do not try our patience any further.”
