CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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Kovey

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19th of Decepter, 935 PC

Every Purist had a finite amount of pure magic in their soul. How much though was a mystery, a painstakingly difficult mystery. Dealing with the possibility of plummeting from superiority to mediocrity was so stress-inducing that most never learn just how much magic they possess. They die with the majority of the magical energy still floating around inside them after years of tip-toeing around, using their magic sparingly and only when it was truly necessary. That was not the case for Kovey Walber. Whereas so many Purists before him were careful, sometimes crippled by their anxiety, Kovey was reckless and wasteful. And his old friends knew it. A fact that had nearly kept him from joining Alaric’s cause. Seeing the looks on faces that had not seen him in years, answering questions about why he had been such a fool and what he had done in the time since running dry, it was not an attractive prospect. That he knew as truth. But reckless people seldom manage to tuck thirty years under their belt without doing something they felt the need to get redemption for and Kovey was no exception. So, with a bag full of Leos, a barrel’s worth of embarrassment, and a heart filled with regret, Kovey traveled from his home in Leoren to Thronerock and The Black Boar Inn.

“We thought ya went and killed yourself.” A crude looking woman was striking a match for her alchemical smoke stick and staring at Kovey’s round stomach. The last time he had seen Velvetine Ambrose he was about seventy pounds lighter, his arms were muscle rather than toneless, round logs with hinges, and his hair was full and flowing. Not thinning and embarrassing to look at in the mirror. Very little had changed about the Constructionist though. She was clearly still on drugs and still reminded him of the hags his mother used to describe in her stories. The only difference was that she looked considerably more sickly than he remembered. Of course, remembering much of his time with Velvetine was tough, considering her problems had become his problems. And not in a heroic sense. The white-haired Constructionist was wearing the same tattered green jerkin she had worn when he spent nearly every waking hour with her half a decade before. Only now, there were more holes and tears in it, accompanied by a fair share of stains and dry mud. Who am I to judge? I wasn’t much better off back then.

“Good t’see you too, Vel.” He spoke loud enough to be heard over the raucous pub atmosphere around them. It had been years since Kovey had stepped foot in The Black Boar Inn but from the looks of it not much had changed. It was still packed to the brim with shady looking men and women, several of which didn’t look much better off than Velvetine. The sounds reminded him of her as well. Gruff, raspy voices were yelling curse words, telling stories, more likely lies, and throwing out threats to anyone that could hear them. Below that obnoxious level of drunken enthusiasm, there was a loud buzz of friendlier activity and discussion. The far more dangerous kind. The Black Boar Inn was not the kind of place you sat down to find a straight and narrow business opportunity. And those foolish enough to have done so were the ones trying to sell the current schemes in order to recoup their losses. A vicious cycle.

Velvetine tapped the ashes from the end of her smoke stick onto the floor and grinned. “What? It’s true. Last time we saw ya you was runnin’ into the forest with tears in your eyes.” She let out a laugh that a woman who had smoked for too long would possess and then scratched her armpit.

“Aye. I remember,” muttered Kovey. He’d give anything not to remember that day, but it was etched in his mind for all eternity. A Purist didn’t suddenly regain magic after running dry. He had been living with a literal reminder of that day ever since.

Belvedere Ambrose, younger sister to the drug addict, could no longer hold her tongue. “Stop that, Vel,” she snapped. She made a face at Kovey that said, I’m sorry for my ridiculous sister and opened her arms wide for a hug. Belvedere was a Constructionist also, but her abilities fell on the other end of the spectrum. Kovey had often laughed at how symbolic it was that Belvedere’s magic pulled things together and bound them tight while Velvetine’s tore things apart. Violently.

When they withdrew Kovey looked at them both. Once upon a time the Ambrose girls had nearly looked like identical twins, though they insisted they weren’t. And while it was true that no one would object if told the women were sisters, they certainly didn’t look identical. Everything that had fallen apart about Velvetine was still intact on Belvedere. Her white hair was full and smooth, beautiful to look at, angelic in a sense. Her body was healthy, thick compared to her skeleton of a sister. And her smile still made his heart skip a beat every time he saw it. I’m glad ol’ Bel still looks good. Always had a thing for her. How many times did I consider making a move on her? If I wasn’t confident enough to do so back when I was fit and handsome, I sure ain’t gonna be able to do it now that I’m barrel-bellied and out of shape.

“What Vel means to say is that we’ve missed you and… we were concerned for you,” said Belvedere.

“Nothin’ to fret over no more. Still alive. But I won’t deny it. I considered it. Right after I went dry,” said Kovey.

Smoke filled the air around them as Velvetine shook her head. She tapped away more ashes.. “Three hells, it’s damn good ya didn’t go and off yourself, Kove. Instead, ya get to die with us in a few weeks.” She gave him something she intended as a smile but could have made toddlers weep. Good ol’ Velvetine. No holdin’ back.

“How long has it been, Kovey? Four, maybe five years,” Belvedere asked. She threw her arm over his shoulder and waved her sister toward the booths that lined the side wall.

“Five,” said Kovey. “Haven’t seen much of anybody from the old days since then.”

He thought about the names he had tried to forget for some time; Rook, Hutch McMichael, Deadly Darryl Douglass. I wonder whatever happened to those boys.

As they moved through the crowd, Velvetine received more handshakes and pats on the back than a folk hero. She met the first few with gratitude and her hideous cackle but that quickly faded and found herself pushing past her friends and acquaintances dismissively.

They passed a horseshoe-shaped bar in the middle of the pub. In the center, a large flame was dancing beneath a roasting pig. A man in a black apron was turning it on a large spit. Orin’s still kickin’ is he? Good t’see it. The burly old man in the apron was barking orders to a few other men and women who were running around frantically with plates full of meat and vegetables. The patrons crowded around the bar were yelling and waving their hands to get service. As if right on cue, Kovey’s round stomach reminded him that he was hungry. Wouldn’t mind some of that myself.

The Ambrose girls took one side of an empty booth, Kovey the other. Velvetine flicked what was left of her smoke stick onto the floor beneath the table and stepped on it while her sister wiped the spilled ale off the counter with a handkerchief. It was nothing new to see Belvedere straightening up, though it was usually things that were much worse than some spilled ale. How long did it take for me to realize I was makin’ things worse for her? Adding to her lackluster life of cleaning up after others. Well, me and Vel specifically. What could she have done with herself if she didn’t havta watch after Vel constantly?

“Kove!” Not one to wait, Velvetine snapped him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“We couldn’t believe it when Alaric said you were joining us,” said Belvedere as she reached into her pocket.

Kovey stopped a waitress that was rushing by. “Three ales.” The woman nodded and took off quickly. He looked at the sisters. “Aye, I can’t believe I’m here either, really.” He thought about the promise he had made to himself. Don’t die wishing you were the man you used to be. “I told myself when I got outta my slump that I was gonna redeem myself. Be a better man.” Velvetine scoffed, Belvedere smacked her arm, never taking her eyes off Kovey as she nodded her head understandingly. Kovey continued. “Figured if I can help save our people from the Lotus Queen I’d be able to forgive myself.”

“I think that’s fair,” said Belvedere. Kovey shrugged.

“How exactly are ya gonna help?” Velvetine asked. “Ya can’t shapeshift no more, right? You’re completely empty.” Empty. The word stung him.

He looked down at his belly. “In some ways I permanently shifted shapes.” That brought a cackle out of Velvetine and a beautiful grin from her sister. He stared at Belvedere in admiration while she watched her sister laugh. “But yes. Completely,” he muttered.

Belvedere chimed in. “Well, if you’re as good with your daggers as you used to be, you’ll contribute plenty.” She smiled. Am I though? I haven’t cut nothin’ but food in years now. Done plenty of that though, can’t be too different.

“I dunno if ya could still call me a throat slasher, but I figure if I just make sure to cut them and not myself, I’ll be fine.”

The waitress returned with their drinks a short while later. Ale spilled on the table as she sat the overflowing mugs down. Kovey went to pay the woman but Belvedere beat him to it.

“I got it,” she said.

“Are ya sure? I’d like to buy you a drink.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to.”

Velvetine nodded at him. “More gold than Queen Nala, this one.”

When the waitress had walked off, Kovey put his dry elbows on the table and took a drink from his mug. “Well…”

He could see Belvedere’s cheeks turning red before a wry smile formed.

“Sells more drugs than anybody in the valley,” said Velvetine.

“Well, almost anyone,” said Belvedere.

“What?!” asked Kovey.

Belvedere sipped her drink and gave an innocent shrug. “It just made sense with Velvetine’s habits and my people skills. It’s worked out great.” Sweet little Belvedere buying and selling alchemical drugs. Unbelievable.

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Belvedere was explaining the finer details of her drug empire when a hush slowly fell over the crowded pub. Eventually, all that could be heard was the rain pattering the rooftop and a few voices by the door. Kovey strained to see what had caused the lull in the activity. Standing in the doorway, shaking hands with patrons, and accepting mugs of ale was an older gentleman, his hair graying, his skin tan and on the verge of wrinkling. There was a younger man standing near him. Alaric Sampson. Kovey grabbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Gotta say. If I ever got that man alone in a room,” said Velvetine. There ain’t a chance in the three hells Alaric would touch Vel.

“Velvetine, must you say everything that crosses your mind?” asked Belvedere.

“What else ya want me to say?”

“Nothing. Nothing would be wonderful.” Belvedere rolled her eyes.

When Alaric had visited Kovey’s home in Leoren over a moon ago he had done most of the talking. Kovey simply listened to the man’s inspired speech about stopping the Lotus Queen and preserving pure magic until he accepted Alaric’s invitation to join his makeshift army. It was hard not to. There was passion inside Alaric, laced thoroughly with a hatred for the woman less commonly referred to as Iris Everton nowadays. Kovey had his own reasons to join the fight, but helping Alaric exact his revenge was an added benefit.

“It’s his eyes,” said Velevetine. “Somethin’ about them eyes made me feel like I couldn’t say no to helpin’ with his little revenge quest.”

“There’s more at stake than his revenge, Vel. The Lotus Queen and her army are coming after all of us, one by one,” said Belvedere as she glanced at her sister. “And you’re wrong, it’s his voice. Had me hanging on his every word.” They grinned at one another.

Kovey sipped his ale and listened to the women go back and forth about Alaric. They’re both wrong. It’s his presence. Holds you under his thumb. Makes ya do things ya wouldn’t dare do otherwise. Not the only person like that I’ve encountered but certainly the most intimidating.

The pub’s buzz had returned and the old friends were back deep in conversation when a tough looking man approached their booth. His enormous frame blocked out much of the light from the nearby lantern. Kovey recognized him as Garth Buxton, Alaric’s bodyguard. He had welcomed Kovey to the inn the night before. Showed him to his room. His hair was pulled back tight and tied in a cord. A stiff, bristly beard stuck out a few inches from his chin. The sleeves on his shirt were cut to allow his enormous biceps more room.

“Sampson wants to see ya upstairs,” he said to Belvedere. His tone made it clear he’d accept no objections.

“I’d have a few moments,” said Belvedere. Tougher than she looks. Full of surprises these days.

“Sooner the better.” Garth walked away without another word.

Belvedere reached into her pocket and removed a small canister. It’s top popped open with a dull plop. She plucked two red squares from the canister and handed one to Kovey and one to her sister. No words were spoken. A moment later the canister was back in her pocket and she was sliding out of the booth. Most people would have disappeared into the throng of patrons standing shoulder to shoulder throughout the pub but Kovey was able to follow Belvedere’s white hair all the way across the room. Garth joined her as she walked up the stairs.

Kovey looked at Velvetine. Her red square was already on her tongue.

“What is it?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Red fox… helps with nerves.”

I’m clean now, remember?

“It’s not heavy,” said Velvetine. “Ain’t one to get addicted to.” She turned her hand over in the middle of the table. There was a white scar across her palm. Kovey placed his hand beside hers, revealing a similar scar. “I’ve never steered you wrong have I?

Ha. When have you not steered me wrong? He chose to bite his tongue. Velvetine knew their history just as well as he did. You’re likely to be dead before the next moon anyway. He tossed the square into his mouth.