“What is your problem?” Tibs demanded of Mez, grabbing his arm and forcing him to stop.
“Tibs,” Jackal said, tone sharp.
“You keep going. Me and Mez need to talk.”
“Is this an appropriate place for such a discussion?” Khumdar asked.
They were halfway between the mountain and the town.
“It’s better than once he leaves to go to his fancy house, and I can’t get him to explain himself,” Tibs replied.
Mez yanked his arm out of his grip. “I don’t have to fucking explain myself to you.” He didn’t move from where he stood.
“When you keep snapping at me for no reason, yeah, you do.”
“Tibs,” Carina said, worriedly.
He opened and snapped his mouth on what he was about to say, swallowing his anger instead of directing it at her. “We just need to talk,” he told her.
“Yeah,” Mez said, mockingly, “Tibs just needs to tell me what I’m supposed to do.”
They glared at each other in the following silence.
“If you’re going to hit one another,” Jackal said, “go to the training field.” Then he walked away. Khumdar followed and, after looking at them in concern, so did Carina.
Tibs waited a few seconds. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“You going to tell me what the problem is?”
“You mean what my problem is with you doing whatever the fuck you want and never having to pay for it?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You get to have—” Mez motioned to Tibs. “—everything you have, and it doesn’t cost you anything. You steal and everyone treats you like some hero. You lie to everyone and no one gives a fuck!”
The surprise at the accusation kept Tibs from stopping the archer. “Cost nothing?” he said as Mez caught his breath. “I nearly died. Each time! I burned, I starved, I went without sleep for longer than I can count! Just because you didn’t see it, because you weren’t there. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen! I don’t lie anymore than I have to. I fought for the town, was shot, I—” he closed his mouth. “Too many people died. What were you doing while we were fighting for outlives here? Enjoying the best food? The best ales? Your girl?”
“I was trying to get back here!”
Tibs snorted .”Oh right, Because you hate all those nobles things you now get to do.”
“I do,” Mez snarled. And the anger in the words made Tibs step back. The archer was shaking, his clothing smoking.
“I thought—” Tibs’s sarcastic tone died and Mez made fists. He let Water cool him and watched his friend. “I thought,” he said keeping his tone neutral, “that was what you wanted.”
Mez closed his eyes. “I thought,” he replied, tone clipped, “that I’d have them once I reached Epsilon and had proved myself. Once I went home between working for the guild. Not that I’d have this taken from me.” He motioned around them angrily.
“They can’t take this from you,” Tibs said cautiously. “The guild—”
“Has other dungeons,” Mez snapped. “That can take a Rho fire archer. Dungeons that didn’t try to eat everyone who went in. With a town that didn’t nearly get destroyed. One that isn’t going to be filled with criminal who are a bad influence on me!”
Tibs tried to find something to say. He hadn’t expected not to be the reason Mez would ultimately give for his anger. “If your angry at them, why are you yelling at me?”
“Because you have all of that! You have the town.” He motioned to the mountain. “That. And no one’s talking about taking it all away from you!”
“Someone tried, and I fought him until he fled. Tell them no.”
“I can’t! I’m betrothed to her. I can’t be a child and just walk off.”
“Why not?”
“Because being a man means having responsibility to others. Like my family, her, hers.”
Tibs noticed the Runners and others giving them a wide berth. Khumdar had been right, this probably wasn’t the place for this discussion.
“What about a responsibility to you?”
“A noble puts others before himself,” Mez said, teeth clenched.
Tibs snorted and Mez glared. “Sounds more like you’re being sold into indenture.”
“I know,” the archer growled, then the heat radiating off him died down. “It’s not fucking fair.”
Tibs was reminded of what Serba told him, but kept that to himself. “If they aren’t going to be fair with you, why do you want to be fair to them?”
Mez growled in exasperation. “Because I want to be better than them.”
“Letting them mistreat you isn’t being better than them.”
He glared again, but this time there was pain in his eyes too. Mez cursed. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Jackal gets into fights when he looks like you.”
The archer snorted. “Jackal gets into fights when he looks fine.”
“That too. You can try getting drunk. He does that too.”
Mez let out a breath. “Jackal isn’t exactly someone I should copy.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s the example her family keeps bringing up as a bad influence on me.”
“Seems like that’s the best reason to do what he does.” His friend cracked a smile, it was pained, but it was an improvement. “How about we head to the inn. I’m sure Kroseph will have better advice than me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Tibs. But yeah, a drink sounds good right now.”
* * * * *
The argument with Mez, and the following drinking with his friends didn’t take his mind off what Sto had done to him for as long as he’d hoped, so Tibs stayed busy to keep the images of Jackal pounding on Pyan away. The way she melted, on the floor after the explosion from Mez’s arrow.
How Jackal had been ready to hit the archer for having his revenge denied.
He practiced sword fighting with Quigly. Approached the Omega rogues who’d survived their first runs and offered his help with their skills; so they’d have an alternative to the guild. And spent hours showing those who accepted how to work with locks and traps, borrowing them from the training grounds.
Because of the way the merchants only let him know of a theft he needed to look into, or how they included calculations to explain the amount they paid for the Runner’s help, Tibs had to spend time getting better with his letters and numbers. When he’d begged Carina to take cared of that, she’d patted his shoulder and smiled, leaving him to decipher the small scribbles that was how the herbalist put down his letters.
And every evenings, under Jackal and Kroseph’s supervision, Tibs channeled Purity.
The problem he experienced, was how tempting it was to work ever harder so he wouldn’t have to think about Sto. his pain, the memories, his troubles with the letters and numbers, or the few rogues who refused to follow his rules. Why shouldn’t he work? Work was good. It helped the town, his friends, even himself. Of course having to earn the meal he was served made sense. Coins weren’t enough to show that. He should cut the wood for the oven, help move the crates when the were delivered. No, he couldn’t accept an ale just because someone was being friendly, he had to earn that too. And if the friend couldn’t find something for Tibs to do, well, Carina just had to understand that Tibs would simply go parch instead.
So he fought the urge to channel Purity all the time and forced himself to not always work, even if memories intruded during those times.
* * * * *
Tibs was looking over the numbers, comparing them to the list he’d made of how much each of the merchants who could handle repairs for the sturdy cloth armor they were providing to the chosen Omega teams charged. He’d hoped to get Khumdar to deal with this part, but in the three weeks since their run, the cleric always managed to vanish as soon as Tibs remembered to ask.
He marked which of the merchants to ask, noting that he needed a guarantee on when they would be ready so the next team would have a full set in time. Helping the teams survive was involving them returning with damage armor, instead of dying and losing the armor.
He’d decided he could deal with that price early on.
He looked up as he felt Harry enter his sense. There was nothing around the inn that would require the guard leader to come to his part of the town, and it was quickly apparent the inn was his destination. Don wasn’t there, so Tibs couldn’t fool himself into believing the sorcerer was needed for some guild task.
He motioned to the server with his empty tankard, then assembled the papers that had spread onto the table into piles based on what they dealt with, then put them away into the satchel Darran had provided him with. The papers were provided by the merchants and their messages. He rubbed the charcoal off those and wrote on the back of the pages when a merchant used ink.
Harry’s expression was dark as he approached the table. He stopped and looked at the surface, which was covered with charcoal dust.
“This needs to stop, Tibs.”
“Why?”
“Because you aren’t in charge of protecting this town. I am.”
“You mean the town you’re willing to burn down if it suits the guild’s need?” He’d wanted to remain calm, but Harry’s actions, or lack of them, burned nearly as much as Sto’s.
“You’re too young to understand,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “That protecting the guild’s assets isn’t as simple as deciding one is better than the other. Each decision has consequences that must be weighed.”
It annoyed Tibs that Harry wasn’t lying.
He was nowhere near as skilled as the guard leader when it came to seeing the lies, but he’d gotten enough practice just listening to the Runners in the inn to notice how a lie radiated out of someone’s mouth as they spoke it. It got so much at times he had to shut down his ability to sense essence around him to be able to get some peace.
“Then isn’t me taking care of the town one less consequence you have to worry about?” Tibs offered, unable to keep the smugness from his voice.
Harry planted his hands on the table. “This isn’t how it works, Tibs. You’re a Runner. You do what the guild tells you. And I am telling you to stop this.”
Tibs smiled, picking up his tankard. “I’m a rogue. Doing what I’m told isn’t all that interesting.” He took a long swallow, watching the guard leader fume.
“This will not make you friends among the guild.”
He shrugged. “I don’t think anyone willing to let me, my friends, and my town, fall victim to someone like Sebastian is someone I want as a friend. And I’m not doing this because I want to, but because, for some reason, the merchants no longer feel like you’re the best person to look after their safety. It might have something to do with how they were left to fend for themselves when Sebastian tried to take over, despite assurance of safety when they were convinced to set up shop here.” Not to say of how it was too costly for most of them to leave, but he doubted that fell under Harry’s purview.
“I will throw all of you in a cell, Tibs,” Harry threatened.
Tibs smiled. “Who’s going to be left for the runs? Are there enough nobles to satisfy the dungeon, because those are about the only ones not taking part in protecting the town. Will the dungeon go back to eating everyone if he gets too hungry? How much will people be willing to pay of it’s nearly certain they’ll be eaten?”
Carina and Darran were responsible for the line of reasoning. Tibs had known that, as Quigly predicted, Harry would try to stop them, but they were who had explained the economic reasons he could use to keep most reprisal at bay. They had used a lot more numbers than Tibs did.
The guard leader studied Tibs. “You are playing a dangerous game.”
“I’m not playing, Harry. I’m doing what I can to make sure this town survives without you.”
“This town can’t survive without the guild.”
“We survived Sebastian without it. Or are you going to claim you somehow had a part to play in getting him to leave?” Harry’s expression darkened. “Go bother another dungeon and see what becomes of us.”
“You think you can tell the guild where to go?”
“You know what to do to get rid of me,” Tibs replied. “That’s what it’ll take for me to stop. But if you want to help me, seeing how you probably aren’t as busy as before, with me taking care of the town, how about you find out what Sebastian’s up to? Jackal tells me he’s still a threat to the town.”
The pain was quickly covered with anger.
Tibs wondered if Harry had tried to find out and failed. Or had he wanted to, but been prevented from doing so? Did the guard leader know what was coming?”
Harry straightened. “Don’t come complaining when this falls around you, Tibs.”
“Tell Tirania that the next time she wants to threaten my town, she can come do it herself.”
Harry shook his head sadly. “This is why you need to stop. This wasn’t a threat; it’s my attempt at helping you.”
“I’d have an easier time believing you,” Tibs replied flatly, “if you’d tried to help us when we needed it.”
Again, pain crossed Harry’s face, but instead of covering it, he turned and left.
Tibs knew Harry hadn’t lied, Harry never lied, and there had been no light as he spoke. But he didn’t care. He also didn’t care that his words had hurt the man. A second person he’d knowingly hurt with his words, or, in Sto’s case, lack of them.
And unlike with Sto, Tibs had no interest in making sure to smooth things over with the guard leader.
He simply wasn’t ready to smooth them with Sto just yet.
