Marina Dyachenko: The Scar

However, bewilderment soon replaced joy; after saying something heated to his companion, the student hopped up and ran off after the innkeeper to find out who exactly this generous benefactor, this Lord Soll, was.

Egert drained his mug to the dregs, stood up leisurely, and made his way through the room to the girl, who had been left alone. As he walked, he purposefully avoided looking at her, fearing disenchantment. For what if this beauty, when seen too close, turned out not to be as beautiful?

The dining room was half-empty. A few guests were eating and a well-behaved group of townsfolk were whiling away their time in amiable drunkenness. The Noble Sword had the reputation for being a calm, decorous establishment; the innkeeper carefully guarded against boisterous carousals and brawls. Delaying the moment of meeting the beautiful lady, Egert noticed a new face among the guests. Apparently, this tall, middle-aged traveler had arrived very recently because Egert did not know him by sight.

Having finally come to within a hairsbreadth of his goal, Egert mentally prepared himself to gaze upon the fiancée of the student.

Oh yes, she was magnificent. Her face no longer seemed so tired, and her cheeks, smooth as alabaster, had gained a bit of color. Now that he was close, he could distinguish small, previously unnoticed details, such as a constellation of tiny beauty marks on her long, proud neck and the unusually steep, bold sweep of her eyelashes.

Egert stood and gazed at her. The girl slowly raised her head and, for the first time, Egert met the gaze of her serious, slightly aloof eyes.

“Good day,” said Egert, and he sat down in the spot vacated by the student. “Does the lady object to the company of a humble worshipper of beauty?”

The girl did not become confused or frightened; she only seemed somewhat taken aback. “Excuse me, you are?”

“My name is Egert Soll.” He stood, gave a short bow, and again sat down.

“Ah.” It seemed she was about to smile. “If that is so, then we should thank you.”

“Not at all!” Egert seemed dismayed. “It is we, the humble citizens of Kavarren, who should thank you for the honor you have bestowed upon us—” He had to pause and fill his lungs with air to finish the florid phrase. “—bestowed upon us, by favoring us with your presence. How long may we shower you with hospitality?”

The girl smiled, and at that moment, Egert wanted nothing more than for that smile to never leave her face.

“You are very obliging. We will be here for a week, perhaps a bit longer.”

With a proprietary gesture, Egert produced the first bottle from the basket and adroitly uncorked it. “Please allow me to fulfill the duties of hospitality and offer you some wine. Do you have any relatives in Kavarren, or perhaps some friends?”

She managed to shake her head no, but just then the student returned and the girl smiled at him, and her smile was so joyful that it completely overshadowed the smile she had just given Egert. Egert noticed this and an unpleasant feeling slid into his soul, a feeling that almost resembled jealousy.

“Dinar, this is the Lord Soll who so generously presented us with all these marvels. Lord Soll, allow me to introduce my fiancé, Dinar.”

The student nodded to Egert, but he did not offer his hand, which was lucky because Egert would die before shaking that bony paw, unaccustomed to weapons and stained with what appeared to be darkened spots of ink. Up close, the student seemed even more despicable and awkward, and Egert felt like crying out to Heaven at the grievous wrong of allowing both the student and his wondrous companion to sit at the same table.

However, at the moment, the beauty and Egert were the only ones sitting at the table. As there were only two chairs, the student could only hover nearby.

Paying him not even the slightest bit of attention, Egert again turned to the girl. “Pardon me, but I don’t even know your name.”

The girl and the discomforted student shared a look, directed at Egert, who was lounging in his chair. The girl answered as if by rote. “My name is Toria.”

Egert repeated her name as if he were examining the taste of it. In the meantime, the student had come to his senses and dragged a third chair, which had been lying vacant nearby, to the table.

“You have neither relatives nor friends here.” Raising himself up a bit, Egert bent over Toria’s wineglass, and his hand, in a seemingly natural fashion, touched hers. “Or rather, you didn’t have any, but now the entire city, I believe, will want to make your acquaintance. Are you simply traveling for pleasure?”

The student, frowning slightly, took a glass from the serving girl and poured himself some wine. Egert smirked with the corners of his lips because the noble beverage hardly filled a third of the student’s glass.

“We are traveling,” confirmed the girl in a slightly restrained manner, “but not for pleasure. Here in Kavarren, many centuries ago, lived a man who interests us from an academic point of view. He was a mage, an archmage, and we are hoping that he left some sign of himself in the ancient archives, manuscripts, and chronicles.”

With every word, she became even more passionate, forgetting her momentary consternation. Some moldy papers were dearer to her, apparently, than her own brothers would be: at the word archive her voice trembled with reverence. Egert raised his glass. It was all the same to him what evoked enthusiasm in the woman, just so long as it gave fire to her eyes and flush to her cheeks.

“A toast to travelers who search for manuscripts! But I don’t think there ever were any chronicles in Kavarren, and there certainly aren’t now.”

The student puffed out his lips. Without any expression, he said, “There is an extensive historical library in Kavarren, in the Town Hall. Is this news to you?”

Egert refused to trouble himself by entering into conversation with him. Toria, it would seem, was able to appreciate good wine; her eyes had closed with delight after the very first sip. To afford her more opportunities for pleasure, Egert took the next bottle out of the basket.

“Note this wine; it is the pride of Kavarren’s wine cellars, the offspring of southern vineyards, Serenade Muscatel. Would you like to try it?”

As he once again filled her glass, he inhaled the scent that emanated from her. It was the scent of a perfume, of insistent tart herbs and flowers. Then, caressing her warm, twitching hand, he put a tiny slice of rare brisket on her plate. The student sullenly twisted the bottle cork in his long fingers.

“So, what is it about this lucky fellow that interests you even after so many centuries?” asked Egert with an engaging smile. “If only I were in his place.”

She willingly proceeded to tell him the long and entirely uninteresting history of the mage, who founded some kind of order and called them an army. Egert did not understand immediately that she was talking about the Sacred Spirit Lash, to whom some people somewhere, he supposed, really did pay homage.

“Yes, and after he died, his followers claimed he was a god. Historians think that in the end of his life the great mage went mad, and his insanity infected the Order. Can you believe that they’re still sitting around waiting for the End of Time?”

Egert listened to Toria, and the girl’s words flowed past his ears, but her voice, her sweet, uncommon voice, fascinated him. Her velvet lips opened smoothly, allowing her white teeth to flash through; Egert broke out into a sweat, imagining the kiss these spectacular lips could give.

He wished that the girl would talk forever, but she paused, having glanced in passing at the student. He was sitting with his cockles raised like a wounded bird and was looking at her reproachfully.