Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Three: Talents

The tavern was busier than he'd ever seen it.

Jordan had been here a few times – it was a common drop-off point for messages between Devils, and Arlen sent him here at least every other week – but never had he seen so many patrons.

Not to say it was packed out; no establishment in the dead quarter would ever be able to claim that. But most of the tables were occupied, and it was no longer eerily hushed. He scanned the room, frowning, and spotted Usk's huge form hunched at a table in a dingy corner. To his surprise, Darin Blackheart was also there, his pale hair tied into a dishevelled knot on the back of his head. As Jordan watched, the man threw back a shot of something and slapped the glass back on the table, and what he could see of Usk's face looked as close to concerned as it ever got.

Jordan set off across the room, pretending not to see how people at tables nearby cast him wary looks. He wore his Devil blacks, true, but that wasn't the sole cause. Arlen hadn't made a secret of him over the last month, and his own reputation had risen with the assassin's return to status, no matter how unwarranted. It wasn't like he could disguise himself, either; though his face was covered, his magic was an unmistakable crackle in the air around him.

"You did it, then?" he asked, taking the bench next to Darin.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" the man said, barely sparing him a sideways glance as he gestured to the barmaid for a refill.

"No, I thought you would." Jordan shrugged. "Half-hoped you'd think better of it."

Darin chuckled without humour. "Then you were more optimistic about my alternatives than I was."

"Did he have you up at the dais?"

"Yes."

Jordan glanced at Usk. "Seems harsh."

The brute shrugged. "Marick would hardly have respected a request for a private room."

Jordan nodded at the maid as she brought him a pint and put another shot in front of Darin. She looked slightly startled, and hurried away with a backward glance or two. Sometimes Jordan forgot that as a Devil he was entitled, to the point of expectation, to be a dick to the staff, but it just seemed so unnecessary.

"She'll think you want extra services," Usk rumbled. He'd watched the exchange with a smirk. Jordan's face heated.

"Oh."

"Ashe would be most upset."

Jordan snorted into his pint. "Yeah, right. She's lost interest in me."

They both glanced at Darin, whose stare became even more melancholic as he swirled the spirits in his glass and then necked that one, too.

"Did Arlen put you up to coming here?" Jordan guessed. Darin hadn't looked up from the table once, and didn't seem in any fit state of mind to be in easy reach of a bar. He'd never been for drinks with anyone from Arlen's group except Jordan, as far as he was aware, and Darin mistrusted Usk more than all of them. He doubted they were here together for social reasons.

"What gave it away?"

"Varthi's tits," Usk muttered, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "He's been like this all day." Jordan cocked his head, and the Varthian elaborated. "Arlen assigned me recruit duty. Ask me, it was too soon to start. But he did not ask me." An eloquent shrug followed.

Jordan winced in sympathy, but not for Usk. He'd been on the rough end of Usk's idea of 'beginner' training, and he didn't envy Darin the experience. He guessed that Darin had probably fared better than he ever had – the man at least had some muscle – but fighting needed more than strength, and Usk wasn't a great advocate for starting slow.