26. Meat is Good

Chapter 26: Meat is Good

The yard behind the guild hall was already crowded by the time Eto arrived, a low wooden fence marking off a stretch of packed dirt scattered with obstacles, climbing walls twice his height, a series of gaps cut into raised platforms, sandbags stacked in uneven piles, a long stretch of mud pocked with half buried stakes. Gwen stood near the start with a wax tablet, a small crowd of onlookers gathering along the fence, adventurers who'd heard something about a keth who barely spoke and wanted to see for themselves.

"Standard course," Gwen called out, not quite looking him in the eye. "Wall, gap jumps, the sandbag carry, then the mud stretch to the finish. Go whenever you're ready."

He didn't wait for the words to be translated. He'd caught the shape of it, and Mikaela only got halfway through repeating it in Keth before he was already moving.

The wall came first, a sheer slab of timber taller than two men stacked, and he hit it running, boots finding purchase in gaps he shouldn't have been able to see, hands hauling him up in three brutal pulls, and he was over the top and dropping before most of the crowd had finished gasping. The gap jumps went the same way, platforms spaced wide enough to break a normal man's stride, but his legs carried the memory of a black horned rabbit that used to eat distance like it was nothing, and he crossed them in a blur, barely touching down before launching again.

The sandbags should have slowed him. Four of them, each heavier than a grown man, meant to be carried one at a time across the yard and stacked at the far end. He grabbed two under each arm instead, the reindeer's strength settling into his shoulders like it belonged there, and jogged the whole distance without breaking stride, dropping them in a stack that made the onlookers go quiet.

The mud stretch he tore through in a dead sprint, spraying filth in a wide arc behind him, and when he crossed the finish line he wasn't even breathing hard.

The whole course, start to finish, had taken him under two minutes.

Maku's grin, when Eto turned to face him, had gone wide enough to show every tooth in his head.

"Good," he rumbled, though Eto didn't need the translation for that one. "Now me."

They squared off in a wider ring marked out with rope, and the crowd along the fence had doubled by then, word spreading fast through the yard. Maku rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck once to each side, and dropped into a loose stance, claws flexing at the end of hands nearly the size of Eto's head.

"Begin," Gwen called.

Maku moved first, a blur of muscle closing the distance in a single bound, and his fist caught Eto square in the ribs before he'd even registered the man had lunged. The impact drove the air out of him, sent him skidding back three full steps, boots tearing furrows in the dirt. Maku didn't let up, following the strike with a low sweep aimed at his legs, and Eto barely got clear of it, throwing himself sideways into a roll that came up into a crouch.

Maku laughed, low and delighted. "Fast."

Eto answered with speed instead of words, closing the gap in a burst that blurred the space between them, and got two fists into Maku's stomach before the wolf man could react, a third catching him across the jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways. Maku staggered, tail lashing for balance, and came back swinging, claws raking through the air where Eto's throat had been a half second earlier.

It went on like that, brutal and fast, neither of them giving an inch. Maku had decades of fights behind him, real experience, the kind that read an opponent's weight before they moved it, and he used every scrap of it, feinting high and striking low, driving Eto back toward the fence with a combination that would have ended most men in the first three seconds. But Eto wasn't fighting like a man. He fought like something that had spent seven months learning to kill things faster and stronger than itself, ducking under a haymaker that would have caved his skull in, driving a shoulder into Maku's ribs with the full weight of the reindeer behind it, and when Maku's claws finally found him, four parallel lines opening across his forearm, he didn't so much as flinch, just used the opening to drive an elbow into the wolf man's throat.

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Maku choked, stumbled back, and Eto pressed the advantage, lightning crackling faint along his knuckles as he closed the distance again, not enough to kill, just enough to sting, and the shock of it against Maku's jaw sent the bigger man's eyes rolling white for half a second, legs buckling.

That was the opening. Eto took it, sweeping Maku's legs out from under him and driving a knee down into his chest hard enough to knock every bit of wind from his lungs, one fist cocked back, ready.

He didn't throw it.

Maku lay there, chest heaving, blood running from his split lip, and started to laugh, a wheezing, delighted sound.

"Good," he managed, grinning up through the blood. "Very good."

The crowd along the fence had gone dead silent, and stayed that way even as Maku hauled himself up, one arm slung across Eto's shoulder for balance, still grinning like he'd won something instead of lost.

"Passed," Gwen called out, voice a little unsteady. "He's passed the test. Citizenship or a valid permit's still required before he's officially ranked, though. Three months residency, ten consecutive days, four separate times within a two month window."

Eto's eyes had already drifted past her, to the deep line of her cleavage, and the growl started low in his throat again before he'd even noticed it building, one boot sliding forward.

Maku's arm shot out, blocking him, and Eto shoved it aside like brushing off a branch, one arm, no real effort behind it at all, and stepped past him toward Gwen, who shrank back against the desk with wide eyes.

Mikaela got between them fast, planting both hands flat on his chest.

"I told you," she snapped over her shoulder at Gwen, not even looking at Eto now, "cover up those fucking tits of yours, or I won't be able to stop him next time."

Then she turned, switching to Keth, voice low and steady. "Hey. Hey, look at me. You need to get this under control. Let's go get some meat, okay? You love meat. Meat is good."

Something in his face loosened. "Meat is good," he echoed, and let her pull him away by the arm, out through the guild doors and into the street.

Maku watched them go, still grinning through the blood on his teeth, then turned to Gwen.

"You better do as she says," he said.

"What do you mean?" Lola, the other receptionist, glanced between them.

"Because he was holding back during the test." Maku wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. "But when I got between him and her, he wasn't holding back at all. Moved me like I was a damn child."

Lola's ears flattened. "We should tell the guild master about this."

"Valerius is still in the capital." Maku shook his head. "We can't run to him with every little thing."

"What about Kaku?"

Maku's eyes shifted, uncomfortable. "Really. You had to bring him up."

"What about Sheila, then."

"Don't you dare," Lola said.

Back at the inn, Erik was mid wipe on the bar counter when the door swung open and a young woman stepped through, dust still on her boots, a new bow slung across her back.

"Hey, Dad. Long time."

"Freya." Erik set the rag down hard. "Thank the gods. I've been worried sick since the commander told me about your message."

"My entire squad's gone, Dad. It was a disaster." She dropped onto a stool, and the two of them fell into it, low and urgent, her explaining what had happened out past Ronta Vro, the ambush, the wolves, the forest.

The door opened again mid sentence, and Mikaela came through first, Eto a step behind her, a massive sack of fried meat balanced over one shoulder.

"Afternoon, Erik," Mikaela called.

"Afternoon. How'd the test go?"

"Passed. Still got the permit issue, though."

"Tough luck." Erik shrugged, and Mikaela nodded her thanks, already steering Eto toward the stairs.

Freya never turned around, focused on her drink, and the reek of the tavern, sweat and spilled ale and old smoke, buried whatever scent might have reached Eto anyway. By the time she finished her cup and finally swiveled on the stool, they were already gone.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Just Mikaela," Erik said. "You remember Mikaela, the translator."

"Right. Haven't seen her in a while."

"Seems she's picked up with some keth fellow who barely speaks."

Freya went still for half a second. "A keth. Funny, I was saved by some keth barbarian out in Little Edelmere. Could barely speak either. Been alone out there a long time, I think."

"Little Edelmere." Erik's brow furrowed. "How does a human even survive in that godsforsaken forest for months."

Their voices kept going, fading behind the stairwell door.

Upstairs, Eto laid the meat out across the small table by the window, still dressed in the leather vest and brown pants he'd taken off the mercenaries, the boots too, worn soft now to the shape of his feet. He liked the freedom of it, the way none of it pulled tight anywhere. He sat and started eating while Mikaela unpacked her own purchases across the other bed, a new bow, a quiver of arrows fletched clean and even.

She joined him at the table after, easing into the chair across from him with a wince.

"So," she said. "What do we do until the permit clears."

He didn't answer.

"How's pain," he asked instead.

She looked at him for a moment. "Look. I know it's hard. That's why I bought this." She nudged a small jar across the table, some kind of ointment, and a folded paper packet beside it. "Two days. Wait two days, let it work, and we can be together again. So please, just hold off. And don't go causing trouble with every woman you look at in this city, or you'll end up like the ones you've seen dragged around by chains. That's not a life I want for you."

He held her eyes for a second, then smiled, slow.

"We go library," he said.

She blinked. "A library. Well. That's not what I was expecting."