Hamish took a cautious step backwards. He couldn’t be certain if Darshan was merely posturing or actually planned to attack the man, but it would be better if he stayed out of it. After all, he couldn’t haul Darshan back to the castle if they were both unconscious.
He delicately reached for the glasses.
Darshan barely waited for Hamish to properly grasp them before he swung at Billy, clearly aiming for the man’s head.
Billy jerked back, too late in mounting a defence against the attack.
The spellster’s fist—heavily bedecked in jewelled rings—connected with Billy’s face like a hammer. The definite snap of breaking bone was almost an exhalation.
The dockmaster fell back, howling. Blood poured from beneath the man’s fingers, staining his blonde beard. At first, Hamish thought the ambassador had only broken Billy’s nose, until he caught sight of the dockmaster’s jaw. One side bulged alarmingly, whilst the right, the side Darshan had hit, was caved in.
The two men flanking Billy lunged at the spellster.
Sneering, Darshan flicked both his hands as if brushing the dust from his outfit. The men went flying, smashing into the walls. Neither one got up.
More men jumped up from their seats, agog. One ran out the door screaming. Not a one of them seemed to know what to do about the spellster who had made short work of three men; a foreigner who still stood over Billy without a care as to the bleeding state of his hand. Hamish wasn’t entirely certain it was even Darshan’s blood. Surely, with the force he’d hit the dockmaster, he must’ve broken something.
Darshan turned. He squinted at Hamish, then held out his bloodied hand. The fingers and knuckles seemed normal enough. No twists or swelling that suggested any harm had come to them. “My glasses, if you please?”
Hamish returned the item in question back to their owner. “I think this might be the best time to leave.” There’d be trouble once word of this got out—and a lot of questions Hamish wasn’t looking forward to answering. But if they returned to the castle now, then Gordon might be able to help him wrangle a more palatable version of events for his mother.
With the glasses once more firmly in place on his face, Darshan glared at Billy. “One moment.” He strode over to the howling man and grabbed his head. “Do not move or I will leave you injured. And I would advise against trying to talk.”
Billy stilled. Panic and fear flashed in his tear-redden eyes.
It had been some years since Hamish had last been in the presence of healing magic. But he’d been in no position to objectively watch either. Seeing the man’s face slowly reform to its previous state was something he’d never thought he would witness.
Billy’s cheeks shifted alarmingly, like a bubbling pot of porridge. The skin constantly changed colour, from the pinkish-red of freshly-struck to the bruised rainbow hues of blue, purple and green, then fading to trout-brown before regaining its natural wrinkled and heavily-tanned state.
Throughout it all, Billy’s eyes grew wider. He whimpered and fisted at his trousers. If Darshan hadn’t already stipulated stillness, he likely would’ve bolted from the spellster’s grip.
When Darshan was done, he released Billy’s head and let the man tumble onto the floor. “Call me that again and I shall do the same,” he snarled as he bent over the dockmaster. “Only next time, you can keep the broken jaw. Understood?”
Billy nodded. “Aye, your lordship.” He back-crawled across the flagstones, pausing only to rub his jaw and standing once Darshan was well beyond physical reach.
Dusting his hands, the ambassador returned to Hamish’s side. “As entertaining as that was, I think you are right, we should return to the castle.”
Hamish expected them to be attacked as they left the pub. Hindered by guards or a small mob, at the very least. That the streets were empty certainly didn’t bode well. He caught flashes of life on the edge of his vision as he removed their mounts from the pub stables; little more than figures at doorways and windows, looking out for possible danger. No one appeared, much less dared to approach them.
The streets began to fill out the further they got from The Fisherman’s Cask. People bustled about their tasks, children played amongst their elders with some wrangled into working alongside them.
They rode in silence, partly because the noise around them made any sort of conversation beyond shouting at each other impossible. That Hamish couldn’t think of a topic not pertaining to what had happened in the pub didn’t help matters. It certainly wasn’t the type of thing he wanted to discuss where others could hear.
Their journey was halted several times; once for several men pushing rattling barrows laden with goods, and again as a cart packed with bleating sheep passed through the main street, heading for the southern hillside.
Hamish barely noticed they had left the rest of the city behind until they’d begun the upward path towards the castle gates. He eyed the man on his periphery. Away from everyone else, the silence didn’t quite sit right with him. Not after that kiss. And the brawl. Although it seemed ridiculous to call it such when only one punch had been thrown.
But that kiss…
He rubbed a hand across his mouth as if that would scrub the memory of how Darshan’s lips had felt against his own. Sure and supple. Dominating, but not to the point of overbearing.
He had heard strange things about Udyneans. Whilst on some things it was hard to parse out the fact from the fiction, he was relatively certain that men being openly affectionate with other men was something that did happen there.
Whether Darshan had been pulling his leg with such an act was a different matter. The man hadn’t seemed shy about admitting it in the pub. Had he somehow known Hamish wouldn’t react badly to the act? Had someone told him? Gordon. If his brother had put the man up
