CHAPTER ONE: NOT LIKE OTHER HUMANS

LISTEN TO THE ACCOMPANYING AUDIO!

“FAIRY FIGHT! FAIRY FIGHT! FAIRY FIGHT!” The chanting swelled with growing enthusiasm. “FAIRY FIGHT! FAIRY FIGHT! FAIRY FIGHT!” 

It was actually a fairy duel. And these were hardly rare occurrences at The Sudden Dawn Inn, but they were favorites. Fairies dueled to settle all sorts of disputes from who would lead the fairy folk to crimes of high treason.  Or, as in this case, who failed to pay last night’s bar tab.  Rain Hollysplash was evidently sick of Snow Dimplecreek’s drinking and dashing. So it was a duel to the death. The two murderous Tinkerbelles prepared to face off.

Declan Wilde was just hefting a keg of beer up onto his right shoulder in the back room when the chanting began. He glanced through the open door as the two delicate-winged fairies–no taller than a foot-long ruler–took their places at each end of the onyx bar, wands at the ready. Rain’s wand glowed a bloody red while Snow’s was a pure white. Magic sparks poured down from their delicate bare feet onto the bar’s surface as they took aim at one another. 

“Rain! Snow! Cut it out!” Declan warned. 

His voice was low and dangerous. The fairies ignored him and his tone.   Evidently, they were fueled by alcohol and unbridled rage.

“Ach, Declan, don’t spoil our fun!” Varhad Heavymace called out.

Varhad put his well-worn boots up onto one of the scarred wooden tables that dotted the inn’s barroom. The dwarf then took a great draught of his beer, smacking his lips together with satisfaction afterwards.  He looked ready to enjoy a good duel. 

“Let me guess, Varhad, you’re the one behind this?” Declan asked with a lifted eyebrow at the dwarf. “Inciting violence in the Dawn again? Lily already warned you about doing that once this week.”

Lily was Lily Snellgarden, a goodhearted halfling with a mighty laugh, who worked with Declan on the heavier shifts at the Dawn. This week every shift was crowded as regulars and visitors alike poured into the inn to drink, talk and make merry as all awaited the arrival of Sun King Aquilan Fairlynn. The Sun King was scheduled to turn up that very day to make Eryas Palace, the seat of the Aravae–or as they were colloquially known, the Sun Elves–Empire.  It would also mark the end of the five-year war with the dread Leviathan. 

It was still hard for Declan to believe that five years ago this town–Lightwell or Tyrael as the Sun Elves now called it–had been a simple suburb outside of Chicago, Illinois. Back then, nobody believed that elves, halflings, goblins, orcs, or the myriad other high fantasy beings that populated the world now were real, let alone that monsters made of darkness and fire like the Leviathan were. But then the rifts had opened between the human world and the Under Dark. The first ones had appeared not two blocks away from where this inn now stood. And humanity had found a foe that it could not defeat. For only magic could slay monsters like the Leviathan and humans possessed none. 

Humanity would have been wiped out if not for the Aravae revealing their existence and saving them. The Sun Elves had driven the Leviathan back into their nests deep in the Under Dark. While rifts might still open now and again and Leviathan would slither out to slay the unwary, the world was mostly peaceful. Especially if one made their home in the Aravae cities with their protective magical domes. Only the Separatists who chose to dwell in the ruins of the human world fell prey these days. But most of what little remained of humanity now lived alongside beings that had only been hinted at in fantasy stories, but who were quite real. 

As the ruined human world was slowly reclaimed by Aravae magic, it was harder for Declan to remember how things had been. Gorgeous fields of flowers, lush waves of grain, vast impenetrable forests, or impossibly beautiful cities sprang up in the places where dreary malls, tract homes or even hazardous waste dumps used to be. An elven palace now stood where his old cinder block high school was once located. If only everyone who had lived when it had been Lightwell High School could have experienced the wonder of the Eryas Palace.

But no.

Though the Aravae had come as quickly as they could to defend humanity, it had not been fast enough to save many of them. Especially in Lightwell. Especially on Declan’s old street or in Declan’s old home, which was long gone. 

But Declan tried not to think of how things used to be and focused on the here and now. Even in his dreams, he didn’t prowl the hallways of his old ranch home. He didn’t imagine he heard the voice of his adopted mother calling him for breakfast: sweet crepes with crispy bacon, his favorites. Or his adopted father urging him to go stargaze on the nearby hills, staying up until dawn nearly touched the horizon.  

No.

Instead he dreamed of dark towers deep under the earth. His mind offered him visions of a palace of black stone that rose impossibly high to brush vaulted cavern ceilings covered with glowing lichen that made the stone look like stars in a vast, night sky.  So neither his dreams nor his reality held any reminders of how the world used to be when magic and monsters were thought not to be real.

Declan snapped back to that present as Varhad grinned at him, which was surprisingly very visible under his thick, bronze beard and asked, “Me? Cause trouble when you’re working, Declan? Never!”

That was generally true. Because, unlike most humans, Declan had a reputation for being able to keep the peace in the Dawn. It was why Helgrom Greatfall, the Dawn’s dwarven owner, trusted him to run the place alone. But Varhad’s humor tonight was fired up by a lot of beer and the desire to show off to the newcomers in Tyrael. He was going to push the limit on just how much he could get away with before Declan shut him down.

“So you didn’t mention to Rain how she had paid last night’s bar tab in full while Snow had far more drinks, Varhad?” Declan’s green eyes narrowed.

“Ah, well, maybe.  But that’s just stating facts, that is! Hardly inciting violence! Though it might bloody well end in some good wand blasts!” Varhad slurped up more beer and watched the fairies eagerly.

Declan would remember that look when it came time to settle the dwarf’s own tab.  There would be a bit extra added on to remind Varhad that while fights were all well and good, they happened outside of the Dawn where no crockery could get smashed or blood could stain the linen.

A pot-bellied gremlin, Strofin Shadowfinger, sat opposite Varhad and banged his cup on the table as he took up the earlier chant, “FAIRY FIGHT! FAIRY FIGHT! FAIRY FIGHT!”

He was joined by most of the Dawn’s customers, even some of the elegant Aravae who stretched out their long legs by the fire. Nearly everyone eagerly shouted for fairy innards to be splashed everywhere. Rain fluttered up another inch from the bar as she prepared to shoot her first bolt directly at Snow’s head.  Snow glowed like a phosphorous rocket about to launch.

“I think it’s going to be a full out war!” Strofin chuckled and rubbed his clawed, red hands together merrily.

“Too bad you weren’t here a fortnight ago when Rain transformed Snow into a puddle of sentient goo and lit her on fire. Now that was entertainment!” Varhad chortled and wiped beer foam from his beard.

“And don’t you remember, Varhad, that all the wine went sour and the beer went flat in this place? Fairy magic kills alcohol,” Finley West, Declan’s best friend, called from his gaming table in the corner. 

Declan found himself grinning. His best friend might be deep in planning the final act of his year-long, homebrew Dungeons & Dragons campaign, but Finley had Declan’s back. It had always been that way between them from the moment they met: sixth grade, a group of bullies, Finley’s glasses snapped in two, and Declan using his fists when Finley’s logical and measured words had failed to work.

Declan gave a brief nod to indicate his thanks. His best friend nodded back but did not fully return his attention to the piles of journals around him as he clearly saw the situation was not calming down. The journals contained the rules of the game Finley had created and dungeon-mastered–or DMed–for a surprisingly growing number of people almost every night of the week at the Dawn. And the gamers weren’t humans who desperately needed their pretend power fantasies now more than ever, but the high fantasy beings who seemed to delight most of all in Finley’s storytelling and the accuracy of the stats for each of their races.

“Oh, well…” Varhad stroked his beard in contemplation of the destruction of that much precious alcohol. But then he laughed, “That won’t happen this time!”

“I’m sure Helgrom will appreciate your certainty about his alcohol.” Finley shook his blonde head. The lenses of his round, wire-rimmed glasses flashed with reflected firelight as he did so.

Helgrom might hold no official position of power among the dwarves or other high fantasy beings, but all respected him. And they feared him a little too, especially when he gave anyone that 1000-yard, fiery stare of his. 

“But Helgrom’s not here tonight, is he, Finley? He’s buying more alcohol and food for the Sun King’s arrival,” Snaglak pointed out with a child-like innocence that hardly fit his seven-foot two-inch, gray-skinned, massive orc frame. 

Snaglak was sitting beside Finley, allegedly “helping” Declan’s best friend get ready for the final fight he was DMing the next night, but in reality, he was keeping an eye on Finley for Declan. Though most of the high fantasy beings ignored humans, if they thought of them much at all, some were outwardly hostile. And Declan wanted nothing to happen to his bookish best friend while he was pulling beers behind the bar if one of those bastards decided to give Finley a hard time.  

Finley sighed audibly and pinched the top of his nose at the orc’s failure to understand his point “No, he’s not, Snaglak.”

“Oh, so there’s no one in charge then?” Strofin’s beady, black eyes narrowed.

“Ah, Declan is! Declan’s in charge!” Finley cried out, affronted on Declan’s behalf.

Declan did not respond, but he watched the goblin speculatively. Was he going to be trouble?  Even Varhad shifted a little uneasily in his seat as his eyes flickered between Strofin and Declan. Varhad was a regular and knew that Declan wasn’t like other humans.

“Ach, well, Declan’s only trying to save the booze there. But the fairies won’t make it all go bad!” Varhad chuckled a little uneasily.

“Definitely not all of it!” Snaglak guzzled the remainder of his beer. He patted his rock hard stomach.  “Safe as could be in here.”

“But you’re not thinking about your next mug, Snaglak,” Finley pointed out to the orc. “And what about the one after that or the one even after that? Or are you done drinking for the next week?  That’s how much alcohol will go sour if this goes on.”

“Next–next week?” Snaglak’s gray-skinned face fell as he stared down at his empty mug. “Declan, stop those fairies!”

But Strofin had the virtual chorus going on again with, “FAIRY FIGHT! FAIRY FIGHT! FAIRY FIGHT!”

Declan grunted in disbelief that the customers would encourage such violence. At least, such violence against the alcohol. He knew well enough that their patrons would be happy to see Snow and Rain both carted out of there, unconscious or worse.  But ruining good beer and wine? They truly must be bored to suggest it.  Evidently, the Sun King could not come soon enough to his new home.

But the fairies were already committed even without the egging on. Their magical bolts burst out of their wands with a high whine like the sound of twin bottle rockets as the bolts raced along the bar. Declan moved from the back room to the bar so quickly that to those who watched it was as if between one blink and the next he had teleported. 

He slammed the metal keg down on the onyx slab between the fairies. The keg was laced with silver–it made the beer taste better, according to Helgrom–but, more importantly in this situation, silver had the ability to repel fairy magic. The bolts impacted the keg and reflected them right back at Rain and Snow. With a squeal of unwelcome surprise, the two feuding fairies were struck by their own magic. Red electrical light sizzled over Rain’s slender limbs while Snow was covered in an ever-spreading sheet of ice. Both landed on the bar with a thunk. 

They were still alive, but Declan wondered if they’d wish otherwise when Helgrom found out he’d had to use the special honey brew to stop their duel. It was likely both flat and sour after being struck with their magic regardless of the silver’s reflective properties.  Yet one keg lost was better than every keg lost. 

Declan peeled the unconscious fairies off the bar and put them in a birdcage that had been adapted into a fairy jail. It was a rare night when it wasn’t filled with half a dozen of the winged beings.  There had been a lot of disputes about bar tabs these days. 

“Aw! Over before it began!” Varhad grumped. 

Declan turned narrowed green eyes upon the dwarf who quickly hid his face in his beer mug. Helgrom was not the only one at the Dawn who was known to have a dangerous stare. 

Strofin snorted in disgust. “Why are you letting him intimidate you, Varhad? He’s just a human after all!”

Yep, definitely trouble, Declan thought.

Varhad made a frantic movement for Strofin to shut up. “Strofin, let’s not go there with–”

“Please! What is the human going to do about it? They’re slow, weak and easily killed. No magic either. Without the Aravae protecting them they’d all be dead,” Strofin spoke loudly enough so that everyone could hear. “The Leviathan would have drained them to dust! Maybe they should have!”

For a moment, Declan remembered the sudden and unexpected dawn that had spread like golden fire over the streets and houses of Lightwell that had marked the arrival of the Sun King and his army. He could still feel the pain of that light on his exposed skin. For a moment back then he’d feared he would have been burned away just as the Leviathan had been by those deadly rays. 

But then the light had subsided like the retreating of the sea at low tide. And as his eyes had adjusted, he’d been able to see the Sun King on the horizon, sitting astride a white horse, golden hair blowing in the wind, silver armor flashing, with magic limning his hands and the sword he had raised into the air.  Declan had never forgotten that moment. It had seemed both like a miracle and the end of the world. And, in a way, it had been both.

“Declan’s–ah, Declan’s not like other humans,” Varhad began even as his eyes were flickering from Declan to the goblin as if measuring the space between them. “Not that humans are bad or anything. They’re just–”

“They’re just a drain on the economy,” Strofin continued with disgust. “They’re pets, but they want to pretend to be our equals. It’s pathetic really. And now one of them stops our fun? Who does he think he is?”

These were familiar hateful words so they barely registered to Declan as a personal affront any longer. Yet he knew that the more people were allowed to say such things without consequences, the more others would follow through on those words with violence. And that would put humans like his best friend in greater danger than they were of Leviathan attack. So Declan never let such words pass.

Declan smoothly launched himself over the bar and approached their table. Strofin was a newcomer to the Dawn and so had no idea of the mistake he had made. It was only when Declan stopped beside the red-skinned creature that Strofin realized that Declan had moved at all. The entire bar had gone silent. Only the Sun Elves, Finley and Snaglak looked at the scene openly.

“You have something to say to me, human?” Strofin practically spat the last word.

Finley released a very loud sigh as he clearly knew what was going to happen next. Snaglak let out a loud gurgle of laughter and looked on with bright eyes.  Varhad hunched so low in his chair as to almost disappear into it despite him being as broad and solid as a fireplug. 

“I do,” Declan said softly.

With a movement too quick for Strofin to counter, Declan caught hold of the plentiful ear hair that sprouted out of Strofin’s pointed left ear and pulled it until the goblin let out a yelp. The goblin reached for the curved dagger at his waist, but it wasn’t there any longer. Declan had disarmed him at the same time he’d grabbed his ear hair. 

“Hey! How did you do that? Humans can’t do that! They can’t move that fast!” Strofin yelped.

In a conversational tone that never rose much above a murmur, Declan said, “You’re new here so perhaps you don’t know the rules of the Dawn.”

“Rules? Rules that you enforce? Please! You’re nothing! You’re–AH!” Strofin hissed at the renewed pulling on his ear hair. 

“Don’t speak. Just listen,” Declan said. The only other sound in the place was the crack and pop of the wood in the fireplace as it was consumed by fire. “In the Dawn, you get the best wine, beer and spirits in all of the former United States of America. Service is given with a smile. You pay your bar tab at the end of the night with a generous tip. Thank you very much.”

Strofin’s large black eyes grew larger as Declan expertly spun his dagger between the fingers of one hand very near the goblin’s face. The blade was a blur. It danced so close to the goblin’s rough, red cheeks that if Strofin would have had a beard it would have been shaved off.

“Disagreements are known to happen though we ask that you keep them civil inside these walls. Fights are fine. Outside.” Declan paused and then asked, “But guess what is the one thing you must never, ever do?”

Strofin stared up at him. His lips parted showing his triangular, serrated teeth and long, slithery tongue. He did not speak. He’d evidently gotten the message about keeping silent.

Declan continued in that calm, conversational way, “You must never, ever insult the staff.” His green eyes burned into the goblin’s black ones as if he could sear the next words into the goblin’s tiny brain, “Respect will be given at all times. Are we clear?”

Strofin nodded even though his ear hair was pulled painfully with each movement of his head. He really had gotten the message about not speaking. Declan spun the curved blade one last time before he slammed the tip of it into the table’s already scarred surface. Two inches of the blade were swallowed by the wood. The goblin would have a hard time prying it out of there. Strofin swallowed. Declan released the goblin’s ear hair and picked up his empty cup.

“Would you like a refill? Brandy, wasn’t it?” Declan asked.

Strofin nodded briskly. Declan was certain that Strofin wouldn’t say another word about humans–racist or otherwise–ever again, which meant that Finley was safer. He supposed other humans were, too, but it was Finley that mattered to him. So if putting bastards like Strofin in their place needed to be done a hundred times, a thousand times, or even more, he’d do it gladly. Even if it revealed just how different he was from everyone else.

“No problem. Coming right up,” Declan told him as he headed back to the bar.

He heard Varhad mutter to Strofin, “I told you Declan isn’t like other humans. He’s dangerous.”