Path of Dragons

Book 5: Chapter 65: Usefulness

Book 5: Chapter 65: Usefulness

Gwenivere sat at the bar, staring into the tumbler of whiskey in front of her. It remained untouched, though she wanted nothing more than to take a drink. After everything she and the rest of the others had been through, she felt that she deserved that much.

Yet, she refused. Five years of sobriety – forced by circumstances or not – meant too much to her to be discarded just because she was feeling a little down.

It was so frustrating. By all rights, she should have been happy. She had managed to escape that hellish island – or more appropriately, the harpies that made it home – and found civilization. She was safe and healthy, which was more than she could have said even a few months before.

But she wasn’t happy. Not even a little.

“You gonna drink that?” came a drawling voice from behind her.

She didn’t even look up before she said, “Not interested.”

“Not that kind of conversation,” he said.

That was when she glanced in the direction of the voice, and when she saw the speaker, Gwenivere couldn’t help but snort in laughter. “Seriously?” she muttered.

“What?” the man asked, as if his appearance was perfectly normal. Perhaps it was, given the circumstances. However, Gwenivere refused to believe that there were many other people walking around looking like Clint Eastwood had suddenly decided to take up kenjutsu.

“This can’t be the only time someone’s questioned your sense of style,” she said. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen the man. Ironshore had a sizable population, but in the past few weeks, they’d crossed paths a few times. Still, that didn’t make his outfit any less ridiculous.

“What’s wrong with my sense of style? It’s the white hat, ain’t it? I knew I shouldn’t have been so bold,” he said, removing the item in question. He set it on the bar. “You didn’t answer me, though. Are you going to drink that? Or just stare at it?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she admitted, tapping the rim of the glass. She could feel a subtle sense of ethera wafting off of the liquor, so she knew it would go a long way to getting her drunk.

“Alcoholic?” he asked.

She just nodded, still tapping her finger on the rim of the glass. It would be so easy to just take a drink. No one would blame her, either. And it wasn’t like it would really hurt her. With her attributes, as well as the availability of healing, she didn’t think liver disease would be an issue.

But she knew a slippery slope when she saw one. That single drink would inevitably lead to two. Then three. And before she knew it, she’d be back where she had started, drinking herself into oblivion every night.

Before the world’s transformation, she hadn’t even realized how much of a problem she had. She was young and pretty, and she liked to party. There was nothing wrong with that. It was only when she’d had it all snatched away that she had come to realize just how dependent on alcohol she had really become.

The first few days were the worst. Even after she’d allocated her starting points appropriately, she’d felt the symptoms of withdrawal, and they hadn’t abated for a week. As terrible as that was, it would have been much worse if she hadn’t had the adrenaline of immediate survival to take the edge off.

Gwenivere never wanted to experience that again.

Even so, she was sorely tempted to drink the glass of whiskey in front of her. So tempted, in fact, that her hand was shaking.

“Been there,” the cowboy said with a sigh. “Not alcohol, mind you. That was never my drug of choice.”

“What was?” she asked, glancing in his direction.

“Everything else. Cost me my marriage. My kids. More jobs than I can count,” he said, his gravelly voice tinged with regret. “I got clean a coupla years before all this, but even with all that, with everything that’s happened, I still crave it. I still need it.”

“How did you do it?” she asked.

“A friend introduced me to a new way of lookin’ at life. A new code to live by. Back before the world changed, it felt a little silly,” he said. “Tellin’ people I practice Bushido wasn’t real popular at parties and family reunions. Most folks looked at me like I’d gone plum crazy.”

“Bushido, huh?” Gwenivere asked. “What does that mean? I’m not familiar.”

“Way of the warrior. Think of it like a code of chivalry,” the man said. “Righteousness, loyalty, honor, respect, honesty, courage, and consistency. In a nutshell. Now, most folks can get behind those values, but the second you attach a word like Bushido to it, people start backin’ away. Especially in the old world where callin’ yourself a warrior was...well, a bit odd.”

“Not so much anymore,” Gwenivere said.

“I can do that. It just so happens that I know the best Blacksmith in the world,” the man said with a lopsided smile.

“What’s your name, by the way?” she asked.

“Colt.”

This time, she couldn’t contain her laughter.

“What?”

“Okay, so you’re dressed...like that. And your name is Colt?” she asked. “I mean, it’s on theme, but...is that your real name? Tell me the truth.”

“Course it’s my real damn name,” he replied, the smile gone. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Come on. You can tell me,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. It felt like she was rubbing shoulders with a brick wall. How high was the man’s Strength?

“It’s my real goddamn name.”

“Sure, sure. Colt. I believe you,” she said with an exaggerated wink. “I bet your real name is like...Marion or something.”

“My name is not Marion,” he growled.

“Like I said, I totally believe you. Now, how about we go visit your Blacksmith friend? Along the way, you can tell me exactly how much I’m going to get paid for this,” she said. Then, she added, “Colt.”

For a moment, she could see his jaw flex. Then, suddenly, he relaxed, and his crooked smile returned. It was a remarkable turn that impressed Gwenivere, so she let the teasing go. Instead, she followed him out of the bar – after paying for the drink, of course – and across Ironshore to what looked like a construction site. A foundation for a huge building had been laid, but that was the extent of the progress. Only one figure – a stocky woman with dark skin – seemed to be working on the building.

Colt greeted her, and after only a few minutes of conversation, the woman led them back to a shop filled with the highest quality equipment Gwenivere had ever seen. The place practically glowed with dense ethera, overwhelming her senses to such a degree that, for a while, she just stood there gaping.

“I’m not gonna tell you to take your pick, but find some stuff you like,” Colt said. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Gwenivere didn’t need any encouragement, though she did enlist the Blacksmith’s help in choosing the proper weapon. She wasn’t strong enough to use some of the higher-tier gear, but she ended up finding a very serviceable axe and some chainmail armor that gave quite a boost to her attributes.

“I’ll have to adjust the armor a bit,” said the Blacksmith. “Come back in the morning, and it’ll fit you like a glove.”

“How much would this cost if I wanted to buy it?” Gwenivere asked. She was still wrapping her head around the currency – she’d never been exposed to ethereum before escaping the island – but she knew that the gear was extremely valuable.

“More than you have.”

“And you’re just giving it to me?”

“Not to you,” the Blacksmith said. Then, her eyes flicked toward the cowboy who was looking through the swords on the other side of the shop. “That man saved my life more times than I can count. I’m doing this for him.”

“Oh.”

“Watch his back,” the stocky woman said.

“I...I will.”

“I believe you,” the Blacksmith said. “I’m Carmen, by the way. Let me know if you need anything else. Otherwise, come back in the morning, and I’ll have the armor ready to go.”

Gwenivere just nodded, hoping that she could live up to the promise she’d just made.