Eban

25 - Eban

How do they do it?

Eban glared at the two in front of him. Fair-haired, quick-tempered Glynn he knew as they had ridden together from Tir Brenin. The second man, Kael, he recognised as belonging to the troop they had joined with several days before. The man was a stranger to him, although the scar across his left cheek told Eban than Kael probably shared Glynn's punch-first-question-later approach. This spat had started over a seat by the fire, but it was only the latest symptom of the tension boiling between the two companies.

"Surely you know better," he muttered before he could stop himself. Mentally, he winced. I sound like mother. "We're only a few miles from the borders. There'll be plenty of time for fighting soon enough."

Thankfully, neither man had suffered anything worse than a few bruises and split skin that bled badly but was an easy fix. Nothing he could not handle, and nothing that would need time to heal correctly. Which meant that neither Corporal Kerr nor Corporal Gallia would need to know about it.

Glynn did at least have the grace to look sheepish as Eban healed him. Kael looked irritated at being dressed down by someone so much younger, but he received his healing without complaint and did manage a reluctant apology.

Glynn turned to Kael and held out a hand. "Truce?" he asked.

Kael nodded and reached out to clasp Glynn's hand in a gesture of acceptance. "I'd rather not be on the receiving end of another of your right hooks," he muttered.

"Kerr's coming," Arran called out. As Eban sorted out the combatants, Arran had stationed himself by the tavern's door. Cedric, making use of a life spent in inns, was charming the tavern owners, staff and patrons, convincing them to keep the events of the night to themselves. No one wanted the officers involved in the trouble. Unfortunately, the only currency Cedric had to offer by way of enticement was Eban. As a result, most of the inhabitants of the tavern were expecting some degree of Healing that night.

Who needs sleep anyway? Eban thought sourly.

Arran sprinted from the door, returning to the seat he had occupied before the fight broke out. Eban rushed the Healing of the most obvious injuries – the rest could wait until Kerr left. Cedric appeared at his elbow and passed a clean, damp rag to each of the men, who quickly did what they could to wipe the remnants of the fight from their faces and hide the evidence before Kerr appeared.

Kerr, frowning, stepped through the door to a scene of peaceful contemplation. He glanced around the room, his eyes sharp and searching. Over the past few weeks, Eban had come to respect the man. He was scrupulously fair in his decisions and, though he could be harsh in his judgements, he usually allowed some degree of leniency before drawing a line. Generally, that meant he did not care too much what his charges got up to, so long as it was not bad enough to find its way back to him.

Gallia, the corporal in charge of the second company, was entirely Kerr's opposite. Where Kerr treated everyone equally, Gallia had her favourites. Where Kerr's rules were consistent, Gallia's changed at her whim. And where Kerr would give anyone on the receiving end of one of his judgements a chance to explain themselves, Gallia would mete out punishments without caring about the circumstances.

Eban had take one look at Gallia and felt his hackles rise. Since then, he had done his best to stay away from the woman. The task had been complicated by the fact that Gallia had taken an interest in the young Healer powerful enough to save the Duke of Derwent. She had cornered Eban several times and tried to convince him to transfer to her company. Each time Eban had refused on the grounds than Kerr held his contract. Each time he refused he felt her anger grow. It was only a matter of time before something happened, but there was little Eban could do but try to avoid her.