ATLANTION - LAYLA BOOK1

Part 20 Farrar

Farrar cleaned the gore and dirt from his body, bandaging his wounds. The cuts on his body revealed terrible signs of infection. The flesh on his arm was blackening, and there was a stench of decay. He checked Layla's cuts, one deep but none infected. Her body was regenerating, and the poison didn't harm her.

It was almost morning, but light still burned in the central office. Farrar stepped out of the residential compound and strolled right into Herrannuen's workroom. She was chatting with Ferron, his twin who stretched on a beautiful leather couch with his dirty boots. She seemed a little angry and even hit the desk with her fist when he entered the room. Her gaze drilled into him the moment he entered.

"What happened?" asked Farrar, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing, next week, we have to go to Noir's Dark Arena competitions; I already got an invitation. This year we should provide fighters for it again."

"There are plenty willing to enter the tournament to earn their weight in gold. The best warriors can get wonderful artifacts. However, not all individuals are interested in money."

Farrar was mad; she was trying to distract him with talk about the Arena. Sadly, Farrar read the Master of his guild too well.

"Yes. Too many fools remain crippled or die there; I need them here to work on our projects, not bleed for that bastard satisfaction."

"I have nothing to do with all this. I am more concerned about why you hanged this inexperienced girl on me. Do I resemble a nanny?" frowned Farrar.

"There is potential in this lady. Protecting her is your duty now, and it is not bad for you to make friends and socialize."

"Cut the crap with socialization. Who is this girl?" asked Farrar, clenching his fists.

"I am not sure yet. You must keep your eyes on Layla. That is all I can tell you."

"All that you can tell me? I moved to the Craftsmen guild to spend my life in peace. I do not want to fight beasts in dark alleys. They hunt that woman. That was not a mishap."

"You will do as I am bidding you," barked Herrannuen, "or you may return to the Magic Guild and try your luck. But, unfortunately, your kin might send dark malicious creatures to slay you. From what I learned, they specialize in wicked stuff."

With these words, Herrannuen dismissed them, and Farrar went back to his lair.

He watched his brother's malicious smile. Once they had been close, no secrets between them, but sometimes he saw his brother slip under, and their dark witch genes surfaced.

Farrar knew that Ferron was the one dealing with dark and dangerous things. They played the nasty guy so their Master would keep her consciousness untainted. He would work this out even if he had to deal with people who distaste him.

One of them was his cousin Proditor. The man lived on a secluded side of the Magic Guild in the poor district. Like him, Proditor was an outcast of their family. He claimed a minor talent in foresight, but everyone called him a charlatan. Farrar didn't believe in fortune-telling but was sure the man dealt in information and would be his best chance to learn about the attackers and a potential cure for his wounds.

Farrar was all set for the task at hand. He had filled his bike pouch with more explosives and ammunition for his gun, including a small grenade launcher that he called a " baby gun." The engravings on its surface and the gleaming black metal made his heart swell with pride. Farrar loved crafting weapons, and he saw each one as a piece of art made to protect its owner. However, the lack of sleep and the events of the night made him uneasy as he entered the Magic Guild.