The Weaver's Source

Part Four: Chapter 42

The man stood, grabbing the short sword that leant against his chair, and turned to the men who sat quietly and gloomily in the room.

"The girl's a Source!" He bellowed.

My fear strengthened when, almost at once, most of the men grabbed knives, swords and woodaxes and turned to me with rage. Some shouted to kill me or to drive me out. They intended to me harm, it was obvious. It was like my home town only worse; I didn't have friends here. 

Grigore however reminded me I was wrong swiftly. He suddenly shoved me behind him and grabbed Ursus' hilt, pulling it free from the scabbard. He swung the long sword once before planting himself firmly in front of me, preparing himself to fight.

"You're not welcome here!" The man raged.

"We're only passing through. Once dawn is here, we're leaving." Grigore responded stiffly.

"You leave now or I act." He bellowed. "We have enough problems and that thing," He spat, pointing at me, as Grigore's magic coiled with increasing danger. "Is just going to give us more grief. I won't have my village hurt any more than it has."

"That thing's name is Lyra,' Grigore snarled. 'And we stay. We've paid for our room, we're customers here. If you want us to leave you're going to have to force us." He stated in a low threatening tone.

"So be it." He responded darkly then charged him as the barkeep shouted for him to stop.

"The man's a Weaver, Jacob!" The barkeep shouted in warning but the big man didn't listen.

He took a swipe at Grigore's throat but Grigore smoothly blocked it with his arm then shoved the pommel of Ursus straight into his nose with a sickening crack. Blood spurted out from Jacob's face as he stumbled backwards, dazed, and he couldn't defend himself as Grigore's fist landed onto his jaw and forced him to the ground. Jacob tried to stand but found he couldn't move when the tip of Ursus' blade was pointed at his jugular. He laid there and glared up at him.

"Lyra and I stay. We'll be gone in the morning." Grigore said dangerously then looked up to the crowd of men watching with wary but hate filled eyes. "If any of you try anything like that again, I will kill you. The Source is under my care and nothing harms her."

Seeing them stand stock still and lower their eyes, Grigore sheathed Ursus and grabbed my hand, dragging me away from the dazed bloody man and the hostile crowd. We went up the crooked wooden stairs and then I was practically dragged down the single hall lined with doors as Grigore moved furiously. He only let me go to unlock our door and then pushed me inside once he got it open.

I stood in the middle of the small narrow room, looking up at him with worry as he leaned against the door. He looked furious, his features etched with irritation and his stormy eyes darkening into a dangerous shade, and I didn't like the fact he was giving himself a bad reputation just to keep me safe, despite the flutter of warmth quickening my pulse that he had defended me so aggressively. Threatening non-magic humans wasn't something a Weaver was allowed to do.

"We can leave here." I suggested as he reached up to light the lamp hanging from the ceiling.

Instantly his eyes narrowed as they fixed on my face. 

"I just fought for us to stay so we're staying." He growled. "Besides, you being out during the night would be a bad thing at the moment. Something is haunting this place and it's strong."

"Will you offer your services then?"

"I just bashed in the face of someone who apparently holds a high standing within this village. They won't accept my help even if I wanted to offer it, but I'm not partial to helping men who threaten and insult you." He said sharply.