The Broken Soldier, Part 3 - "Meeting The Mage"

The bartender passed me a mug of dark brown ale. He was a larger man with a long, black beard, and hands like the paws of a bear. I put the edge of the mug to my lips and let the bitter drink run down my throat. For a long while, I sat there in the tavern and silently grieving for my own loss.
“Had a rough day?” the Bartender asked. “You look like you’ve had your heart broken by a pretty young lass.”
“You think?”
“I know that look all too well,” he said. “Young men like you come in to drink away their sorrows after their woman leaves them.”
“My woman promised to marry me when I got back from the war,” I said.
“How come you’re all the way up north then? The war isn’t over, is it?”
“I wish, but no. I was sent home early because I lost my leg.” I stood up and showed him.
“My, I thought I was going mad for a moment there! You have my pity. A terrible thing that a young man like you should have a hard time running or working,” he told me. “That was a brave thing of you to go down there and fight. My son is in the army as well. He was sent down there, and I was wondering why he hadn’t come back if the war really was over.”
“You know, those might just be the kindest words I’ve heard all day, your words of sympathy,” I said to him.
The door to the tavern opened rather loudly, and some younger men in robes (some of different colors) walked into the tavern; five of them. They were being loud, overall, laughing with each other and causing a ruckus.
“Immortals, have mercy on all of us,” the Bartender sighed.
“What’s wrong? Who are those boys?”
“Students from the Magic College nearby. We’ll be lucky if they don’t set anything on fire or send a plate flying across the room,” he grumbled. We were both keeping our eyes on the group of boys, who sat down at a table near the corner. A waitress went over to their table. They talked for a short while, and it seemed like they were flirting with the girl. After she walked away, some of them started whistling at her. The Bartender let out a sigh.
“I ought to give that girl a raise. Ebenna’s her name. Every week she has to deal with those boys’ jeering and teasing her, just so she can bring some extra coin home to her family,” he explained. We continued to keep our eyes on them. One of them got the other’s attention, and pointed at someone. Across the room, a young man, around my age, sat by his lonesome at a table with his food and a few papers he was looking over. They all got up and walked over in his direction.
“This doesn’t look good,” I told the Bartender. They got his attention, and he looked up from his papers. They started talking to him, and after a minute, he stood up, gathered his belongings, and left a few pieces of silver on the table to pay his tab. He took up his staff, and as he headed towards the door, the group of boys followed him out. I got up without thinking and walked after them.
“Lad,” the Bartender yelled at me. I turned around. “You forgot to pay.”
“I’ll come back in a few moments. I don’t have good feeling those boys.” I left the tavern and walked out into the dark streets. To the left of me, the gang of students were surrounding the other boy. I saw one of them hold up their hand, and light began to spark around his fingers.
“Destruction magic is banned outside of campus or within the city walls,” the other boy said to him.
“Once you’re a pile of ash, there won’t be anyone to go hearsaying about it, though,” he threatened.
“What about me?” They jumped at the sound of my voice. They turned around and saw me, standing in the dark street.
“And who might you be?” He was knocked forward. The other boy had whacked him in the back with his staff. He turned around, ready to retaliate, so I ran up behind him and punched him as hard as I could, knocking him to the ground. The others started to prepare whatever sort of spell they were going to fight us with.
The boy with the staff pointed at one of the other students and made a circular motion. “Confuse,” he said. The student started to wobble a bit, and he collapsed from dizziness. I attacked one of the other students, and the boy struck one of the others in the knee with his staff. He spun around, hitting the other knee. He was a natural at fighting! His staff was a deadly weapon. The last student was building up some sort of ball of bright blue sparks. The boy took the tip of his staff up to the student’s forehead. “Shhh, sleep,” he said quietly. The ball of sparks began to dissipate, and his eyes closed. He fell to the ground, snoring. They were all down on the ground.
“How did you do that,” I asked him.
“Why, I study at the College of Magic and Arcane Arts up a few streets from he-”
“No, how did you learn to fight like that with a staff?”
“Oh! Well, my father taught me. He studied an ancient martial fighting technique the Faen used many ages ago,” the boy said. “I find it to be a striking contrast with magical capabilities, joke unintended.” He gave a bow. “Maerith, at your service.”
“Nӧrr, at yours,” I replied.
Some of the students began to get up and run off. “You’ll pay,” one yelled.
“So what was it they wanted from you?” I asked Maerith.
“Nothing you would understand, I’m sure,” he told me. “Also, a good wizard never reveals his secrets.”
“You just told me about how you learned to fight the way you do,” I told him.
“Well I know you won’t tell anyone about that,” he says. “I have a good judge of character.”
“Well, then. I hope they don’t go causing you any more trouble. May our paths cross again, Maerith.”
“May they cross again, indeed,” he said. We parted ways, and I went back into the tavern to pay off my tab.
“Did you have any trouble with those boys?” the Bartender asked.
“Not really,” I said as I handed him four silver pieces for my mugs of ale. After that, I went to the inn and rested. I could not sleep that night. The rage and heartache twisted and contorted inside me. At first light, I rode back to Easthill to get the whole truth of what happened while I was away at war.