Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

T erena and Croak reached the port town of Laurica a fortnight later. The weak evening light barely broke through the heavy mist and rain. It didn’t seem to bother anyone; there were masses of people everywhere she turned. This close to the northern border, towns were sparsely populated, having lost many to the warmer climes of southeastern Elis over the last year.

With her hood up and head down, Terena navigated the puddled streets, passing the dressmaker’s shop, heading for the blacksmith’s stalls.

Sudden shouts and running feet sloshing through the street behind them made Terena turn her head.

Croak came up behind her. They watched as shadowed figures danced in the rain. Angry shouts and cries of pain rang out. She took a step closer. Bodies rushed past them.

Croak grabbed her arm. “Don’t.”

Terena frowned. She heard more screams and cries. Soldiers yelled and someone moaned; Terena could just make out a slumped figure on the ground.

The mist cleared enough for her to see three soldiers surrounding the pitiful lump lying still in the street. Two others huddled together nearby, weeping. One soldier backhanded a man who’d stepped forward.

A girl rushed to his side while another soldier grabbed up the figure on the ground. He shouted something at another soldier, and the two hefted the limp person between them, dragging their burden away.

The other man reared up once more, only to be cuffed again for his troubles, the girl wailing and clawing at him to stay down.

“I’m goin’ in,” Croak grumbled at her back.

Terena didn’t follow. Her jaw hurt, and she released a breath.

“You coming?”

Terena said nothing. Striding through the rain, she yanked the soldier who’d backhanded the man by his hair, her other hand holding a dagger to his throat.

“Drop him. Now.”

The soldiers holding the unconscious man froze. The man she held squirmed, trying to get loose from her hold, but she tightened her grip on his wet hair and he yelped.

“Do it now,” she said again.

The one to her right—much younger than his friends, with a scar running across his lips—peered closer at her, then gasped and looked at the other soldier.

“Luca,” the other one, a bald man with a heavy brow, sneered and spat on the ground. “Your father’s not Captain of the Imperial Guard anymore. You don’t want to interfere. We’re here on the emperor’s orders.”

“I won’t say it again.”

“We have orders,” the young one said, glancing desperately between her and the bald soldier.

Terena’s response was to dig the tip of her dagger deeper. The soldier screeched obscenities. “Fucking do it, Connor!”

Pushing the man he held to the ground, Connor, the bald soldier who had spat at her, warned, “The general will hear of this.” The other soldier let go with more care.

“Peleon knows how to find me. ”

When the soldiers stepped back from the unconscious man, she dropped her hand and shoved her captive toward his friends. “Fuck off. Now.”

The girl rushed to the man’s side as she and the other man, much older and in no fit shape himself, tried to revive him.

Terena sheathed her dagger and strode back to the blacksmith’s where her brother waited. He leaned against one column framing the entrance, arms crossed at his chest and rain dripping from his sodden hat as he frowned over at her.

Terena dropped her chin and closed her eyes. She could still hear the wailing of the girl and the whimpers of the old man. Feeling satisfied those folks would no longer be bothered, she turned back to Croak and followed him inside.

Benson the Blacksmith didn’t have a door. A tarp stretched out at the entrance as an awning. It was only to be used in bad weather, protecting the supplies and weapons and work areas in the front.

For the last year, the tarp had remained.

The shop comprised a few different stalls, remnants of the previous marketplace there two decades ago. He had modernized them with an addition in the back where the forge stood.

Down the center, the corridor led back and deeper into the bowels of his hellish shop. Terena’s face and neck beaded with sweat. Steam danced everywhere and the sounds of hissing sent up fresh bursts of vapor in its wake.

Tools of his trade lined the walls, along with the finished and unfinished works of his labor. He had an apprentice, Mello, who skulked around with a stoop Terena thought owed more to his height than his having to bend over often for his work. The man was close to seven feet if he was an inch, and the low ceiling was no friend to him.

“Where is your master?” Croak asked the giant after he’d yanked off his hat. Mello didn’t look up from his work. Instead, he grunted something and motioned with his left shoulder.

Croak moved past him, mumbling. Terena followed down a ramp leading to a room in the back. Much wider than the front of the shop, the room had a large forge in the center, anvils and various sized molds on either side.

A long workbench with a couple of old stools made up the far wall. Leather aprons set on hooks to the right where the master blacksmith stood.

“Your order, good sir,” Terena said as she dropped a large satchel on the workbench along the back wall.

Benson grunted but did not look up. He yelled for Mello, and the big man lumbered over.

“Grab the payment for the Nesky contract,” he said.

Mello blinked, turning without a word and went back out to the front. Benson struck his hammer down twice more on the blade he held against the anvil, then lifted a hand to his brow. Covered in soot and grime and sweat, he smelled worse. “Expected you weeks ago,” he said.

“Trouble with the weather. The road through Coleta was blocked with snow, so we went south through Belle Forest.”

“Commotion outside,” Croak said as Benson continued to work.

The older man turned and set the blade in the fire. “Didn’t ‘ear a commotion bein’ back ‘ere and all,” he said with a sigh. He pulled the glowing steel out of the fire and brought it back to the anvil. “But, aye. Commotions gettin’ real regular just lately.”

“Lots of soldiers out there.”

“Aye,” he grunted, going back to his work.

“Any reason for it?”

Benson shrugged. “Another one o’ those commotions I’s tellin’ ya bout.”

“Is that commotion related to anything specific?” Croak prodded.

“Reckon they’re lookin’ for gods.”

“Ha!” Croak quickly hid his grin behind his hand. He looked over at Terena and mouthed sorry at the look she gave him.

“No such thing as gods anymore, old man,” Terena said, staring daggers at Croak.

“Must’ve forgotten,” Benson remarked. He dropped the hammer to wipe at his sweaty forehead. “A thousand years since they roamed, now stirred up all over again.”

“Those were the general’s men,” Terena said as she stared at her fingernails. “Is he acting on orders from the emperor or is it his own mania driving him now?”

“Ye’d know better’n me.”

“When did they come?”

Benson shrugged, wiping his hands on his leather apron. “Two nights, mebbe?” He nodded at her with narrowed eyes. “Think it might ‘ave somethin’ t’do with the new king?”

Terena snapped her head up. “New king?”

“Ya ‘ear nothin’ ‘bout the new king in the northern provinces?”

“No, nothing,” she said.

“Where y’ been? A hole?”

Croak snorted. “Not far off.”

Terena glared at him until he ducked his head.

“I ‘ear tell he’s recruitin’ now. Lookin’ fer strong arms an’ payin’ well.”

“Reckon he needs trackers?” Croak asked with a grin.

“Was tole’ specially trackers.”

Terena glanced over at Croak. He watched her and shrugged as he picked dirt out of his fingernails with something he’d picked up from the table.

“What’s he need trackers for?”

Benson wheezed out a chuckle and struck the blade once more. “Who the ‘ell knows? Why’s ‘e lookin’ for strong arms? What the ‘ells ‘e want to be king of that shit pile anyways? All mysteries o’ the world, far as I’m concerned.

“But rumor’s he’s rich. And every day I ‘ear tell o’ the refugees makin’ their way toward the border. Sure ya passed some on the way ‘ere.” He pointed his hammer at her. “Could be work for ya there. Steady work. Better work than ‘ere, that’s no lie.”

Terena folded her arms and frowned. “I saw you last month, and you said not one word about any of this. When did all this happen?”

Benson dropped his hammer. He turned and grabbed a filthy rag off one stool and scrubbed his face with it before balling it in his fist at his waist. “I seen ya four moons ago at the least an’ much has ‘appened.” He gave a mock bow. “As y’ see. More folk an’ now soldiers to boot. Tensions w’ the royals, talk of war with Lakonia bruin’, folks goin’ north to get away from the emperor’s reach.”

Terena glanced at Croak at Benson’s mention of war. He returned her look, his lips pinched. “Now his men are ‘ere, lots of fightin’ an’ wailin’ an’ fear,” Benson continued. “Speakin’ for m’self, mostly mercenaries in ‘ere, looking for anythin’ I have on ‘and afore headin’ north. Reckon the soldiers using the gods as an excuse. Reckon the general’s ‘ere to put the mercs in chains afore they flee north an’ fight against ‘im.”

“That could be,” Terena said, rubbing at her chin. “Have they rounded up many? Do you know where he’s keeping them?”

“Not sure, but he’s taken over Atton’s Bathhouse. ‘im and ‘is men.”

“Ask any of them anything else about this new king before they were taken?”

“Asked one of ‘em what gives, an’ was tol’ the king was recruitin’. ‘King’, I says, ‘didn’t even know they had a king up there.’ And then he says, ‘aye, a king an’ richer than Solon.’” Benson paused, one hand on the hammer and the other on the blade as he looked over at her. “Another came jus’ two days past, grabbed up the last o’ me longswords. Said they’d finally finished th’ bridge at Thalos and he was on his way to make his fortune.”

“Good luck to him, then,” Croak muttered. “Most like you’ll never hear from that one again.”

“Most like, specially seein’ as ‘ow ‘e got snatched up last night. Suspicion of ‘idin’ a god, what they said.” Benson shook his head. “Not sure ‘ow they knows that cause ‘e sure as ‘ells was travelin’ alone. The others they jus’ plain ain’t givin’ excuses for why they gone.”

“And what of Duke Ravos? Is he helping find gods?”

“Ha!” Benson hawked and spat on the ground. “That turd won’t even come out ‘is castle. No word from ‘im since Peleon’s men arrived. One good thin’, that. Oh, an’ his tax collectors ‘aven’t been ‘round either.”

“Don’t think that debt won’t come due,”Croak mumbled.

Benson nodded, and with a sigh he shoved the blade back into the forge. “I knows it, young ’un, I knows it. But we’ve got more jus’ now t’ think on than what’s owed to the empire.”

“His Excellency must be worked up if he’s delayed the taxes in favor of a gods hunt.”

“Aye. And he sent th’ cleric, as well.”

“What?” Terena pushed away from the wall and dropped her arms. “Christos is here?”

“Nah,” he said. “The younger.”

“Orry!” Croak cried out with a laugh.

“Aye. Scared of ‘is own shadow, that one.”

“So, Orry is cover for their gods hunt story while they’re looking to round up anyone going to find this new king?”

Benson shrugged and mopped at his forehead, leaving a filthy trail. “Sounds ‘bout right.”

“What do you know about him?” Croak asked.

“The new king? What I said.”

“Where’d he come from? How’d he become king?”

“Boy, ya askin’ me like I’s an ol’ woman sittin’ round ‘er knittin’ folk. I ain’t.”

“You didn’t ask?”

Benson turned a baleful glare at Croak, who lifted his hands.

A few seconds later, he looked up as if recalling something important and pointed his hammer at Terena. “Someone came in askin’ ‘bout ya.” He shook his head. “Late last week. Came in fer weapons but asked ‘bout trackers. Named ya.”

Croak cursed. “Really, Benson? You just remembered?”

“My brain ain’t young an’ full o’ nothin’ like yers,” he grumbled.

“Asked for me by name?”

“Aye.”

“What’d you tell them?” Terena asked.

He shot her a glare. “I didn’t tell ‘em nuthin’ bout ya.”

Terena arched an eyebrow .

“I tole them I’d let ‘em know if I ‘ear anythin’ when theys come back for th’ orders theys placed.”

“When are they expected?”

“End of th’ week. Told ‘em dawn on Saturday, they’d be ready.”

“Mercenaries?”

“By th’ look of ‘em.”

“They say anything else, Benson?” Terena asked as she slid a coin toward him on the workbench.

“Aye, said ‘e was lookin’ fer trackers. Said th’ king had need of ‘em. Then asked after Terena Luca.”

Terena glanced back at Croak, who was busy rolling a coin between his fingers.

“I’d planned on leaving straight from here.”

“Eh, ’tis a few days. ‘Ear ‘em out and then decide.” Benson thunked the hammer on the sword. He huffed, straightened, and cracked his neck. “Ye can stay ‘ere if’n the soldiers is what bothers ya.”

“I’m needed in Metilai.”

He snorted. “Yah, yer needed in Metilai.”

Croaked snickered and Terena shot him a dirty look. “Where’re they staying, you know?”

Benson shook his head. “Why the shit would they tell me? Easily found out by wanderin’ to the usual holes.” He lifted his head and grinned with a lift of his chin at Croak. “He sure as rain knows those venues.”

Terena pushed away from the table to stand and stretch. She turned to leave. “I’ll try to be back at week’s end.”

“Aww, will ‘is high and mighty lordlin’ be done wi’ ya that quick? Shame.”

Croak barked out a laugh that turned to a yowl when Terena punched his shoulder as she passed.

“If they’re rounding up the mercs, how are you getting them their orders?” Croak asked.

“Been using the temple as the drop.”

Croak snorted. “You serious?”

Benson shrugged. “Seemed like a good ‘nuff spot theys wouldn’t be watchin’. So worried bout gods but they’s not lookin’ in theys own house.”

“Take care, Benson,” Terena said. “If they’re locking up mercs, they might have eyes on you.”

“What for?”

“For supplying them.”

Benson grunted and went back to work. “No one’s been ‘round yet and Mello’s keepin’ an eye out.”

She nodded and turned to leave. Croak fell in behind her.

On the way out, Benson’s giant of an apprentice came through the doorway. He held out a black pouch and Croak took it with a muttered thanks. The man turned back the way he’d come. Terena followed, calling out a goodbye as she passed, but Mello only lifted his head and stared at her dully before going back to his work.

As they exited Benson’s shop, Terena pulled up her hood and paused under the awning to watch the rain. It had lessened its fury in the time she’d been inside.

The earlier crowd had dispersed, now slinking under awnings or in doorways, anywhere away from the soldiers still patrolling the main street. No signs of the young girl and old man.

Croak came up beside her. Terena walked to where they’d tethered their horses and rummaged in her saddlebags.

“See if you can find Orry,” she said as she pulled out a small bundle wrapped in oilcloth. Croak looked down at her, brown eyes narrowed and arms crossed at his chest. “Give him the shroud and tell him to keep it somewhere safe. I’ll get it from him when we head north.” She handed the bundle to Croak, who took it and shoved it inside his jerkin.

“What about the mercs Benson mentioned?”

Terena sighed and rubbed at an ache on the back of her neck. “If you can manage, find out what they know of the northern king or why they’re looking for trackers. And why they asked for me.”

“Anything else, Your Majesty?”

Terena twisted her lips. “I’ll try to be back at week’s end.”

“And then what? ”

Terena shrugged. “Then we head north.”

Croak watched Terena disappear in the rain. Pulling up his collar, he ran out into the street to the buildings on the other side, cursing the rain as it seeped down his neck and into his tunic to soak him. He kept to the sidewalks and cursed whenever he hit a puddle.

Even in the rain and the gloom of dusk, he knew this town inside and out.

At the end of the street, he saw a group of soldiers huddled near the entrance to Atton’s Bathhouse and recalled their conversation with the blacksmith. Quickly doubling back, Croak took the back alley.

He was close to his destination when the rain turned to a drizzle. He sighed and slowed his pace.

“Awww look at the raggedy rat the cat done drug in, eh?”

Croak lifted his head to frown at the slag leaning against the door to the back entrance of the brothel. Melissa had the worn and haggard look of many of her profession and she was only twenty, if that.

He grimaced and stopped, one boot on the step leading up to the house of pleasure. “And yet still a sight better than the rats calling on you, right Mel?”

The whore pursed her lips and spat at his feet, some phlegm landing on the tip of his boot. He frowned and toed it in the mud as she cackled. He put his hands on his hips and lifted his chin at her. “You gonna let me pass?”

“Not wit’ out a big fat kiss I ain’t,” she said with a wide grin to show off her rotting front teeth.

“As tempting as that offer is, every single time you make it, I’ll pass. With regret.”

She cackled again. “You young ’uns always turn yer noses up at the packagin’, but experience has ya sniffin’ round in the end.”

Bile rose in his throat and took a moment before responding. “Charming, Mel. As always. ‘Young ‘uns’,” he mumbled. “You realize we’re of an age.” He cleared his throat and winced at the tang still at the back of it. “Just a question, if you don’t mind?”

“Nothin’s free, even questions,” she said and hitched up her skirt to scratch at a rash on her thigh.

Croak closed his eyes as a shudder passed through him. “Uhm, just curious. Any gents visiting from out of town?”

“Our whole bidness is out of town gents.”

“Bidness?”

“Ya ye fool!” she spat. “Bidness. How we’s make a livin’?”

“Ah yes, bidness. Of course.” Croak smiled thinly. “Any chance any of those gents going north?”

“Lots of folk headin’ north just now. Ye blind as well as stupid?”

“Right,” Croak said with a frown. “Know of any waiting on weapons from Benson? They’d be big fellas, swordsmen? Mercenaries? Here until Saturday. Two of them, traveling together.”

Melissa narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her big breasts.

Croak waited.

Melissa lifted a pale eyebrow at him. Croak sighed and dug into his breeches for a coin. He flicked the silver at her and she snatched it out of the air with one big paw.

“Saw a one such as fits that descriptin’.” She nodded down the street. “Had hisself a good time wif Jana then off to grab some food at Nathaniel’s.”

“Just the one?”

“Well, one’s all I’s seen,” she answered.

Croak looked down the street, then back at Melissa. “A pleasure, as always.”

She grunted in response and he tipped an imaginary hat at her, then strode off down the street, his pace more leisurely now the rain had settled to a fine mist.

He knew it could turn into a downpour at any moment, but for now, he enjoyed not having to run from awning to awning like an alley cat.

Benson was right; Laurica was busier than Croak had ever seen it. He shot quick glances at the people he passed on his way to the tavern but noted mostly families, more than likely refugees, trying to return home by the looks of them.

More than a year had passed since the first quake had shaken the ground beneath his feet. Weeks afterward, they’d heard stories from those running south, fleeing the devastation wreaking the north, decimating the land.

No armies, no war.

This was the work of Gaia, the superstitious northerners claimed. The old Titans stretching their limbs, reminding them they were still around a thousand years later.

After the earth shook, there were months of freezing temperatures in the north stretching as far south as Lindeloris, snow falling so heavily it buried entire villages. Then swirling cones of air ravaged cities, tearing through them like a sword through the neck.

In Laurica, the rain started shortly after and hadn’t stopped since.

Croak jogged up the walkway on the left, passing shops selling everything from hats to feed and tack. At the end of the cobbled street, a large stone structure stood with wooden doors and glass windows. The glass was thick and glazed in patterns of fish and water. A few men mingled outside and more streamed in and out. Business was good.

He slid past a couple men in front of the doors and swung one open, apologizing to the two as they shot him a look. Inside, the heat was almost as oppressive as Benson’s.

Croak caught his breath and almost heaved as the smell of unwashed bodies mixed with alcohol and food hit his nostrils. He fished a kerchief from his breast pocket and held it to his nose, breathing deep of lavender while he took in the packed tavern.

The tables were all filled and people stood who hadn’t found seats, holding their plates or bowls as they conversed. A harried barmaid rushed past, holding a large steaming bowl in each outstretched arm.

Croak shouted a greeting at the girl, but laughter drowned out his words. To his right, a large man guffawed so sharply, it startled Croak and he moved off to the left, darting toward a clearing before anyone filled it.

Croak was as tall as he was thin, but even he had to stand on his toes to get a decent look around. The barkeep and owner, Nathaniel, shouted something across the room, his good-natured grin hidden beneath his bushy chestnut mustache. At a nearby table, men lifted their tankards in salute and shouted back to him. Croak wound his way carefully through the throng toward the bar.

“Oy!” he yelled and thumped the bar top. The man next to him grumbled and gave him a frown, turning back to his drink. Nathaniel had his back to him, speaking with someone on the other side of the bar.

Croak moved further along the bar, waving his arms when Nathaniel finally turned his way, but the big man bent over for something and turned back without glancing over at Croak.

Frustrated, Croak looked around.

His eyes settled on the wood beam next to the man to his left, where a large bell hung.

“Mate,” he said to the man next to him. The man turned a baleful look at Croak, his big brows low and his mouth turned down. He didn’t respond.

Croak cleared his throat. “See that bell there?” he asked, pointing to the bell attached to the beam on the man’s left. “You ring it and get old Nathaniel there to come this way, I’ll give you,” here he dug into his pants and pulled out two coins which he showed to the man. “I’ll give you this.”

The man looked at him a moment longer, then grunted. He turned and lifted his hand to the bell and punched it with his fist. A roar went up across the tavern and Nathaniel swung his head around with his arms raised high and then pointed at them with a yell.

“Someone wants to buy you all a round, lads!” his voice boomed across the already raucous mob. His smile split his thick cheeks.

Croak smothered his own grin, ducking behind another patron as the man looked around at the many faces smiling back at him, his eyes blinking and his face dumb .

“What you mean?” he grumbled.

“You rang the bell, lad,” Nathaniel laughed and threw a dirty rag over one shoulder before folding his tattooed arms. “That means the next round’s on you.”

“I didn’t?—”

“You did.”

The man shifted his body up off the bar and turned to find Croak had slid back and through the masses. He turned back, almost desperately eyeing the expectant faces all around. “I don’t?—”

“You do.”

The man gulped as Croak wound his way closer to Nathaniel, his face wreathed in smiles as he clapped several patrons on their backs as he passed.

The man stood now, puffing his chest out as his mouth opened and closed like a trout. While the crowd cheered, he grumbled back into his drink.

Croak rapped on the bar top. “Nathaniel.”

The barkeep glanced over his shoulder, realizing who it was. He turned and leaned back against the counter stacked high with dishes, his massive arms crossed over his even bigger chest. “Well, look what the stinking alley cat dragged in.”

Croak dropped his chin and shook his head, grinning. “What is it about me and alley cats?” He winked at Nathanial. “Who woulda thought the civilized, settled life would suit you so well?”

“Aye,” the big man grunted. He narrowed his eyes at Croak. “And what you be needing this time? A barrel to hide inside? Sack of coins to pay off a debt?”

Croak gasped and put a hand to his chest. “You wound me, good sir.”

“If only it were mortal.”

“You haven’t seen me in months and this is how you treat a friend?”

“Friend?” Nathaniel scoffed. He flipped the dirty rag off his shoulder and wiped the bar top, forcing Croak to move away. “Your friendship almost cost me an arm. ”

“Ah!” Croak said. “And yet if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have this fine establishment and the living that goes with it.”

Nathaniel’s mouth dropped open. “You cheeky shit! ’Twas reward for my service to Solon I owe this living. Ain’t nothing to do with your scrawny arse.”

“And yet who whispered in Solon’s ear you deserved the living?”

“Again, naught to do with you,” Nathaniel snorted. “And if she were here with you, I’d thank her as I always do.”

“But she’s not here, so might I suggest you thank her through me?”

“You are a snot, aren’t you?”

“We all serve a purpose.”

“And where’s your better half?”

“Off to Metilai.”

Nathaniel nodded, then ducked beneath the bar to bring up two tankards. He filled each and passed them down to the men waiting on Croak’s right side. He turned back to Croak with a lift of his eyebrow. “And she left you here? You two have a falling out?”

“Hardly,” Croak said and leaned his arms on the bar. “I’m on an important mission.”

“Huh.”

“Reconnaissance.”

Nathaniel resumed wiping down the counter, jabbing his hand against Croak’s elbows, compelling him to step back.

“Important stuff, really,” Croak said. “Which is why I’ve come to you, my good friend.”

“What’s she need?”

Croak waited until Nathaniel put the rag away and turned to filling more drinks. “You see any men ‘round lately, heading north?”

Nathaniel snorted and shot him a glance. “Every man in here is heading north.”

Croak pursed his lips and glanced around. “Right,” he said, his voice low.

After several seconds watching Nathaniel go about his work, he rapped on the bar. “Any asking around about Terena? Was told a couple mercs were waiting on some gear from Benson and looking for her.”

Nathaniel was scrubbing a tankard with a different, equally filthy rag. He paused, considering. “Maybe.”

“Ah!” Croak motioned with his hand for Nathaniel to continue. The big man sighed and put one hand to his hip, the other holding the tankard at his side. “Had a man earlier ask after your sister and mentioned looking for trackers. Not sure if he’s still around.”

“Earlier… today?”

Nathaniel shrugged, wiping the tankard again. “Aye. Morning. One of the first in here. Sat at that back table. Strange, it was. When the soldiers came in midday looking for some poor unfortunate, that man never once moved, though the rest of my patrons cleared out right quick. Saw them have words with him but left empty-handed.”

“He was alone?”

“Aye. Joined a bit ago by another big brute.”

Croak followed Nathaniel’s gaze but a sea of bodies stood between him and where Nathaniel’s chin had pointed.

“Back there?” he asked.

“Wasn’t keeping track of them, mind,” Nathaniel grumbled. “But aye, they were back there and for a while, too. Lost sight of them when the dinner rush came in. I ain’t seen them in a good hour. Might ask Moira. She’s been here all day.”

Croak turned to see the slight barmaid as she weaved her way through the crush of bodies, hands filled with empty tankards, stopping here and there as voices called out with more orders. He watched as she nodded absently, then slowly made her way back to the bar.

Croak made room for her as she dropped off six empty tankards and sagged against the bar with a tremendous sigh.

“All work and no play makes for a dull girl, Moira,” he said.

She gave him a disgusted look. “Child.”

Croak laughed. “You seen a couple mercs been here all day?”

Moira ignored him as she wiped a limp strand of blonde hair out of her face. Her cheeks were pink with exertion and she had a fine sheen of sweat on her brow and upper lip .

She leaned forward and shouted some orders at Nathaniel, who nodded and set to work. When she grabbed the tray, full tankards sloshing ale, she turned back and set off through the horde.

Croak followed.

“C’mon, love!” Croak wheedled, yelling over the noise. He kept close to her back as patrons moved to fill the space behind her.

She set three tankards down on one table and moved on to another. Croak stuck close, waiting.

Moira turned and bumped right into him. She shoved at his chest with her free hand, the drinks in her other spilling out onto the table to her right. Men bellowed, but she paid them no mind as she deftly lifted the tray to save the drinks.

“Yor botherin’ me is botherin’ our guests!” she spat at him as she turned toward her next destination.

“All’s I need is a quick answer to a tiny question!”

She huffed and dropped another tankard onto a nearby table. “I seen many folk. Obviously.”

“Couple of mates heading north? Maybe staying the week to take in the many beautiful sights of Laurica? Asking about trackers? Been here all day, according to the big boss.”

“Only ones I can think of sitting over there,” she said with a sigh and a half-hearted tilt of her head over her left shoulder. “Been sittin’ there since I got here.”

Croak squeezed her arm in thanks and shot past her, wending his way around the gathered patrons, until finally he was at the back of the tavern.

Crowded, but with space enough around the table for Croak to make a smart smack of his heels and a bow low enough to please Emperor Solon.

When he rose, he noticed with a slight slip of his smile the table had only one occupant, rather than the two he’d expected. Glancing around, he pasted a big smile on his lips.

“Ah, good sir, might I join you for a pint?”

As he made to sit, Croak froze. Something sharp poked at his side.

“And who the fuck are you?”