Strength of Fate - 5. Chapter Five

Over the course of two days, Nathan and Brohm worked out the details with the carpenter, Gareth. On the morning of the third day, they arrived with cleaning supplies to find workers already raising scaffolding around the inn—soon to be their guildhouse. Gareth, acting as foreman, waved in greeting as they approached.

“You guys don’t fool around,” Nathan said. “We weren’t expecting you’d start so early today.”

“Aye. Well, you said you wanted to finish up before first snow. We’ve a lot of work ahead o’ us.”

“Don’t let us get in your way. We’ll be inside.”

Gareth nodded and went back to supervising his crew while Nathan and Brohm ducked under the scaffolds to enter the building.

“Reckon we need a maid,” Brohm stated as they stood in the large common area.

“A maid would run screaming from this place.”

They both laughed, but their mirth ebbed away as they considered the work ahead of them. Voices outside caught Brohm’s attention, and he peeked through a window.

“Looks like our maid has arrived.”

Confused, Nathan joined him by the window. Tarn stood outside, greeting the crew.

“Be nice,” Nathan said, ignoring Brohm’s grumbling and opened the door.

Tarn joined them, astonished. “This place is huge.”

“Ready to work?” Nathan asked.

“Yeah. Where do we start?”

Nathan glanced around and shrugged. “Here’s as good a spot as any, I guess.”

Tarn offered his hand to Brohm. “Hi, I’m Tarn. We’ve not met yet.”

“Sid,” Brohm said curtly, not accepting his hand, and then left them abruptly.

Tarn pulled his hand back to his chest and looked to Nathan. “Uh, did I say something wrong?”

Nathan painted a smile on his face. “No, don’t worry about him. Everything’s fine.”

Refurbishing the main floor took the three men nearly a fortnight to complete. Dust, dirt, and cobwebs were swept out. Loose floorboards, of which there were many, were nailed down. Wooden tables, chairs, and the bar were refinished with the help of Gareth’s expertise. The kitchen—still stocked with pots, pans, and utensils—was given a thorough scrubbing.

Tackling the second and third floors was a simple yet tedious affair. The amount of accumulated dirt and debris they removed was staggering. Opening the windows after so many years—bringing in crisp autumn air to flow through the building—helped to rid the rooms of their musty smell. New bedding arrived to replace the old. Candles were fitted into sconces and chandeliers, and oil lamps were filled. The many fireplaces were cleaned, and their chimneys swept.

Outside, Gareth’s hardworking team completed ahead of schedule. They’d replaced the entire roof, fixed the outer walls where rot was forming, and finished with a coat of whitewash. That alone did wonders to bring the old place back to life.

After the mess of scaffolding came down one chilly afternoon, Nathan and Brohm, along with Gareth and his crew, were able to truly appreciate their work. The pristine building, however—surrounded by the unkempt vegetation—seemed out of place. Landscaping was something they’d consider in the spring.

“I trust you’re happy?” Gareth asked Nathan.

“Absolutely. You guys did a great job.”

The crewmen expressed their thanks, then continued loading carts with tools and scaffolding.

“It’s okay to settle the bill tomorrow?” Nathan asked.

“That’s fine. Come by the workshop any time.”

Gareth tipped his hat, and then joined his men. The carts laden with equipment were secured to the team’s horses, and they headed back into Millsfield. Once they were alone, Brohm nudged Nathan’s shoulder.

“I got something to show you.”

Nathan failed to decipher his sly expression. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Taking Nathan’s hand, he led him inside, and they ascended to the third floor. All the while, Nathan prodded for clues, but Brohm only returned the same playful look. Upon reaching the landing, Brohm ushered him toward the door of their future bedroom. From the beginning of their work restoring the building to its former glory, he’d been adamant Nathan not enter that room. Despite his curiosity, Nathan respected his wishes. Now, with his hand on the door latch, anticipation was at a fever pitch.

“Well, go on. Open it,” Brohm said.

Nathan peeked his head in, and gawked at the sight before him. The dreary room he remembered was gone—now furnished with a large wardrobe, two dressers, and burgundy wall hangings. White curtains hung from the windows. An inviting fire crackled in the hearth, dispelling the cold. The wooden floors were sanded and refinished. Thick rugs surrounded the four-poster bed, with tables flanking each side. The welcoming nature of the room beckoned, and he stepped inside.

“You like it?” Brohm asked.

Nathan turned to face him. “Brohm, this is beautiful—”

“Just one rule,” he said, pointing at Nathan’s feet. “Boots off in the bedroom.”

Nathan grimaced and crept back to the chair conveniently placed beside the door, then sat down to remove his boots. Brohm did the same while Nathan approached the bed, running his hand over the crisp linen sheets. A mischievous laugh caused Nathan to turn, but before he could react, Brohm was upon him. The big man tackled him onto the bed, pinning him down. They kissed, deep and passionate.

“This is really ours,” Nathan said, more as confirmation to himself than a statement. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Nathan.”

Brohm moved in to kiss him again, but a knock at the door stopped him. Tarn stood at the threshold, averting his eyes.

“Sorry. I, um, didn’t mean to intrude. I finished cleaning up the office and was wondering what you wanted done next.”

Brohm awkwardly rolled off Nathan and sat on the edge of the bed, glaring at Tarn. Nathan, red-faced, padded over to the chair to don his boots again.

“That was our mistake. We should’ve closed the door.”

Tarn chuckled nervously, refusing to return Brohm’s gaze. “It’s no big deal.”

“There’s a few hours left, but why don’t we call it a day,” Nathan said, counting out coins from his pouch. “Here’s a full-day’s wage.”

He gave Nathan a puzzled glance. “Oh, okay.”

“I’ll see you out.”

They reached as far as the head of the staircase before Tarn turned to him with an inquisitive look.

“Sorry. I realize this isn’t my business, but I overheard him call you Nathan. What’s up with that?”

Nathan’s blood ran cold. He tried to swallow and nearly choked.

“It’s just a nickname.” Normally, producing a credible lie was no problem, but his natural cunning had failed him this time.

“Okay. I only ask because of that guy I mentioned—the one who escaped Helmsley Keep—his name was Nathan.”

“That’s a weird coincidence,” he replied, trying to look surprised.

“But I realize now you remind me of him.”

“What do you mean? Do I look like him?”

“No, but how you hold yourself, it seems familiar somehow.”

Nathan knew the conversation had to end and shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Tarn—despite still being puzzled—accepted that, and they descended without another word. Reaching the front door, Nathan opened it. The afternoon sun struggled against dark oncoming clouds. An approaching storm.

“Listen, Tarn. I think we’ll be good from here on out. So, um, this’ll be your last day.”

“Oh . . . okay. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, your work was fine. We’re just trying to save coin where we can.”

Nathan offered his hand. Tarn shook it, giving him an unconvinced expression, but whatever was going through his head was left unspoken. Instead, he nodded toward the incoming weather.

“I should get going, then. It’s too cold to get caught in the rain. Thanks for the work.”

Nathan remained on the veranda, watching Tarn reach the road back into town until he disappeared over a small incline.

Heavy steps approached from behind. “Reckon it was only a matter of time,” Brohm said, an undercurrent of anger colouring his voice.

Nathan turned to him. “You heard?”

The big man nodded, his eyes lit afire again.

“Don’t worry,” Nathan added quickly, holding his hands up to assuage him. “I dealt with him. He’s gone. It’s done.”

If anything, that only kindled Brohm’s anger, and he grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck.

“What are you doing?” Nathan cried, failing to pull himself free.

Brohm held his face close, his voice deep with menace. “We’ve been lucky, you and me. Too lucky, I reckon. Doing stupid shit like this only uses it up.”

“Let go. You’re hurting me!”

The fire in Brohm’s eyes extinguished. He released his hold and took a timid step back. Nathan gingerly touched the red mark Brohm’s grip left on the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, I . . . didn’t mean to hurt you,” Brohm mumbled.

“I get it. You’re angry, you lash out, but don’t aim it at me.”

Brohm stared at his feet. “I said I was sorry.”

Rain began to fall, and Brohm stepped off the veranda into the courtyard. “I’m gonna go back to the apartment. You can stay here tonight.”

Nathan followed after him, pulling his arm. The rain felt like ice on his skin. “No, don’t do that. You’ll get soaked.”

“Reckon I need to cool down.” He turned back and cupped his cheek. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Nathan touched his hand in response. “I know. You lose yourself when you’re angry.”

“Yuh. I don’t know why I’m that way.”

“Because it’s always protected you.”

Brohm shrugged and pulled his hand away. “I just need time to think, okay?” He lumbered away without waiting for a reply.

“I’ll come by in the morning? We’ll breakfast at the Barrel,” Nathan called out.

Brohm turned slightly to deliver a halfhearted nod before disappearing within the haze of falling rain.

 

 

 

 

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Nathan managed to get some sleep, but it was hard-fought. He stared at the empty side of the bed. Brohm had put so much work into their bedroom, yet their inaugural night together was for nought.

The fire from last night had long died out. While he was comfortably warm beneath the covers, the air felt chilly. Pulling back the sheets brought an involuntary hiss from his lips. The room was freezing. He silently thanked Brohm for the rug surrounding the bed. It worked well to protect his feet from the cold while he dressed.

Narrow shafts of grey morning light streamed through an open gap in the curtain. He peeked outside to find the world washed clean with a layer of virgin snow. The forest in the distance contrasted against it, a sea of dark limbs and branches. From his high vantage point, he realized the treeline acted as a border to a ravine.

While heading toward Millsfield, wet snow squelched under his boots, bringing a smile to his face. The gloom he felt yesterday had drifted away. Tarn, and all the trouble his involvement brought, was behind them.

He reached the apartment and stepped inside. It was cold, but nowhere near as frigid as the guildhouse. The sitting room stood empty. He peered into the bedroom, finding Brohm still in bed, snoring softly. Not wanting to disturb him, Nathan closed the door and returned to the sitting room. In the corner, he nudged the edge of a wooden plank on the floor, and it tilted up to reveal their hidden store of coins. He refilled his purse, along with another leather pouch for Gareth’s final payment. The cache was dwindling, but with the worst of their expenses paid, they would be able to live comfortably until the guildhouse earned them money.

The bedroom door opened, and Brohm padded toward him, naked, rubbing his eyes.

“You get much sleep?” he asked.

Nathan shook his head.

“Me neither. Took all night,” Brohm said with a pout, and reached out for a hug.

Nathan closed the space between them, more than happy to be held in his arms. “I missed you.”

“Yuh, me too. Come back to bed. Reckon we could use a few more hours.”

“As enticing as that sounds, I want to pay Gareth. And I’m starving.”

Brohm considered his words. “Let me get dressed.”

Nathan playfully swatted his backside, eliciting a yelp followed by a throaty giggle. Watching him disappear back into the bedroom, Nathan was elated to find the unease between them had evaporated.

“Last night, I found the scroll from that senator guy,” Brohm called out. “I’d forgotten about it.”

With all their attention put toward refurbishing the guildhouse, the commendation had been pushed completely out of Nathan’s mind.

“Gods! You’re right.”

He counted days on his fingers as he headed toward the bedroom. “I’ll have to leave tomorrow to get there in time.” He paused a moment, giving Brohm a desperate smile. “You’re still gonna come with me, right?”

“Yuh, as long as there’s lots of booze.”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of party.”

Brohm scoffed at the notion. “What you reckon we gonna wear? We don’t have anything . . . nice.”

“There’s bound to be a tailor in town. Maybe someone at the Barrel can point us in the right direction?”

They bounded into the snow to Gareth’s workshop. The carpenter, warming himself near an open fire, waved in greeting upon their arrival. Nathan handed him the leather pouch, and after a hasty coin count, Gareth thanked them for their business.

Their next stop was the Green Barrel to sate their hunger. As Nathan suspected, the proprietor provided a wealth of knowledge. Despite Millsfield being a small town, it still contained a modestly-sized district dedicated to those more well-off, and a tailor shop could be found there.

Nathan and Brohm found the tailor without a problem, and a bell rang as they entered. The clientele within, mostly women, turned their heads in disbelief at the sight before them—haughty whispers complaining about such rabble darkening their stoop.

A thin, sharp-dressed man appeared, dismay written on his face. “I apologize, sirs, but I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Brohm leaned forward. “You’re the tailor, yuh?”

“I’m the owner of this establishment.”

“We’re going to some fancy party, so we need to look good, and we need it today.”

The man sneered at him. “I can guarantee you don’t have the money to make such demands.”

Nathan jingled the coinpouch hanging from his belt. “Oh, really?”

The tailor pursed his lips while he considered. “Very well, but follow me to the back room. Your current attire is bad for business.”

Brohm rolled his eyes and nudged Nathan with an elbow. “You hear that? We’re bad for business,” he said brashly.

While unamused patrons looked on, the owner shushed him and led them to the rear of the shop. Compared to the storefront’s clean and proper displays, the rear was a disaster. Cloth bolts of every sort hung from worktables and low rafters. A few men and women glanced up from their work, surprised to see them. The owner rushed to one of the men working nearby.

“Willem, I have two customers here that require dress for a formal event. Today.”

“But I’m in the middle of—”

“Now.”

Willem huffed and shoved the garment he was working on to the back of the table.

“Thank you,” the owner said. He turned to Nathan and Brohm. “I trust you will be happy with Willem’s work.”

That said, he swiftly left the room, leaving them with the tailor. Willem stood, appraising Nathan’s stature.

“We should have something that will fit you after some minor alterations.” Then he gazed at Brohm. “You, on the other hand . . .”

“What about me?”

“You’re a big one, aren’t you.”

Brohm smirked, catching Nathan’s eye. “So I’ve been told.”

“We’ll have to start from scratch for you.”

“As long as it’s done today,” Brohm said with a shrug.

“I’d recommend a corset, as well.”

Brohm gave the tailor an apprehensive look. “A what?”

“It’s a slimming device to give you a more attractive shape.”

“But . . . I like my shape,” he replied, rubbing his belly.

Willem rolled his eyes. “Very well.”

As promised, the tailor fitted Nathan with a tunic and wide belt, a doublet, and trousers made of finely threaded material.

Nathan pulled at his attire. “Is it supposed to be this tight?”

“Define tight,” Willem said. “It’s supposed to be a slim fit. You look good.”

He motioned to a looking glass in the corner of the room. Nathan hesitated before gazing at the reflection. Before him stood the man he didn’t recognize. He doubted he’d ever get used to it. Brohm’s face—the other stranger—loomed over his shoulder, casting a troubled frown mirroring his own thoughts.

Willem caught their expressions. “Is it not pleasing to you?”

“Uh, no. I mean, yeah, it’s fine. I guess. I’m just not used to seeing myself dressed in something so flamboyant.”

“This is appropriate attire for a formal party.”

Nathan tugged at the doublet. “I’ll have to trust your judgement.”

Willem turned his attention to Brohm. “For you, I see a long tunic with matching hose, and a sweeping cape with gold embroidery.”

Brohm stood aghast. “I’m not wearing hose!”

“Please, sir. I’m working with the time we have.”

“He gets to wear trousers,” Brohm said, pointing to Nathan. “Why don’t I get trousers?”

“Because I won’t have enough time. Don’t fret. I have no doubt other guests will be wearing similar garments. You’ll look dashing.”

“Dashing? But hose is way too tight,” he said, subtly pointing at his crotch.

“It’ll be a long tunic, sir. Your, erm, manhood will be hidden from view.”

Nathan stifled a laugh. Brohm—mouth agape—was lost for words, and Willem took that as acceptance to proceed.

The afternoon passed at a glacial pace while the tailor worked, and candelabras were lit as the sun set. Nathan had nodded off some time afterward, only to be awakened by a hand on his shoulder. Brohm stood before him, fully dressed in his new finery. Nathan turned him toward the light.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yeah, you look really good.”

Brohm’s face was flushed red. “You reckon?”

The tunic was a fine fit, greatly accentuating his barrel chest. Tan leather boots and a cape hid nearly all the hose—its thin fabric straining against Brohm’s thick, muscular legs. Nathan surreptitiously glanced around to find they had a moment of privacy, and with a mischievous grin, he lifted the front of Brohm’s tunic to gawk at the bulge hidden beneath. The big man swatted his hand away with an embarrassed scoff.

“You look quite handsome,” Nathan stated with a wink. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Brohm’s unsure demeanour eased away at the mention of looking handsome, and he quietly thanked him. They changed back into their old clothes, thanked Willem for his fine work and guidance, and then returned to the owner to pay for their new apparel. As Nathan expected, the cost was exorbitant, bordering on criminal, but he couldn’t blame them entirely. They’d entered the place brazenly and made extraordinary demands. The owner wrapped up their new purchase and hurried them outside, locking the door behind them as soon as it slammed shut.

 

 

 

 

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They left for Croydon early the next morning, heading southeast toward Remich. The snow from the previous day had melted, and they were met with dreary, cold drizzle. By day’s end, they reached an inn near the western Helmsley Keep road. Being a traveller’s inn, it was small and run-down, and the food was awful, but neither of them cared. It was warm, and all they wanted to do before bed was sit by the roaring fire to dry out.

The second day proved to be better travelling weather. While chilly, the clouds were gone, and they managed to make good time, arriving in Remich before sunset. Nathan headed toward the Black Lamb Inn—his old haunt—without a thought, only to be stopped by Brohm once it came into view.

“You reckon it’s a good idea to go in there?” he asked.

Nathan, once again, forgot no one would recognize them. And if they had, such as when Tarn caught on to his mannerisms, it could only end in trouble. He questioned why it was so difficult for him to realize his old life was forfeit.

“You think we should go somewhere else for the night?” Nathan asked.

“Yuh, it’s not worth the risk.”

Nathan nodded, and they headed to another tavern nearby. While it was just as rambunctious as the Black Lamb, it didn’t feel the same. He recalled the last time he visited Griff—the owner of the Black Lamb—who had warned of troopers hunting him and Brohm, and suggested they leave town. What stuck in Nathan’s head was the additional news he’d been given just before leaving. Griff told him that Danny, a longtime friend, had been murdered by arson. Nathan left the tavern in a dazed state. Had he known it would’ve been the last time he saw Griff, he would’ve at least said goodbye. Just another item to add to his list of regrets. There were so many.

Brohm rubbed Nathan’s shoulder. “You okay, l’il buddy?” he yelled over the din.

Nathan blinked, bringing himself back to the raucous common room. They’d already finished dinner, and were drinking ales before retiring for the night.

“Just thinking about stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Griff. Danny.”

Brohm nodded sympathetically and then emptied his tankard. “I’m heading up. You coming?”

“Nah, I’m gonna stick around a while longer. I’ll be up soon.”

Brohm gave his shoulder another squeeze before disappearing into the crowd. Nathan waited a few minutes before slipping outside. The night was still young, and people milled about the streets, going about their business. He walked the short distance back to the Black Lamb, standing before the front door a moment before entering. Behind the bar stood his friend, Griff, chatting with a few patrons. It was nice just to see his face. Nathan knew he should leave, but instead he walked up to the bar and sat down.

Griff approached him with a grin. “What’ll it be?”

“Uhh . . . an ale.”

“You got it.” He pulled a tankard from below the bar, filled it to the brim, and plopped it in front of Nathan. “Anything else?”

“Any news around town?”

“What kind of news you looking for?”

Nathan shrugged. “How’re you doing? Everything okay?”

Griff gave him a queer look. “Do I know you?”

With shaky hands, Nathan pulled coins from his pocket and dumped them on the bar. “Take care of yourself, Griff. Goodbye.”

“Whoa, wait.”

Nathan was already halfway to the exit. He didn’t dare look back, and Griff’s voice was lost under the roar of the crowd. He nearly knocked someone over while rushing out the door. After a hurried apology, he made his way back to Brohm. The big man was in bed, but still awake.

“You’re out of breath. What’s going on?”

Nathan stripped naked and slipped into the warm bed with him.

“You okay?” Brohm asked.

Nathan snuggled up against his frame, and Brohm turned to take him into his arms, holding him close.

“In case I don’t say it enough, I love you. I’d be lost without you.” He could only whisper for fear of his voice cracking.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Just . . . I want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

Brohm squeezed him closer and kissed him. “Feeling’s mutual, l’il buddy.”

In Brohm’s warm embrace, Nathan felt the gloom in his heart seep away, soothing him to sleep.

 

 

 

 

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Nathan was eager to leave Remich the next morning. Grey skies brought light flurries. It didn’t accumulate, but was enough to make everything slick. The road passed through dense forest, and fallen leaves crunched under their horses’ step. The same monotonous imagery continued through the next day, until the forest fell away to reveal the southern mountains. They finally arrived at Croydon around noontide.

After registering for a room at the guildhall and enjoying a warm meal, they entered the head office. Shaw was there, chatting with his receptionist. Upon seeing them, he appeared surprised.

“I was wondering when you two would finally show your faces again. I received your missive, but it was vague on timeframes.”

They shook hands, and he ushered them into his office.

“Sorry we couldn’t be more specific,” Nathan said. “We had no idea ourselves.”

“So, what news?”

“We think everything’s ready to proceed. We’ve fixed up the inn we spoke of. We just need staff now.”

“Of course. We’ll have that covered. Someone to run the front, a bookkeeper, cook, blacksmith—”

“A blacksmith?” Nathan asked. “There’s no place built for that.”

Shaw scoffed. “This is an Adventurer’s Guild. Our members will need repairs to their equipment.” He thought a moment. “Okay, when are you planning on heading back?”

“Tomorrow. Probably late morning.”

“Come by when you’re ready to go. I’ll have someone join you. He’ll act as foreman to build a smithy. You’ll need to pay for those additions, of course.”

Nathan envisioned their dwindling coin evaporating before his eyes. Shaw shuffled through a drawer of files, pulling one and laying it out on his desk.

“Here’s the contract. Fairly standard stuff. To reiterate the deal we offered: While you’ll be responsible for the guildhouse—repairs and the like—we’ll pay for your staff, as well as food and drink for you and our members. You’ll get a twenty-percent cut of any money earned from work completed through your job board. You’ll also be free to do any jobs yourself, receiving the usual fifty percent, plus twenty for being the owners. Once things settle into a routine, you’ll find the house will run itself.”

Brohm nodded to Nathan in approval. Shaw dipped a pen into an inkwell and handed it to them to sign. They did so, being careful to use their pseudonyms.

“Great,” Shaw said. “While we wait for the ink to dry, did you have any questions?”

“When can we expect the staff to arrive?” Nathan asked.

“We’ll be building your team from people around the region. We’ll send couriers with letters of notice. Once received, they’ll need to settle their affairs and make their way to your guildhouse. It could take anywhere from a few weeks to a few months. Anything else you’re wondering about?”

Nathan shook his head. “I’m sure we’ll have more later, but for now, I think we’re good. Oh, and I’m sure you’ll be happy to know we’re accepting Senator Corbett’s commendation tonight at some party.”

“That’s excellent news. Remember, you’re acting on behalf of the guild, so play your role accordingly,” Shaw said with a wink while rolling up one of the copies of the contract for them to keep. They shook hands, and he escorted them to the reception area. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

 

 

 

 

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Upon nightfall’s arrival, Nathan and Brohm stood before Senator Corbett’s estate dressed in their finery. Other guests arrived in clumps, pulled in by the sound of music and murmur of polite chatter. Willem the tailor was right. Everyone was ridiculously dressed.

“Gods, I hate this,” Nathan mumbled.

Brohm—a silly smile on his face—slapped him on the back. “Let’s get a drink.”

The uneasiness the big man felt about his attire had vanished. He stepped through the wide iron gate to the courtyard, making a point of waving his cape with a flourish. At any other time, Nathan would’ve burst out laughing at such a display, but his nervousness left him dumbly following behind with reluctance. They approached the doorman, who stared at them from the end of his nose.

“Invitation, please.”

Nathan pulled the small note from his breast pocket and handed it over. The doorman gave it a cursory glance, then returned it, gesturing to enter. Inside, they were greeted by a grand foyer with tall ceilings. The space was filled with guests, spilling into adjoining parlour rooms, and a massive dining room further back. Nathan felt rooted on the spot, unsure what to do. Brohm grabbed his arm, leading them to the nearest waiter carrying a tray of drinks. He grabbed two delicate glasses of wine, handing one to Nathan.

“Drink up, l’il buddy,” Brohm said, downing his wine and taking another before the waiter moved on.

Nathan did so, allowing himself the moment to enjoy the fine wine. Brohm pulled him again, deeper into the crowd, heading to the dining room. More waiters milled about, some carrying drink, others bite-sized morsels of food. Brohm sampled them all.

“This is actually pretty good. Try it,” he said, pointing at some seafood delicacy.

It was clear Brohm’s crass attitude was causing a scene, but everyone was too polite to act or say anything about it. Nathan couldn’t help but smile inwardly. These people, even with all their supposed power, were like sheep. They were all show and no action. But he knew if Brohm kept it up, someone would finally do something about it, and that would be bad for the guild’s image.

“Brohm, let’s go over there.”

“What, in the corner? Why?”

“You’re attracting too much attention.”

The big man glanced about as he wiped crumbs from his mouth. Many eyes were on him. He swished his cape again and sashayed to one of the round dining tables. Nathan reluctantly followed, nonplussed at Brohm’s mock haughtiness. They sat in silence for a time, watching the guests mill about and titter on about trivial things. A waiter carrying drinks passed nearby, and Brohm flagged him down.

“Could you get us a bottle of whatever that is?”

The waiter bowed. “Of course, sir.”

He returned promptly with a decanter of wine, and served them each a glass.

“You can leave that here,” Brohm said, pointing at the decanter.

“Very good, sir,” the waiter said, and left them.

Brohm lifted the glass. “Reckon this’ll do for a start.”

Within the hour, Brohm—his face flushed—had drained a second decanter of wine. Nathan had drank his fill, and was feeling much more relaxed. A low bell tolled, quietening the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner will be served. Please be seated,” a voice called out.

Despite there being eight chairs at their table, Nathan was pleased no guests joined them. Though considering Brohm’s earlier performance, he wasn’t surprised. Their host—the senator Corbett—sat at the head table raised on a short platform, joined by a gaggle of self-important men and women. Servers carrying covered trays arrived, swiftly gliding in and placing them before each guest. Silver covers were lifted, revealing steaming platters before them. The aromas were heady and exotic.

“What is this?” Brohm whispered to Nathan, a hand over his nose.

Nathan examined it closer. It was a square meal, to be sure, but the look and texture of the meat was foreign to him, and he’d never seen the vegetables before. He cut a piece of meat and tentatively ate it while Brohm looked on. A bizarre combination of flavour overpowered his senses.

“I can’t decide if I like it or not,” Nathan mused.

Brohm tried a bite, and his face contorted into a series of questionable expressions. After swallowing, he drained his glass of wine. “Ugh. That’s not for me.”

Nathan chuckled and tried another bite. This time wasn’t nearly as intense. “Give it another try,” he said.

Brohm shook his head. “When we get outta here, let’s go to a pub for some beef and a tasty loaf.”

“You can do that. I’m actually enjoying this.”

After the meal was complete and refreshments were served, Senator Corbett chimed his glass with a knife.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourselves,” he said. “I have an announcement to make. As you likely know, my work requires that I travel a fair amount, and given my stature, can be a target for thieves and ruffians. Of course, I have my personal guard as protection, but at the behest of my betters, I also hire additional men from the Adventurer’s Guild.”

A questionable murmur rose from his guests.

“Yes, yes. I know they don’t have the best reputation, but I’d like to set the record straight. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”

He paused for dramatic effect before continuing.

“Never before had I come so close to death. But a man with such deft skill with a dagger ended that threat in a blink of the eye. His name is Whitter, and I would ask him to stand and be seen.”

Nathan, wide-eyed, remained rooted to his chair in a petrified state. Brohm nudged him, but Nathan remained in place, so he lifted Nathan’s arm.

“He’s right here, mister senator, sir,” he bellowed out.

All eyes turned to their table, and Nathan shrank deeper into his chair.

“C’mon, l’il buddy,” Brohm whispered with a giant smile on his face, urging him to stand.

Nathan took a deep breath and did so, offering a meek wave to Senator Corbett and the crowd.

“Ah, excellent,” Corbett said. “Would you please come to the front here?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer not—”

“Please. I insist.”

Nathan glanced at Brohm. The big man, rosy-cheeked, gave him a ridiculous wink. Nathan decided he was enjoying his discomfort far too much. With an inward groan, he made the short walk to the front table. It felt like an eternity. The eyes of every guest bore through him. All he wanted to do was bolt out of the dining room, out of the estate, and hide in a deep hole. Instead, he managed to join the senator and his favoured company at their table.

“Would you please tell my friends and colleagues what happened that night?” Corbett asked.

“I don’t think that’d be appropriate, sir,” Nathan said.

“Oh, don’t be modest.”

The senator may enjoy life at a higher station than Nathan, but he wasn’t completely unmindful. Upon seeing Nathan’s discomfort, he offered a subtle nod of understanding and took it upon himself to speak.

“Very well. I’ll explain what happened. I was sleeping soundly in my tent, and then suddenly, a man had a wicked knife to my throat. His breath reeked of cheap ale, and he’d not bathed in some time. I thought I might be sick had I not been so frightened. Then Whitter appeared. To my amazement, he threw his dagger right at us, yet hit the man square in the eye. I don’t know how he managed to aim so perfectly, but he did.”

The crowd gasped, followed by astonished whispers. Corbett motioned for silence, then pulled a scroll from his jacket and unravelled it.

“Whitter, this is my commendation to you and the Adventurer’s Guild for your stellar performance.”

Nathan accepted it and shook his hand, and the audience burst to applause. Once it died down, Nathan suddenly found the courage to speak.

“Thank you for this, Senator Corbett. I do appreciate it, but as I said that night, I was only doing my job. There was another man who wasn’t so fortunate—one of your personal guard—and I’d like to take this moment to say that although I didn’t know him well, I could tell he meant a great deal to the men he worked with.”

He turned to the crowd.

“His name was Brody. Let’s not forget the sacrifice he made to protect you as well.”

Everyone clapped again, but with a soft restraint to show respect.

“Whitter makes a good point,” Corbett said. “It pains me to know he left behind a wife and two children, however rest assured that I’ve personally seen to the compensation for their great loss. Thank you again, Whitter. And to all my guests, continue to enjoy the food, wine, and song.”

On that cue, the ensemble fell to playing music again, and the hubbub of chatter soon filled the room. Nathan shook hands with the senator again before returning to his table at the back of the room. Brohm was leaning back in his chair with hands behind his head, wearing a massive grin.

Nathan slumped back into his chair. “Gods, kill me now.”

Brohm laughed. “What are you talking about? You were amazing up there!”

“You enjoyed that way too much.”

“Yuh, reckon I did. Sorry, l’il buddy.” Brohm rubbed his belly. “I’m starving for some real food, though. Think we can go?”

Nathan glanced around the room. All the attention was off them now. “I guess so. Let’s slip out one of the side doors.”

They rose from their seats and tried their best to casually make their exit, finding the elegant hallway empty. The din from the dining room slowly diminished as they reached the vast entryway.

“Hey!”

They turned toward the voice, and a guard caught up to them. His face was familiar, and it took a moment to realize he was one of the men from the expedition.

“Hi. Sorry, I don’t remember your name,” Nathan said.

“That doesn’t matter. I just wanted to thank you for what you said in there about Brody.”

“Oh, well—”

“And I wanted to apologize for what I said to you guys after what happened. I was out of line.”

Brohm stepped up. “You guys lost your friend. You were angry. We get it.”

The guard nodded gently. “I’ll tell the other guys about this. I know it’ll mean a lot.” He held out his hand, and Nathan and Brohm accepted it. “Thanks again. Safe travels to the both of you.”

As they passed the threshold of the front doors, Nathan felt a burden lifted from his shoulders. It wasn’t until now he realized Brody’s death had been hanging over him. He knew it hadn’t been his fault, but somehow he felt responsible. He shook his head in wonder at how much he’d changed. Six months prior, such a thing would’ve never weighed him down. He couldn’t decide if that was a bad thing or not.

“I’m proud of you,” Brohm said, slapping Nathan’s backside.

“What for?”

“That was a pretty great speech you gave, yuh?”

“I guess. I’m just glad this stupid thing is over with. C’mon, let’s find a pub and get you some food.”

Brohm rubbed his belly. “Now you’re talking.”