“Before we get to that,” the boy-man said and slapped at his chest with his right hand, inclining his head slightly, “I am Croak. Twenty years as of two moons ago. I live with my sister—well, she lives with me, of course.” With that, he winked again at Rydon.
“What else? Oh! I am recently arrived in Laurica though this is not my first time. I am not originally from Heylisia, but I have sworn fealty to Emperor Solon, of course. I am fond of the carnivals of Paladia in Osta and had hoped they’d catch on here, although that’s not likely because, let’s face it, few dwarves venture east of the Oryon Pass. I break into a disgusting rash if I eat rattleberries and I have had one song written of me after a rather magnificent duel in Ermanel. I believe owing more to the cuckold than sword skill.
“No wait,” here he paused and muttered something to himself, his chin lifted as he squinted at the ceiling, one finger up and tracing something unseen. “Yes!” he shouted with a thump on the table, making Gabriol blink stupidly over at him. “Yes, I recall now. Itwasmy sword skill that was immortalized by the bard, although a sword of a different kind, yeah?” He laughed and then exclaimed as the barmaid appeared with their ale. He held out both arms, offering profuse thanks to the barmaid he knew by name.
When the wench left, the young man lifted his tankard in salute. “And just lately, I am arrived in the lovely town of Laurica once more to hear friends tell of a new king, up in the savage lands of the north, who might be in the market for some hired hands.”
Rydon blinked at the young man, who regarded them both as if they were all old friends.
Gabriol leaned forward, blue eyes flashing. “Croak, is it?” At the young man’s enthusiastic nod, Gabriol pursed his lips. “You talk too much and look too stupid for us to give a shit about what you’ve heard. What we give a shit about is why you are here seeking us out.”
The young man, Croak, shifted his dark brown eyes back and forth between them. “Were you not listening? I just told you!” He took a swig of ale and smacked his lips. “New king, mercenaries.” He motioned with his tankard at both warriors. “I wish to join you, good sirs! To seek my fortune in the north. Hire out my sword, if you will.”
Rydon steepled his hands and stared across at the young man. “And who says we are heading north?”
Croak snorted. He wagged a finger at Rydon. “I am not as stupid as I look, gentlemen. You, for example,” he said, pointing at Gabriol. “Going by your braided fair hair and the tattoos I see peeking through your tunic, I’m guessing, Roison? You’re from Rois, aye? I met a man from Rois once. And you,” he said, turning away from Gabriol’s surprised face to squint at Rydon. He stroked his hairless chin. “Judging by the amount of earrings in your ear and the bones dangling from the leather at your neck, I’d say… Decu?”
Rydon’s eyes widened, shooting a scowl at Gabriol’s laughter.
“How’d I do? Did I guess it?” The young man asked, his face earnest as he looked between the two men.
“I’m Gabriol, and yes, I’m from Rois. This is Rydon of Decu.”
“Ha! Gabriol! Serendipitous! That’s my name!” the young man cried with a grin, pounding his fist on the table.
“I thought you said your name is Croak.” Rydon growled.
He shrugged. “Croak’s how I’m known, but Gabriol is the name my mother gave me. Gods keep her soul safe.”
“How’d you know where we’re from?”
“I’m good at shit like that. I’m good at a lot of things. And I have many friends who look out for my wellbeing, and part of that wellbeing is my employment status, of which I am, currently, in between jobs.”
Rydon continued to glare at him. Croak shrugged. “I asked around about the new king and was told a couple of mercs were heading north. He’s looking to build an army, aye? Thought I’d join you and make some coin.”
Gabriol laughed. It was a hearty bark of laughter, causing the younger man to startle, but he covered it up with an uncertain chuckle. He raised his tankard once more.
“And what gave you the impression we’d let a weasel such as you join us wherever the fuck we’re going?” Gabriol asked.
Croak shrugged. “I am an adventurer such as yourselves. I wish to see the world. Meet beautiful women. Get blooded in battle, fighting alongside the right and righteous.”
“Are you daft?” Gabriol asked. “Or blind? Have you not seen the Imperial soldiers rounding up men?” He glanced at Rydon with a half smile. “Suppose we hand this one over, boss? Think they’ll give us silver for him?”
Rydon smirked. “I think they’d laugh in our faces if we told them this scarecrow was heading north to fight for the new king.” He leaned across the table, brows furrowed. “If you are sworn to Solon, why would you want to pledge to the northern king?”
Something about this fool was off, and yet he could not put his finger on it. He was most assuredly alone. Anyone calling him a friend would’ve made themselves known by now. The young man neither glanced about nervously for intervention nor seemed to play for time.
“Ha!” Croak snorted. “That man! Donotget me started. I have given him years of my life and he keeps leaching more off me every day.”
Both men looked wide-eyed at the young fool, waiting.
“I am sick of being taken advantage of! I want to work for someone who knows my worth, who values my loyalty as well as my sword arm. He has made a fool of me for the last time!”
Rydon and Gabriol exchanged a look.
“I am a freeman,” the young man went on, lifting his arms and face to the ceiling. “Well, as free as a man is without employment.”
Gabriol looked over at Rydon. “And what kind of employment would that be? What’s your trade?”
