“Much as yourselves, as you see.”
Rydon laughed, his grin stretched wide enough to hurt his cheeks.
He leaned forward so fast the boy startled. Rydon’s grin faded and his eyes narrowed. “We’re mercenaries, fool. And you are not.”
“Ah, but I am indeed! And you will see the truth of my words when we reach the new king.”
“We?”
“Of course! I wish to travel with you. Me and my companion.”
“Companion?”
“Did I not say?” Croak laughed and wiped his mouth. “It is indeed your lucky day, my dear fellows. Along with my brilliant company, you also get the sword of my traveling companion, who is a mercenary, such as yourselves—ourselves.”
Rydon frowned, making a show of looking around. “And this friend is where?”
“Oh, she’s on an errand. But we’ll see her at the end of the week. Just in time for us to head north!”
“You’re not going with us,” Rydon said, his face impassive. He motioned for the barmaid and looked back at the young man next to him. “We travel alone. Always have.”
“We can pay our own way, if that’s what troubles you,” the boy replied, leaning forward. “And we can, well,shecan—my friend, that is—she can be of much use to you if fighting breaks out. She’s a warrior.”
“I don’t care,” Rydon said, his voice low and menacing, “if she’s Athena reborn. We travel alone.”
“Best you leave, young Croak, ‘fore Rydon makes it difficult for you to leave,” Gabriol said as he stared pointedly at the young man. “And don’t let us catch you hanging about or next time we won’t be as nice.”
Croak looked from one to the other and shrugged. “No bother, my new friends. No bother at all. I predict the next time fortune smiles on you with my presence, you’ll be the ones seekingmeout. My companion’s a tracker.”
He rapped the table with his knuckles and stood so swiftly his chair fell over, knocking into the back of a burly man’s legs. The young man slithered into the crowd, leaving the angry patron to growl at Rydon and Gabriol.
Croak hummedas he sauntered down the stairs and out of the tavern onto the back alley. He winced and put a cuff to his nose, the stench of urine and rotted food overwhelming. He strode away quickly and turned onto a quiet street, away from the town center, winding his way up into the more gentrified area of Laurica.
Despite the hour, Croak saw five Watchmen within a minute. The people in this part of town enjoyed a much more attentive guard than the merchants. Here, there were not only influential citizens to be guarded, but great wealth, or as great a wealth as those living in central Laurica could claim.
Croak walked as if he belonged, nodding to a Watchman he passed.
The crown jewel of this district was the Temple of Sassia, who, like many of her generation, was martyred by a god during the Immortals War, but not before she saved a dozen children from the fiery rage of the gods by squirreling them away in the basement of an alehouse. Sassia’s temple stood over that blessed tavern.
Boasting two large oak doors with intricate scrollwork and polished brass handles the length of a man’s legs, the temple itself was only two stories, modest by temple standards today. Still, it had the beautiful detailing and gilded buttresses the modern temples adopted. The white marble was greyed in some areas but had none of the mildewed crevices Croak had seen in the capital. Here, Sassia enjoyeda humble but clean and expensive home, owing to her patrons’ attentiveness and the priests’ avarice.
Croak pulled on one of the door handles as the skies opened up. The door swung open easily with only a slight whoosh as if Sassia herself had let out a sigh of expectation.
Croak swallowed.
The interior was a dance of shadows, the dim illumination coming from the tiny candles lit throughout the chapel. There were no pews here, only the marble floor reflecting the shadows and light so it seemed the surface of water.
The illusion carried the eye toward the altar, where a large marble slab lay beneath the life-sized statue of Sassia. Behind the statue, large domed windows depicted Sassia in stained glass going about her many kind deeds.
Croak stepped slowly toward the statue of the heroine and removed his sword belt, letting it drop to the ground at his side with a clatter.
“You are lucky she did not strike you down as soon as you entered!”
Croak jumped a foot. He clutched his chest and let out an unmanly squeak as his eyes searched out the body that went with the voice.
At last, a chuckle sounded to his left, and he frowned, seeing the man come out of the shadows. “You are a toad,” Croak said at last.
Ormano Parador, a cleric under the High Cleric Christos of Metilai, grinned like a buffoon. He stopped close enough Croak could have wrung his neck if he’d wanted. Instead, he slapped his friend on the arm and frowned.
