Thankfully, it was only late afternoon, and regulars, older Drengr, or off-duty city guards, sit in Feat’s Tavern. The old Drengr haunt is still owned and tended by warriors Calder fought beside in the War for Treland.
He stares unblinking at the chessboard while the other patrons laugh over their flagons. Smoke drifts out of his pipe as he contemplates his next move.
How am I losing to Edmund?
He hesitantly makes a move, only for his companion’s smug little face to appear even more cocky.
“Checkmate.” The Gothi moves a knight, trapping his king. “Three to null.” He collects the pieces. “I’ll take pity on you and buy the next round.”
He grumbles as Edmund approaches the bar. He leans back in hischair, massaging his temples. The Conclave cannot begin soon enough to relieve his idleness.
It doesn't help that a fiery young woman who awakens each day across the hall with a heart-stopping smile plagues his thoughts. Each time he is in her presence, he finds himself unable to maintain control.
She is Sigvid’s daughter.
The man I pledged eternal loyalty and respect to above all others.
No matter how lovely I find her face or how tantalizing her scent is to inhale, she could not be more forbidden to me.
“...play Aura.” Edmund slides a flagon of ale across the table.
“What about her?” He growls the question so severely that the young man tilts his head with a curious expression.
“Next time you wish to feel better about your game, you should play Aura if the other Jarls don’t abduct her first. She is terrible at chess and a sore loser.”
Calder leans back and puffs his pipe. “Did they teach you chess in the temples?” He changes topics from the Princess. “Did you pray, then spend half your day learning strategy?”
“So snarky today.” Edmund takes a drink, licking his lips. “Aunt V taught me. She instructed all of us. Bjorn isn’t great, but he has a way of distracting you well enough. Thora is a deadly opponent, playing with a level of cunning I consider unmatched. Then, of course, Aura plays exactly like Uncle Sig. With her heart on her sleeve and about a dozen explicative phrases every turn.”
Calder resets the board, grumbling the whole time about having lost to Edmund. However, the warrior Gothi is growing on him. Once they return to Skalor, he will require his spiritual knowledge to retrieve the weapon to defeat one particular Draemonium.One he thought was destroyed by his axe long ago.
Makt. God of Power.
Bedlamdescends upon Feat’s Tavern as two dozen men bearing the sigil of a fish speared on a pike pour in. The Treland regulars’ light laughter and chatter sour swiftly. As soon as they squeeze in, another group fills in behind them. The new buffoons display a sigil of a crescent moon. They all still wear their travel cloaks.
Glad to see the moron brigade has arrived.
Jarl Odo of Sumpland Hold and Jarl Guy of Crescent Hold slip in behind their men. Their laughter slices under his skin, and the chess piece clutched in his hand fractures beneath his grip.
Edmund kicks him under the table as the Jarls order at the bar.
“Oh, good, your Jarl friends have arrived.” Edmund finishes off his ale with the same snarky sentiment as Calder.
They are earlier than they should be in Treland.“I have no intention of interacting with these fools.”
“We could handle these two chumps.” Edmund nods at the heavyset older man and the slender younger one, both dressed to perfection, as they cheer with a small group of soldiers. “Let’s send them home with a few broken ribs.”
Before they can slip away, Jarl Odo points at Calder, and the two Jarls thump down at their table, oblivious to his furious expression.
“Avardsson, is it true you arrived ages ago? How, in the Endless Shore, have you been entertaining yourself?” Jarl Guy asks, gingerly sipping from his flagon.
“Conclave business with the King.” He responds without glancing up.
“Here, lad,” Odo tosses a small sack of coins beside Edmund’s hand, “go next door to the brothel and fetch us a pair of lovely young women to amuse us.” Odo’s breath mists around his face.
Edmund looks appalled at the thought of acting as a runner boy. He scrutinizes Calder, who nods, wanting to hasten this exchange. With a glower at the three Jarls, he shoves his way outside with the bag of coins.
“Now.” Odo leans closer. “What of ourtask? Queen Lavinia promised me a harem of young, beautiful women for my Hold if I succeed.”
