Page 46 of Tusks & Saddles
“Acanists, Gimdor.Arcanists. Emphasis on the last ‘s’ as there were more than one,” Beatrix managed through her fanged teeth. “One arcanist is tricky, several are a disaster waiting to happen!”
Beatrix wasn’t a stranger to the adventuring life. If the gods had kept an eye on her, they would have seen her exploits. The amount of times Beatrix had nearly gotten her head blown off by a power-hungry arcanist was one time too many. And while notallwho chose to study the arcane were prone to such antics, Beatrix had noticed the pattern of behavior long before she had ever donned a traveling cloak.
“Oh, c’mon,” Gimdor sighed. “When it comes to arcanists the only disaster is how little it takes to knock them down. A quick shot like you against the likes of them? Please, Bee—”
Rolling her eyes, Beatrix let go of the chair. Gimdor tumbled back, the resounding crack of wood drawing the attention of the other patrons. Beatrix caught the bartender’s light blue eyes from across the room. The air helfen, Thaisen Cutter, raised an expectant eyebrow. Grumbling underneath her breath, Beatrix reached into her coin purse and threw a gold piece. Cutter caught it in their hand, pocketed it, then nodded as if it were business as usual. Despite how mad Beatrix was, this was all part of the normal routine, too.
“All right,” Gimdor huffed as he pulled himself off the sticky floor. “Ya feelin’ any better now that you got that out?”
“A little,” Beatrix replied, placing a hand on her hip. “But you know what would do me better? The second half of my payment.”
“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses. Let a man straighten his old back first.”
“Gimdor, you’re one hundred and ninety-three…correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s hardly old, is it?”
“I’m not old, my back is,” Gimdor grumbled as he planted himself into another chair. “I got ya coin, but go get us some booze.”
“Misfortune?” Beatrix asked.
“Of course,” Gimdor grinned. “What’s the point of paying you for work if I don’t have a chance to win it back?”
“That’s funny, you actually think you have a chance,” Beatrix said over her shoulder.
Gimdor’s laughter carried all the way to the bar.Cutter’swas one of many tavern and inns in Irongarde, but it was the one Beatrix frequented the most. All Gimdor’s influence, as there were certain bars he avoided. The man never volunteered the reason and Beatrix never asked why. While their relationship was…well,theirs,there was still a level of underlining professionalism at play. Nothing said was ever personal despite their personalities clashing over drinks.
The interior ofCutter’swasn’t half bad, either. Standard tavern but built more in the style of Irongarde with simple wood designs and minor iron flourishes. Torch lights were affixed to the support columns, but they wouldn’t be lit until much later on in the evening. Like most of the city, what wasn’t sticky with old ale and whiskey, was coated in a layer of dust. No barmaid or magic could ever truly be rid of it, but the locals liked it just fine.
Behind the bar, Cutter was organizing bottles. Their long, dark blue hair was pinned back in a messy ponytail. A gentle wind circulated around their head, cooling the small sheen of sweat that was gathering near their temple. That didn’t mean their apron hadn’t gotten damp from washing the last load of tankards from the group of miners who were shuffling off for the day.
“If you and Gimdor keep breaking my furniture, I’ll have this place updated in no time,” Cutter said, dryly.
“If Gimdor would give me accurate information before I put my life on the line, you’d have more furniture and less blood stains,” Beatrix retorted.
“Fair,” they said. “What’re you having?”
“Eshorion whiskey and your darkest ale for the old man.”
“And for you?”
“Any maple mush?”
“Just came in—on the same train you did, I suspect.”
“Perfect. I can’t tell you how badly I need it after—”
“Miss Eaves?”
Gods be damned.
Chapter Seven
Welborn
High Cleric Gnaul Swoth had been missing for an entire day.
According to Amaldona, she had last seen the High Cleric the day before. He had been in high spirits, but there had been some matter he needed to take care of further into the city. When Welborn pressed for more information, there was little else to go on.
The High Cleric had shared breakfast with Amaldona—sausage and beans—then he had gone into town to run errands. Those errands consisted on checking on the supplies he ordered fromIrongarde General, stopping by the sheriff’s office, and stopping by a tavern to pick up a bottle of Eshorion whiskey.
