Page 49 of Tusks & Saddles
He flushed green.
“That’s very generous of you, Miss Eaves,” Welborn managed with a small amount of relief at his almost normal tone.
“Oh, it’ll probably cost you, make no mistake about that,” Miss Eaves said with a hint of a smile.
Welborn wished he could see it. When her hands retreated, Welborn tried not to mourn the distance. He was being ridiculous, there was no doubt about that. Welborn had been slow in comparison to his brother. Boone had always tackled the task at hand. He supposed that’s just what big brothers did. Welborn hadn’t been like that. Maybe it was what little brothers did, but Welborn had always felt like he was falling behind.
Last to grow up, last to leave home.
Last to be sweet on a woman…
Chapter Eight
Beatrix
Convincing Gimdor to talk to the kid wasn’t as difficult as Beatrix thought it was going to be.
Gimdor had taken one look at Welborn as he sat across a young elf woman and decided he would hear him out. When Beatrix pressed for his reasoning, Gimdor had reached into his pocket and removed a pair of shiny metal dice.
“That’s two more heads I can win coin from, Bee,” he said, rolling the dice in his palm.
That should have been Beatrix cue to leave. All she had to do was collect her gold, go upstairs, and order dinner to be delivered to her door. Gods knew she had enough gold to afford room service. However, Beatrix knew better than to leave two tenderfoots alone with an experienced gambler.
Reluctantly, she pulled up a chair and waved Welborn and his companion over. Beatrix could at least keep an eye on Gimdor’s fingers for any funny business. He wasn’t a cheat per say, but when the man was flush with drink, Gimdor often forgot the rules of the game.
“Welborn,” Beatrix said as he approached the table. “This is Gimdor Hammerhead. He’s a recruiter for the mercenary guild—”
“Therecruiter, thank ya very much.”
“And ajackasswho might be able to help you with your missing holy man,” Beatrix finished.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hammerhead.”
Welborn took the seat next to Beatrix, leaving the other chair next to Gimdor for his companion. It was something Beatrix did her best to not to take note of. It didn’t mean anything and if it did, Beatrix would need to nip whatever infatuation the man had with her.
Besides, I’m much too old for him.
Beatrix may have been too practical for the cleric, but she could at least admit it was a bit flattering. When was the last time someone had taken an interest in her? More importantly, when was the last time someone continued to show interest after she pointed her weapon at their face?
“This is Amaldona,” Welborn said. “She’s also a member of the sanctum for the All Seer.”
“Hello,” the wisp of an elven woman said.
“Charmed!” Gimdor said. “Now, why don’t we have a drink and y’all tell me about this holy man y’all are looking for? Preferably over some dice?”
“Dice?” Amaldona questioned over the brim of her tankard.
“Misfortune is Gimdor’s poison,” At her blank look, Beatrix continued. “It’s a gambling game. You’re given adodecahedron—”
“One of these!” Gimdor said, holding up one of the twelve-sided die he had placed onto the table. “The aim of Misfortune is to try and roll your dice until you get as close to thirteen as possible. You can roll as many times as you want to get to thirteen.”
“That doesn’t sound so hard,” Amaldona said.
“There’s a little variable to it. Once you lock in your number, another die is rolled. This one has four sides. Whatever the total is, you add it to your dice roll. If you go over thirteen, you lose. If you hit thirteen, you win. If nobody hits thirteen, but your role is under thirteen and the nearest to it, you win. If everyone goes over, nobody wins and the pot grows,” Beatrix explained, crossing her legs.
“So, it’s really about luck, then,” Welborn said, looking thoughtfully at the dice.
“Yup!” Gimdor grinned. “Exactly how I like it! What do you say? One silver minimum to buy in?”
