A handful of gambling tables filled the common room of Down Dunrall Inn with business during the evening of every night that week. Karsef played a game or two—he was a good player, with a stoic, impenetrable expression, and he won more coins than he lost. Renado, brother of Lerran, figured he could out-bet Karsef, but he didn’t play. He spent his time at the bar, drinking lightly and learning what he could from the inhabitants of Vagren.
“Just a cider?” the barkeeper asked him, walking by.
Ren had just sat down for the evening. He nodded and tapped the wooden bar with a coin between his knuckles. He turned away from his view of Karsef’s card table, to where Woodro drank heavily from a beer horn. A woman sat next to Woodro, a loose lace draped across her bare back, leaning forward and talking to him.
“You in Vagren for long?” the barkeeper inquired, setting a wooden mug down in front of him. From a small silver flagon, the man poured a foamy cider into the cup.
Ren turned back to him and nodded. “For a few weeks, I suspect.”
“Business, I assume? You really have to know the right people to get into Vagren for leisure,” the man said. He slid the mug toward Ren, smiling.
Ren shrugged. “Something like that.” He took a sip. The thin barkeeper started to move away but Ren stopped him with a bob of his head. “A few fellows near our worksite mentioned that one of the places near it is for the magician’s guild. Lot of magicians in Vagren?”
“There’s a few,” the man replied, smiling. “They don’t do much harm.”
Another patron, sitting to Ren’s left, spit on the floorboards. “Speak for yourself,” the man muttered. “I got out of Ith, before things got really bad with the Mage Kings. Let me tell you… they’re devils, manipulating our lives with their minds.”
The tavern keeper would have none of it. “They’ve never manipulated mine.”
“How long have you lived here?” Ren asked. He could only think of Irrith, the woman for whom he now worked. He could certainly see her manipulating someone, but so far he hadn’t seen anything truly sinister out of her, nor any of the magicians he’d encountered.
“All my life,” the barman replied. “And they’ve never been a problem. They help the farmers with their crops and the workmen with their injuries.”
The other man scowled. “It’s a ploy then,” he said, taking a drink. “I mean no disrespect to you, or your establishment, but there’s nothing benign about such sorcerers and witches.” The man stood up and went to find conversation less upsetting to him.
Ren shrugged and looked back at the barkeep. “A lot of newcomers talk like that, I take it?”
The barkeeper nodded. “Apparently, we’re fortunate in Vagren. I’ve never heard anything ill of the magically gifted from my friends.”
Ren nodded. He turned on the stool and shoved his elbow against the bar as he lifted the mug to his lips. Warm cider filtered through his moustache and gulped down his throat. He lowered the drink a moment later and glanced down the bar again. While the scantily clad woman shook her lacy corset, Woodro dropped coins down the cleavage. He was half drunk, it seemed. He’d been loudly telling stories of his feats a few nights ago, but a toss with a harlot wouldn’t do as much damage as that. The whore took his hand, when she grew tired of receiving coins between her breasts, and led him across the common room. The two disappeared into the hallway, to find a bed.
Karsef was just as successful, but at a healthier sport. He smiled and jested off the accusations of a drunk player at his table, as he shoveled his stack of glittering winnings into a small cloth sack. Asar was in here somewhere, playing a game of dice, likely. The card table’s players started to separate, but Ren glimpsed the drunk man turning back toward his man.
The cider slid across the bar as Ren stomped away from the bar. The drunk landed one, light fist on Karsef’s shoulder, and one wave of coins scattered the floor. Karsef stepped back, and dropped his bag to defend his face with his fists, but Ren was there already. The next blow passed to the left of Ren’s face, as he ducked and wove easily into the drunkard’s personal space. One arm placed on the man’s out-flung elbow and a quick jab to the bicep dislodged the man’s shoulder with a loud pop. The drunk let out a holler, but Ren gave him a quick tap in the throat to shut him up. The poor fellow landed rump-first on the table—thankfully it was sturdy, and the fellow just sat there, clutching his arm and sucking for air.
“Get him out of here,” Ren barked, and started to collect coins from the table. Karsef had claimed those from the dirty floorboards already, and the two turned back to the bar.
The barkeeper had come around, at the sound of commotion, but regarded Ren with wide eyes. “You move quick. Real quick,” he said. “Where did you say your worksite was?”
“Nearby,” Renado said, smiling. He sat down on the bar stool again and thanked the nearby man for protecting his cider mug.
Karsef slid the strap from his burlap sack around his neck and hid the bulge of it under the grey travelling cloak he wore. He met Ren’s eyes, and nodded in return. He tapped the bar top and said, “You learning lots?”
Ren nodded.
The mercenary nodded again. “Yeah, me too. Barkeep, pour me a beer.” Another gambling table cheered and sighed as another jackpot was hit. The two warriors drank their drinks in silence after the brief scuffle, and kept their ears open. Ren hoped word from Gravagan reached Vagren soon—he wanted to get this over with.