Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
“That’s very impressive,” I say politely, since I’m not sure what else to say. “Good job.”
“Nasty,” Gwenna agrees, waving a hand in the air. “You the one who knows all the guild people?”
The woman shrugs. Her blond hair is wet around her face, and I suspect it’s from beer and sweat. Tendrils hang over her eyes and I resist the urge to push them out of her way. She’s younger than I originally assumed and can’t be more than twenty, perhaps twenty-two. “Maybe. Who wants to know?”
“Me. I want to join the guild,” I blurt out.
The man across from the blonde spews his beer out of his mouth, showering us with more booze, and then laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
I’ve had enough. I grab the drink from his hand and dump it over his head. “I don’t think it’s funny, you rockhead.”
The room gets quiet, and then the blonde laughs even harder. “I like you,” she declares. “Come and join our game.” She gestures roughly at the man sitting across from her. “Get out of here, Jallus.”
He gets up and leaves, and the woman pounds on the table, indicating we should sit across from her.
“Oh, I don’t drink—”
Both she and Gwenna turn to me.
I know when to shut up. I smile brightly instead. “Very well. Game it is.”
Gwenna and I squeeze onto the vacated bench across from the woman. I try to ignore the fact that my seat is wet, the table is, too, and I’m a little worried as the innkeeper comes over with three full mugs and drops them down in front of us.
“I’m Lark,” our new friend announces. “But not like the bird, because I’m told I haven’t earned it yet.” She rolls her eyes. “So it’s just…Lark. Like an adventure, I guess.” She lowers her head to her beer and slurps the foam off the top, then licks her lips. “You two looking for a guild hangout?”
I nod eagerly. “Yes!”
“Because you want a guild man?” She wrinkles her nose. “They’re arrogant pricks, but I guess if that’s your thing—”
“I already said I want to join the guild.”
“Oh, right.” Lark holds up a finger and then lifts her beer, chugging it. She sets the mug down with a thump and I wait for her to blow our hair back with another staggering belch, but she only sniffs and eyes us. “So where are you ladies from?”
I blink, because I don’t have a good answer. It didn’t occur to me to lie, but telling the truth seems too obvious, like I’ll be discovered for sure.
Gwenna steps on my foot under the table and takes control of the situation. “We’re coming in from the north. Yourself?”
Lark brightens, and not only because a refill is brought to her. “I came in from the south. Left my troupe because it was about time I came to Vastwarren.”
“Troupe?” I ask politely.
“Entertaining troupe. I was a sword juggler.” She starts to get to her feet and knocks over the bench she was seated upon, then staggers.
Gwenna grabs her arm, giving me a panicked look. “We believe you! No need for a demonstration.”
“Oh.” She hiccups. “All right.”
“So you must be good with a sword,” I venture, tensing until she sits down again. “That’s an excellent skill to have if you’re looking to join the guild.”
Lark grimaces. “Alas, the only skill I have with the sword is actually juggling it, and I don’t think the ratlings would be much impressed with that.”
“Ratlings? What’s a ratling?” Gwenna asks. “This is the first I’ve heard of such a thing.”
Oh, have I not told Gwenna about the dangers of our soon-to-be profession? “You know the tunnels below Vastwarren? The Everbelow?”
“The ruins, aye.” Gwenna nods.
Lark leans in and mock-whispers, “They’re totally crawling with these huge, oversized rats.” She flings her arms out and stretches them as far as she can to indicate the size, then frowns and twists her body sideways, trying to indicate height. “That tall. Big. Nasty. Smelly. And they swarm.”
The look Gwenna shoots me is one of alarm. “No one’s ever mentioned ratlings to me.”
“I’m sure they’re not as common as they seem,” I say, dismissing her fear. From what I’ve heard, cave-ins are far more likely. “But this is why everyone who joins the guild learns sword work.”
“Mucking lovely,” Gwenna mutters. “Human-sized rats.”
“More like child-sized,” Lark corrects. “Or slitherskin-sized.” She lifts her beer and chugs it until she drains it, then pounds on her chest and lets out an unholy belch. “So you two wanna join the guild?”
“We’ve said that, yes.” I give her a tactful smile, but it takes everything I have not to fan the air in front of my face to get rid of the burp smell.
“Three times,” Gwenna adds helpfully. “Should you be drinking this much?”
Lark shrugs. “You’re not drinking enough, if you ask me.”