Page 35 of Tusks & Saddles

Chapter Eight

Beatrix

C onvincing 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—”

“ The recruiter, thank ya very much.”

“And a jackass who 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 a dodecahedron—”

“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?”

Beatrix rolled her eyes. Leave it to Gimdor to try and hustle money out of the people who were going to pay him for a job. She had planned to play regardless, but now she would have to make sure the two clerics didn’t lose the tunics on their backs. She dropped a silver onto the table.

“I knew you’d be in, Bee.”

“Shut up, Gimdor, and let them talk. We play after they tell you their story. There’s a missing person, after all,” Beatrix huffed. “Welborn?”

“Ah, yes! High Cleric Gnaul Swoth went missing yesterday. At least, according to Amaldona here. ”

Beatrix kept her eyes on Gimdor’s hands but her pointed ears listened to the two clerics explain their situation.

A person going missing for a day wasn’t completely out of the norm.

While the train was the more popular way to travel, there were other means.

Horses, carriages, or just on foot. But by the sound of it, both Welborn and Amaldona found the disappearance suspect.

“Why didn’t you report the High Cleric missing last night, Amaldona?” Beatrix asked.

The young woman shrank in her seat. Suspicious, but Beatrix didn’t sense malicious intent from her. Though she was curious why out of all the drinks at the bar, this woman had insisted on milk of all things.

“Well, to be honest, I thought the High Cleric was testing me,” Amaldona admitted with a flush to her cheeks. “You see, at the seminary, a lot of the other acolytes used to be tested by our teachers. They would test the merit of our curiosity.”

That sounded…odd to Beatrix but she wouldn’t pretend to understand how religious types worked.

Her family had very loose ties to the Dauntless Verity, the white dragon goddess who oversaw fairness, harmony, and justice.

Her family held similar principals to the white dragon, but they rarely showed reverence.

“I would think it would have the opposite effect,” Welborn said, gloved hands wrapping around his own tankard. “Wouldn’t the High Cleric disappearing make you more curious?”

“Oh, it did!” Amaldona exclaimed. “But the seminary also taught us that not all curiosity is worth chasing. One must know when to chase and when to wait. I thought the High Cleric was gauging my recklessness.”

“That I can at least understand,” Beatrix said .

Gimdor had polished off his whiskey and was working his way through his ale. He wiped his mustache with the back of his hand and lifted an eye at Beatrix.

“Yeah, why’s that, Bee?”

“It’s called being prepared, Gimdor,” Beatrix said, rather sternly. “You of all people should know how dangerous it is to go into a job completely unprepared.”

“Your line of work is dangerous, Miss Eaves?” Welborn inquired.

Beatrix wanted to wipe that worried, puppy dog eyed expression from his charming face. Gimdor’s bark of laughter pulled her away from the cleric.

“Dangerous is putting it mildly, kid!” Gimdor tapped his palm onto the dirty table. “Bee here’s a regular hard-ass! If anything, she’s the one that’s dangerous!”

“Thank you, Gimdor, ” Beatrix hissed between clenched teeth.

It took everything she had not to curse him in aeternal.

The language that all daemon knew before they learned their parents own tongue.

While most people wouldn’t recognize it, most denizens found the language a bit overwhelming.

AEternal sounded unnatural to most, harsh and biting like an ice storm.

Beatrix only ever used it when she was incredibly upset and Gimdor was doing his damnedest to push her to that point.

“What kind of work do you do, Miss Eaves?” Amaldona questioned.

Beatrix leaned back into her chair. Beneath the table, she dragged her heel across the suitcase beneath.

“A little of this, a little of that,” Beatrix replied .

“That’s code for none of ya damn business if I ever heard it,” Gimdor laughed.

I should have shot him, Beatrix thought.

“We don’t mean to pry, Miss Eaves,” Welborn said, shooting her an apologetic look. “If you couldn’t tell, we’re naturally curious folk. It kind of comes with the territory with our god.”

“How about you continue with your missing person story, hmm?”

It should have worried Beatrix how quickly Welborn had picked up on her tells.

Her expressions were impossible to perceive beneath the embroidered lace, yet somehow Welborn seemed to be attuned with her real thoughts.

Concealing her face gave Beatrix the advantage when facing an enemy that could talk back.

If there was a weakness in her armor, Beatrix needed to know what it was so she could rectify it.

Could his god have given him the power to read minds?

It was a possibility. Beatrix didn’t understand magic but she had seen how dangerous it was. Had seen how it could be used to influence a crowd, to trick people into believing lies. Magic was naturally a little deceitful—which Beatrix could respect as long as that deceit wasn’t directed at her .

Beatrix listened as the clerics answered Gimdor’s questions.

For all his tomfoolery, when it was time for business, the man took it seriously.

Beatrix ordered another round of drinks from a barmaid, along with dinner.

By the time Gimdor agreed to bring word back to the mercenary guild, the table full with bowls of beef stew and day-old toast.

“One last thing, how much are y’all willing to put in for the bounty?” Gimdor asked as he dipped his toast into the stew .

“Oh, that’s a good question!” Amaldona looked to Welborn. “I’ve never put a bounty on anyone before…”

“I have some coin,” Welborn replied. “I think last I counted, I have ten gold and sixty-nine silver.”

“Nice,” Gimdor said with an amused smile.

It was clear that the clerics didn’t understand the suggestive joke. Before Gimdor could offer to explain, Beatrix took over. Her patience for the evening had gone thin.

“If the matter is urgent, the normal price is five hundred gold pieces. And before either of you throw up from shock, if you aren’t in a hurry, fifty gold should suffice.”

Five hundred gold was a bit steep but Irongarde was no Mudhaven.

While the city was vastly smaller than Beryl, it still boasted enough people to warrant mercenary and thieves guilds.

And if the people didn’t get you, the wildlife certainly would.

Fifty gold would at least promise someone would go looking for the high cleric.

Whether they returned or not depending entirely on the grit of the individual.

However, by the looks on the clerics faces, Beatrix suspected fifty gold might leave the pair starving.

Though Gimdor explained that the coin wouldn’t be due until the guild handed the high cleric over, it was still a lot of gold.

Gold that could be put to better use building the temple Welborn had been eager to start.

“If the price is still out of the question, y’all could always do it the old fashioned way,” Gimdor shrugged. “Put up some parchment, write the kind of reward y’all think ya can afford… or ya could do it the Irongarde way.”

The two clerics blinked at Gimdor .

“What’s that?” Welborn asked.

“He means going out into the Searing Wastelands yourself. Which is a bad idea, you useless tumbleweed,” Beatrix kicked Gimdor. The man let out an audible yelp.

“You mean…leave the city limits?” Amaldona asked, looking queasy.

At least the young woman was smart in that regard.

“Ya’ll will wanna pick up some horses, I’d reckon,” Gimdor suggested. “The Wastelands go out far and wide. Ya can ride a horse for hours and feel like ya haven’t moved a step. Not to mention the heat! I tell ya, when that sun gets high—”

“I’ll do it.”

Beatrix nearly broke her neck with how quickly she turned her head to gape at Welborn. She had misheard him. There was no way this fresh-faced, inexperienced, wildly optimistic, ignorant—

“Ha! That’s the spirit!” Gimdor winked before throwing back the rest of his third ale.

I will shoot him. Right in the ass!

“Welborn, are you sure?” Amaldona asked. “The Searing Wastelands are no joke! There’s all kinds of things out there—unknown things—that could very well kill you!”

“I know,” Welborn said. “But there are things that could kill us anywhere and the High Cleric could be in danger. If I can aid in the efforts to find him, I have a responsibility to do it. I’ll go look in the Searing Wastelands. You stay here, Amaldona, in case the High Cleric comes back. ”

Beatrix nearly kicked Welborn, but before she could follow through, Amaldona nearly burst into tears.

“Welborn, we’re so lucky to have you. Please know, I’ll keep you in my thoughts and that the All Seer is with you!”

“Thank you,” Welborn said, before turning his yellow eyes to Beatrix. “Miss Eaves, since you know the area so well, could I trouble you for directions?”