Page 36 of Tusks & Saddles

Chapter Nine

Welborn

“ A bsolutely not.”

That was what Miss Eaves had said over dinner.

Not once, not twice, not even three times, but a total of seven.

She refused as she finished the last bite of her toast. She refused as Welborn helped her bring back more ale and questionable milk for Amaldona.

She refused even after winning three rounds of Misfortune in a row, collecting a good chunk of all their coin.

Amaldona had gone to her room, promising Welborn she would pray to the All Seer all evening.

A sweet gesture, though Welborn wasn’t sure why she needed to pray for that long.

He figured it was still early by tavern standards.

Or perhaps the cleric could foresee that Beatrix would not be helping them before he had.

By the time Gimdor had finished his sixth ale and needed to be pulled off the sticky ground, Welborn had started to panic.

It wasn’t that he necessarily needed Miss Eaves to be the one to help him.

More that it was terribly convenient for her to give him even the smallest insight as to what was ahead.

She clearly knew Irongarde better than anyone he or Amaldona knew.

If there was anyone Welborn would put his trust in, it would be her .

“Y’all sure ya don’t wanna roll one more time?” Gimdor slurred from the ground.

“Gimdor, go home. I’ve cleared you of ten gold pieces and you’ve forgotten how math works,” Beatrix scolded.

“I don’t wanna—”

“Gimdor Hammerhead, what in tarnation is going on here?”

A dwarven woman with bright red hair and a neatly combed beard was standing above Gimdor’s head.

She looked like she was maybe a few inches taller than him, dressed in heavy boots, thick trousers with suspenders that came up over her dusty blouse.

A simple dark blue kercheif hung around her neck.

Her hazel eyes looked down disapprovingly at Gimdor.

“I wa…” Gimdor smacked his lips. “Wasn’t doin’ nothin’.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman said. “How much has he had, Bee?”

“Enough. He’s been—”

“—A right jackass, I’d imagine,” the woman sighed. “Sorry about this.”

“It’s fine, Orna. Just take it easy on the walk home.”

“Always do,” Orna replied before squatting to gather Gimdor by the torso. “C’mon, ya old brick, let’s get some water in ya and lay you to bed.”

Gimdor grumbled, but Orna managed to get him to standing.

Welborn didn’t want to assume, but he highly suspected that she and Gimdor were married.

There was something in the way Orna’s rough hands lingered on Gimdor’s back.

Or perhaps the way her sly fingers found his coin purse near his behind, causing Gimdor to flush a deep red as he let out a squeal of protest.

“This is for any trouble he gave you,” Orna said, dropping three gold onto the table. “Y’all have a good night.”

“You too, Orna,” Beatrix said. “Tell the guild I said hello.”

“Always.”

Welborn stared after the pair.

“Don’t worry about them. Orna’s been taking care of Gimdor for almost twenty years now,” Beatrix said, collecting one of the gold coins as she sank into her chair.

“They’ve been married that long?” Welborn asked.

Beatrix offered the other gold to him. He didn’t want to take it, but given he would likely need to find a stable and buy a horse, Welborn could use every piece of gold he could get his hands on. He wasn’t very good at haggling prices.

“Less,” Beatrix replied. “They were married over ten years ago. Divorced now, but friends for life.”

The concept wasn’t unusual so much as unexpected.

Welborn’s first example of a marriage had been his parents.

From a child’s point of view, Welborn thought his parents had been happy.

And based on how Larok spoke about Welborn’s mother, it supported his opinion.

However, that didn’t make the sight of his father looking out at the beach between not one but two empty chairs any less heartbreaking.

A widower not once but twice .

Welborn wasn’t certain if it was because his father’s heart had been too broken or if he had decided the gods didn’t want him to have a life partner.

Whatever the reason, Larok had never taken up any woman’s offer to dance or look at flowers.

And the only time he had accepted gifts from admirers was to feed his sons.

“That’s very mature,” Welborn said, staring at the last dregs of the same ale he had ordered hours ago.

“I know it’s hard to think of Gimdor that way. He’s an ass, but being a mercenary is knowing you’ll likely die young. Living hard and fast is normal. Nobody retires from being a mercenary.”

Miss Eaves’ words lingered in the air, along with the slow dulcimer strings being plucked by a bard. Stale food, old beer, and the last hours of sunlight hit Welborn suddenly. If he meant to find the High Cleric, Welborn would need rest.

Reluctantly, Welborn stood from his seat. He could feel Miss Eaves eyes on him, despite her ever present veil. How she had managed to eat dinner with it firmly in place was a mystery to Welborn. He tended to get lost in his own robes, arms lost in the heavy sleeves in the early mornings.

“Well, Miss Eaves, it’s getting late. I think I’m going to bed,” Welborn said. “I have an early day ahead of me tomorrow.”

“I suppose you do. Good night, Welborn.”

“Good night, Miss Eaves.”

Welborn made his way up the creaky old stairs of the inn.

When his boots hit the top of the landing, Welborn couldn’t help but steal one last glance at Miss Eaves.

She was still at the table, as still as a painting as the patrons of Cutter’s continued with their revelry—though at a much less boisterous pace as they had done earlier.

The cleric held onto the image of Miss Eaves, even after he found his room. Once inside, Welborn locked the door and started removing his vestments. He needed to think clearly about how he was going to set off in the morning.

Welborn would need a horse, rations, and traveling supplies.

He had seen tents, rope, and simple tools at Irongarde General while investigating the disappearance of the High Cleric.

Affordable in comparison to the horse he would need to buy.

There was a possibility the local stable had other traveling animals besides horses.

One that maybe wasn’t ideal but could be worth half the price?

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, Welborn almost didn’t hear the light rapping on his door. Welborn stared at the door, his robe sleeves caught around his arms. Hesitating for a moment, Welborn cautiously eyed the door, recalling Miss Eaves warning about danger.

“It’s me,” Miss Eaves’ voice called from the other side of the door.

Relief and anxiety of an entirely different kind stiffened Welborn’s spine. He pulled the sleeves of his robes back over his shoulders and approached the door. His hands flexed as he took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart in a few precious seconds before opening the door.

Welborn should’ve expected it, but he was still thrown off by how accustomed he had become to having Miss Eaves’ weapon aimed at his face. The shiny metal end was inches from his nose.

“Miss Eaves!” he exclaimed.

“I told you the city was dangerous, didn’t I? If I was anybody else, you would be dead by now,” she scolded.

Welborn blushed a dark green, “I understand the need to be cautious, but I was not expecting you to put your weapon in my face before saying hello!”

“First lesson, holy man; anyone can turn on you with a flip of a gold coin. If you’re going to go into the Wastelands, you need to be more prepared. I can’t stress that enough,” Miss Eaves grumbled as she not so gently pushed her weapon closer.

Welborn followed her lead, walking slowly back into the room while eyeing the weapon cautiously.

He wasn’t sure how much of this was Miss Eaves trying to teach him a lesson so much as perhaps he had been foolish to have trusted her in the first place.

Welborn wasn’t the type to be a sucker for a pretty face—especially one he had never seen—but he was starting to regret his curiosity.

Miss Eaves shut and locked the door behind her, keeping her weapon trained on him as she continued to encroach into his space. She backed him up until Welborn felt his calves hit the bed. The implication—and perhaps his attraction—caused a storm to swirl in his stomach.

Not for the first time, Welborn found it frustrating that he could not see her eyes.

There was no way for him to gauge exactly what she was playing at in the moment.

He debated the possibility of fighting her, depending on how the next minute of their encounter went.

Though he didn’t like the idea of having to subdue her, Welborn preferred it if he stayed alive—at least for one more evening.

“Was I supposed to prepare for this? Whatever…this is? ”

Was it weird to be attracted to a woman who was threatening him?

It was something inane that entered Welborn’s head and made him consider reaching out to his older brother if he survived.

While they had not had a face-to-face conversation in over a decade, Welborn was an adult, and he figured Boone was overdue on giving him brotherly advice about women.

“You should always be prepared, Welborn,” Miss Eaves scolded. “Preparation is half the battle, and seeing how you’re woefully unprepared for the task at hand tomorrow—”

Okay, well, you didn’t need to rub it in , Welborn thought.

“—and knowing that you are way too devoted to wait for a proper adventurer or mercenary to take over this monumental task for you, I have no other choice but to take charge of the situation.”

Miss Eaves lowered her weapon and holstered it to her side. Welborn stared, genuinely confused.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” she said. “Letting you go out into the Wastelands by yourself is, frankly, irresponsible. Even with your god’s divine blessing. There are some things that even the gods can’t protect you from. Especially out there.”

Miss Eaves wasn’t wrong. Welborn was far too familiar with the limits of what the gods could do. That lesson had been taught to him when he was fifteen and despite his mother’s prayers, there had been no saving her from death. Welborn had barely been saved.

“You’re going to help me? ”

“Somebody has to. And unlike Gimdor, I’m in the position where I can. I’ll even offer you a payment plan. I assume you would be open to that.”

“Yes, yes, absolutely! Thank you so much, Miss Eaves! You have no idea how much I appreciate your help! I would probably be lost without you helping me.”

The relief and knowing that he wouldn’t have to travel into the wilderness alone flooded Welborn.

Knowing that the woman he was enamored with and admired was willing to help him—even for gold—pleased him more than he would’ve cared to admit.

Yet, even though he wanted to keep those thoughts private, Welborn couldn’t stop the burn to his skin at the realization that he was alone in a room with a bed… and this woman.

Perhaps Miss Eaves could tell what he was thinking, although he doubted that she had any arcane abilities.

She was very good at observing people, and as always, she had the advantage because of her veil.

Whatever the reason, she lifted a gloved hand and pressed her pointer finger firmly against the center of Welborn’s chest.

“Just because I’m willing to do this for you doesn’t mean that this doesn’t come with some conditions. First of all, you do what I say when I say. I don’t want any talk back. I don’t want any arguing. If I tell you to go jump off a cliff, you jump off that cliff. Do you understand?”

Welborn weakly nodded.

“Secondly, you have to trust me. Explicitly. I’ve seen too many mercenaries and adventurers die because they didn’t trust each other.

You don’t have to like me and we don’t have to get along, but when we’re out there, you have to trust me.

You have to trust that I have your back and I have to trust that you have mine. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Miss Eaves.”

“Great. Then I think there’s a good chance we’ll be able to get your missing cleric back. I’ll meet you for breakfast first thing in the morning. Make sure you’re prepared. We have to stop by a few places before we head out in the morning.”

Welborn nodded as Miss Eaves walked away. A sigh of relief was barely passing his teeth when she turned on her heel, standing in the middle of the doorway. Welborn stared, waiting for her to speak.

“Good boy,” she praised. “Night.”

He wasn’t certain how long he stared at the door once she had gone. However, Welborn did know that he needed to figure out a way to talk to his brother as soon as freaking possible.