The Plan
The two men sat huddled beside the fireplace. The larger and younger had a golden beard the size of a shield and a fur cap covering his bald head. His right eye was swollen shut and a cloth bandage wrapped around his head to hold his nose in place. The older was shaven, with hair to his shoulders, now as much gray as red. If they’d been anywhere in the room other than directly next to the fire, they could have seen their breath float out of their mouth. Even this far south – at the edge of civilization – this kind of cold was unusual.
“With you, me, Thorkel – plus whoever Thorkel rounds up – should make five, six maybe,” said the bearded man, taking a sip of heated cider from his cup.
“Hardly a raiding party, Gunny,” said the other, who sharpened his sword against a stone.
“Didn’t claim it to be, Stu,” said Gunny.
“Plus, it’s doubly dangerous with the weather cold as it is.”
“No doubt. But what other choice I got?” He put the now-empty mug down, wiped cider from his beard with his sleeve.
“To be honest, methinks it’s more likely we freeze to death or get one of those fancy curved daggers cross our throats than find ’em – not to mention bring ’em back safe.”
“It ain’t bloody ideal, Stu, I’ll give you that,” Gunny said. “But we can’t do nothing… we can’t just leave me boys to those black elf bastards.”
“Course. It’s just–”
“So, we ride up there to Eld-whatever-the-fuck-it’s-called, ask around, and if anyone gets in our way, we start cracking skulls.” Gunny was clearly getting worked up now. “And we keep cracking skulls until we get Thors and Bors back!”
Stu shook his head. “Gotta be another way,” he muttered. The fire cracked and crackled. A stray spark landed in Gunny’s beard and then died. “What about the Redcloaks? Gods know I hate those imperial arseholes, but isn’t the whole point that they’re supposed to help with this kind of thing?”
“Told Thorkel and me they couldn’t bother themselves. That it was a local matter.”
“Local matter. Bah! Figures. They take most of the fighting men in town for some northern war ain’t got nothing to do with us. Now they says they can’t help.”
“Bloody empire,” Gunny agreed.
“Tis a shame,” said Stu, “a real travesty, as they say.”
“Pass me a log.”
Stu reached over to the pile and handed one over. “By the way, you and Thork getting on better these days then?”
Gunny fed the log to the fire and shifted it around with his iron poker until it caught. “Doubt it. He’s still bent about me da leaving most everything to me.”
“That’ll do it,” Stu said.
“But we’re still blood. And he loves me boys. So he’ll help.”
“Course he will. He loves your boys,” Stu said then returned to sharpening his blade, accidentally bringing his finger too close to its edge. “Gah! Dragon’s arse!” he shouted, placing his bleeding finger to his mouth.
“Watch yourself,” Gunny said. “Need you in fighting shape in case this goes the wrong way.”
Stu pulled his finger out of his mouth and stuck it in the air as if he had a sudden idea. “Gunny! What about the man staying at Katla’s?”
“That traveler?”
“Traveler, my arse. Pretty sure he was caught up in the rebellion in Jarl.”
“Well. Maybe. He has a dangerous look, that one, doesn’t he? Wouldn’t be surprised if he can use a blade. Ever met ’em?”
“Only once at the brewer’s place. It’s like those green eyes of his can see inside your soul, I tell ya. He has something dark inside, that’s for sure.”
“Well a little darkness might be just what we need.”
