The leader of the three, the woman with the salt-and-pepper hair, glanced at Ren over the rim of her cup. "I expect he could bathe in a hurry if he thought it would get him anywhere. Not only that, I'd wager he could teach you both a thing or two. After all, he's nothing but a tavern tart." They all broke into peals of laughter. Ren knew he must act quickly or he'd miss his opportunity.
"Wager away, ma'am. I wager your bill for the night against an equal sum that you ladies can't even do ten minutes' worth of the work that I do."
Throughout the course of the afternoon, the three had racked up a good-sized bill. They answered together without hesitation: "You're on!"
From his post at the doorway, the cook smiled, knowing what was coming next. That Ren was a bold rascal. He'd have to hand him that.
"Here," said Ren, holding the tray forward. "Just see if you can carry this tray and everything on it from here to the bar without dropping it. That should be no problem for any of you ladies-assuming, of course, that you're sober."
Ren eased the tray down onto the table. Even people at the other end of the bar could hear the groan of the wood as the table bowed under the weight of the huge shield. The three women were now able to see the full metal pitchers of ale, the pewter tableware, platters, and trenchers, and food enough to feed an army. They also spotted the heavy war shield.
The brunette, Gwen, recognized the trick Ren had played on them. Purse-lipped, she started rummaging through a pouch on her belt, looking for some coins to pay the bill and the bet. But her friends weren't so easily daunted.
"Jensena, you're the strongest. Give it a try," said the older warrior.
Jensena was the biggest of the three, with brawn that would put most men to shame. She tossed her blond braid to the side and flexed her muscles. She had no qualms about showing off her strength, but eyeing the great metal tray, she wondered how even a man the size of the barkeep could have hefted it with one hand. She wasn't at all sure she could raise it even with two, much less carry it from their table to the bar. Nonetheless, she moved to a position beside the platter and stretched her arms and shoulder blades to pull the kinks out. As she did, her well-oiled chain mail rippled across her chest and shoulders, displaying her muscular flesh. Then, straining with everything she had, she slowly began to raise the platter with both hands. The two pitchers started to tip, but Ren reached out in a flash to steady them.
Ren could feel the tension in the air. Virtually all eyes were on him and the three women. His little jest could quickly turn sour on him. These were strangers to the town, proud strangers. He could tell they didn't like the fact that they had been duped by a tavern worker, and Ren was certain there were many other customers who would side with them in a brawl. Even Sot and the cook stood ready with cudgels lest a fight should break out.
"Enough for now, ladies," Ren said. "I wouldn't want you to let this perfectly good food and ale go to waste. Eat, drink, have a good time. We can settle our wager later." With a brief bow, Ren left the table and resumed his duties. The tension level dropped immediately, and soon it was as noisy as ever as the guests in the pub renewed their conversations where they had left off.
When he was sure all was calm once more, Ren returned to the table where the women were still sitting. He moved close to the table and smiled warmly. "I didn't mean to offend you," he said quietly. "I really just wanted to get your attention."
"The joke was on us, and a good one, at that," said the older-looking of the warriors. She discreetly pushed a sack of coins she had out on the table toward Ren. "I'm Salen, the leader of this small band. The dark-haired bladeswoman is Gwen, and the one who tried to lift the tray is Jensena."
"My pleasure, ladies-Gwen, Salen, Jensena. My friends call me Ren. I'd prefer that you call me the same."
"So, Ren, are you brave enough to wager us for that gold one more time-in a contest of our choosing?" asked Salen.
"Miss, I doubt there's a man alive could take all of you on and survive."
The corners of Salen's mouth turned up in a smile. "I expect you're right."
Ren picked up the sack of coins and tossed them to the innkeeper, who had been watching Ren since he returned to the table. Sot set his big cudgel down with deliberation on the bar. He was obviously annoyed that Ren had risked a night's business for a prank, but when he opened the purse and saw the large amount of gold inside, he grinned and winked his approval to Ren. "Have an ale and see what they have in mind!" shouted Sot, and he pushed a tankard down the bar toward Ren.
"What kind of contest were you thinking of?" Ren asked as he grabbed the tankard and turned back to face the three warriors.
"Your muscles, however well hidden under that baggy shirt, won't help you in a dagger toss," said Salen coyly.
"No, I suppose they wouldn't," said Ren, "but I should warn you-I've thrown a knife or two. Are you sure you're still game?"
The other two, who hadn't looked up from their food since Ren had come to the table, burst into laughter. "This time you've met your match, big fella," Jensena said, pointing her fork toward Salen. "I've never seen Salen beaten yet, and I've watched her throw almost as many times as I've been in battle."
The three finished a few more bites of food and then stood up and carried their tankards over to the small table beside the inn's well-used wooden target. The great round slab had been taken from a gigantic pine that had seen hundreds of years of life. Concentric growth circles were etched into its surface, making a perfect target.
Salen removed a leather box from her backpack. She lifted the cover of the box to reveal two pairs of daggers, one glistening black, the other white.
"Lovely weapons," said Ren. "May I?" He waited for Salen to nod before picking up each dagger in turn to test its balance. The blades were made for throwing into live targets, but they were perfect for the game as well. Each blue-steel blade was wider near its point than it was at its base. The onyx and crystal handles were slim and capped with gold ends that offset the weight of the wide blades. In the hands of a skilled thrower, any one of the daggers could easily slice through flesh and bone. Ren had no doubt they had been used for just that purpose.
"Go ahead, try a throw," urged Salen.
Ren needed no coaxing. After a year's absence from thieving, rangering, or any other kind of action, he was more than ready to heft a balanced weapon in his hand. Even though he had chosen a seemingly aimless existence until such time as he was ready to hunt down the person responsible for Tempest's death, Ren was generally a man of action. Passivity was not in his makeup. Somehow these three lighthearted women, with their wagers and laughter, had awakened a part of Ren's nature he had kept buried for too long. He picked up the onyx-handled pair of daggers and released each in turn with a fluid twist of his torso and flick of his wrist. Both blades thunked solidly into the line that bordered the center circle of the target.
"Not bad," said Salen, taking up the crystal-handled pair. "I enjoy a challenge." Her movements were deft and experienced. The blades landed within the border of the center circle, hardly a hairbreadth apart.
There are probably a hundred ways to play the game of daggers, and Ren and Salen started by haggling over the rules. Before beginning in earnest, they each made several more tosses till each player thought he had the measure of the other.
Ren hadn't felt so good in months. He'd forgotten how a good blade felt in his hand, the splendid feeling of control when his body did exactly as he wanted it to. For the first time since Tempest died, he found himself scanning the room, sizing up the people. His rangering skills enabled him to tell at a glance if a foe was formidable. His thieving skills allowed him to estimate the possible takes available in the room. Salen was good, but the contest was yet to begin, and Ren was feeling great.