The crowd murmured a mixture of approval and offense, and the bugbear roared as he pounded his chest. Cart seized his outstretched hand, and the contest began. Darraun could see that the warforged had found a closer match, but he predicted another victory. From what he could hear of the wagering, it seemed the bettors favored the bugbear, and Darraun briefly considered placing a bet.
Again, Cart gave the appearance of a good fight before forcing the bugbear off balance. The big man took two steps and didn’t fall, but it was no less humiliating a defeat. More money changed hands, sending the music of clinking coins all around the circle. Challengers began to line up. Darraun looked around for the ale he’d ordered-if he was going to watch fights all afternoon, he wanted to do it with a drink in his hand.
He didn’t see the goblin who had taken his order, but Gaven caught his eye. The half-elf watched intently as the next contest began, and Darraun watched the muscles in his arm flexing. Did he want to get in on the action? he wondered.
Cart defeated four more challengers, and the crowd grew boisterous. The next one in line showed some hesitation, to the derision of the onlookers, and Gaven got to his feet before Darraun could stop him.
“All right, Cart,” Gaven said, “I don’t know the formalities of the challenge here, but I know how to do the wrestling.” He beat his chest as he’d seen the goblins do and raised a hand to Cart.
“Well, I should think of some way to insult your ancestors,” Cart said, “but I’m afraid I’m running out of ideas. And I have nothing but respect for House Lyrandar, in general.”
“Chaos take House Lyrandar,” Gaven said, “and your makers in House Cannith, for that matter. Let’s do this.”
Cart beat his chest, seized Gaven’s hand, and started to push. Gaven pushed back, hard, and Cart had to stop holding back. Darraun’s mind flashed back to the jungle, the previous night, when he’d tried to punch Gaven and ended up flat on his back. He imagined for a moment that he heard a rumble of thunder in the clear blue sky.
The bets favored the warforged now. “I could have made a fortune here today,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen people so eager to make losing wagers.”
It was over quickly. Cart’s left foot shifted slightly, then he stepped back with his right. A silence fell over the crowd, then the few spectators who had won money started to cheer, and then the circle closed. Hobgoblins and bugbears swarmed around Cart and Gaven, jabbering at them in Goblin, throwing out a few words of congratulations-and curses-in Common. Darraun smiled. They’d won their acceptance.
They had also attracted a great deal of attention, which had been exactly what Darraun had hoped to avoid. Still, there was no sign of Sentinel Marshals appearing on the scene, no city watch coming to investigate the disturbance, no brawl breaking out. He was starting to like Darguun.
Gaven spotted Senya first, peering around the edges of the bar, looking for them. Haldren hung back, wearing new clothes. Both of them carried new backpacks loaded with goods. Gaven looked down at his own worn shirt and breeches, the same clothes he’d been wearing in Dreadhold before his release. At least he had a sword.
Haldren and Senya were having a hard time finding him, surrounded as he was by rowdy goblins waiting their turn to buy him a drink. Gaven stood, prompting some shouts from people nearby.
“Haldren!” he called. “Over here!”
Haldren looked around, spotted Gaven, and scowled. He hit Senya’s shoulder and pointed at Gaven, started toward the unruly crowd, then thought better of it, waving impatiently in Gaven’s direction.
“Cart, Darraun,” Gaven said, “our escort has returned.”
Cart leaped to his feet, breaking the hold of a trio of inebriated hobgoblins who had been draping themselves over his shoulders, trying to get the warforged to drink. Darraun was not thronged by as many admirers-his command of Goblin and his ready wit had won him some friends, but those qualities were not as impressive to the goblins as the sheer strength Gaven and Cart had demonstrated-so he was able to extricate himself from the crowd and get over to Haldren quickly.
Gaven waded through the crush. With every step, goblins grabbed at his hands and jabbered at him, making him wish he could understand a word of Goblin. He hoped it was compliments or well-wishes they threw his way, rather than insults and challenges, but he figured he would never know. The crowd closed behind him as he passed, and he realized with a smile that their departure wasn’t going to quiet the party.
“Would you care to explain that spectacle?” Haldren said to Darraun as Gaven drew near. His voice was a threatening whisper.
“Well,” Darraun said, “a hobgoblin challenged Cart to a kind of wrestling match, which Cart won. Then he beat a bugbear, then people were lining up to challenge him. Then Gaven-”
“Relax, Haldren,” Gaven interrupted. “We kept our mouths shut, and no one here cares a damn who we are or who wants to find us. Looks like you two got what we need. We stayed out of trouble and had a little fun. No harm done. Let’s get on our way.”
“I will be the judge of what incidents are important or otherwise,” Haldren said. “And I will remind you, Gaven, that I am in command of this expedition.”
Gaven took a step toward Haldren and looked into his weathered face. “I don’t like taking orders, Haldren. I’m not a good little soldier. I never obeyed my father. And the fact that you orchestrated my escape from Dreadhold doesn’t mean that you own me.”
Haldren’s face went purple with fury as he returned Gaven’s stare. “Perhaps it would be best if you continued to think of yourself as a prisoner, then. I wouldn’t want you getting ideas that you are free to travel about as you please. You are part of this expedition whether you like it or not.”
His eyes rested on the pommel of the sword slung on Gaven’s back, as if he were noticing it for the first time.
“Where did you get that sword?” he whispered.
Gaven reached over his shoulder and drew the blade out of its sheath, without moving away from Haldren. “You like it?” he said. “Senya got it for me in Shae Mordai.”
“Senya?” Haldren whirled on her. “You armed this madman?”
Senya stood her ground to Gaven’s surprise-and, evidently, to Haldren’s as well. “I thought it would help our cause if he didn’t get torn to shreds by another pack of displacer beasts,” she said.
Haldren’s fury was palpable as he turned back to Gaven. “Clearly, I underestimated you. I took you for an idiot with nothing in your mind but the Prophecy, and now even Senya is doing you favors. But listen to me, Gaven-all of you, listen well. This isn’t about the Prophecy or Vaskar’s dreams of godhood. It’s about my destiny, and I will not be denied what is due me. If you think for a moment of standing in my way, I will crush you. Any of you,” he added, with a glance toward Senya. “Don’t question whether I can or really will.” He thrust a finger into Gaven’s chest. “I will snuff your life like a candle.”
In his mind, Gaven saw himself bringing his sword around, cutting right into Haldren’s belly so he would die slowly and in great pain. The hand holding the sword tightened, the muscles flexed, his other hand itched for a grip on the smooth leather of the hilt. Something held him back, though. Perhaps it was just his better judgment, or the stares of the goblins who were circling them, watching the argument even if they couldn’t understand the language. But some part of Gaven’s mind whispered words of the Prophecy.
Gaven growled as he slid the sword back into its sheath. He took some pleasure, at least, in seeing the briefest flinch cross Haldren’s face as the huge blade swung past. Several people in the crowd groaned with disappointment.
Gaven pushed his way through the encircling goblins and strode toward the gate of Grellreach. “Lead on, then, Haldren,” he said.