Screaming and clawing like animals, a mass of Dwarves and other creatures encircled Branden, drawing ever closer. The walls, crowded with gaudy decorations, began to collapse. Gold, silver, marble, and precious gems showered upon him. Thuna droned on and on, consuming precious air. Branden gasped, choked.

He awoke with a jerk, disoriented. Only a few sullen ambers remained in his little hearth. Stretching with a creak on the hard bed, he yawned. Dando wasn’t joking when he called his lodging third-rate.

After a quick wash, Branden strode to the common room, stomach growling. Only five or six patrons sat at the tables. “Morning, Dando.”

“Just barely,” laughed Dando. “Want an early lunch? I can hardly call it breakfast at this hour.”

Branden shook his head. “No thanks, I’m still full from last night.” His coin purse felt more empty than his stomach.

“Aye, I had more than I could stomach too,” Dando said, glowering.

Branden winced at the memory. Just when he had felt sure the killing would start, a large party of fully armoured and mailed Dwarven pikemen burst in, forming square in the center of the room. Separated from the hated other, each party slowly calmed. Tempers cooled, levied fines were offset or bartered down, and in the end not a single lash fell. Those not staying at the inn departed, all muttering and a few bruised or bloody. Dando bought the inconvenienced humans and Halflings a free round, while they helped set the common room back in order.

“Do things normally get that rough around here?” said Branden.

Wiping a glass, Dando took his time answering. “It depends what you mean by ‘normally.’ Five years ago, I’d have assumed it was a nightmare and I’d wake soon.” He shook his head, face dropping. “Now I hardly bat an eye at such things, and I doubt we’ll ever wake. Ever since bli—”

The door slammed and all eyes turned toward the Dwarf that stepped inside. “Well, bless my beard, if it isn’t the great Garlund Ironvein,” said Dando, knuckles whitening.

Dressed in simple grey linen and a silver necklace, Garlund nodded as he approached. “Aye, aye. You’ve a fair cause to be angry with me.”

“You knew, you bleeding knew, that I don’t serve slaves, for exactly that reason.”

“Be reasonable. I told him to simply deliver a message, not to ask you to serve him.”

Dando shook. “You telling me you didn’t think he’d make a scene? On your honor, Garlund, would you swear that?” he demanded.

Lowering his eyes, Garlund shook his head and sighed. “No. You know full well I was hoping for it. I’m at fault, Dando. But by Mahul, I swear I only intended Kelvin’s humiliation, not to disrupt your inn.”

Eyes locked with Garlund, Dando gave a curt nod. “Aye. You’re no liar. Go on.”

“Given the damage caused and the business lost, six silver pieces seems appropriate for an error of judgement,” said Garlund, returning Dando’s gaze.

Dando shook his head and exhaled. “No. The price for a loyal customer is four silver pieces.” A slight grin spread across his face. “Besides, you know my tableware isn’t worth that much.”

They shook hands. Branden let out a breath, surprised to find he had held it. No longer staring, patrons went back to their conversations. Silver flashed as it passed from Garlund to Dando. “Now that’s settled, can I get you something? And how’s business? Kelvin working out nicely?”

Garlund sat down at a nearby table. “The usual. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times: I’ve plenty of customers and not enough materials, to say nothing of hands.” He snorted. “About as well as one would expect from a bliss fiend. Kelvin was a vanity purchase and cost almost nothing. I’m still short…”

Roast fowl, ripe cheese, and a small loaf of bread came with a pale yellow lager. Branden watched every forkful reach Garlund’s mouth as he listened to the Dwarf expound on the smithing trade. What he saw yesterday hardly recommended Garlund as a boss, yet his painfully empty stomach and coin purse proved surprisingly persuasive. Could he afford to wait? How long does it take to find work in Narngund? Would anybody want an unskilled laborer?

“What kind of labor are you looking for?” Branden broke in. He noticed Dando stare for a moment before turning away.

Clanging down his mug, Garlund looked Branden up and down. “Mostly the skilled kind, but can’t be too picky these days. Why?”

“I’m looking. I’ve no skills to offer but a strong back and willing spirit.” He paused. “To be clear, I’m talking about free labor.”

Despite Garlund’s careless shrug, Branden saw those cold black eyes study him. “Well, as I said, it’s skilled labor I need. No doubt you’ll find something sooner or later, though it can take a long time without connections or a trade.” Garlund glanced about, lowering his voice a bit. “Besides, slaves drive down the price of brute toil. Why rent when I can own?”

Suppressing a gulp, Branden shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He tried not to look at Garlund or his food.

“Well, tell you what lad,” Garlund began with a smile that never reached his eyes, “I suppose I can take you on. You’ll be surprised what five standard copper a day can buy you in Narngund.”

Remembering the incident at the bridge, Branden exhaled slowly. “Not food and a roof over my head. I’m new to Narngund, not to the world.” He paused, not sure exactly what to counteroffer.

Evidently Garlund noticed. “Well, what do you think unskilled labor is worth?”

Branden thought, stroking his chin. He saw Dando pretending not to stare as he wiped a table for the third time. “Not much, true. Suppose… you give me food and board, and teach me a bit of smithing?” He nodded, working it out in his head. “It costs you no cash, and I’ll be able to live and learn a valuable trade.” Not to mention keep a promise to Furry.

“We’ll see about your back and your spirit, but you’ve got a decent head on your shoulders at least,” said Garlund with a nod. “Aye then. You’ll have a full belly and a bed, and you’ll work harder than you’ve ever worked in your life. Be at subterranean level nine, lane 53W, by the fifth hour tomorrow.”

They shook hands. Soon Garlund finished his meal and departed, speaking no word to Branden.

“Dando,” called Branden, “I changed my mind. Let me have a bowl of stew, a loaf, and a lager.”

His host studied Branden as he brought the order.

“What’s on your mind?” said Branden, mouth full.

Sighing, Dando shook his head. “None of my business.”

Branden rolled his eyes and swallowed. “I’m your guest and I insist.”

“Just think your choice of employer is interesting, especially after what you’ve seen, that’s all,” said Dando with a shrug.

“My fath—I mean, someone I used to know—once told me it’s best to work for an arse. Nobody else wants to work for them, so you’ll get a better deal, and learn more.” Branden broke off as memories of Samwell and older, long-repressed times flooded back. “He was right too.” His eyes watered. Must be the hot soup or the smoky room.

“I hope so,” said Dando. “As I said, Garlund’s no liar. You’ll get no more and work no less than he promised you. And he’s undoubtedly an arse.”