handles each and gingerly lifted them off the wooden bar. Inclining her head at Horran, and ignoring the other two, she walked slowly toward the back.
“ ’Ey, look, Tresyllione’s fin’ly here!”
Lord and Lady, no. She kept walking toward her table even as she knew she would be stopped by the body attached to the drunken, slurred voice.
Sure enough, the oversized head, overweight body, misshapen face, and patchy curled hair of Nulti interposed itself between Danthres and her destination. She was amazed to see that he had actually gained more weight since she saw him last, his protuberant belly looking like it was about to burst through his leather armor. As it was, the goblin emblem on the chest looked a bit stretched.
“Sergeant Markon finally let you back on his shift, Nulti?”
“ ’Ey, I earned m’way back t’days, Tresyllione. Don’t need to go suckin’ off the boss t’get a promotion.”
“The way you drool, Nulti, sucking off the boss would get you a demotion.”
To Danthres’s amusement, Nulti actually ran his bread-loaf-sized forearm across his mouth at that. “ ’Ey, lissen, got a bet goin’ with m’buddies over ’ere.” He indicated a table, where half a dozen foot soldiers from Goblin were sitting, drinking, laughing, probably at her expense, and watching their conversation. She didn’t know any of them—they had probably signed up after her promotion to lieutenant. Besides, they looked young and stupid, and hadn’t yet acquired the hard edge that patrolling Goblin gave you after a few years.
“Nulti, I don’t have—” she started, attempting to push past the oaf, but his portly frame blocked the only path to her table.
“See, ev’yone knows fr’m lookin’ atcher shit-ugly face ’atcher half-elf. What we got to bettin’ ’bout is what th’other half is. Me, I say it’s troll. Other guys, ’ey say it’s dwarf. So we wantcha t’settle’a bet.”
Then Nulti let out a long, loud guffaw, which was echoed by his fellows.
The rest of the tavern started to grow quiet.
Danthres sighed. Nulti had been riding her since she signed up. Few women joined the Guard, and those that did generally had some kind of formal combat training and experience. Danthres had none of the former, and the latter consisted primarily of brawls with people who took offense at Danthres’s face, personality, or both. To make matters worse, the boss was Captain Brisban, a veteran of the elven wars who hated elves and thought women had no place in the Guard, prior experience notwithstanding. So instead of a simple beat to walk in Unicorn, she was instead posted to the sewer that was Goblin Precinct, no doubt in the hopes of her washing out quickly. Danthres took pride in the fact that she dashed those hopes rather handily.
Nulti wasn’t the only one to give her a constant stream of shit, but he was the loudest and second most obnoxious after Brisban himself. But, over a decade later, Brisban was dead, Danthres was promoted to the castle, and Nulti was still stuck in Goblin. He was insufficiently competent to be promoted, insufficiently incompetent to be fired, and his corruption was so run-of-the-mill and low-stakes that he wasn’t worth the effort to investigate.
I really don’t want to start a fight tonight, she thought.
“Well, c’mon, Tresyllione, which is it? Got me three coppers ridin’ on ya bein’ troll—that’s ’cause’a your disposition—but Afrak over ’ere, ’e says ’at it’s dwarf on account’a hearin’ that you suck in bed. Dunno who’e coulda heard ’at from, seein’ as how no one sane’d sleep with y’anyhow, and—”
Whatever Nulti was going to say next was lost as Danthres upended all four flagons of ale onto his huge, round head. His random patches of curly hair straightened, and ale dripped off his flat face, his big ears, and his small nose into his big mouth, which was hanging open.
Now the Chain filled with laughter, loudest of all coming from
“ ’Ey, look, Tresyllione’s fin’ly here!”
Lord and Lady, no. She kept walking toward her table even as she knew she would be stopped by the body attached to the drunken, slurred voice.
Sure enough, the oversized head, overweight body, misshapen face, and patchy curled hair of Nulti interposed itself between Danthres and her destination. She was amazed to see that he had actually gained more weight since she saw him last, his protuberant belly looking like it was about to burst through his leather armor. As it was, the goblin emblem on the chest looked a bit stretched.
“Sergeant Markon finally let you back on his shift, Nulti?”
“ ’Ey, I earned m’way back t’days, Tresyllione. Don’t need to go suckin’ off the boss t’get a promotion.”
“The way you drool, Nulti, sucking off the boss would get you a demotion.”
To Danthres’s amusement, Nulti actually ran his bread-loaf-sized forearm across his mouth at that. “ ’Ey, lissen, got a bet goin’ with m’buddies over ’ere.” He indicated a table, where half a dozen foot soldiers from Goblin were sitting, drinking, laughing, probably at her expense, and watching their conversation. She didn’t know any of them—they had probably signed up after her promotion to lieutenant. Besides, they looked young and stupid, and hadn’t yet acquired the hard edge that patrolling Goblin gave you after a few years.
“Nulti, I don’t have—” she started, attempting to push past the oaf, but his portly frame blocked the only path to her table.
“See, ev’yone knows fr’m lookin’ atcher shit-ugly face ’atcher half-elf. What we got to bettin’ ’bout is what th’other half is. Me, I say it’s troll. Other guys, ’ey say it’s dwarf. So we wantcha t’settle’a bet.”
Then Nulti let out a long, loud guffaw, which was echoed by his fellows.
The rest of the tavern started to grow quiet.
Danthres sighed. Nulti had been riding her since she signed up. Few women joined the Guard, and those that did generally had some kind of formal combat training and experience. Danthres had none of the former, and the latter consisted primarily of brawls with people who took offense at Danthres’s face, personality, or both. To make matters worse, the boss was Captain Brisban, a veteran of the elven wars who hated elves and thought women had no place in the Guard, prior experience notwithstanding. So instead of a simple beat to walk in Unicorn, she was instead posted to the sewer that was Goblin Precinct, no doubt in the hopes of her washing out quickly. Danthres took pride in the fact that she dashed those hopes rather handily.
Nulti wasn’t the only one to give her a constant stream of shit, but he was the loudest and second most obnoxious after Brisban himself. But, over a decade later, Brisban was dead, Danthres was promoted to the castle, and Nulti was still stuck in Goblin. He was insufficiently competent to be promoted, insufficiently incompetent to be fired, and his corruption was so run-of-the-mill and low-stakes that he wasn’t worth the effort to investigate.
I really don’t want to start a fight tonight, she thought.
“Well, c’mon, Tresyllione, which is it? Got me three coppers ridin’ on ya bein’ troll—that’s ’cause’a your disposition—but Afrak over ’ere, ’e says ’at it’s dwarf on account’a hearin’ that you suck in bed. Dunno who’e coulda heard ’at from, seein’ as how no one sane’d sleep with y’anyhow, and—”
Whatever Nulti was going to say next was lost as Danthres upended all four flagons of ale onto his huge, round head. His random patches of curly hair straightened, and ale dripped off his flat face, his big ears, and his small nose into his big mouth, which was hanging open.
Now the Chain filled with laughter, loudest of all coming from
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