The White Dragon by Salvador Mercer

wood. “Blade, indeed.”
    “Hey,” Gabrielle said, offended at the stroke. “That was my best club you just destroyed.”
    “Next time choose wiser when deciding against whom to wield it,” Alexi shot back.
    “Please.” Diamedes stepped in between the two women, resulting in his desired effect. The small old man always seemed non-threatening, and his intervention often brought about a sort of truce between fighting parties. “May we visit for a moment, Lady Gabrielle?”
    Gabby eyed the man warily and huffed at the Fist while throwing the handle of her club on the floor, no longer useful to her. After a few seconds of silence, Gabby motioned to a large table in the middle of the room.
    There was no discussion as the group went to the table and seated themselves. The common room was empty, and it was early yet for travelers or visitors. Gabrielle started to mutter to herself and disappeared in the back, letting her hair down in the process and wiping her hands on a rag, which she threw in their direction when she had finished.
    “Well, that could have gone better,” Diamedes said, taking a deep breath and smoothing his clothing from the long, fast ride.
    “Actually, it went better than I had thought,” Lucius said, looking warily at the kitchen door. A couple of servants ducked back when they saw that they had been spotted.
    “You were married to . . . her?” Alexi asked, also looking in the direction of the kitchen.
    “Yes,” Eric said, not looking at the door despite the fact that all four of them sat on the side opposite the kitchen. No one wanted to put their back toward the innkeeper.
    “That’s my daughter you’re talking about.” Lucius sounded hurt.
    “She didn’t seem too . . . affectionate,” Diamedes pointed out as diplomatically as he could.
    Lucius nodded, understanding the historian’s reasoning. “She blames me for taking Eric’s side.”
    “Ah, I see,” Diamedes said.
    Lucius felt he had to clarify while Eric pulled smashed pottery from his hair. “After the breakup, I still had a living to make and a business to run. I kept my position as the administrator of our mercenary group, and, well, she has never really forgiven me for that.”
    Alexi had sheathed her sword. Eric had not. His sword leaned against the table in close range of his fighting hand. The Fist leaned in close, whispering, “So she blames you for maintaining ties with the mercenary?”
    “My name is Eric.”
    “Yes,” Lucius said, continuing to tap his fingers on the table.
    “I sense we are missing something else,” Diamedes remarked.
    Both Eric and Lucius looked at the historian, a faint hint of surprise crossing their faces. “You’re very observant, Master Diamedes.”
    “And?” Alexi asked. “If I’m not being too nosy.”
    There was a moment of silence before Gabrielle reappeared, coming through the kitchen doors and walking up to the table. She pulled up a chair and sat at the wide spot that they had left for her. Looking straight at the holy warrior, she said, “The Hunt was mine, and this lout took it from me by conspiring with my father there.”
    The silence was only broken by the faint sound of ceramic landing on the wooden table. Eric’s hair was finally clean.
     

     
    Night fell when the group of raiders finally came from hiding at the approach of someone who walked like a cat, making no sound at all in soft leather-soled boots.
    “Where are they?” the man asked the shadowy figure who had just joined them over a small hillock from the town of Razor Rock.
    “They arrived hours ago and are holed up in the only inn this town has, and there is a problem.”
    “What sort of problem, me wonders?” the raider asked.
    “A king’s warrior, holy by the looks of her.”
    “Hmm,” the tall raider said, absentmindedly tapping the hilt of his dagger sticking out from his belt. “We were told to expect a simple mercenary and two old men. This Tynirian holy woman you mention, she is from the