Consultation of Good Companions

"To the fallen!"

Three foam-topped pewter tankards clanked together, spilling their froth onto each other, onto the hands gripping them, and onto the already sticky, beaten up tabletop underneath.

Taking hers to her lips, Runa drank deep. A wave of satisfaction. "Aah. The good stuff!"

The Bee and the Barb served precisely the same swill of an ale as did most of the other inns of the province, but somehow over here it always tasted the best. Like adventure. Like a good hard fuck after an adventure!

They were seated at their usual table at the side of the bar, where they could see everything that was happening if they needed to. Where no one could sneak up on them. Not that such a thing ever happened, but in their line of work and with their reputation, there wasn't such a thing as being too careful. Loredas evening saw the place packed full, the clientele at this time consisting solely of faces of varying ugliness and more or less equivalently scarred, the more gentile folk having departed to give room for the less civilized. Ones such as Runa and these two gentlemen she was drinking with.

The strawberry blond-haired one to her left leaned back with an ironic smirk on his lips. "Indeed. And speaking of the good stuff: you'll never guess who I ran into the other night!"

"I won't, Rusty. Though I have the distinct feeling that you're about to tell us."

The man barely winced. He'd grown sufficiently resigned to the nickname over these past few years. He sighed, and then the smirk was back. "Well, none other than Stanvar Son of Erik."

"Oooh," replied Runa. "The old horse-cock is back to Skyrim, is he?"

"Nah. Just popped in. Went back to Daggerfall already."

Popped in, eh? "Well, a night with you will do that. So, I assume you two. . ."

Rusty grinned with his big teeth. "Did we ever!"

"Figures. So . . . you're sitting alright?"

"I'm managing."

Snorting, Runa raised her mug. "I'll drink to that."

Rusty in turn sipped his ale, then set the tankard on the table. He ran a hand over his curly hair in a practiced-looking manner. The otherwise half-long hair was trimmed short right above the ears, with a pair of thin braids at the top. Must have been what was fashionable in the Imperial City that month. "I wonder, though." With a sly look on his face, he tapped his meaty lips with one finger. His pecker-suckling lips, as Runa had dubbed them. And he'd never once bothered trying to deny it.

"You wonder what?"

He aimed his smirk at the man sitting opposite to him. "Just, if Hroar here were to get some action from time to time, I wonder if he'd show us more of that radiant smiled of his."

Hroar frowned, but did not bother with a reply. This was not the sort of conversation that made the man comfortable. And so she and Rusty tried to make sure to have one as frequently as possible.

"Oh, come now," said Runa. "I don't think getting is his problem. If only he didn't keep pushing the lasses away, why, he'd practically be swimming in action. I mean, look at 'im. A man's man if ever there was one! Hroar the Lion!" She growled the last word, grabbing hold of the man's brawny arm.

Hroar winced. "You know how I hate it when you call me that."

"And you know that's precisely why it gives me such joy to do so."

The hated sobriquet, as so often, had originated with Runa. Initially, years and years ago, she'd taken to calling him "Hroar-Like-a-Lion", based on the way he always used to introduce himself. As usual, what had started as a joke had more or less stuck, if in a slightly altered from. And ever since then the man had fought a hopeless war against people calling him that. Much to Runa's satisfaction.

You couldn't deny it though: as far as appearances went, he had it going. Tall and strong-looking with a sensitively serious disposition which did not hurt, either, to make those heads turn his way. His face, framed by long locks of curly, blond hair—his mane— wasn't ugly either, managing to mix soft sensitivity with hard, masculine lines in a way that didn't exactly sting the eyes. His deep green eyes finished the deal.

Not that Runa could in a million years have thought of him in that way. Any more than she could have a brother.

She had, on the other hand, slipped under the blankets with Rusty a couple times, but those times had usually seen them heavily intoxicated, and afterwards more than a bit awkward. They'd done their best to joke about it, but both of them had been a little bit inconvenienced by such blurring of lines. The warrior types were nothing if not pragmatic about such things, but some comradeships were just too, well, comradely.

"Seems to me," Rusty said, "that ever since that thing with Mjoll, he hasn't been quite the same."

Hroar's eyes flashed in a manner very familiar to Runa. "I wouldn't go there," she murmured in a singsong voice.

But Rusty wasn't one for taking hints. "How many years has she been gone now? Don't you think it's about time to get over it, my friend? I could readily point you to some lovely young ladies—or old ladies, knowing you—to help you with forgetting."

Hroar inclined over the table. "If you know what's good for you, friend, you'll be shutting that big mouth of yours right now."

Rusty's grin never waned, but the ensuing silence threatened to grow just a tad bit too tense for Runa's liking. She elected to lighten it with a belch. "You've gotta admit," she said. "It is rather large. Your mouth, that is."

Rusty shrugged. "It has its uses."

She snorted. "I'll drink to that."

"You'll drink to anything," he noted.

"Can't argue with you there."

Runa studied Rusty out of the corner of her eye. The man looked satisfied with himself, but then not really any more than usual. He leaned back in his chair and daintily sipped his drink as was his wont.

Among all the warrior kind, there was no one quite like ol' Rusty. To go with the almost prissy manner in which he conducted himself, his appearance was another thing to make him stand out. The sapphire-and-gold malachite armor shining as spotless as usual, as though he spent every spare minute with no one looking polishing it. Runa would not have put it past him. The rest of him was also oddly immaculate considering his way of life, and compared with his peers. His countenance, for example, bore almost no scars or dents. For comparison, you'd have to look no further than to the ones he was currently drinking with. Runa's own mug resembled that of Hroar's: scars of varying size, some more faded than others, crisscrossing here and there, with noses misshapen enough to make it obvious they'd been broken more than once.

She drained her tankard and briefly studied her dull reflection in its side; the broad face with all the scars and the battered nose, dappled with freckles from the sunlight, the first gathering wrinkles from the stress of her lifestyle and the fact that she indeed wasn't a spring chicken anymore . . . No, a staggering beauty she wasn't. But damned if that kept 'em away!

She slammed the empty thing onto the table, motioning over to the innkeep for another round, which the Argonian carried over promptly. Runa would have bet that the bulk of the inn's income rested on the thirsty shoulders of the trio.

Rusty was not yet done with his, so he waved the innkeep off. And neither did he appear to be done with Hroar. Giving his head a rueful shake, he mused, "The lion and the lioness . . . the sheer poetry of it! It truly was a shame. Nonetheless, there comes a time a man must pick up the pieces and move on."

As the other man looked about ready to leap over the table, Runa cut in. "He does have a point, you know. It's not as though you wouldn't have had plenty of chances for moving on. Host of candidates to help you out—free of charge even! Nuh-uh-uh, I'm talking here!" She burped, after a hearty draught from her mug. "Look, what I'm saying—" She burped again, some ale coming back up with this one.

"Egad, Runa, don't puke!" Rusty said.

"What I'm saying, Hroar, is that you've always been an incredible prude for a warrior. In fact, you're a cause of great shame to all of us."

Hroar snorted. "Shame. As if you even knew what that feels like. Besides, I believe the rest of you are keeping it up just fine for all of us."

Runa slanted Rusty a look. "Well, some of us have a more difficult time than others in keeping it up.""Hey, that was only once!"

"Twice."

"On—" He looked up, thinking. "Alright, twice. But both of those times you'd made me take skooma. I tell you, that stuff simply does not agree with me."

"You can say that again."

"That stuff simply does not—"

"Oh, be quiet." She switched back to Hroar. "Anyway, get fucked is all I'm saying. Is it really too much to ask?"

Rusty giggled. "Oh, indeed!"

Hroar scowled at him. "Shut up, you."

The other man inclined over the table, smiling evocatively. "Why don't you make me?"

Hroar bared his teeth. "I'm tempted to."

"Boys, boys," Runa said. "I know you're trying to impress me and all, but it ain't working."

Hroar was glaring at Rusty, who blew him a kiss in return.

Behind Runa's back, a heated argument pertaining to Divines knew what had steadily escalated into a downright shouting match, and now growled voices reached their apex and, heralded by curses, chairs scraped against the floor, and it was time to take the argument outside. No one around acted the least bit shocked, as this was the sort of scene that usually played itself out on most evenings, often more than once or twice. The pair then showed themselves outside without further disorder or disturbance to others, as was the time-tested manner of settling differences, and everyone else went on as usual.

Soon, once the argument was settled, they'd be returning fast friends again, arms draped over each other's shoulders. Or in some cases, if the agreement reached was really satisfactory, hands down each other's breeches. Though occasionally it did happen that only one of them returned, but that was more the exception than the rule. Largely hot-headed though the warrior kind might have been, they weren't utterly without a sense of proportion.

Runa smirked at the display, having discerned the whole affair to the last detail without even having to bother looking over her shoulder.

"Anyway," said Rusty, turning his at best mildly interested eyes away from the commotion, and angling his insufferable sneer at her. "All this talk of old times reminds me of something I keep forgetting to ask. Whatever happened to that girl you once brought here?"

"What girl?"

"You know, that slight, scared-looking one. You were sitting at this very table with her. Some couple years back or something—as I recall, you had just disposed of Grushna gro-Ghasharzol."

Ah. Right. The scholar. Runa hadn't thought about her for a while. Wonder how the little slip of a girl is doing? Still in Skyrim, holed up at the College? Perhaps I should pay her a visit one of these days. She'd been meaning to, for a long time, but somehow hadn't gotten around to it.

"Haven't heard of her since," she said.

"Guess that's what one night with you will—"

"Whoa, there!" Runa said. "It was strictly business with her."

Well, in the most liberal sense of the word. After she'd rescued the whelp from the host of bandits run by Grushnag, she'd ended up helping her acquiring some useless book from a band of Foresworn. Indeed, from the King in Rags himself! That had been a fun enough adventure, but an entirely unprofitable one. Runa had even gone out of her way to get her mother to lend the girl some bodyguards to tend to her at the College, since it seemed that a well-known and highly connected human trafficker had been behind her initial abduction. Seemed there might have been some foul play going on, though why that was, she couldn't possibly tell. Didn't seem like a particularly important person, that Ariela, but then who knew.

"If you say so," Rusty murmured at her assurances.

"Well . . ." She smirked. "Our lips might have touched once." To Ariela's intense rejection of her sudden intrusion, as she recalled. Not into other gals, that much was obvious. Had seemed, in fact, to set her sights on old Erik, that one. Now that pairing would certainly have been entertaining to witness!

"I knew it! Despoiling the innocent—so much like you, Runa. So much like you."

Runa snorted. She did not bother trying to deny the kernel of truth in Rusty's words. To be sure, a part of her would have liked to lay the little thing down for some—

Stop it! She was a sweet, innocent girl; not one to be despoiled by one of your—

Oh, come now. What's innocence good for besides despoiling? Besides, as I recall, our little saint bashed in the face of a Foresworn. That don't sound to me like—

The look on Hroar's face broke her inner dispute. She mirrored the frown. "What?"

"You got that look again, Runa." He shook his head. "I swear, it's like one side of your face is smiling and the other scowling; and that ain't but half of it. I'm telling you, it creeps me out no end when you get that way."

"Yeah, well," she said, downing the rest of her second ale. "Minding your own goddamn business would probably work wonders on that."

"Well," prompted Rusty. "What of the girl?"

"What of her!" snapped Runa. "Saved her life, helped her out. And purely out of the kindness of my fucking heart, mind you."

"Your heart is awful big."

"Damn straight. Unlike yours, of course; but then that's hardly the only part of you that's small and shriveled."

"Stop it, you two!" Hroar barked, pressing fingertips on his temples.

"What?" Runa asked. "Friendly banter now too much for your sensitive little ears as well?"

"Friendly?" Rusty said. "Is that what it was?"

"You've yet to see me mean, my boy."

"I dunno. I've shared a bed with you—"

Hroar groaned loudly. Then stood.

"Where do you think you're going?" Runa asked.

"Gotta take a piss," he replied. "May I?"

She waved a hand, and the man was off. Then she in turn got up to go fetch another drink. It was good to every once in a while when drinking, if only to ensure that one still could. She took the opportunity to trade some desultory words with the innkeep. Keeping close and personal relationships with such folks was an essential if often overlooked prerequisite of her trade. Then she returned to Rusty.

"He's awful dour today," he remarked as she sat, still nursing his first ale.

"Who?"

"Who? Hroar, who else?"

"Is he? I've hardly noticed."

"Might be better if you stop pestering him for the rest of the evening."

"Me? You're the one who keeps—"

"Shh! He's coming back."

Hroar walked by the table, standing there for a minute, giving them a chary looking over. His scraped steel armor dully reflected the candlelight of the chandelier above them. "What are you two up to now?"Runa smirked up at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He sat down with a roll of his eyes and a grunt, downed the rest of his ale, and waved for another one."So, why were you asking about the scholar in the first place?" Runa asked Rusty. "Would you have wanted to get to know her better?"

Rusty snorted. "She was a little too mousy for my taste."

"Yeah, I know; you need a big and burly one to satisfy you. Like Hroar here."

"If only he'd be interested . . ."

"Gods, you two!" Hroar said. "Aren't you about done?"

Runa smirked at Rusty. "He's just being coy, you know."

"Oh, I knows!"

Hroar gave an irritated scowl. "I know! It's I know! Talk normal."Rusty's eyes narrowed. "Are you mocking my heritage?"

Runa hissed, rolling her eyes. "You're back to that one again?"

"Excuse me? As if you could simply choose who you are."

"I've often wondered whether you being a buffoon is simply who you are or if you have to work for it. In any case, no one has ever for a second believed the horseshit about your so-called heritage. You know it, we know it, and everybody knows it."

Rusty tried to look all indignant. "Well, I never."

"Tell me this, if it's supposed to be some 'heritage'—what heritage you've never bothered to mention, far as I know you're as Nord as they come—that makes you speak—not to mention act—all weird, then how come you only do it sporadically? And you barely even do it these days."

He shrugged. "I've simply dropped the dialect over time."

"Oh, after you had first developed it long after your balls had dropped? Don't forget that I've known you since you were a snot-nosed little shitweasel thrown out on your ass from the Bard's College."

He looked around furtively. "Please, Runa. Not so loud, someone might hear."

"Yeah, wasn't that precisely what they told you?"

Hroar snorted.

Rusty shot him a glare. "Oh, shut up. What would a brute like you understand of fine art?" Then he glared at Runa. "Or you. I've heard you sing."

"Hey, I sing like a—"

"Like a drunken horker in heat, yes. Anyway, they were simply envious of my talents. They knew I'd be the star of their little guild in a few short years and so decided to oust me. It's as clear as day."

Runa, shaking her head, said, "Your capacity for self-deception never ceases to amaze me."

Rusty did not seem to think that her observation warranted a reply. Indeed he appeared to make it seem as though he'd not even heard her, in his way confirming her words.

"Well, whatever," Runa said, waving for another drink. Best make it a couple this time, lest she have to keep pestering the poor overworked reptile.

Runa took the opportunity of the ensuing respite of silence to ponder what she was going to say. She now knew for certain that she needed her trusted companions' help in order to achieve the objective of her quest. Which, in truth, seemed increasingly more impossible the longer she spent thinking about it. So she did her best to think about it as little as she could, which was not easy given that the thing was constantly at the back of her mind, throbbing as if she'd taken a nasty blow to the occiput.

How am I gonna sell this to them? I've talked them into to doing some crazy jobs before but this here is a whole different level of crazy. What do I even think I'm doing? I'm in way over my head here! Sheesh, what have I been thinking? I'm no great warrior. I'm an imposter! A total fraud—

"So what's this about a job you mentioned?" Rusty said then. "You might need help, you said? Must be good money if you're willing to share. I for one am all ears."

Runa just stopped her eyebrows from jumping up. It was as though he'd read her mind. She shrugged. "Ah, it's nothing. Best forget I said anything.""Oh! See how her eyes shift! She wants to keep it all to herself!"

She snorted, for some reason feeling budding alarm shuffle her insides. "It's just minor work, really," she said, nonchalant. "I don't think I'll actually be needing help."

Rusty eyed her through a suspicious squint. "If you say so."

"So I say," replied Runa, unstoppering a new ale.

A new stretch of silence, and Runa nearly winced underneath its weight. "Hey, I know," she said. "Let's play a game."

"Dice?" Hroar asked with a curled lip. He hated dice.

"Sounds good!" said Rusty, grinning at the other man.

"Nah," Runa said. "Nothing so uncouth. I've a good'n for ya. I call it. . . 'I would like to kill'."Rusty arched a brow. "Really, Runa?"

"Really, Rusty. Now, here's how it goes: You say: 'I would like to kill. . .' and the rest, I believe, is self-explanatory. Alright, Rusty first. Go!"

He scowled.

"I would like to kill. . ." she helped.

It took a while of eye rolling before the man dignified a nod. "Alright fine. I'll play your childish game. Let's see. . . I would like to kill. . ." He looked up, thinking.

"It can't be a relative or an ex-lover."

"What—"

"Too easy."

"Alright, true enough. Hmm . . ."

"It can be anyone—"

"I got one."

"Really? Let's hear it."

"I would like to kill . . . the new High Chancellor of the Elder Council."

Now it was Runa's turn to raise a brow. "Why him?"

He shrugged. "I hear that one likes to bugger little boys."

She gave it some though, made a face, and then nodded. "Alright. Sure. Makes sense. Good one. Now, speaking of buggered little boys—Hroar's next."

Hroar scowled.

"Now, don't you start as well! One balker will do.""Okay, fine." He seemed to fold within himself then, the way he always looked when trying to form a cogent thought.

"Come on, be quick about it. We don't have all night for this."

"I'm thinking!" he said, his brow furrowing in concentration. "So many evil people in the world . . ." he mused, "so little time to kill them all."

She'd heard that one before. Seemed to be something of a refrain of his. A poet he wasn't.

"Well, you don't have to kill them all, just one will do. They don't have to be wicked either, according to the rules."

"There are rules?" Rusty asked.

She shrugged. "Some."

Hroar was still all folded within, frowning deeply.

"Just name one, for gods' sake, it's just a game!"

He scowled at her.

"Well, while he's thinking," Rusty said, "why don't you go?"

"Fine. I have, in fact, one already thought out. A real stunner. Alright, here goes. I would like to kill . . ." She left a long pause, so long that Rusty impatiently went to his bottle. She gave her companions a deliberate, shrewd little smirk. "Maven Black-Briar."

The bottle shot out of Rusty's mouth as if he'd been about to choke on it, ale spilling on his chin and on his armor, more on the table. He cast about furtively. "Are you insane?" he hissed. Then raised warding hands. "Alright, unnecessary question, I know." He frowned at her big grin. "I'd keep quieter if I were you. You know that is a very dangerous thing to say, even in jest."

She shrugged. "No jest."

He blinked. "Sure. Well, whatever. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"If I always heeded to everyone's warnings, I'd not have achieved half the things I have."

"You're gonna achieve a knife in the back and a slit throat if you go around shooting your mouth like that. Or would you characterize Maven as the understanding type?"

"If I gave my characterization of her, Hroar here would never regain the regular color of his face again."

Hroar, ignoring her, was shaking his head contemplatively. "She is dangerous, she is." Assumably meaning Maven.

"Thank you for that very elucidating contribution," said Rusty.

Hroar made a face at him. "Piss Maven off, and you can never show your face in this town again."

"I would sure miss these joyful evenings with you," Rusty said.Runa shrugged. "We could always meet someplace else. Like Nightgate Inn."

Rusty wrinkled his nose.

"In any case," she said. "I never said I was gonna do it, just that I'd like to."

"Even I didn't think you were as mad as to actually plan it, Runa. That's not the point. Shooting your mouth like that is what I'd caution you against."

"You and everybody else. How do you judge it's been working so far?"

He grunted. "Point taken."

"Not just yet, it would seem."

"Well, whatever. What you got against old Maven anyway," Rusty said, but not without a careful peer around and a sufficient lowering of his voice. "Such a kind old lady."

"Oh, yeah sure. As a slew of unfortunate mangled bastards who got on her wrong side could surely testify. Even some on her better side, assuming there is one. No, in fact I've got no problem with her per se. I've no doubt that anyone in her position would be every bit as nasty. My point is simply this: don't you think it's about time someone else took over for a change? I mean, how old is she, like a hundred? Her still tenaciously clinging onto her status as the queen bee of the underworld, don't you think it's, like, a tad bit unfair."

First Rusty snorted at the last word, then assumed an ironically puzzled expression. "What d'you mean underworld? Maven's a hard-working public official, the esteemed Jarl of the Rift. A woman of the people, Runa. What you're saying is as good as slander!"

"Ah, right. Of course. Forgot. Guess I owe her an apology."

"Now, when's the last time she accepted one of those?"

"True. Horstar No-fingers could tell you all about her forgiving heart."

"Horstar No-head, the last I heard."

"Aww, now isn't that too bad."

"And, if the rumors hold true, Horstar No-coc—"

"Shh!" Runa hissed, wincing. "No need to go there."

He shrugged. "Someone begged to disagree. What, it's not like you even got one—"

"Yeah, well, I got lotsa empathy, alright? I can imagine myself in the place of my fellow man."

Rusty snorted.

Hroar set his fist onto then table, then, a decisive cast to his countenance. "Grelod the Kind."

Runa frowned. "Huh?"

"I wish I had killed Grelod the Kind."

Rusty's expression seemed to say, not bad.

"That's not how you play this game!" Runa said. "You're supposed to begin with 'I would like to kill . . .'"

"That's one rule, then," said Rusty.

"It's no game," Hroar said solemnly. "I really do wish that it had been me to slit that crone neck of hers."

"It's over twenty years in the dirt. Way to not let the past go!"

Hroar responded that with a skewed glance. "And you have?"

A sudden memory, as fresh as it had ever been. Little Runa Fair-Shield, a resident of Honorhall Orphanage here in Riften, right around the corner from where they now sat, staring with her mouth open as a human-shaped shadow crept behind the hated head of the orphanage. The flash of light reflecting something sharp. A quick, fluid motion, and blood came gushing out from the neat incision that had appeared on her withered throat. The eyes wide in surprise and shock. Then the gurgling sound, and blood splattering out onto the table she was seated at. The shadow held the witch firmly in place as she finished dying. It seemed to take forever. Not as long as she deserved. And Runa simply stared. Transfixed. Stunned. Ecstatic. Then the hag slumping against the table, slowly sliding down to the floor.

And for the briefest moment, the eyes of Runa and the shadow had met. To this day she could not be sure: had the eyes glowed red as ambers like she remembered, or was that simply the added fancy of her imagination, pasted on the memory after the fact to lend it a further dramatic touch? As if that would have even been necessary.

But that did not matter. What mattered was the wordless understanding that had then seemed to pass between the two. Between Runa and this blessed apparition. Had the shadow given her a nod of acknowledgement? She liked to think so. As in, you are welcome. All I ask in return is your silence. In this, we are complicit. This crime that was no crime at all. Justice. Or what in this world passed as such.

Thank you, she wished that she'd been able to say. But she'd been rendered wordless. And then the shadow had slid out as soundlessly as it had entered. Incognito. Her savior. All of theirs. How she wished she could meet that shadow today. Shake his hand in gratitude. Thank you!

And then the other children had flooded into the dining room. The surprise. The shock. The joy! "She's dead!" they had cried. "Grelod the Kind is dead at last! We're saved!" Innocence . . . regained.

Innocence, she though. There's that word again.

Hroar had been no less overjoyed than the rest of 'em. She could still well recall the big grin that had appeared on his face after the initial astonishment. His eyes, one bruised from a blow from Grelod's bony hand just a couple of days back, glistening with deeply relieved delight.

Runa was drawn out of her reveries by Rusty's hand waving in front of her face.

"Come back to us," he said.

She swatted the hand away. "All in the past," she grunted. "And we have the Dark Brotherhood to thank for that." She snorted. "Imagine that. Saved by Sithis,"

"Uncomfortable as that may be," Hroar said. "I guess sometimes two wrongs can make a right." He sniffed. "You remember, what was it that Francois said again? 'We love you Dark Brotherhood!' Something along those lines. Guess he voiced what we all felt. Though as far as I know he was the only one of us who actually joined them later on."

"I wanted to, too," Runa said. "Before I came to my senses."

"Yeah, right. You were pretty adamant about that for a time. I wasn't sure if you'd do it. But it sure seemed as though what you saw had a big impact. What was it that you always said afterwards? 'Kill one person—'"

"'—and you can solve so many problems. I wonder at the possibilities.' And did I have the right of it or what? We've certainly explored those possibilities. How many problems we solved since?"

"I'd hazard that you've caused at least as many," Rusty observed.

"Hush," said Runa. "The mug, the way I look at it, is half-full."

"Yours is empty. As is your bottle."

"Quit your nit-picking! Anyway, the bitch is long dead. It wasn't by your hand, Hroar, and that's that. Get over it, and just be glad someone did it."

"Aretino," Hroar said.

"Allegedly."

He snorted. "Right."

Aventus Aretino, he had been one troubled kid. Of course, that could had been said about any of them, but he'd seemed to take it to a whole other level. And then he'd escaped the orphanage, leaving behind him the persistent rumor that he was intending to perform the Black Sacrament to get the Brotherhood to dispose of Grelod. Runa wasn't sure if anyone had truly believed he would. Until that day. And even then it was never confirmed. But they had all taken it as truth. Their one lost comrade in misery had saved them all.

Hroar raised his mug. "To Aventus."

Unenthusiastically, Runa joined the man in his toast, even if her mug was empty. This wasn't the first time they'd had that toast, but as always, there was a bittersweet tinge to that gesture.

After a moment's silence, Rusty smacked his lips. He reached his tankard to spill some of his drink into Runa's, as though out of pity. "So. What's next in the game?"

"That's it," she said.

"Really? Rather dull."

"Well you need more players, obviously."

"And then, preferably, someone to kill?"

Runa downed the drink with one toss, and shrugged. "If you like."

And they ordered another round.

They spent a while longer sitting there, drinking and shooting shit. Runa did her best to keep the conversation inane and amicable, as much as was possible with people like them. Then, after what she considered to be sufficient time of catching up and goofing around, maybe another hour or so, she rested her forearms on the table in front of her and gave her companions a sober regard.

"Well, you've talked me over boys."

"Huh?"

"About the mission. I'll let you tag along. Probably you'll just be in the way, but what are friends for if not for sharing, eh?"

Rusty rolled his eyes.

"But that means," Runa said, "no more carousing for tonight. We'll rise early in the morn to make a plan. You fellas ain't gonna be any use to me all hungover."

Rusty rolled his eyes again.

"So drink up, and we'll get rooms to rest."

Hroar was frowning.

"What is it now?"

"What's my name?"

"You're simply begging for me to say something sarcastic, you know."

"Hroar!" Hroar said. "Hroar. It's not. . . Woof, or something. I'm not a dog."

Runa settled back, one eyebrow lazily arched.

"And because I'm not a dog, there are some things I don't do. I don't drool, and I don't follow!"

She eyed him a moment longer, then finished her drink and gave a resonant belch. "I'm thoroughly impressed," she said, then slamming the mug down and rising. "Now, be a good boy and come along."

Rusty was smirking at the other man, who pointed a sharp finger at him. "You keep your big mouth shut."

Without further complaints, the men then finished their drinks and followed after Runa.

"Just watch," she said over her shoulder. "I'm gonna make this worth your while."

"Uh-oh," said Rusty. "I think you meant to say: get us all killed."

Runa grinned.

Like as not, Rusty. Like as not.

At least if she failed miserably, she'd have her friends to share her fate. How fortunate she was to have such good companions!