Nicolai stepped back and keeps an eye on this wagoneer, and a tight hand on the purse. Would Caldwell have paid thieves to relieve them of their booty, or would others have found out and decided that a robbery after the fact would be just as lucrative, yet less dangerous, he thought to himself.“Well met Bram! The Bountiful Tappe sounds ideal for soothing Miklos’s aches and pains away.” Marus couldn’t help himself. “An unusal name for your son, ‘Igor’. Where does it come from?”
“Well, it’s an old traditional Traladaran name. Named after my wife’s grandfather actually,” replied Bram. An odd question to ask at a time like this, he thought, as they were dredging in the hard rain and thick mud. This priest was of the talkative variety.
The tempation to reduce the cleric into a catatonic magical lumber passed quickly though Miklos’s mind. No such frivolous use for magic would have him cast out of the guild for sure. Still the thought entertained he as he moodily followed the others to the tavern. Perhaps he might save the idea to escape one of his longwinded speeches.
Saeth’s mind was also occupied with thoughts regarding Maruc. What was wrong with this priest? Bivouaking in the nearby barn would’ve been far drier than a walk in the rain, and likely as comfortable as a village tavern. Nevertheless, she trailed behind, as the outdoor novices among the companions seemed to be heavily in the majority.
They aided Bram, pushing the cart along the road when the mud got too thick for his horses. It wasn’t long before Igor arrived with two other men.
“Father, something terrible has happened while we were away. Mikal is dead and Dieter has gone missing! And Grigore has been snatched in the night!”
“What? How could this happen?”
“It’s that Dentiata. I know it!” yelled one of the men.
“Bram, let’s get to the tavern. We’re gathered there. Hopefully you can put an end to the bickering. We need to figure out what to do!”
“Father, who are your companions?”