Kerric the Mercenary: Episode 3, The Hammer and Shield
They fine far more mercenaries at the inn than there should be.
Sour mead, worse beer, and badly trimmed tallow lamps assaulted his nose, entering the overcrowded Hammer and Shield, making it smell nearly as bad as the corral. The high slit windows let in enough light for Kerric to look it over, but carried little of that smell away. He wondered if maybe that mounted company had only needed an excuse to leave this floor packed inn.
Only the captain’s table had any open seats, and Kerric made his way there. From the look of it, two captains had been there recently and the remaining seven had yet to expand into the area that they had left. Two to three captains would have been the right number for that number of riders. Kerric removed one of the side-by-side chairs and took up the space the last two there had once occupied by himself.
Not one of the seven captains objected to him taking up room for two. Only three of those seven had faces Kerric had seen. Those had been just grunts in someone else’s band the last time he had come across them. Moved up when their boss was killed? Likely. His eyes scanned the crowd. Trash. Nothing but annoying trash.
Patton, seated with two naked slaves on his lap at one of the common tables, sent the more homely one to him with a large flagon of mead in her hands. This one stalked the floor despite the slave brand on her cheek making her obedient. With far more aggression than the magically branded usually have, she set the flagon on the table in front of him and slid into his lap. Patten had once more proved he had an eye for what makes a great slut.
“How dare you bring a slut to the captain’s table?” said one of the captains Kerric had never seen sitting at the end.
“Shut up, Romm,” said the man next to him.
“This is an insult. First his men strip the sluts, then he brings one to our table.”
“Of course it is. Easiest way to thin out a crowded captain’s table is to insult the captains and then kill those dumb enough to get insulted. I’d let him kill you if I didn’t need your company covering our rear when the caravan moves out in two days.”
Neither speaker were men he had seen before. He doubted either had been captains long. The second had made almost as grave a mistake as the first. It would have been far safer to see that captain killed in a bar than trusting such an idiot to cover your rear.
A quick scan of the faces of the other captains showed that two of them agreed.
The slave branded slut had no shame. She managed to get his trews undone and him out right there at about the time a bowl of stew was sat in front of him. Bromm’s red faced with anger grew when she moved under the table to continue while Kerric started eating as she worked.
None of the captains like him having a slut at the table, but three were amused at Bromm, while the rest disgusted by his lack of control over his emotions. The man did not have what it took to be a captain, even of trash foot. Not a captain there would take a job now that required that they depend on him.
Not that any of them would work with Kerric either, under most circumstances, but for far different reasons. Anything that Kerric’s band needed help with would be so far out of their class that they would be little more than bait.
The last of Kerric’s men entered, scanned the room, then chose a table to elbow his way into a seat. Unlike the men of the other captains who all sat together so they could watch each other’s back, his spread throughout the inn evenly. His standing orders were to gather what information was available whenever they stopped. He hadn’t changed that, even though this was to be their last stop before heading home.
Few noticed the small courier boy in trader-clan colors that entered right behind his last man.