Rotherham paused and stared into the bottom of his flagon. He took a deep gulp, then spoke again.
‘I’ll tell you something. If it wasn’t for the summoners, we would be in serious trouble. They’re poncey chaps and they think a bit too much of themselves, but we need them more than anything. Their demons keep an eye on the borders and let us know when an attack is coming, and a large demon is the only goddamned thing that can stop a war rhino other than a cannon or about a hundred muskets. When fireballs rain down on us, the battlemages raise a shield over the front lines. It lights up the sky like a dome of shining glass. The shield takes a battering and it cracks something fierce during the night, but the worst we get is a bad night’s sleep.’ Rotherham took another draught from his flagon, then raised it in a toast. ‘God bless those posh buggers.’
He slapped his knee and polished off his tankard of beer. As he stood up to go to the bar and purchase another, a heavy hand pushed him back into his seat. ‘Well, well. How very predictable that you two should become friends. They do say that snakes travel in pairs,’ said Didric, a sardonic smile on his face.
Jakov removed his hand from Rotherham’s shoulder and made a show of wiping it on his trousers, earning a titter from Didric. Both were now wearing their guard uniforms, heavy mail beneath an orange surcoat that matched the glow of the torches in the tavern.
‘I believe there was a purchase we previously arranged. Here are the four shillings, as we agreed. More than you deserve, but we must always be charitable to those less fortunate than ourselves. Is that not so, Jakov?’ Didric asked, dashing the coins on to the table.
Jakov chuckled and nodded his agreement. Fletcher snorted; Jakov was barely wealthier than Fletcher and was as low born as they came. His face was red from drink, and Fletcher suspected Didric had been plying him with beer all night to turn him to his cause. Not that Jakov had likely needed much persuasion; the man would sell his own mother for a few shillings.
Rotherham made no move to collect the coins, instead staring at Didric until the boy shifted with discomfort.
‘Come on now. A deal’s a deal. It’s not my fault you’re a fraud. You’re lucky you aren’t in chains and on your way to a desertion hearing,’ Didric said, as he stepped behind Jakov’s bulk. The reality of the situation began to dawn on Fletcher, and he gained new appreciation of Jakov. The guard was a large man, towering over Rotherham by at least a foot and built almost as heavily as Berdon. He had not been hired as a guardsman for his intelligence, that was for sure.
Even Didric was half a head taller than Fletcher, and his flabby body was twice the width of Fletcher’s wiry frame.
Rotherham continued to stare, unnerving Fletcher as his steel gaze bore into Didric’s pudgy face. The tension in the alcove racked up another couple of notches as Jakov’s hand wandered towards his sword hilt.
‘Check his satchel. It’s probably in there,’ Didric ordered, but his voice showed a hint of uncertainty. As Jakov moved for the bag, Rotherham stood abruptly, startling the pair into taking a step back. Fletcher rose with him, his fingers balled into fists. His pulse was racing and he could hear his heart juddering as the adrenaline took hold. He felt a twinge of satisfaction when Didric’s eyebrows shot up in alarm as he squared up to him.
‘If you’re gonna unsheathe that sword, you’d better know how to use it,’ Rotherham growled, his own hand resting on the hilt of the sword he had purchased from Fletcher.
Didric’s face paled at the sight of it. He had seen that the soldier carried no weapons in the market and had clearly not expected him to be armed now. His eyes darted furtively between Jakov and the old man. In a sword fight, the soldier would have the upper hand.
‘No weapons,’ he declared, unbuckling his sword and letting it fall to the floor. Jakov’s soon followed.
‘Aye, no weapons,’ Fletcher said, raising his fists. ‘I remember how worried you were about getting blood all over your uniform.’
Rotherham grunted in agreement and laid his scabbard on the table.
‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been in an old-fashioned tavern brawl,’ he declared with relish, grasping Fletcher’s tankard and bringing it to his lips.