[Mkguild] Table Talk

[Rimme the Weasel]

Evening had come to the Jolly Collie. After the frenzied search for answers
just an hour earlier, the patrons and innkeepers had resumed their nightly
activities. A flautist in the corner played a cheery air as the regulars
settled into their ale. The robbery was already making the rounds into the
gossip. At least one chuckled at the audacity of someone committing a
robbery in an inn owned by Misha. If the robbers had dared to rob the
innkeepers themselves... why, the depths of fury that one fox could reach!

Three foreign patrons sat around a table, looking glum despite their
recently acquired fortune. With two guards mutinied, two guards resigned,
and one guard gone to bed early for the night, it was a much quieter group
than had been there just that morning.

"Have you thought of hiring some new guards?" Howel asked as he sipped his
cider. His choice of drink was met with an upraised eyebrow by Gallus, but
there was no one here to tease him for it. "There are still lots of humans
here. Most of them good in combat, from what I see, and they would love to
see the world."

"It's bad luck, is all it is," Gwayn muttered into his ale. "First my
business partner dies. Now over half my men have abandoned me. All over a
bunch of rugs." He sighed. "I knew I should have gone into selling wine
instead."

"We still managed to find a buyer," Gallus said. "We are fortunate enough
to have met Misha."

Gwayn looked at Howel. "You are right that I'll need more guards. Perhaps I
could ask the local patrol master if he has guards to spare. But I'm sure
he'll want an extra fee for the service." He shrugged. "Or maybe I can
spend the night knocking on doors, asking if they have any sellswords for
sale. And what would stop them from betraying me like all the rest?" He
swigged his drink. "Some say a soldier's value lies in their training, but
in truth, it's in their loyalty. A loyal rookie is worth far more than the
fiercest deserter."

"I'm sure it was only fear of the curse that drove Rodrick and Nathan
away," Gallus said over his whiskey, his tone measured to soothe Gwayn's
tranquil fury. "They panicked. Even loyal soldiers will rout in the heat of
battle. They took the only route they knew of. They will be happy to follow
once they see another way out. One that won't see them branded as outlaws."

Gwayn drummed his fingers. "It's very tempting to brand some men that way.
But then, I was never meant to be a general. I'd like to think I'm a fair
manager. Harsh, but fair. Harsh measures are necessary sometimes to keep
the world from robbing you."

Howel kept silent in all this, continuing to drink his cider with one eye
on Gwayn, and another on the tavern. Gallus stared at Howel, trying to
catch his eye and coax him into responding. From his fixed expression,
Gallus couldn't tell whether Howel was disinterested in Gwayn's self-pity,
or disgusted by it.

Gallus finally summoned his courage. "You're still thinking about what the
oni said to you?"

Gwayn's fire was rekindled. "Who does he think he is, calling me greedy? I
have asked for no more than what was right. I have paid you all fairly and
reasonably. There are plenty of merchants in this world who deserve to be
cut down a peg, but not me." He looked up at Howel, hoping to find an
audience in his eyes. "Do you know that our world as we know it wouldn't
exist without money? How many wars have been avoided because it was
mutually beneficial to make a deal? And he acts like I am the disgraceful
one! How far would you have gotten, friend, if you weren't able to turn
your skill into gold, to make shelter and furniture and luxuries from your
furs?"

"I've lived a long time without resorting to barter or trade," Howel
admitted, "and even today, I dare not take any more luxury than I can
protect. I'm used to going where my quarry goes. That means travelling
light, and using only what I need." He scratched his beard. "In the
Giantdowns, there are many who think loyalty can be bought. And perhaps it
can be, if it comes with a title and inheritance." He scoffed. "Most men
are never that lucky. The only true path to loyalty is mutual dependence --
to need each other against a common threat."

Gwayn raised his glass. "Well said." He drank and pondered again, fury
placated. "Those two guards I had... Aldwin and Reed. Looking back, I can
see that they were only here for adventure. Not for the pay, not out of
loyalty. Perhaps that was my mistake in hiring them."

Something about Howel's speech sat uneasily with Gallus -- was loyalty
really so base? -- but he didn't argue, content that it had quelled Gwayn's
temper. "They've served us well up to this point. In the end, all men must
follow their destiny."

"Destiny is another word for dereliction." The ale must've gotten to Gwayn,
as it was unnecessarily curt. Sensing this, Gwayn sighed. "It's the
uncertainty that's most frustrating."

"Have you ever learned to use a knife, sir?" Howel spoke up suddenly.

"Me?" Gwayn was aback. "Not a knife. All of my fighting was done as a boy
shaking a stick."

"It is a useful skill that everyone should know on the road. Especially
when you are low in numbers. I could teach some moves before we retire. It
will also clear your head, and be good for the soul."

Gwayn shrank back in alarm. "A merchant has no place tumbling in the fray!"

"Then you can fight for your wares. If some bandit were to sneak past your
guards for your money or your life, you should have the chance to fight and
keep both."

"I'm sure it'll take at least weeks of training to fight a real threat,"
Gallus said, "but I agree. It wouldn't hurt to learn the basics. And he
does know his way around one-on-one combat." He finished his whiskey. "I
should go check on Jerrod, make sure he's not causing trouble in our room.
By your leave."

Gwayn waved him off, and turned back to look at Howel. "A bit of practice,
then we'll go ask around for some guards. But first let me put on something
cheap."
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