Page 31 of The Scouts

To Ervyn’s vocal relief, the food hall happened to be the coolest place in the bastion. Thick, stone walls and floors did a grand job of keeping the heat out of the airy, well-lit space, finished with a domed ceiling. Despite several hundred soldiers having their evening meal at oak tables arranged in neat, long rows throughout the room, the interior didn’t seem cramped or overfull.

Ervyn’s cousin and Hernan joined us, starved and tired, after their shifts had ended. Once they sat across from us, we all dug in.

It would’ve taken a finicky eater to complain about the food. As for myself, I had no problem polishing off a generous helping of crisp-skinned, orange-glazed goose roasted with rosemary potatoes and beetroot.

With respect to geese, Ervyn teased Verhan with some crack that made the latter red in the face and fuming. The remark must’ve been hilarious, but sadly its meaning went above my head. Since Hernan didn’t appear to have caught on either, I put it down to the joke’s private nature rather than my lacking command of the Mountain Dialect.

The tongues only untied when the meal—and two puddings in Ervyn’s case—became a memory. Verhan produced an enormous jug of pashija cider from somewhere and poured everyone a cup.

The two archers opposite us could only have been sitting closer to each other if one of them had decided to crawl into the other’s lap.

At some point, I realised Ervyn had sneaked his arm around my shoulders.

I arched my newly pierced eyebrow. Not because I minded—oddly I didn’t—but because I enjoyed the tiny sting of pain that came with the stretch of the skin that rubbed against the curved barbell hidden underneath.

With the food vanished, Verhan appeared to have regained his conversational skills. “That’s new,” he said in Common Elven, pointing an accusatory finger at my jewellery. “You didn’t have this trinket when I saw you at noon.”

Hernan’s green eyes widened. “Did it hurt loads?” he asked, his tone laced with interest.

I shook my head.

Verhan glanced at his partner. “What, would you like one of these, love?”

“Maybe.” Pink infused the redhead’s cheeks.

“Where did he have it done?” Verhan whipped his head towards Ervyn.

“Not precisely sure. North of the river somewhere? It’s a long, narrow street, jam-packed with posh shops.” Ervyn cast me an uncertain look.

The topography of the capital could prove challenging even for a local at times, not to mention someone unfamiliar with its layout. It hardly surprised me that Ervyn’s orientation and sense of direction—excellent as they were in forests and open terrain—played up a bit in that setting.

“Makkahbian Alley in Green Quarter,” I murmured to Hernan, one Asirhwÿnian to another.

He nodded his immediate understanding.

“Oh, I think I know the õkimahi’s place there. Isn’t it two doors from the tavern where we had a meal one time?” Verhan pressed a finger to his chin. “They have the best Mountain moonshine in town. And nice rooms upstairs. A tenner an hour.”

Ervyn smirked and squinted at his cousin. “And you know such a thing why, exactly?”

“It’s actually a hilarious story.” Verhan chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “So on our last gehÿn, Hernan and I got to drinking in there and—”

We never found out how the tale in question went because Hernan descended into a sputtering, coughing fit mid-drink, his face cerise. When Verhan attempted to rush to his aid by banging him on the back, he received a death glare and, possibly, a kick under the table.

Ervyn shook his head and took a long drink, wiping at his forehead. “So tell me, lads. Does this damn heat ever cease? It’s like breathing in fire. I don’t know how you can handle it, Verhan.”

“With great difficulty.” Verhan laughed and shrugged. “You would’ve thought I should get used to it by now. But fuck, no. My advice? Try not to think about it too much. And drink plenty of water with a touch of salt during the day.”

Hernan’s face took on a sympathetic expression. “We get a few cooler days in the year.”

“Yeah,” Verhan confirmed. “And I spent all five of them crying from happiness.”

Hernan rolled his eyes in a fond way that made me suspect the statement wasn’t a complete exaggeration.

A group of Dark Elves came over to our table to bump shoulders with Ervyn and chat awhile. For all the shouting and shoving to the chests, the fast-paced chattering that followed resembled the beginning of a brawl. But the snatches of their conversation I caught proved that it was, in fact, a friendly exchange between clansmen who had known each other since childhood.

Hernan chuckled, unobtrusively observing the interaction.

Surprising myself, I cleared my throat and asked him, “You’re fluent now?”