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It took Cedric a moment to remember the tavern door being thrown open. To realize that amidst the arrival of their shadowy familiars, someone else had entered the Walking Goat. Multiple someones, it would appear, from the sudden burst of boisterous noise coming from near the entrance. An entrance that was thoroughly blocked by the four, five, no, six heavily armored dwarves now clamoring for attention at the bar.

Thraigg’s booming laugh rang above the din. “Rev! Ric! Kit!” he bellowed. “C’mere, I’ve some folks for ye to meet.”

45

ONE LAST TOAST

KIT

“Oi, who’s it yer tryin’ to pawn us off on, little brother?” One of the newly arrived dwarves hooked an arm around Thraigg’s neck, pulling him into a choke hold.

“The best people ye’ll ever meet, ye ugly bastard,” Thraigg stammered out, his face turning red.

Kit leapt from the booth and dashed over to the bar, ready to throw Thraigg’s sudden assailant on his dwarven ass. But before she could reach him, the dwarf released Thraigg with a guffaw.

“We may be ugly, and we may be bastards,” said another one of the dwarves, hoisting his mug high in the air, “but ye’d still trust us with yer life, I reckon.”

“Aye, I would at that,” Thraigg said, straightening. He clapped the first dwarf on the shoulder, then reached over and stole the second dwarf’s drink right out of his hand. “Nothing to it but to do it,” he said in toast, then slammed the mug to his bearded mouth and drained it dry.

“Well, then,” Kit said slowly, peering back at Elyria, Cedric, and Jocelyn, who hadn’t moved from the booth. They gave her a shrug, then went right back to their own drinks. “Care to introduce your, er, friends?”

Thraigg used the mug in his hand to gesture to each of the dwarves in turn. “Kingsley, Scarper, Onyx, Ludov, Pious, and Georgie. Stonehold’s finest.” He set the cup down on the bar top with a thud before addressing his brethren. “Meet the Lady Ravenswing, ye mad lot.”

Kit grinned. “Ah, but of course.” She turned to the dwarves, their intricately woven beards already wet with ale. “You’ll forgive me if it takes a bit to get you all straight.”

They laughed, almost in unison.

“We’d never expect ye to, my lady,” said the first dwarf, the copper rings in his black beard jangling as he bent into a low bow that had the rest of his compatriots snickering.

“Kingsley, is it?” she asked, the edges of her mouth tipping up at the corners. “I must admit, after the greeting you gave Thraigg, I didn’t expect such manners.”

“When manners are called for, manners are served, my lady. Kingsley Ironfist, at yer service.”

Kit’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Ironfist? So the two of you really are brothers, then?”

Thraigg laughed. “Not necessarily by blood, but yes—in the sense that all of Clan Ironfist are brothers.”

The other dwarves still standing at the bar had received their drinks now, including the one with a glorious red beard, who’d had his first mug stolen—Georgie, if Kit recalled correctly. Clanging rang throughout the tavern as they slapped their mugs together and began chanting, “Ironfist! Ironfist! Ironfist!”

“C’mon, then, brother,” Thraigg said, throwing an arm over Kingsley’s shoulder. “Let me introduce ye to a real king.”

“Sorry, repeat that just one more time for me?” Elyria was leaning so far over the table, Kit thought it might have tipped right over if not for the three dwarves packed in, hip to hip to hip, on the other side of the booth.

“I thought fae hearing was s’posed to be better than most,” Ludov whispered to Georgie, who snickered into his mug.

“It isn’t for lack of hearing that we’re having trouble understanding,” said Cedric from where he stood at the head of the table. Kit was typically loath to compliment men of all people, but she had to admit that the knightling had continued growing on her. He’d been quick to vacate his seat to make room for Kit when the dwarves wandered over. And with Jocelyn opting to go see how Shep and the others were faring, Elyria and Kit found themselves sitting across from three of their new dwarven companions.

“Companions” was an apt choice of words, as it turned out, because it was certainly no coincidence that they were here.

“What more’s there to say?” Georgie shrugged. The motion jostled Ludov’s arm, making him spill ale down his front, and Ludov slapped the back of Georgie’s head.

“Knock it off, ye loons,” said Kingsley with a roll of his eyes—bright blue, just like Thraigg’s. “We hear of a job, we show up for it. And this one paid better than most, I’ll tell ye what.”

Elyria blew a lock of hair out of her eyes with a huff. “Yes, but the one who hired you⁠—”

“Yer Master Tartanis.”

“He’s not my—” Elyria shook her head. “Not the point. You’re telling me that Tartanis hired you to come here, to fight with us?”