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“Are they slow as well as deaf, d’ye think?” Georgie faux-whispered, and this time it was Ludov who snorted into his mug.

“All right, that’s enough from the two of ye,” barked Thraigg, ambling up to Cedric’s side. “Out!”

Ludov and Georgie howled with laughter as they shoved their way out of the booth.

Thraigg took their place next to Kingsley with a heavy sigh. “Sorry ’bout them, Rev. I’ll keep ’em in line. And I promise ye, on the battlefield, ye won’t find finer folk to have at yer back. Or yer front. Or yer side, really.”

Kit’s mouth had been hanging open throughout the entirety of the conversation, since Kingsley first explained the reason that the dwarves—dwarven mercenaries, in fact—had come.

A thought occurred. “How did you get here so quickly?” Kit asked. “And how did you know to meet us here rather than in Kinsgaith?” She thought briefly about the geography of the human side of Arcanis. “You would have had to pass by the village in order to come here from Stonehold, wouldn’t you?”

“Aye, well, that’s an easy one to answer,” said Kingsley. “We weren’t in Stonehold, now, were we? The boys and I were just on our way home from another job down south when we got the notice.”

“The notice from Master Tartanis,” Elyria said disbelievingly.

“As I’ve said. He told us to meet ye lot here, so that’s just what we did.” Kingsley turned to Thraigg. “Feels like we could’ve avoided a lot of these damned questions if ye’d just told them, brother.”

“Hey, now, that would mean I had something to tell,” Thraigg protested quickly. He held his hands up placatingly to Elyria. “I swear, lass, it isn’t like yer father told me ’bout his grand plans. He just asked a few questions about the boys, that’s all. Clearly the man put together all the rest on his own.”

“Your father works fast, Ellie,” Kit said, slumping back in her seat.

“Evidently,” Elyria replied, though something that very nearly looked like wonder flashed across her face as she did. Kit imagined she would feel much the same in her position. She hoped she’d have the opportunity to—hoped that maybe, just maybe, her family might still pull through in the end.

Even if they didn’t, though, at least things looked remarkably brighter now than they had even a few hours prior.

They had King Callum’s soldiers.

They had their own forces, now bolstered by these dwarves, who—as messy and raucous as they might seem—would be foolish to underestimate. The marks carved into the armor they wore and the fierce-looking hammers they’d left piled by the door made as much clear.

It felt more and more clear to Kit that they stood a real chance of victory in Kinsgaith tomorrow, and that was a bolstering thought.

“There’s more, my lady,” Kingsley said, bowing his head.

Elyria sat up. “More?”

“That other job I mentioned? The one we were comin’ from? It weren’t a battle mission like this. It was a reclamation job.”

“A what?”

“Old fort farther south,” he said. “Abandoned years back. Armories were still intact, though, and full of decent weaponry just waitin’ for new homes. So we dwarves got to do what we do best—piled our wagons high and were on our way back when the message found us. We split our party, sent a few folks up to Hammerfell with the majority of our spoils. But Tartanis paid us extra to bring the best pieces right to you.”

“You have armor for us? Weapons?” Cedric asked, and Kit could nearly see the stars in his eyes.

Boys and their toys.

“Aye.” Kingsley tapped his fist against the table. “Won’t make ye invincible by any means. But it might help keep some of ye breathin’, should the fighting get dirty.”

Kit flicked her gaze to Elyria’s face, and she had to stifle another laugh at the look she found there.

“Show us what you’ve got,” said Elyria, a fervor in her voice that rivaled Cedric’s. Not just boys who loved playing with new toys, then.

Kingsley’s attention snapped to her, and something like respect flickered in his eyes. “Aye. Gladly.”

The setup of the wagon parked just outside the tavern was impressive. As was, apparently, the dwarves’ confidence that nobody would come by looking to pilfer their wares. Or perhaps it was simply confidence that whoever would dare commit such a crime would not get far before paying for it. In the flickering torchlight outside, the battle scars carved into the dwarves’ armor—and into their skin, Kit realized—looked somehow much more severe. They might drink a good game, but there was no doubt that these were warriors.

The clink and clang of metal being sorted rang through the cold night air as Georgie hopped up onto the wagon and started dragging pieces out to show the rest of the group.

There was . . . a lot.