Realm of Dragons

“Another round on me!” Renard called out, and the cheer he got from the other patrons of the Broken Scale was bigger than anything he would have gotten playing the lute. Probably he should have felt worse about that, but how could he feel bad about anything right then?

“You’ll have no coin left at this rate,” Yselle pointed out to him, as he reached the bar. Renard leaned on it, and if that happened to give him a better view of her, well, he was only human.

“Ah, you know I can never hold onto anything,” Renard said. “Coin, women…”

Yselle smacked him playfully on the arm. It felt as though it would leave a bruise.

“I’d better be the only one you’re holding onto,” she said. She started to pour drinks.

Renard didn’t say anything. He thought it probably counted as diplomatic.

“How much do you have left?” Yselle asked, in the tone of someone concerned that he might not be able to afford the round he’d just ordered.

“Aha, I knew you only wanted me for my money,” Renard joked. It earned him a matching bruise on his other arm. “How has this turned into the dangerous part of this undertaking?”

“How much?” Yselle asked. “Please tell me you haven’t spent it all already. You’re not getting any younger, you know. You can’t just keep putting yourself in danger and hoping it will turn out right. You need to settle down, put something away.”

“Maybe invest in an inn?” Renard suggested. “Maybe settle down with a good woman?”

Yselle laughed at that. “And how would you know the difference?”

Renard definitely knew the difference. He knew how good Yselle was to him, and maybe… but then, thoughts like that were almost as dangerous as a dozen guards; certainly capable of trapping him quicker.

“There’s some money left,” Renard said. “Obviously, I had to pay off the guard who helped me, and the sailor. Then quite a bit of it…” He hesitated.

“You gave it away, didn’t you?” Yselle demanded, in that stern tone she seemed to do so well.

“Well…” Renard began, but the lie he was coming up with wilted under the weight of her stare. “Some of it. A bit. Okay, most of it.”

On that note, he could see a group of poor peasant farmers in one corner of the Broken Scale’s taproom. Renard wandered over to them, taking a small pouch of the coins he’d liberated from Lord Carrick and placing it on the table.

“What’s this?” one of them asked, giving him a suspicious look. He was a broad-faced man of about forty, who had obviously worked for far too long in the sun because it had left him as weather-beaten as old stone.

“I hear times have been hard this year,” Renard said. “Taxes, a poor harvest… hard times all round.”

“And you’re giving us money?” the farmer said.

“Lord Carrick is giving you money,” Renard said with a smile. “He just doesn’t know it. There should be enough there to pay your next round of taxes, at least.”

Another of the men stood up, embracing Renard in a bear hug that stank of sheep.

“Thank you,” he said. “My family will eat this winter. Who can I say helped them?”

A humble man would have backed away, pretending that it was nothing. But then, Renard had never pretended to be a humble man. He stepped back and gave the elegant performer’s bow he’d perfected for the rare moments when he got applause.

“Renard, at your service.”

They did applaud him then. He straightened up with a smile, caught his balance before his drunken feet could trip over themselves, and strode back to the bar. Well, more staggered than strode, but what could you do?

Yselle grabbed him as he got close enough and kissed him. “You,” she declared as she pushed another tankard toward him, “are an idiot. A beautiful, wonderful idiot. What kind of man robs the local lord and then gives it away?”

“Well,” Renard said. “If I kept the gold, I’d only drink it anyway.”

He downed the beer in one, and could see Yselle’s eyes still on him. This was shaping up to be a good evening.

***

There were no words to describe how much Renard’s head hurt when he woke. Even opening his eyes hurt. Frankly, he felt as though having his head split open with an axe would be a blessed relief.

As if in some sick answer to that prayer, Renard’s eyes started to focus, letting him see the swords just inches from his throat.

“Up,” a voice barked, “nice and slow.”

“If you think I’m moving anywhere quickly,” Renard muttered, “you’ve never been properly hungover before.”

Looking round, he saw that he was in his room in the inn, not Yselle’s, which was probably a blessing. He didn’t want her dragged into the middle of this. He didn’t want him dragged into the middle of this, but that part didn’t seem to be optional.

Instead of her, there were about a dozen of Lord Carrick’s… well, finest was probably too strong a word, but they were big, and they were tough.

“What’s all this about, lads?” Renard said, trying for charm. It was amazing what charm could get you into, or out of. “I’m sure all this is some big misunderstanding.”

“Oh, no misunderstanding,” one of the guardsmen said. He lifted up Renard’s coin purse, tipping out a wash of the stolen gold. “Just a mistake you shouldn’t have made.”

“Oh that,” Renard said. “There was this man giving out coin last night, and who’s going to say no to free coin? I mean, you wouldn’t, right?”

Renard could only put the clumsiness of his attempt to bribe them down to his aching head. It wasn’t improved when one of them hit him.

“If you do that again,” he said, “there’s a very good chance I’ll throw up on you.”

Right then, it was about the only threat he could muster. One, even two of them he could have fought clear of, but a dozen?

“You’re the one who was giving out coin,” one of the guards said. He beckoned and yet another guard came in, holding a familiar figure by the arm. Renard recognized the broad-faced farmer instantly.

“That’s him,” the man said, pointing. “That’s the one who gave us those strange-looking coins. Just remember I’m the one who told you. I’m loyal.”

Renard sighed. There was just no helping some people. Try to do a good thing for them, and they only found a way to turn it into trouble. Or maybe it was him; he’d always had a knack for finding trouble where there hadn’t been any before.

“Oh, him,” Renard said. “He’s just jealous because I beat him in a card game and won all these coins off him. If you ask me, he’s probably the one who stole them.”

“You announced your theft to the entire inn,” the peasant pointed out.

Ah, he’d done that, hadn’t he? Exactly how drunk had he been last night?

“We’ve all the evidence we need,” the guard said. “We have coins that could only have come from Lord Carrick’s supply, and a witness who says you were the one who gave him them. I’m sure that when we put them to the question, the others in the inn will say the same too.”

Put them to the question? For an instant, just an instant, Renard had an image of these men trying to force answers out of Yselle, maybe treating her like a co-conspirator. That thought was enough to send Renard surging forward, with all the force and fury of… well, that was the problem really. He was still too hungover to fight, and one of the guards simply stepped out of the way, hitting him behind the ear with the hilt of his sword. This time, he did throw up.

Strong hands grabbed him, pulling his arms behind his back and binding them.