Orro and the others watched with fascination as Cade walked over to the counter and waited while two burly dwarves were served. When the pair departed, Greta hesitated, her rigid back turned from his best friend. Orro noticed how the half-elf woman tilted her head, gritted her teeth, sighed, and then spoke with the young thief. Bunny leaned forward intently, his tail swaying side to side as he laid on the charm alongside his master.

  Cade leaned casually against the counter and flashed his most charming smile. Orro couldn’t hear a word of their conversation over the din of the tavern, but he watched Greta’s expression shift from suspicious and ready to murder someone, to wary. Cade continued to talk and gesticulate, and all of them around the table leaned in.

  The Grassblade assassin strained his senses, but a group of rowdy tourists barged in through the entrance, and he missed whatever Cade said next. He was about to yell at the newcomers, but a sharp burst of laughter drew his attention. The half-elf barkeep threw her head back, the sound ringing through the tavern like a sudden melody in the cacophony.

  “No fucking way,” Elena hissed and shook her head slowly in disbelief. “I pegged that woman as someone who wouldn’t smile even when her worst enemy was tossed into one of the hells in front of her.”

  “That’s such a dark thing to get excited about, El.” Jer’s tone was mocking, but Orro heard the subtle concern behind it.

  “I like the dark,” Gavin commented and leaned back as he stared at Elena with a smolder so genuine Orro wanted to vomit.

  Or punch him in the face. Maybe both.

  Elena and Rayka burst into giggles when they saw Gavin’s expression, and a blush snuck its way onto his stubbled cheeks.

  Cade chose that moment to return, a smile that stretched from ear to ear reaching across his freckled face. With him were mugs of ale for everyone.

  “Courtesy of Greta,” he said and handed out the drinks.

  Then he held out his hand, well-earned smugness written plainly across his clean-shaven face. Elena flipped him her gold as she drowned herself in her mug, and Orro slid his coins toward his best friend. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, but he couldn’t help it. His friend was amazing.

  Gavin ignored the girls and looked absolutely dumbfounded at Cade. “Stormhollow, what did you say to get her blessing?”

  Rayka raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just use your fancy telepathy skills to find out?”

  Gavin shook his head. “That’s not how it works. Without a focal stone to focus my powers on a person’s unique magical signature, all I get are occasional impressions. Besides, it’s rude to pry without permission.”

  “I’m sure that’s stopped you before,” Elena snorted and took another deep swig of the ale. She winced, most likely disgusted by the sour taste, but she didn’t complain.

  “I’ll have you know I’m the perfect gentleman!” Gavin yanked one of the unclaimed mugs over to his corner, spilling some of the foam across the already sticky table. Some of it got onto his new scarf, and he cursed in one of the elvish dialects.

  “Seriously, how did you do it? I’ve never seen Greta treat anyone like that, even her own children.” Gavin stared absently into his drink, and Orro saw a flash of something like guilt glint behind those bottomless eyes.

  Cade remained tight-lipped, his grin never faltering. “Trade secrets, my friend. But Greta gave us permission to interview anyone willing to join our team. Jer, Elena, Rayka, go find us some diamonds in the rough, emphasis on rough. Take Bunny with you, as he’s sure to charm the pants off anyone who’s uncertain about joining us. We have a quota to meet and a sunset to avoid. Orro, Gavin, let’s set up shop.”

  They arranged a makeshift recruitment table near the center of the tavern, a handwritten sign announcing their search for volunteers. The tavern’s noise ebbed and flowed around them, a constant backdrop of clinking mugs and boisterous laughter.

  Time seemed to blur as a parade of unsuitable candidates shuffled forward. Orro’s patience wore thin as he watched the spectacle unfold. The first volunteer—a hulking brute of a man—swayed on his feet, his breath reeking of stale beer.

  “I’m your guy,” he slurred, nearly toppling over.

  Orro watched as the drunk’s eyes shifted from crossed to uncrossed over and over again. He signaled with his free hand that they should move on.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Cade managed a polite smile. “Thank you for your interest. We’ll be in touch.”

  Next, a lost tourist with a bewildered expression stepped up. “Is this where the historical tour starts? I’ve been dying to see some catacombs!”

  “No, sorry. Try down the street, but be sure to wake up the straw-hatted gentleman you see before you start the tour,” Cade said, and Orro barely suppressed a laugh.

  Cade turned to him and shook his head in amazement. “You’d think more of those battle-hungry travelers we passed coming in would jump at the chance to join the Tournament.”

  “Courage is found not in the volume of one’s boasts, but in the quiet next step toward danger,” Orro replied.

  “Seriously, Or. Poetry. Write some. Gods know this shitty world needs some beauty returned to it.” Cade turned back to the table as a small child approached.

  The young girl was barely able to lift the oversized sword she dragged behind her, but her fierce look more than made up for it.

  “I’m a deadly warrior,” she declared boldly, but the sentiment was ruined by the sharp crack in her voice.

  Orro crossed his arms and stepped forward. “We have no doubt about that. But can you lift that sword of yours, little one?”

  “I’m not little!” She yelled, and her lip quivered dangerously.

  The child struggled, grunting with effort before her shoulders sagged in defeat. She turned to leave, but Orro raised a hand to stop her. He reached into his cloak and procured one of a dozen cylinders tucked neatly away. He strode over and knelt down.

  “Being little lets you slip past most people. It’s a strength. Wield it while you’ve got it. Also, use this instead.” He handed the girl the cylinder, and she hesitantly took it.

  She heaved and propped the greatsword against the table and wiped her eyes with the back of her dirtied sleeve. She opened the cylinder and a heavy metal object slid out.

  “This dagger is called a kunai,” he explained. “It comes from a village far, far, away. It has many uses. Learn them all, and you’ll be able to defend yourself against anyone in here in no time.”

  Orro stood and walked back to the desk. Before he got there, however, a small impact collided with his leg and hip. He peered down, ready to strike, when he saw the little girl let go of her hug and dash out of the Twisted Oak. His eyes darted from the retreating form and then back to Cade and Gavin.

  “Breathe a word of this, and I will castrate you both,” Orro promised.

  “Yes, Dad,” Cade answered.

  Orro growled and grabbed the greatsword, lifting it with ease. He placed it behind their desk and refused to make eye contact with either of his compatriots. He might’ve imagined it, but the sharded blade he possessed grew warmer for a short while after the girl disappeared.

  The next person to approach their table was a pretty woman with seaweed green hair and wore an apron with the Twisted Oak’s emblem over her simple dress. She said nothing, her eyes fixed on Gavin. She marched up to him, spat into his face, and slapped him hard across the face before turning on her heel and leaving. Gavin rubbed his cheek, looking both offended and bewildered.

  “Was that Lizzie?” Cade asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

  Gavin sighed. “I have no idea. Don’t tell Greta.”

  Orro leaned back, his patience fraying. The line continued, each volunteer more unsuitable than the last. There was a bard who tried to serenade them into taking him on, a pair of gnomes who seemed more interested in stealing their belongings than joining their team, and an eccentrically tattooed man from the Northern Hills who accidentally set his own robes on fire mid-introduction.

  Each rejection was met with varying degrees of disappointment and bemusement from Cade, who somehow managed to keep his composure throughout.

  Finally, as the line dwindled and the sky grew darker, Orro’s frustration intensified. His fingers drummed impatiently on the table, his mind a whirlwind of irritation and dark humor.

  “Is this what we’ve come to?” he muttered with a glare.

  The latest volunteer—a woman who claimed to be a master of disguise—kept morphing her image into random animals, much to the tavern’s amusement and annoyance.

  The illusion magic was so obvious that he wanted to scream.

  Cade was not so proud as to reject her assistance, but when he said they were competing in the Tournament of Life, she grew pale and fled the tavern.

  Orro was ready to go on a killing spree just to let off some steam.

  They had officially found the bottom of the barrel.

  Cade chuckled, though it was a bit forced. He patted Orro on the back.

  “Patience, my friend,” the thief said softly. “The right person will come along. Besides, look at the bright side—we got some free entertainment out of it.”

  Orro grunted, his eyes scanning the tavern one last time. He had to admit, as frustrating as the afternoon had been, it had also been a reminder of the unpredictable and often ridiculous nature of their lives. Despite the setbacks, though, there was always a glimmer of hope in Cade’s eyes, a fierce conviction that things would eventually fall into place.

  Orro loved him for that.

  The assassin stood and prepared to strongarm a few guards to their cause. They had failed here, and it was time to move on.

  And so it was only natural that right then a man smashed head first through the Twisted Oak’s door as a paladin screamed a warcry through the streets. Several dark forms sprinted down the street and up a nearby alley, weapons glinting as one of them carried a struggling woman over his shoulder.

  Cade turned to Gavin, an unreadable expression on his face. “Is there a side exit to this place?”

  Orro’s pulse began to race. Maybe he would get to blow off some steam after all.

  It was time to sheathe his kunai hilt-deep into the rotten underbelly of this city. Orro grinned beneath his mask.

  It was time to go kill some kidnappers.

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