Red Heir - Lisa Henry Page 0,30
despite the odds, they’d survived the Swamp of Death.
In Loth’s opinion, there was no more glorious sound than hooves on a hard-packed road, a tangible sign that they’d really left the swamp behind. He breathed deep, tugging absently at his scarf so he could feel the fresh air on his face and accidentally waking Pie, who grumbled and hissed at him before going back to sleep.
Somehow the dragon’s home was in his scarf now. Pie invariably crept into what Grub called his thievery pockets to nap and when he tried to shoo him back to Dave, Pie turned sad green eyes on him and chirruped pitifully until he gave in and let him stay. Loth could swear he was being played by the dragon, but he didn’t mind much.
They’d passed a few cottages on the side of the road, and Loth knew Torlere must be close. Sure enough, another twenty minutes’ ride had them passing the outskirts of the town. It wasn’t much to look at, just a few streets of houses clustered around a bedraggled little green, but after spending the last few days in the Swamp of Death it rivalled the height of civilisation in Loth’s opinion. And the best part was there was an inn.
“Scott,” Loth called, “has your benefactor made provision for us to stay anywhere on this road?”
He knew damned well that he hadn’t, and he wasn’t overly concerned about it—he had ways to ensure they didn’t starve. He just wanted to make Scott squirm. He may have still been nursing a small grudge over Scott offering him to the swamp monster so readily.
Scott scowled and opened his mouth, but it was Calarian who spoke. “I have money.”
Loth and Grub both turned to look at him. “Since when?” Loth demanded.
Calarian grinned broadly—he was still in the sort of good mood that follows exceptional sex, and had been since he and Benji disappeared into the bushes one last time, forcing the rest of them to wait uncomfortably while they listened to Cal’s cries of “Fuck me, Daddy!”
(“I thought they were cousins?” Dave had asked. Loth hadn’t bothered to explain.)
“I have money,” Cal repeated. “Benji thought we might need cash. He has all the money he’s taken off his victims, and he says there’s only so much you can spend when you live in a swamp.” He reached into his saddlebag and drew out a bulging purse with a smirk.
“Are you gonna throw it in a bog an’ spit on it?” Dave asked, eyes wide.
“No, I’m going to hire us rooms at the Torlere Inn and buy us a hot meal that doesn’t have turnips in it,” Calarian said.
“And a hot bath?” Loth asked.
“And a hot bath. Just for tonight though, to get rid of the bog stench. And we might have to share rooms if we want the money to last for the trip to Callier.”
“Bags not Scott,” Grub said immediately, and Loth was torn between admiration for his quick thinking and annoyance that he hadn’t thought of it first.
“Same,” he promptly echoed, taking petty delight in the way Scott's face fell as everyone else followed suit, leaving only Dave for a bedmate.
“S’okay, I’ll try not to roll on you,” Dave assured him. “Maybe you can listen to the new verse of the ballad! Help me find a rhyme for wet fart.”
Loth snorted quietly and felt Grub shake with silent laughter. He much preferred this version of Grub to the scowling beast he’d been at first. It really was amazing what fresh air, adequate food, and not being locked in a dungeon did for some people’s constitutions. He propped his chin on Grub’s shoulder and peered into the fading daylight, looking for the inevitable inn that every town had. Scott had stopped in the middle of the road, looking distinctly lost, but Grub twitched his reins and rode past him confidently. “This way. We don’t want the inn on the main road, we want the other one, trust me.”
Calarian exchanged a look with Loth, who shrugged. This was one part of the kingdom he’d never been kicked out of—that was to say, had never been to in the first place, because the two normally went hand in hand. Calarian made a clicking noise and his horse turned after them. Dave and Ada, riding abreast, followed him, and finally, muttering under his breath about how it wasn’t right, came Scott.
Grub rode past the inn and along the road, then turned sharply right and followed an alleyway to