The Last Garrison (Dungeons & Dragons Novel) by Matthew Beard Page A

mercenaries that moved among them.
It’s a wilderness here too
, he thought,
just a different kind
. As on the mountain, there were tracks and signs, and if he stayed in the city long enough, he might learn them just as well as he had learned the habits of the mountain’s fauna and fish and fowl.

    All that would have to come later. First, they needed a place to sleep, and also to gather those they hired, as well as to board their nag and cart without fear of theft. That was no easy task, but Padlur knew he would succeed, as he succeeded at much else. He was less cocky than confident, but he rarely failed to accomplish something he was asked to, and if he did it was only after wearing himself out in his efforts. He did not consider himself a leader, as Kohel saw himself, and so their relationship mimicked that of their fathers in many ways. Kohel led, and Padlur followed, and more often than not it was beneficial to both of them.
    And anyway, they were friends, and always had been, even if there were some issues unresolved between them. The kenku attack in the clearing had strained their relationship, but already that strain had been there, for Padlur recognized in his friend a growing arrogance, a feeling of entitlement that had not existed there before, that existed in his father too but was tempered in the chief by some sorrow, perhaps the loss of his many brothers.
    Padlur did not know how to help his friend become a good chief, or if he would even be given the chance. Kohel’s father had not elevated Padlur’s own when given the chance, and they too had once been closer friends.
    Perhaps their time of trouble would provide Padlur the chance to show Kohel that there were honorable paths to greatness. The lie they had told about the first fight with kenku had not sat well with Padlur, and while he would not betray his friend, he did hope to steer him toward better stewardship of that which he had been given to command.

    “Warriors? The city is full of mercenaries, of sellswords, and arcane tricksters looking for a meal or a drink. But most should not be trusted, young ones. Offer them gold for a job and they know you have it. And when they know you have it, many know it is easier to simply take it from you than to fulfill an obligation for payment.” They had found a common house with beds and a stable. Murthee, the roan nag, was watered and fed and put away. The cart was left outside the stable—“As safe as anything else is around here,” they were assured—and their gear was locked in a room off the common house’s foyer. They spoke to the man who rented them their accommodations. “Many of the people staying with us were once guardsmen in towns that have fallen to the scourge of bandits or the invasions of the goblin races. But I can tell you, I would not suggest you speak to any of them here. A sorry bunch have found themselves tomy establishment. I rent to them, and I make sure payment is always made up front.
    “Go to the south end, though. Mercenaries gather at the gaming grounds and will there test their skills against one another for money and the adulation of the crowd. The gamblers pit them against each other in non-lethal combat, pit fights and brawls. You will find the battle-hardened, the naturally gifted, and the just plain cocky there pitting club or fist against one another.”
    “You can guarantee our things are safe here, of course,” said Kohel.
    “Of course, lad,” said the counterman.
    “See that they are,” replied Kohel. “My father is the Honored One of Haven, the chief. He would be displeased if we were not made to feel comfortable and secure here in your establishment.”
    The counterman cocked his head at Kohel and seemed on the verge of asking where precisely Haven was, Nergei thought. But instead he smiled broadly and held out his hand, palm up. “You have my word, young one. You—and your honored father—can count on me.”
    “Yes,” said Kohel, looking down at the