82
The hold of the riverboat is full of horses: not the slow carthorses favoured by merchants but strong and sturdy mounts that carry many scars of battle upon their muscular flanks. You unsaddle your mare, load her manger with feed, and then make your way back on deck.
As you emerge from the hold, a voice calls out to you and you raise your weary eyes. It is the captain—the mercenary leader you ran across at the Inn of the Crossed Swords.
‘Well met, my friend,’ he cries and slaps you enthusiastically on the shoulder. ‘So you changed your mind! You have come to join my band of fearless fighters.’ Before you have a chance to answer, the captain and his men, who are all considerably the worse for drink, stumble past on a quest of the utmost importance—the search for the wine store. You are far too tired and weary to follow—the thought of your cabin bed and a good night’s sleep is all that interests you.
