"Why am I doing this again?" Bree winced as Tarshall wrapped her hand in linen bandages soaked in alcohol.
"Because you were told to calm down and rest your hand. You did not." Tarshall lectured, pinning the bandage in place and letting Bree's hand rest against the wooden table.
The original plan was for the trio to make their way to the guild to meet with Bianca and discuss their next move. Yet a quick glance at Bree's bleeding fingers left Lambur no choice. She would get her wounds treated a second time. As for Jardur, he was more than happy to watch his guild master suffer a little more for her rash behavior.
Tarshall's clinic wasn't far from the guild hall. Even from the street, across from the moneylender's office, the scent of lavender wafted through the air. Inside the cozy apothecary, various medical supplies lined the walls. Potions for healing, alcohol for wounds, bandages and syringes for whatever was needed could be found. And Tarshall's collection of flowering plants was a sight to behold.
Lavender, most of all. Tarshall adored the scent, sight, and the very presence of lavender. It was considered an odd thing for orcs to love flowers, but then again people knew very few orcs in Autumn's Gate.
"Tsk." Bree hissed, cradling her injured hand.
"How did the hearing go? I've had more than one troubled individual fearing the results, but no one has given any details." Tarshall asked.
Due to Ysolda's desire to appear neutral, none of Gaoling's Blade were actually allowed to attend. At least, none who were present at the manor where the incident took place. It was annoying, but Bree had respected the High Queen's decision.
"Well..."
"So, you finally showed up." A gruff voice came from the back entrance to the clinic. A man walked into view, brown hair cropped short and a short beard adorning a chiseled face. He wore a smock over a pair of brown breeches and tan shirt, boots stomping the floor as he approached.
Jardur grinned. "Volkaire. How was Summer's Gleam? See anything interesting?"
Volkaire, however, barely paid Jardur any mind. "It wasn't exactly enjoyable, once I learned my husband was nearly killed by Elves."
Bree winced, a surge of guilt running through her.
"I can imagine. It's usually a three day journey by horseback. You must have been riding as if a demon were chasing-"
"Pardon me, Jardur, but I'm in no mood." Volkaire stood between Tarshall and Bree, his hands on his hips. "Tarshall, you must rest. After what this woman put you through-"
"Volkaire, I'm fine," Tarshall reassured him. "Truly. Bree would not force me into a position that I could not walk away from."
Volkaire sighed, taking one of Tarshall's hands into his own. He smiled at him, the orc rising from his seat and pressing his forehead against his husband's.
"I know."
"To answer your question, Tarshall," Lambur chimed in. "A consensus was reached between all parties. We have one year to find Prince Nazair al'Citadel, and avoid an all-out confrontation with Forswaron."
"And the situation with Elvehn?" Volkaire turned to the orc scholar, a look of curiosity in his eye. Now he was interested, and more calm.
Lambur nodded with confidence. "A surprise witness came into play. We're no longer looking at a war with Elvehn."
"Phew," Volkaire sighed, then sat down in a chair against the wall. "Music to my ears."
They sat in silence for a few moments. Bree nursing her newly wrapped hand. Lambur reading in the corner. Jardur standing beside the door and waiting for them to return to the guild. Peace reigned, until Volkaire asked a question that shattered that peace. "So, how did they execute the Mongrel?"
One could hear a pin drop. Not a single member of the guild could speak. It wasn't a secret that Volakire was among the many who despised Bianca. Likely she had taken a job in the past that had inconvenienced him in some way.
How many enemies does this girl have? Jardur sighed, trying to find the words.
"Volkaire-"
"Hanging? Beheading? Not that it matters as long as you killed her, right?"
Silence reigned.
"You... Did kill her, right?"
"My love, listen-" Tarshall attempted to console his husband, only for the man to pull away.
"Right?!"
"Bianca is to assist in the recovery of Prince Nazair by order of High Queen Ysolda." Lambur explained. "Also-"
"No!" Volkaire slammed his hands on the table. "She cannot!"
Jardur rolled his eyes. "Here we go..."
"What is Ysolda thinking, letting her go free? And you!" Volkaire pointed a finger at Bree. "You're supposed to be working to keep the peace! After what she has done, she cannot be allowed to live!"
"This girl is starting to become a bit of a problem. What's the likelihood we can get Ysolda to rescind the sentence?" Jardur asked.
Everyone was on edge. All except Jardur, who found himself with more questions about the mysterious Bianca. The Mongrel. The Dog Who Defied Death. What was it about her, and why did so many people want her dead? Besides the obvious political problems, she was barely a step above the common mercenary.
"If it helps," Jardur raised a hand. "I do get to kill her in a year if she can't finish the job. Not sure if that gives you any comfort, but-"
"It does not!" Volkaire kicked over the table and started for Jardur. He held a hammer in hand, ready to strike out of anger. Jardur, however, didn't give him the chance.
He grabbed the man by the arm and threw him over his shoulder. With a pained grunt, his back slammed against the wooden floor. Ice flowed from Jardur's hand, encasing Volkaire's arm and shoulder. Then, half of his face. Only a pair of panicked eyes, darting back and forth, could move after the icy assassin was finished.
"Volkaire," Jardur hissed. "You know the only reason you're still alive is because you're married to one of my colleagues. You know that, right?" The assassin growled. Volkaire's eyes darted towards his husband, and then back to Jardur.
"Threaten me one more time, and there won't be enough of you to bury."