Chapter 99: Bad Blood
As the two of them approached the gate, Simon’s stomach grumbled in protest at how little he’d eaten. He didn’t even try to ignore it. He just hoped that the Willens were still running their inn in Crowvar.
They’d been wonderful hosts before he and Freya had moved into their cottage that the Raithewait family had finally given them, and with every other good thing from the life he’d lived here gone, he was certain that their braised boar would taste like home even if nothing else did.
He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, though, because as soon as he entered the city, he was disappointed on a variety of levels. Not only was Crowvar in rougher shape than he remembered, but it was overrun with refugees from the countryside. Not only had his preferred place to stay been burned down years ago during an orc attack, apparently, but even if it had still been there, food would have been hard to come by.
Simon asked around about the rumors and looked at what the small market had on offer, but eventually, he decided there was only one place in this cursed town where he was likely to get a good meal, and that was at the Baron’s table. So he went right up to the guard post at the inner keep and said, “I’m here to see Lord Raithewait. I want to fix his little centaur problem.”
That at least was enough to get the guard’s attention, and after a few discussions, he and Murphy were granted entrance and sent to a small room to await an audience with the Lord. Simon found it more than a little ironic that the man who had been trying to rip his throat out only a couple of days ago was now following him everywhere he went like a meek little puppy.
From werewolf to puppy; it was enough to make him laugh out loud, but when his puppy looked at him strangely, he didn’t repeat the joke. Instead, he was grateful that he had something to distract him from thinking about Varten and how he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to keep from gutting the man like a pig once he saw him.
Even after all this time, Simon wanted nothing more than the man’s death, but for the moment at least, he couldn’t have it. The fact that he had to help these people was the worst irony imaginable. Just thinking the man’s name was enough to raise Simon’s blood pressure.
When the two of them were finally fetched to the audience hall, Simon made introductions for both of them, trying hard to keep the hate from his eyes as he raised his head and was introduced to the man who had killed his wife. The fact that Varten Raithewait had been disfigured by the orcish attack and still bore the burns of the day in a twist of cosmic irony did nothing to help improve Simon’s mood.
On the table between them, Simon could see many fine foods, including the roast boar that he’d been hungering for earlier. He could also see a familiar map with a number of wooden pieces on it arrayed across the region. It was the same one that Varten’s father had used in so many briefings.