Gryphons in Greenden
"We'd like to look over what you have here," you tell the smith with a nod toward the wall of merchandise. Erric has already gone a long way in finding all the knives on the wall.
"How much are these?" Erric asks, pinching three slim throwing knives, fancifully made in the form of small silver fishes. They are beautiful pieces and you think mentally of the purse that the King has given you. It won't support extravagances like this, especially if it takes more time than anticipated to find the Princess.
The smith looks from Erric to you to the knives and back again, face impassive. "Twenty silvers apiece," he tells Erric finally. You brace yourself.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Erric explodes, advancing on the smith with the knives still in his hand. "Twenty for the whole lot, maybe."
The smith is unmoved. "You can afford a mighty fine sword and belt, boy. Don't quibble silvers with me. Times are hard."
"No war, is that it, you money-grubbing son of a bitch?" Erric asks, cursing as he cuts his finger on one of the knife-edges.
"Twenty silvers apiece."
"You're out of your fucking mind," Erric growls. He turns and throws each of the three knives across the smithy. They thud, one after the other, into a vertical line on a wooden post twenty yards away. "You can have your toys. Mychael, let's go."
The smith looks from the line of silver knives back to you. "You had better go with your friend," he says to you, face impassive again. A sudden fear catches in your throat that the smith may have made you for knights, with the finery of Erric's swordbelt.
You chase Erric out onto the street, where he is pacing back and forth by your horses in high dudgeon. "Gods, you're like a child pouting over sweets, Erric. Pull yourself together."
He pays no attention to you, fuming toward the smithy. "Just because I have the money doesn't mean people can cheat me of it. Fucking smith. Fuck him."
You begin to see the crux of Erric's anger now. "He didn't know who you are, Erric."
Erric's anger is cooling to embers now and he turns his angry dark eyes back toward you. "No, he didn't. But it would have made damn-all difference if he did know I was Sir Erric, baronet of Midland. Sometimes you have it easy, you know."
You're not going to renew the old argument. "Let's not do this now, Erric. Not here and not now. We're no closer to finding anything and we don't even know where to begin looking."
Erric growls. "Well. We can start by getting out of this damned place."
"How much are these?" Erric asks, pinching three slim throwing knives, fancifully made in the form of small silver fishes. They are beautiful pieces and you think mentally of the purse that the King has given you. It won't support extravagances like this, especially if it takes more time than anticipated to find the Princess.
The smith looks from Erric to you to the knives and back again, face impassive. "Twenty silvers apiece," he tells Erric finally. You brace yourself.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Erric explodes, advancing on the smith with the knives still in his hand. "Twenty for the whole lot, maybe."
The smith is unmoved. "You can afford a mighty fine sword and belt, boy. Don't quibble silvers with me. Times are hard."
"No war, is that it, you money-grubbing son of a bitch?" Erric asks, cursing as he cuts his finger on one of the knife-edges.
"Twenty silvers apiece."
"You're out of your fucking mind," Erric growls. He turns and throws each of the three knives across the smithy. They thud, one after the other, into a vertical line on a wooden post twenty yards away. "You can have your toys. Mychael, let's go."
The smith looks from the line of silver knives back to you. "You had better go with your friend," he says to you, face impassive again. A sudden fear catches in your throat that the smith may have made you for knights, with the finery of Erric's swordbelt.
You chase Erric out onto the street, where he is pacing back and forth by your horses in high dudgeon. "Gods, you're like a child pouting over sweets, Erric. Pull yourself together."
He pays no attention to you, fuming toward the smithy. "Just because I have the money doesn't mean people can cheat me of it. Fucking smith. Fuck him."
You begin to see the crux of Erric's anger now. "He didn't know who you are, Erric."
Erric's anger is cooling to embers now and he turns his angry dark eyes back toward you. "No, he didn't. But it would have made damn-all difference if he did know I was Sir Erric, baronet of Midland. Sometimes you have it easy, you know."
You're not going to renew the old argument. "Let's not do this now, Erric. Not here and not now. We're no closer to finding anything and we don't even know where to begin looking."
Erric growls. "Well. We can start by getting out of this damned place."