A Promise of Iron Brandon McCoy (howl and other poems TXT) 📖

“You sure you do want to join them?” Crylwin asked. “You have your stars now; the men would welcome that to be sure. I could get Fedorick to loan you a horse to catch up.”

“No copper, no iron,” I explained.

He tapped on the hilt of his broadsword.

“Oh, you can’t be serious?”

He grinned. “I’m not.” He caressed the lord stone on the pommel. “Just seeing if you were desperate enough to take another man’s lady out to dinner.”

“I’m not desperate, just destitute.”

“What you got left?”

“Six and change.”

He grunted. “You might get a copper or something? Won’t be much in a fight against steel, but…”

“I didn’t bother looking. As soon as they said Merelands, I knew coppers were out of the question. Prices will be outrageous for a few days, at least.”

Crylwin nodded. “You Ruks with your bones and omens. You would think at least one of you wouldn’t fall into all that superstitious nonsense.”

I shrugged and turned to my glass.

“Cheer up, mate. Head back in a few days when everything calms down; I’m sure your lady will find you a deal.”

I told him about my encounter with Lira.

“Was it that bad?” I asked when he grimaced.

“You’re proper fucked now, my friend. At least for the cycle until suspicion dies down. Not saying you can’t see her, just better not go to her for any more business. They crack down pretty hard on sympathizers.”

I thought as much, which had me sulking into the bottom of my empty glass. “A fine fucking mood you put me in,” I groaned.

“I’ve got a remedy for that,” he said. “Be right back.”

He returned a moment later with two short glasses full of golden brown liquid. Roharan whiskey was not my favorite, but it fit the occasion.

“To your stars, my friend,” he said as he clinked the edge of my glass. “Blessings!”

He drained his glass in one gulp. I took to sipping mine at first. For this offense, I was mocked and scolded and bullied until I finished mine as he had. Without hesitation, he stood up and went for another round.

“Rohger keeps a better barrel below the bar,” he said. “We need a proper whiskey.”

He returned with fresh glasses filled with a liquor that appeared no different than the first, though the difference in taste was considerable. It was smoother, smokier, and had subtle hints of vanilla that were absent from the prior round. He informed me that sipping was appropriate here, and I found myself enjoying it substantially more than the first. It was this confession that I lay the blame for the windy conversation that followed.

Crylwin’s family owned a distillery in Gent. It was owned and operated by his uncle. This fact made him a self-described expert on all things whiskey and whiskey related. I found myself subjected to this knowledge for the better part of two more drinks.

Given the opportunity, I nudged the conversation to another topic. We discussed the shop, which was not selling, and how the elder Monroe was growing impatient. He was rushed to divest, Crylwin noted, needing to raise coin for investment into agriculture. I was no fool. Agricultural opportunities on the Southbank were not worth the urgency in time or coin. The Monroe was up to something. Crylwin didn’t offer much insight outside of his usual cryptic answers.

“I will have Corin talk it up next time I see him,” I offered when the well of information ran dry.

“We won’t find a buyer that way,” he said. “Thanks, but save your coin.”

“Coin?” I asked.

Crylwin gave me a puzzled look. “Yeah, coin. Tipping that little bastard won’t do us any good.”

“Tips?”

“Yeah, tips. They talk up the business, give directions and you give them a few coins for the effort. They’re there to promote your business. A representative in a way.”

I felt pale. “I thought the taxes and rent paid him; I mean they take a good cut from the product and the rent too.”

“All of that goes to the House.” Crylwin laughed. “No wonder you never sell any of those hinges. Do you think this guy is going to talk up your shop without a little coin in his pocket? He’s Cyllian for fuck’s sake. He isn’t gonna go out on a limb selling a Ruk for free. He probably thinks you’re the cheapest Ruk in Forhd, which might stand as the cheapest Ruk of all time.”

Crylwin sighed, shook his head, then turned his chair around to view the room. “When do you think your girl will be here?” he asked. “I’m starving.”

“I thought she would have been here by now,” I replied as I looked to the door. “How about you? When is Decia coming to reign you in?”

He placed his empty glass slowly on the table.

I asked, “Oh quin, you forgot about her, didn’t you? Weren’t you supposed to pick her up? I mean, I figured you called a carriage for her or something.”

He looked at the bottom of his empty glass in search of a solution.

“Hells man, you were giving me advice? Here’s a tip for you, don’t leave your betrothed, a woman who so lovingly describes Forhd as rustic, with no escort to a dinner celebrating your friend who she despises. It looks like you’re the one proper fucked.” I clinked my empty glass to his. “Blessings!”

I patted him on the shoulder and motioned for Rohger to prepare another round.

“She doesn’t hate you; she just doesn’t know many Ruk,” he explained. “And don’t call her my betrothed, not yet at least. There’s still copper on my finger, not silver.”

“Copper turns to silver pretty quick these days, my friend,” I jabbed. “Either way, you are in deep here and guess who she’s going to blame it on?”

Crylwin shook his head. “Fuck that; this is on me. Do you think I should go get her?”

“At this point, you’re better off with some ridiculous lie than you are stumbling down the streets looking for her. When were you supposed to get her?”

“I think I told her seventh