Page 12 of Bull Moon Rising

What in the Lady’s name doesthatmean? I open my mouth to protest, but Gwenna stomps on my foot. “Can you think of a better time to find a good man?” She beams at the woman. “Don’t suppose you know where we might introduce ourselves to a few of them? See if they’re lonely?”

See if they’relonely? Good gods.

The innkeeper shrugs. She swipes at the counter with that nasty rag again, sending a fresh wave of scent in our direction, and I press a finger under my nose as if it will make a difference. “You can ask the loud one in the corner,” the woman says. “She’ll know everyone at the guild. And if you get her out of my inn before she breaks something, I’ll be mighty grateful.”

I turn my head, craning to look at the woman in the corner with new interest. She’s currently in a drinking contest with another man, both of them with their mugs tilted back and beer spilling down their faces. From what I can see of her, though, she looks to be about the same age as Gwenna and myself, though she’s wearing a pair of trousers and a dark blouse that is about to be completely soaked.

“Thank you.” Gwenna puts a penny on the counter and then grabs me by the arm, hauling me across the tavern room toward the carousing woman in the back. We march up to her table, and Gwenna speaks again, holding me against her. “Scuse me, miss—”

The woman slams her near-empty mug down on the wooden tabletop, splashing us with the remnants of her beer. She looks over at us, then opens her mouth and gives the most unholy belch in all of history.

“That’s very impressive,” I say politely, since I’m not sure what else to say. “Good job.”

“Nasty,” Gwenna agrees, waving a hand in the air. “You the one who knows all the guild people?”

The woman shrugs. Her blond hair is wet around her face, and Isuspect it’s from beer and sweat. Tendrils hang over her eyes and I resist the urge to push them out of her way. She’s younger than I originally assumed and can’t be more than twenty, perhaps twenty-two. “Maybe. Who wants to know?”

“Me. I want to join the guild,” I blurt out.

The man across from the blonde spews his beer out of his mouth, showering us with more booze, and then laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

I’ve had enough. I grab the drink from his hand and dump it over his head. “I don’t think it’s funny, you rockhead.”

The room gets quiet, and then the blonde laughs even harder. “I like you,” she declares. “Come and join our game.” She gestures roughly at the man sitting across from her. “Get out of here, Jallus.”

He gets up and leaves, and the woman pounds on the table, indicating we should sit across from her.

“Oh, I don’t drink—”

Both she and Gwenna turn to me.

I know when to shut up. I smile brightly instead. “Very well. Game it is.”

Gwenna and I squeeze onto the vacated bench across from the woman. I try to ignore the fact that my seat is wet, the table is, too, and I’m a little worried as the innkeeper comes over with three full mugs and drops them down in front of us.

“I’m Lark,” our new friend announces. “But not like the bird, because I’m told I haven’t earned it yet.” She rolls her eyes. “So it’s just…Lark. Like an adventure, I guess.” She lowers her head to her beer and slurps the foam off the top, then licks her lips. “You two looking for a guild hangout?”

I nod eagerly. “Yes!”

“Because you want a guild man?” She wrinkles her nose. “They’re arrogant pricks, but I guess if that’s your thing—”

“I already said I want tojointhe guild.”

“Oh, right.” Lark holds up a finger and then lifts her beer, chugging it. She sets the mug down with a thump and I wait for her to blow our hair back with another staggering belch, but she only sniffs and eyes us. “So where are you ladies from?”

I blink, because I don’t have a good answer. It didn’t occur to me to lie, but telling the truth seems too obvious, like I’ll be discovered for sure.

Gwenna steps on my foot under the table and takes control of the situation. “We’re coming in from the north. Yourself?”

Lark brightens, and not only because a refill is brought to her. “I came in from the south. Left my troupe because it was about time I came to Vastwarren.”

“Troupe?” I ask politely.

“Entertaining troupe. I was a sword juggler.” She starts to get to her feet and knocks over the bench she was seated upon, then staggers.

Gwenna grabs her arm, giving me a panicked look. “We believe you! No need for a demonstration.”

“Oh.” She hiccups. “All right.”