The sergeant walked over to the plates resting atop a nearby barrel and poked at the food a bit. He finally settled on a piece of thin meat and tossed it into his mouth. He waved a hand at one of his companions and muttered, “Remind me to tell that pet to bring something more appetizing. Scrawny chicken meat and half-rotted fruit. Ain’t no way for a man to stay fit.”
One of the other men laughed, “Meanwhile all them rich blighters up there be drinkin’ sweet wine and eatin’ whole pigs.”
“We’re the lucky ones,” the sergeant laughed back, “trust me on that. Being up there means having yer head buried so far up the Master’s backside that you can’t breathe lessen he coughs first.”
“Still,” yet another man said wistfully, glancing at the slim pickings on the plate, “to eat like a rich man once in a while. That’s the dream, ain’t it?”
“Waste of money, if you ask me.” The sergeant undid his sword belt and laid it in between the plates. “Food like that might taste nice, but it don’t last long. Passes right through you leaving only a sour memory and an even worse burning in the gut.
“Nah,” he continued, “spend your hard-earned coin on good steel and a plot of land on the frontier. A good fifteen, twenty years on the job can get you a nice piece up there.”
“But Sarge,” the first guy said in a whining tone, “what about women? I’ll bet half my pay goes to a new lady of the week.”
“That, my good man,” the sergeant chuckled, “is why you take it for free when you can get it. Why pay for what gets dropped in your lap?”
“That’s why you’re the sarge, Sarge,” the other man responded, causing a round of laughs from the others.
“What the hell is taking Piper and Gund so long,” the sergeant muttered, changing the subject. “Don’t tell me that new guy couldn’t even get that simple task right.”
He looked over at Kre as if noticing him again for the first time, “You intend to make this easy on both of us? Or do we need to work the fight right out of you? We’re good either way.”
Another chorus of laughs. Kre wasn’t sure if they all felt this way or if they were just laughing along with their boss, but either way, it wasn’t a good feeling. He took a small step back and inhaled deeply, readying himself for what was to come.
“Looks like the elf wants to fight,” a guard said with a wicked grin. He moved his hand down to his side where a short, heavy-looking sack was tied to his belt. He unhooked it and hefted it in his hand, testing the weight.
“Don’t go knockin’ him out, I like it best when I can see that look in their eyes.”
The guard nodded and advanced on Kre, just as there was a soft knocking on the cell door. “Ah hells,” the nearest guard muttered. He pulled the door open and Kre could hear Virryn’s soft, muffled voice.
The guard turned to the sergeant and shook his head with a grimace, “Says she needs that one to help with one of the more onery prisoners.”
“Those disgusting half-men have been the bane of this whole job,” he snapped back. “She don’t need this one. You two get in there and teach them to mind that elven pet.”
“Yes Sarge!” they snapped back in unison before following Virryn back into the cell.