Chapter 12
Pip's Relief
Pip, the nervous messenger, breathes a sigh of relief. The quest was a success, and he managed to avoid any serious injury from the two grumpy warriors. He might even get a bonus.
Pip wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with a trembling hand, the back of his tunic a damp patch from sheer, unadulterated terror. He scurried through the bustling market square, the cacophony of vendors hawking their wares a stark contrast to the ringing silence that had followed his departure from Barnaby and Silas’s… well, ‘discussion’ would be a generous term. It had been more of a guttural, chest-thumping exchange, punctuated by the clatter of tankards and the unmistakable sound of a table leg giving way.
He’d done it. He’d actually done it. He, Pip, the perpetually flustered and easily overlooked courier, had successfully delivered a message to two of the most notoriously grumpy, battle-scarred veterans in the known realms, and lived to tell the tale. Not only lived, but escaped with all his limbs attached and, he dared to hope, his dignity mostly intact. Mostly. The memory of Barnaby’s glare, a look that could curdle milk at fifty paces, was still seared into his retinas. And Silas. Oh, Silas, with his surprisingly nimble grip on Barnaby’s beard during their impromptu arm-wrestling match. Pip shivered. He’d almost offered to hold their horses. Almost. A wise man