Warcry

and other words she’d never heard before until her head rang with it all.
    In the end, she had just followed close, keeping her hood up and her mouth shut. This was Heath’s world. She’d been in the city at Eln’s while healing. But her knowledge didn’t go much further than that.
    He’d brought them to a large building with the sign of an overflowing tankard over the door. The building brimmed with the glow of lanterns, the smell of food and beer, and the sound of voices. Laughter seemed to spill out of every window, with even more singing and talking. So many bodies crowded into such a small place . . . yet it seemed warm and welcoming.
    But Heath had pulled her around to the back and pushed her into the shadows of the small house, pressing close to her so that they were hidden from view.
    “Is this really necessary?” she whispered, pressing herself back against the wall.
    “I think so.” Heath’s breath was warm on her ear as he leaned into her. “Besides, you smell good.”
    “That’s the privy,” she growled.
    “I doubt it,” Heath chuckled.
    A burst of laughter came from the building. “Where are we?” she whispered.
    “This is the Everflowing Tankard. It’s owned by Broar the Bold, an old and crafty fighter. It’s a favorite of the Castle Guard when we . . . they . . . are off duty.”
    “So we wait for this Broar?”
    “Hell, no. The old bastard would sell me out in a heartbeat. No, I’m waiting for—”
    The door of the tavern flew open and light streamed into the yard. A figure stumbled out, clearly headed for where he thought the privy was.
    Heath moved further into the shadows, squeezing Atira against the wall. “Not him,” he breathed quietly.
    Atira licked her dry lips and closed her eyes. Heath’s body seemed to press against all the right places, and her heat was rising, even here. Next to a privy. Skies above, he could set her afire—
    The drunken man finally found his way into the privy, fumbling with the door. His boots clattered as he threw open the door and started his business.
    After a few minutes, Atira’s eyes grew wide. It seemed he’d never come to the end.
    Heath’s body began to shake against her as the hiss of the stream continued. Horrified, Atira reached up and placed her fingertips over his lips, trying to shush his laughter.
    Heath nodded, his eyes bright. Then his tongue darted out, and licked her skin. Atira jerked her hand back as if burned.
    Heath’s eyes weren’t laughing anymore. They were white hot, piercing her, filled with—
    The drunk banged out of the privy and swayed back against the yard and into the tavern.
    Atira pushed at Heath, and he eased back. “We can’t stay here all night,” she growled.
    “It does seem an odd place for a seduction, I admit,” Heath said softly. “But it was working, wasn’t it?”
    “It wasn’t,” Atira snapped.
    “It was,” Heath laughed softly.
    The door to the tavern opened once again. “I’ll be back, lads,” a voice roared out. “I’m just off to make room for more.”
    A roar of laughter greeted his words, only to be cut off when he closed the door and strode toward the privy. Atira could hear a faint humming, but the steps heading their way sounded odd.
    “That’s him,” Heath whispered.
    Atira risked a quick glance around him to see a portly man with a bald head stumping in their direction.
    Heath said nothing, but pressed her back into the shadows as the man eased into the privy, still humming to himself. Atira heard him fuss with his trous and then settle himself over the hole.
    She blinked as he let rip a mighty fart.
    “Ah, that’s better now,” the man sighed, and continued humming.
    “Detros?” Heath said, his voice cracking with laughter. “Detros, can you hear me?”
    The humming stopped. “Eh? Who’s out there? Best be upwind, whoever you are.”
    “Aye to that, you old dog,” Heath said.
    Detros’s voice dropped, becoming serious. “Heath, lad . . . Is that you?”
    “It is, Detros,” Heath said. “I’ve come for answers and information.”
    “It’s good to hear your voice, but you’ve picked a poor time. The cooking up at the castle has been a bit . . . heavy of late.” Another fart rumbled through the night air.
    Atira laughed in spite of herself.
    Heath pressed his hand over her mouth, his own body shaking.
    “Gods, don’t tell me that’s Lara with you,” Detros pleaded.
    “No,” Heath whispered. “It’s Atira.”
    “Your lady friend?