He enters

There was no point in sneaking around any longer, it was time to get this over with. The door creaked as Arn opened it and he stepped inside. He quickly surveyed the small room. It was just as dismal as it seemed from the outside. Low ceiling, crude furniture everywhere, no room to swing a sword. This had to be done by knifework.

There was another miscalculation too; A dusky-skinned woman stood behind a counter at the other end of the room and glared angrily at him. She was buxom and beautiful, with dark, fiery eyes, long black hair tied up in a bun, and a low-cut dress that offered a generous view of her ample chest. She wasn't alone though. A hulking man with a scarred face sat at one of the tables and was in the midst of counting a small pile of coin in the flickering light of a candle. He was fatter and greyer than Arn remembered him, but there he was alright. Igren.

”Piss off, we're closed”, Igren grumbled without looking up.

Arn pulled his hood back and stepped into the light, ”And what kind of way is that to greet an old friend?” he asked.

Igren looked up, startled, staring at Arn like he'd seen a ghost, ”Well I'll be damned”, he gasped, ”Arn of Frostgard! Back from the dead. And here for some red work, I assume.”

”Rightly so”, Arn hissed and drew his knife, ”Stand up and get your steel.”

The voluptuous woman behind the bar suddenly sprang to life. She produced a small crossbow from behind the bar and aimed it at Arn. But Igren just calmly remained seated and raised his hand, ”Vorasha, put that bloody thing down!” he yelled.

The woman grumbled something and lowered the weapon. Igren turned back to his old comrade with a grin, ”What's the hurry, old friend? Are you really going to deny a dying man his last drink?” Igren pulled up another chair, ”I know it's more than I deserve, but I reckon you could use one too.”

Arn couldn't deny that, and he had some questions too, ”Fine”, he spat and sat down, slowly placing the knife on the table, ”Drink all you want, but it won't change the outcome.”

”Wouldn't dream of it.” Igren turned to the bar and barked, ”Vorasha! Bring us brandy!”

The beauty behind the counter responded with a sharp glance and picked up a clay jar. ”Blasted woman, not the piss we serve to the customers. Get one, no, two bottles of the good stuff!”

The woman disappeared out back and muttered something in a foreign tongue, presumably insults. ”That delicate flower is Vorasha, my loving wife”, Igren said in a sarcastic tone of voice, ”She used to be a servant of a merchant we raided at the end of the war. I took her home with me and made an honest woman out of her. Well, that last part is a work in progress to be honest. She constantly nags in that foreign gibberish and she only understands common tongue when it suits her. And I don't like how friendly she is with the local rabble when she thinks I'm not looking.”

Vorasha returned with a pair of bottles and two wooden cups and served the men at the table. As she poured Arn's cup, he froze as she teasingly leant in and brushed her large taught breasts against him. Arn felt his loins stir and his gaze lingered on her shapely arse as she proudly sashayed back to the bar. She turned and gave him a mischievous smile. Arn met her eyes suspiciously. She had aimed a crossbow at him just a moment ago, was this some kind of diversion?

Igren didn't notice though, or he didn't care. He raised his cup to his old comrade and grinned, ”To the heroes of Andros, first through the breach at both Carcado and Brenna, reunited at last!”

Arn wasn't having any of that, ”Get fucked, Igren. Why did you betray me?”

Igren slumped back in his chair and sighed, ”Aye, straight to the point as always.” He took a deep drink and grimaced from the strong spirits, ”I was a coward, as simple as that. The war was on its last legs, and I was tired and scared and drunk off my arse. I just wanted to live through it and was too weak stand up to Fiore. Well, he wanted me to kill you at first, but I talked him down into selling you off as a **** instead. Do you think that snake would've let me live if I'd refused him outright? It was you or me.”

Arn just scoffed and pressed on, ”And Larissa, what happened to her?”

”Hrmm aye... the wench”, Igren took another deep chug and squirmed uneasily, ”Well, right after you disappeared, we laid siege to this high-walled bastard of a castle. But Fiore was ordered off to lead supply raids on some towns quite the distance away. That whoreson just left Larissa to her own devices in the siege camp. The lass was completely lost, so I tried to help her. Figured that was the least I could do, after what I did.”

”How very noble of you”, Arn hissed, ”Then what?”

”But the lass was a sobbing mess, and I could neither comfort her or support her with my meagre rations, so I handed her over to the camp whores instead, as I figured the womenfolk knew best what to do. Larissa liked their company sure enough, and she joined them around the fires at night. She was shy and hesitant at first, keeping mostly to herself. But as the siege dragged on her mood seemed to be getting better. Little by little, she began drinking with us and danced with the other wenches and, well...”

Arn's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, ”Well what?” he hissed through his teeth.

”You want me to say it? You've been around those fires.”

”Say it you bastard”, Arn growled, ”Did you **** her?” he reached for his knife again, ready to bury it to the hilt in the thick neck of his former friend.

Igren shook his head in earnest, ”By Ymir's hammer! I swear the wench spread her legs willingly. She agreed to follow me to my cot one night, drunk on cheap wine, all cuddly and ready for a proper ploughing. What man in his right mind would turn down such a beauty?”

Arn knew Igren well enough. He might be a drunk and a good-for-nothing backstabber, but not a ****, ”So you bedded her ?” he grumbled.

”Aye, she warmed my bed for a few nights, and don't worry, I went easy on the lass. The others did too, as far as I know .”

Arn almost choked on a mouthful of brandy, ”Others?”

”Well, I didn't get to keep her for long. Wild Wulf, Bodrick the baker, old Cahern, young Cahern, ugly Rudd and Little Brenn all gave her a ploughing or two as far as I can remember. You know how the boys are. They coaxed her with wine and coin and lewd compliments and soon she was passed around among us like the other whores. And she was in high demand as you can imagine. Even Vigar the Virgin gave her a tumble. We had a good laugh at that and called him Vigar the Virile from then on.”

”Nine hells”, Arn groaned, unable to conceal his anguish, ”Was that all?”

”Yes, well, from our company at least. But word soon got around. There was this handsome young longbowman with a lovely singing voice that she took a liking to. Then there was this randy old dwarven engineer with plenty of gold. Oh and I almost forgot, Brenn lost her at cards to a pair of sleazy Voskian mercenaries one night, and...”

”Enough!”, Arn slammed his fist on the table. He didn't know whether to laugh, cry or slit Igren's throat at this point. So he drank instead and downed his cup it in one long gulp.

Igren gave him a look of sympathy and filled up his cup to the brim again, ”Anyway, Fiore returned to camp eventually and took her back for himself. Long story short, the bastard returned to the city, and he is a landed lord nowadays, and a member of the council to boot. He's holed up in a grand manor up in Hightown, and I reckon the lass must be there too. But he's walled-in and well-guarded, so marching through the front door with that toothpick again may not be your best strategy.”

”I see,” Arn mumbled.

Finally some useful information.

”So where are Wulf and Bodrick and all of the others these days?” he asked.

Arn hadn't given his old brothers in arms much thought since he parted ways with them, but the unpleasant revelation that half a dozen of those filthy bastards had bedded the woman he loved brought them all back to vivid memory, to say the least.

Igren sighed and shook his head, ”If you seek vengeance you're too late. The Empress' legions took care of that. Out company were in the vanguard at the battle at Summer River. Those who didn't drown were pierced by arrows or hacked to pieces on the shores. The water ran red that day. Believe it or not, old friend, but you were one of the few lucky ones.”

”Nine hells”, Arn muttered.

It might have been the booze, but he suddenly felt mournful rather than angry. Were they actually gone, all of them? That meant that the treacherous Igren was the only friend he had left in this world. Was he going to **** the man - in his own miserable alehouse, and in front of his wife? It seemed absurd all of a sudden.

This time it was Arn who raised his cup, ”To Wulf, Bodrick and all the others”, he muttered and drank deep, ”Hope you whoresons enjoyed yourselves.”

The two old comrades drank in silence for a while before Arn spoke again, ”So even Vigar huh?”

”Aye”, Igren said solemnly, ”But at least he didn't die a virgin. That was a good thing.”

”Aye, I suppose it was”, Arn sighed.

”To Larissa”, Igren said and raised his cup, ”The finest whore to ever grace our camp.”