Chapter 8 – A Broken Deal

Delwyn's fingers twitched at her side, ready to reach for steel.

Tavrin Korr. Somewhere in this tavern. Watching. Listening.

She scanned the dimly lit tables, her gaze flitting over the patrons. Drunkards. Merchants. Sellswords. Any one of them could be the man they were hunting.

Vaelor leaned in slightly. "You take left. I'll take right."

Delwyn smirked. "Afraid I'll beat you to him?"

Vaelor's expression didn't change. "Afraid you'll get yourself killed before you get what you want."

She rolled her eyes and pushed off from the table.

They moved through the crowded tavern, weaving past thick wooden beams and tables scarred by years of brawls.

It wasn't long before they found him.

Tavrin Korr sat near the back, hunched over a half-empty tankard, his cloak drawn up to hide his face. But Delwyn knew the type—a man with one ear always listening, waiting.

Vaelor stopped just behind him, casual, but deadly close. Delwyn took the seat across from him, resting her arms lazily on the table.

Tavrin didn't flinch.

"Buy me a drink first," he muttered, voice low and coarse.

Delwyn grinned. "We're not here for pleasantries."

"That much is clear." Tavrin exhaled, sitting back in his chair. His dark eyes flicked between them, slow and measured. "Crowne sent you."

Delwyn tilted her head. "Smart man."

"Smart enough to know this is a setup."

Her smirk barely had time to fade before Tavrin flipped the table.

Wood cracked. Ale spilled.

Delwyn barely had time to roll back, narrowly dodging the edge of the heavy tabletop.

Then Tavrin was moving.

He surged forward, fist aimed at her ribs. She twisted, absorbing the impact, then slammed her elbow into his jaw.

Tavrin stumbled—but not far. The bastard was fast, stronger than he looked.

Vaelor was already in motion, but before he could reach them, another man grabbed him from behind. A friend of Tavrin's.

A second later, half the damn tavern erupted into chaos.

A fist connected with Delwyn's jaw.

She saw white for half a second, then snapped back with a snarl.

Oh, he was going to regret that.

She launched herself at Tavrin, grabbing the front of his cloak and driving him backward. They crashed into another table, sending dice scattering across the floor.

Somewhere to her right, Vaelor threw a man over the bar. A mug shattered. Someone swore.

Delwyn barely had time to enjoy it before Tavrin drove his knee into her ribs.

Pain flared.

She gritted her teeth, throwing a wild right hook. It landed hard, sending Tavrin stumbling.

She pressed the attack, knocking him to the ground, straddling him with a dagger already drawn.

Tavrin froze.

His chest heaved beneath her, his lip already split.

The room was still a mess behind them. Chairs broken; mugs shattered. A few men groaning on the floor.

Vaelor had just finished with his last opponent, shaking blood off his knuckles.

Tavrin let out a breathless laugh, wincing as his ribs shifted beneath her weight.

"Alright," he coughed. "I'll listen."

Delwyn pressed the dagger just a little deeper.

"Smart man."

Tavrin's breath was ragged beneath Delwyn's blade, his hands raised in surrender. His lip was split, his right eye already swelling shut.

"Alright," he rasped. "I'll talk."

Delwyn didn't move the dagger from his ribs. "Good choice."

Vaelor crouched beside them, wiping blood from his knuckles with little concern. "Start talking. Fast."

Tavrin exhaled, wincing. "The Black Hounds are hunting more than just you. Galborn's men are moving south—toward the rebellion's camp."

Delwyn stiffened.

He continued, voice lower now. "The king isn't waiting for them to grow stronger. He wants to end this war before it starts. His men are already on the march."

Vaelor's gaze sharpened. "Who's leading the attack?"

Tavrin hesitated, then muttered, "Commander Edric Vale."

Delwyn cursed under her breath.

Vale wasn't just another of Galborn's war dogs—he was a tactician. A hunter. If he had found the rebellion's base, they wouldn't see him coming until it was too late.

"We need to move," Vaelor muttered.

Delwyn pressed the blade just a little deeper. "How do we know you're not just feeding us scraps?"

Tavrin chuckled, breathless. "Because if I wanted to waste your time, I'd be dead by now."

Delwyn frowned.

Something felt… off.

Vaelor stood, watching the tavern carefully. The fight had drawn too many eyes. The murmurs around them were getting louder.

"We're done here," Vaelor said.

Delwyn pulled back, stepping off Tavrin. "For now."

Tavrin let out a shaky breath, rubbing at his ribs. "Great. Next time, maybe we skip the part where you try to cave my skull in."

Delwyn smirked. "Depends on how useful you stay."

Vaelor gestured toward the exit. "We need to leave. Now."

Delwyn turned toward the door—

And froze.

Gareth Crowne was gone.

Her stomach twisted.

"That bastard set us up," she muttered.

Vaelor didn't hesitate. He grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the door.

They needed to move. Fast.