Gorren kept his arms folded while the pair on the western bench made waiting look insultingly pleasant.
Every time he glanced over, the wolf-eared woman stopped inspecting her weapon and caught his look like a thrown knife. He looked away before her stare could become a challenge, then hated himself a little for that small, cowardly retreat.
'Ten gold, and that bastard lounges there like every bench in this hall waited for his ass.'
The candidate beside his shoulder tapped his elbow and jerked his chin toward the same bench.
"That's him, the one they were on about yesterday," the kid whispered, snatching his hand back under the glare, "royal recommendation, northern clear, the whole story."
Gorren shifted against the wall and let his armor rattle louder than the whisper deserved.
"That one?" He twisted his mouth and gave the pair another sour look.
"Looks like he rolled out of a tavern cot right before the clock started complaining."
