This is excellent pork, Marek thought, digging into his meal with gusto. He had ordered it on a whim, as it was both cheap and hard to screw up. Marek couldn’t recall the last time he’d had anything better.

Marek finished it off and leaned back in his chair, letting the fork clatter on his empty plate. The noise was absorbed by the chatter in the crowded room. Strangely, there were fewer working-class men here than what Marek would ordinarily expect, as more than a few families also helped pack the tables. It made sense, because when you had the former Captain of the Citadel Guard own it, there would be little in the way of ass pinching or drunken revelry in his establishment.

The walls were a dark, polished wood. It appeared to be made from the same wood that the tables, chairs, and the bar were made from. There were so many people that if Marek were to try to get to the bar to order something else, it would be like wading through sludge. The only thing that Marek could see was the massive drum mounted on the wall behind the bar. He really wanted to see how loud it would go. Next time, maybe.

“Anything else, sir?”

Marek started and looked up to see the same barmaid. She was blonde, young, and had a pretty smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, which traveled up and down the brown robes that Marek wore, signifying his designation as a Mage.

“No, thank you,” Marek said, talking louder to speak over the hum of conversation in the bar. “I do have a question for you, though. Is Wyatt in today? I have a business proposition, and I would like to speak to him. I’m in no hurry, but I’d prefer to see him before the evening rush.”

“Of course,” the barmaid said, curtsying with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “He’s here, and he’ll be with you shortly. She gestured to the pitcher she was carrying on her tray. “Another round?”

Marek picked up his tankard and peered into it. It was below half. “Why not?” he said, smiling, and lifted his tankard so that the barmaid could refill it. He nodded in thanks once it was full. He then saluted her as she left with another fake smile, carrying away his plate and utensils in her other hand. He took a deep drink and stopped. Lowering the tankard, he looked down at it almost suspiciously.

Damn, even his beer is great. Where does he get all these premium goods from? Most bars in Velaire would kill to have food and drink this good.

Shrugging, Marek took a few more sips of his drink. He savored it and let himself sink into his thoughts. It had been just over a week since he had left the Citadel after his graduation, but it felt like years had passed. He had gone through the city, exploring it to his heart’s content. For the first time, he hadn’t been restricted from the ‘Outside Influences’ as a Magician would.

Marek grimaced as images flooded his mind. Not from the amulet—which he still hadn’t felt yet, even after a week—but from his own memories when he had been caught going out for a midnight stroll with a few acquaintances. The aftermath had been brutal, with many detentions, chores, and other menial tasks which thoroughly drove the idea of leaving the Citadel unattended out of his head until his graduation.

Can’t say I blame them, though, Marek thought, taking another sip. Magicians were not in control of their powers, and if they were somehow kidnapped and happened to be carrying Dominion Wood on them… Marek shuddered at the thought. It hadn’t happened, but the thought of Hedge Wizards or other untrained miscreants fooling about with Dominion Wood, the results could be deadly for everyone involved.

“You’re Marek?”

Marek almost choked mid-sip, looking up at the giant of a man that towered over him. He was tall, over six feet. He had grey hairs trickled through his beard, but not enough to give him a salt-and-pepper look. He was heavily muscled and had a few scars along his arms and even one on his cheek. He moved and stood with the grace of a fighter, not of a bouncer. He wore regular, working-class clothes, tunic and trousers, which looked spectacularly unsuited on him. There was a keychain full of keys at his belt, and Marek wondered idly if anyone had ever been foolish enough to try and take them.

He looks like he could tear a man in half with his bare hands.

“Am I speaking to Wyatt?” Marek asked after he had finished his drink.

“You are,” Wyatt said. He raised a greying eyebrow. “I was told you had a business opportunity that I would be interested in?”

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While the words were politely said, the implication behind them wasn’t. The doubt in them was more than obvious, as if Wyatt had asked “What would a mage want with a former Captain of the Citadel Guard and a barkeep owner?”

“I do,” Marek said evenly. “Do you have a room where we can speak in private?”

To Wyatt’s credit, he didn’t blink at the question. Instead, he nodded, gesturing with a massive hand through the crowd to a closed door. “I have a meeting room over there. Follow me; I’ll clear a path for you.”

“Appreciated,” Marek said. He pushed back his chair and stood, stepping out from his table and behind Wyatt, who had already turned and was wading through the crowd. He hurried to catch up to him before he was swallowed up in the crowd; not that would really be the case. Wyatt towered over almost everyone else in the room. He didn’t have to push or shove—they instinctively moved aside as Wyatt slowly waded through them, like a shepherd herding sheep.

After a minute of wading, Marek shuffled through the crowd. Wyatt was already opening the door with one of his many keys. By the time he made it to the door itself, Wyatt was holding open the door.

“After you,” Wyatt rumbled. Marek nodded, trying to maintain his concentration on what he was about to say. It would be difficult, but as his second in the Company he was forming and holding a third of the shares, a few years of work with him, and he would be significantly richer than when he left.

“Thanks,” Marek muttered, stepping into the room. Like the rest of the bar, it was simply furnished: the room contained a table made of the same dark wood, two chairs, and an open window. The cool night drifted in through the window, bringing with it the fresh scents of Spring.

Wyatt closed the door behind him, which silenced the noise of the bar to a murmur as he moved to sit in the open chair across from Marek. He said down and stared at him patiently, evidently waiting for him to speak.

“W-well,” Marek began. He inwardly cursed himself for sounding like a stuttering fool. “Well. I have a business proposition for you, Wyatt, and I would appreciate it if you let me finish my proposal before you make your choice.”

“I can do that,” Wyatt said, leaning forward. His grey eyes were alight with interest. “It’s not every day I receive business proposals, after all.”

He’s intimidating even when he’s trying not to be, Marek thought, swallowing. Wetting his lips, he began to speak.