In the courtyard of the Old Barrel General Store, the fire crackled. Gorlag crouched in a corner by the wall, slowly honing his battle axe with a whetstone.
The barbarian had insisted on building a fire outdoors to cook. Renato did not understand why and could only put it down to some peculiar Northmen custom.
Kira sat beside the fire with her neck hunched into her shoulders, unable to keep herself from complaining:
"Why do we have to come outside to warm ourselves by a fire in the dead of winter? Isn't there a fireplace indoors?"
Renato did not answer. He had known Gorlag for too little time; neither understood the other.
More importantly, the barbarian had never asked him for anything, whether payment or status.
All Gorlag had asked for was food and the promise of battle.
Renato also wanted to use this gathering around the outdoor fire as a chance to have a proper talk with Gorlag. Growing closer was better than suspecting each other, especially under the current circumstances.
"Gorlag," Renato asked, "how's my stew? Does it suit your taste?"
"Food is good." The barbarian did not look up as he sharpened his axe. "Has meat. That is good."
Gorlag's Common was not only poorly pronounced; his vocabulary was painfully limited.
"In the south, we like a balance of meat and vegetables in our soup, with some greens and beans." Renato smiled. "Unlike in the Empire, where cooks always like to fiddle around with different meats and make a pot of nothing but meat soup."
Gorlag shook his head. He set down the whetstone and said earnestly:
"Your food is good. But southern food is not good."
"Fried City has plenty of famous dishes. You just haven't tried them," Kira interjected. "All kinds of grains, vegetables, fruit...