"Probably." The old man's lips twisted into something approximating a smile. "But I've got nothing better to do. And if there's treasure, I'd like to see it before I croak."
Tikon shrugged. "Fine. Don't slow us down."
Next came the thugs.
Two of them. Brothers, maybe, or just partners in crime. They had that look—dead eyes, scarred knuckles, the kind of casual violence that came from years of doing bad things to worse people.
The taller one spoke first. "We're in."
"What can you do?" Tikon asked.
"Kill things."
"Good enough."
Gareth watched them carefully. These two were the type to wait until everyone was injured, then slit throats and take everything. He'd seen their kind a hundred times.
Which meant they were also the type Gareth understood.
"Welcome aboard," Gareth said warmly, as if greeting old friends. "I'm sure your... skills... will prove invaluable."
The shorter thug's eyes slid toward him. Cold. Assessing.
