“Well, if I’m forced to sit here all day with this tiny speck, at least hand me the goatskin.” Torrent reaches his thick arm across me and violently shakes his palm.

Lin grimaces but reluctantly reaches into his satchel and pulls out the leather pouch. Before handing it over to the man built like a mountain, he takes a generous pull for himself.

Torrent snatches the pouch and proceeds to dump most of its contents into his mouth. Liquid runs down his chin and seeps into his blond beard. He smacks loudly and wipes the remaining liquid from his lips with the sleeve of his dark green tunic.

“Well, has the wine offered you a better outlook on the day?” I ask.

My large friend shakes his head and passes me the pouch. “Hardly,” he says and burps. Lin groans, repulsed. “But it does make the two of you more tolerable.”

I chuckle, shake my head, and take a swig of the grape. I gasp and cough.

“This is not wine,” I choke out.

My comrades exchange grins before Torrent slaps my back. “It sure isn’t! Hope you don’t mind. We swapped the wine for whisky before we left.”

I hack through the burn and nod. “No problem at all. Barely even noticed.”

“See, Torrent! I told you, our Prince can’t yet handle what we peasant folk drink with ease,” Lin says.

“You’re not wrong about that,” Tor agrees. “It’s why I suggested we bring it in the first place. We gotta train the boy’s liver. How else will he survive a lifetime with us?”

I take another gulp. The sting coats my tongue in an unpleasant greeting, but this time when I swallow, my throat gladly welcomes the heat.

Lin folds his arms across his chest, and his angular brown eyes narrow. “You are mistaken, friend. It was I who suggested the exchange.”

“You?! Lady and Guard, that’s hilarious! I’m the one who supplied the drink!”

“Only because I instructed you to bring it in the first place.”

Torrent stands, his girth almost matching Florian’s massive trees. He towers over Lin, who’s only an inch shorter than my own six feet. But then, Torr towers over everyone. He rests his hands on his hips and peers down at Lin. “Maybe it’s because of how pathetically small your head is that your memory so easily balks! I packed over a dozen goatskins, all whisky-filled, on my own. You merely carry them around. A humble occupation, really. I supply the ideas, and you supply the pouches to keep them in.”

Lin shakes a finger up at Torrent. “Perhaps it’s because there’s only a walnut-size brain rattling around somewhere in that mammoth head of yours that you can’t seem to think straight. It was at the Smoky Tavern seven nights past when I came up with the idea. You grunted, which we all know is your native tongue, and agreed.”

The two continue their quarrel above my head. I sip and revel in the all too familiar badgering. Torrent and Lin have been friends since childhood. Both were orphaned at birth, and both were forced to steal to eat. I met them when I was thirteen, and my wanderlust was high. I refused to stay within the castle grounds and regularly slipped off into neighboring villages. They tried to rob me; I offered to pay for their drinks for an entire night. After that, they considered me a great friend, and I was quickly swindled by their charming personalities.