“…and the usual crew of misfits has assembled itself, I see.”
“But of course. The introspective and learned conjurer, dastardly yet attractive thief, inspiring bard, powerful and vindictive witch, sickeningly cute and multi-talented animal, and then me, the hero.”
“Like hell, Ruslan. The personable and slightly below-par conjurer, mediocre thief who needs a shave, utterly talentless bard, competent yet sullen witch, mangy animal, and then you, the ‘hero.’”
“Akilina’s right, Rus. I am utterly talentless. I told you time and time again. I’m a blacksmith, not a harper.”
“I can play the harp.”
“You’re not the bard, Isidor. You’re the magician.”
“Well, I don’t see why I can’t be the bard. Eva’s better at magic than I am.”
“Evpraksiya’s a witch. You’re a magician.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Shut up and drink your coffee, Evpraksiya.”
“I’d suggest that you leave the lady alone if you want to keep your wallet.”
“He can catch you when you don’t warn him.”
“Here I am, trying to stick up for you, Little Eva, and you turn and jump on me.”
“I’m not jumping anywhere.”
“Maybe I want to be a bard. Maybe I’m better at playing the harp than conjuring, did you ever think of that?”
“Then what would we do with Matvei?”
“I could stay on as a smith.”
“I meant the jumping figuratively.”
“You didn’t say that I was figuratively jumping on you.”
“What would we need a smith for?”
“I make a mean horseshoe.”
“More coffee, gentlemen?”
“Ahem.”
“And lady?”
“Thank you. Wench.”
“What do we need horseshoes for? We don’t have any horses.”
“You’re welcome. Dyke.”
“Do donkeys need horseshoes?”
“Shut up, Isidor.”
Two