"The road to Legend started here. And it started with finding a place to sleep that didn't involve mud."
It also started, apparently, with selling pastries.
"Two coppers! Just two coppers for the brioche!" Tybalt shouted, leaning out the back of the wagon. He was in his element, handing out warm buns to a small crowd of dockworkers and sailors that had formed around our cart as we navigated the cobblestone streets.
"Tybalt," I hissed from the driver's seat, keeping my head low as a Covenant patrol marched past on the adjacent street. "Stop selling the inventory. We're supposed to be finding an inn, not franchising."
"I can't help it!" Tybalt whispered back, exchanging a bun for a handful of coins. "They're hungry! And the yeast is still rising! If I don't sell it, the dough will take over the wagon!"
