Leaving his empty glass at the bar, he followed the pair to the table. “You don;t belong here,” he murmured as he sat down opposite them.
“Maybe not, but where else would we find you?” the old man asked.
“Whatever it is, I’m not your man.”
“He may be correct.” The words came from under the cloak.
So the hunchback was a woman. She looked at him, and the cloak slipped enough that he could see her.
Seeing her was like being punched in the gut. Lorik had always been a sucker for a pretty face, but she was the kind of beautiful kings fought wars over.