Strife & Valor: Book II of The Rorke Burningsoul Saga by Regina Watts (red queen ebook .TXT) 📕

“Sure enough! There’s Regin down the ways a bit. Just follow the clanging sound anytime the sun’s up…I’d mind who goes with you, though, if you see what I’m saying.” While accepting the coins from Indra’s hand and smiling fondly at her, he inspected the silver, dropped the disks into his apron, then stepped aside to let us into the yet-closed front of the house. “In fact, you ladies might want to spend a good deal of your time in your rooms, and exit out the back door I’ll show you if you need to leave at some point during daylight hours…people round these parts are strange when it comes to durrow. Sometimes even just elves. Rural folk!”

While Branwen, aggrieved and exhausted, rolled her reddened eyes, Valeria nodded. “We’ll keep it in mind,” she said. “We won’t cause you any problems—yet I can’t help but notice you don’t seem to be strange toward us, yourself.”

“Well! I didn’t say their strangeness made sense to me, did I? Me, I’m a man of the world! Been to Draston and Massadua, as far north as Perodule. And all the women I’ve seen in all those places have qualities to commend them…I were only just talking to one of the last fellows about Rhineland, as it happens. Now there’s a splendid place! Don’t know much about the women from it since they won’t give a human man the time of day—but the food? Well, let’s just say there’s a reason most dwarves are twice as wide as they are tall!”

The jolly man, fairly round, himself, broke into laughter and patted his stomach though his apron. By this point, though, Branwen and I had already exchanged a glance.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, managing to work from her tired voice an especially feminine lilt that always served her well. Indeed, the innkeeper turned his bright eyes upon her, expectant and clearly eager to answer her least question. “These other adventurers—was one of them a dwarf, by chance?”

Glad she had seemingly read my mind on this issue, I pressed, “And the other one a tall man, a bit older than you—missing an eye?”

“Well now!” Laughing, stroking his mustache, the loudmouthed innkeeper looked between us and enthused, “Aren’t the two of you astute! Friends of yours?”

“Yes,” said Branwen without missing a beat, her lips arranged a sweet, even smile. “We were separated, you see.”

“Is that so! They didn’t mention anything about you…can’t believe they’d leave out a lovely group of elves wandering with a warrior.”

“A Paladin of Weltyr,” I told him, earning a lift of his eyebrows. The expression of new interest in me remained as I went on, “And it’s true, they probably did not mention anything about us. These three were not with us then.” I gestured to the durrow and the man followed my motion, thinking on it with a hum. “As it was, at the time, just myself and Branwen here they expected, I don’t think they would have felt us extraordinary enough to mention.”

“I suppose not! We’ll, they’ll be in for quite a surprise when you lot meet back up in Skythorn.”

My blood ran cold at the thought of showing my face in the city without the scepter in hand. “They went along to Skythorn already?”

“Oh, aye, to catch the airship to Rhineland! Poor sods just missed the last one a day or so before coming to stay with us. Leaves once a fortnight, and costs a bit of a fortune to fly on. You lot going across the sea with them?”

“If we can catch them in time,” I told him, feeling somewhat guilty for telling these half-truths. I was at least secure in knowing that Weltyr himself was fond of such verbal games, and that all this was, as always, in his service. Our helpful host, at any rate, did not notice the slight tint I had given reality. He went on without hesitation.

“Well, if you need horses, I think the Dardrie family in the ranch south of town always has a handful for sale. Breed ‘em for farmwork. Not exactly fit for a paladin, but they’ll take you where you need to go, and if you’d prefer to rent them awhile I’m sure the Dardrie boy would be glad for an excuse to ride to Skythorn and lead ‘em back up after you’ve departed on your flight. Come on up here! Let me show you the rooms.”

The Weeping Willow had six guest rooms circling above the tavern, arranged along a hallway open like a balcony. Ours were the two on the farthest end, quite cozy little chambers with surprisingly soft beds and well-kept furniture.

“I’m Erdwud, by the way,” he told us at last, watching with a pleased smile as we inspected the rooms. “If you need anything at all, myself and my wife, Lively, are always somewheres around. Ask one of the maids for us and tell ‘em your room numbers.”

“We will,” I said, shaking his hand. “Thank you so much for accommodating us, Erdwud. Oh, and—if anyone does come asking after my companions”—I produced a few coins from my own small bag, meriting a corresponding glint in his eye—“would you keep things quiet for us?”

“With pleasure, sire, with pleasure. Weltyr himself could not pry the mystery from my lips. I’ll let you get settled in now and tell Lively to run up with breakfast.”

Bowing, scraping, casting a few more appreciative glances at my companions, Erdwud made himself scarce and let us retire to the solitude of our rooms. Convening in the one at the farthest end, we shut the door and, sighing en mass, divested ourselves of weapons, armor, and the burdensome equipment we had carried with us out of the Nightlands.

“By Roserpine”—Odile kicked off her boots and dropped upon the foot of a bed wide enough for three if we were lucky—“are all surface men that impudent?”

“Things here are very different from the