Ruein: Fires of Haraden: Action/Adventure Necromancy Series (Books of Ruein Book 2) by G.O. Turner (interesting books to read in english txt) 📕

“We’d be happy to.” Liv shared her own warmed smile. She offered a hand, which the gnome took in the short leap to the cobblestones. “Mr. Fllyn, might your caravan lead wish to join?”

Leafar retorted with a wry sneer. “Ho, those tin-breeches must be riding high. What sorta fakakta-meanad do you think I am?”

Liv considered. “A guess. Just a humble caravaneer?”

Kicking out, Twigs landed beside Leafar. He shrugged out an eye roll for his new friend.

Leafar’s hands went to hips. “Woof. See here, there are ways of going about, and then they’re ways of stepping in. If you’re looking to just latch yourself onto—”

“We’re answering the call, Leafar.” Twigs raised calming hands.

Leafar stared back. “What call?”

“We’re here to resolve the murders,” said Liv.

“Well, isn’t that just a pretty shame?” He scrubbed at his sideburns, mouth pursed to one side. “I don’t know how you expect to be resolving off anything. If anyone I might know were to put out such a call, you can bet a bodak it’d be for…”

A biting breeze blew. It flowed through the alley away from the boots on cobblestones behind them.

Leafar’s mouth went slack. “…a necromancer.”

Liv looked over.

Her steady stride wended their way, crimson cloak fluttered over the rear slung glaive. Ruein came to a stop, blue eyes surveying them.

Well… He did cue her up.

9

Grub pub?

More like a shanty.

Sure as shit wasn’t clever, and barely held back the outside cold. A firepit’s warmth competed with frigid leaks pouring through breaks in old timber. Ceer repositioned their table closer to the fire and propped packs over the nearer holes.

The rugged woman “maintaining” the place hadn’t a bother for pleasantries. As soon as they were seated, she plopped down a steaming bucket of fish stew and a stack of tin bowls. She followed with a hand gesture Liv took as an ask for drinks. Their troupe returned cordial enough denials.

After she returned to the kitchen, Mr. Fllyn pulled from his coat a lidded tankard. Liv had to look twice. Ale already topped his mug. Alright. Seemed fitting enough given this gnome’s flagrant attire. Wasn’t too far beyond the pale, he’d own such a waste of magic.

Twigs’ well-givings made for an easing of tension with his gnomish brethren. They’d journeyed all this way, the last thing Liv wanted was to be booted from Nursk’s caravan. So she summoned up fortitude and stifled a want for expedience. They would take their cue from Twigs. He’d note when the time was right.

Right?

Like Fllyn’s mug, the steaming bucket was replenished with the occasional dump from the pub’s keeper. The rugged woman seemed an unending fount of fish stew. By their third bowl, Ceer had slumped into the land of nod. Ruein had gone completely vacant and Liv’s summoned tolerance teetered.

At least this was all for a good cause. At the very least, the gnomes spoke on matters of utmost importance. Certainly, they’d not dally on about inconsequentials.

“A dryad?” Leafar leaned into Twigs with a grin. “Ya don’t say.”

“Yessir.” Twigs tilted against his chair. “So after pining on, you know how other fey are all too jealous of her, she begins ta ply me into the neighboring spruces. How they’d make for cozy shade in our wee cottage.”

Leafar shook his head. “Ho. Were you dropped as a baby? What sorta druid is going ta wanna resist that?”

“Well, see, she took pride in these grown shelves about her shoulders and hips. Sort of splayed in a nice pattern. Soft, off-white with speckles that wrapped around. Set her apart from other dryads. I sorta pointed out they were…” Twigs mouth pursed, chin furrowed.

Drawing even closer, Leafar pressed, “Hmm?”

“…a fungal malady,” said Twigs.

“Woof.” Leafar deflated.

Twigs prompted with a finger flick. “Saddle polypores to be sure. Quite edible, I might add.”

“What? She didn’t see that as a compliment?”

“I know! Right?”

Liv blinked through her haze of attention, and her eyes wandered over the table’s grain. Could they drone on about anything less trivial? Her focus shifted over to her sister, Ruein. Between those locks of silver hair, her neck seemed…dried, ashen. Shit. Ruein’s illusion had lapsed. Someone was going to—

Leafar prodded a finger at Twigs. “Now it were me, I’d knock those off and—”

“For the love of Light!” Liv shot to her feet. Snatching up her shield, she propped it against the table, its reflective backside to Ruein.

Liv careened over the gnomes. “We’ve been sitting here near all damned day. You two’ve been going on about smoking this or nymphry that. While it’s clear that gnomes have yet a fill for fish stew, I damned well have. When are we going to get down to—”

Leafar Fllyn belched. Haddock mingled with brown gravy and reflux assailed Liv’s face.

Gods. She thought the fish was fishy going down. This was worse than a sow’s ass!

“Patience,” Leafar quipped. “’Tain’t just a name. Turns out can be a losing bet too.” Retrieving a silver from his pocket, he slid it over to Twigs and thumbed back at Liv. “This one bit her tongue so long I thought she’d about swallowed it!”

Twigs gave a satisfied grin. “Told ya. That makes back my chit to the half-orc.”

Leafar tilted his head, slowly circling a finger at Liv. “Heh. Ya know, holy-holy sorts are always full of…well, something. But you? For a tin bucket, ya seem so-so. Maybe even alright.”

Liv blinked, her eyes darting between the two. She chanced a glance at Ruein. Small blessings. She’d reverted to being wholesome. Slowly drawing her shield from the table, Liv retook her seat.

Ceer awoke with a snort.

“Now, big boy there”—Leafar flicked his finger at Ceer—“with a snout like that, I’m just glad he didn’t suck all the air outta the room.”

Ceer stretched out a yawn.

“And this broad”—Leafar’s finger swung to Ruein—“hasn’t moved the whole time we’ve been here. I’ve seen statues less stiff. Lighten up, lady. There’s a hobby for most folks. It’s called blinking. You should try it!”

Leafar wrapped an arm around Twigs. “You lot