1
The Dragon Diner:Bookkeeper Wanted.
“Finally, someone is hiring.” Rylana “Falcon” Avandar reached toward the door, a ferocious dragon artistically burned into the wood.
Sylin’s firm hand landed on her wrist. The slender elf assassin possessed far more strength than one would guess, and the grip halted Rylana as surely as shackles.
“You are an archer for the Moon Daggers, one of the most well-known mercenary bands in the southern kingdoms,” Sylin said. “Enemies run for cover when they see you on the battlefield with your bow, and evendragonsspeak warily of you since they’ve felt the sting of your arrows. They speak warily of you while they plot yourdemise. What are you thinking?”
“Iwasan archer for the now-disbanded Moon Daggers. You of all people know the Ore War is over, the unit has dispersed, and Captain Maverick is gone.” Rylana's throat tightened as she said the last, Mav’s irreverent smirk floating through her mind. Nine months of traveling the world and trying to forget the past hadn’t been long enough. “Besides, I’m qualified to be a bookkeeper.When I wasn’t busy perforating enemies with arrows, I handled payroll and the ordering of supplies for five hundred people. I’msureI can run the calculations for a diner. This one doesn’t even look that busy.” Rylana peered through the window beside the door.
“It’s not your pen-wielding ability that I question; it’s your intent to walk into an establishment owned by a dragon.” Sylin released her grip and tucked a lock of her forest-green hair behind her pointed ear, though her frank blue eyes remained on Rylana. “That would be even more foolish than me visiting the elven enclave while we’re here.”
“I’m sure the diner isn’townedby a dragon.”
Sylin pointed at the pyrography on the door.
“I’ll wager two gold coins that a human owns this and putdragonin the diner’s name because it might draw more business. Or he or she liked alliteration. The place also might specialize in meat dishes, the kind carnivorous animals, humans, and crazy elves who were raised by wolves like to eat.”
“Hilarious. As ifI’mthe crazy one here, the one contemplating applying for a position under one of the great scaled, winged, andfangedenemies that we were paid to battle in the war. Also, meat is delicious. Especially slow-roasted northern elk or herb-crusted star-darter tenderloin.”
“Not according to your vegetarian elven kin. I assume your culinary preferences are the reason you won’t be visiting the enclave and that it has nothing to do with the fact that elves were allies to the dragons in the Ore War—and that you killed even more of them than I did.”
Rylana spoke of their triumphs without pride. Had they evenbeentriumphs? Years ago, she had been pleased by the development of her skills and rising in the ranks as a mercenary. But as she’d gotten older, losing comrade after comrade, the unit oftenbeing forced to obey dubious orders, she’d started questioning if they had been doing the right thing.
“I am certain of that. You know the old saying: in the depths of night, a single blade may cut a thousand throats.” Sylin, who always noticed everything, turned as two goblins approached.
Only a block away from the busy Luminous Lake docks, the shop-lined cobblestone street held many passersby, most minding their own business, but the pair of three-and-a-half-foot-tall, green-skinned males were whispering to each other and pointing at them. No, judging by the lewd gesture that one drew in the air, they were pointing at Sylin. She always attracted more male gazes—species regardless—when she and Rylana were together.
With her own feminine curves and reasonable facial appeal, Rylana wasn’t usually ignoredby men when she traveled with a less striking companion, but as a mere human, she didn’t star in their fantasies the way Sylin did. That was fine with Rylana since she was one who chose companions infrequently and with care. Today, with her short black hair in need of a washing and her trousers and tunic travel-stained, she doubted she would interest even a horny goblin.
“Do you think they’d like tozergwith us?” one of the males asked, drawing close enough that their conversation was audible.
“When has a beautiful elfever zerged with you?” his companion asked.
“In my dreams every single night. Sometimesmanytimes a night.” The speaker hurried forward, beaming a smile at Sylin, his wispy white hair sticking out in all directions like a dandelion gone to seed. “Beautiful elven maiden, I was wondering if?—”
Sylin drew a knife so quickly that Rylana almost missed it. Sylin flipped it casually up and down at the level of the goblin’s face. It was her utility knife, not one of the various blades she used in her profession. Those were in a wooden case in her backpack, tied with a magical red “tranquility” ribbon, courtesy of thepeacekeepers who’d searched them before allowing them entrance into the city. A similar ribbon was tied on Rylana’s sword scabbard and around her bow and the arrows in her quiver. If anyone tried to remove the knots, the peacekeepers would be alerted, and golems would charge into the streets to deal with the infraction.
The goblin halted midstep and midsentence, his yellow eyes transfixed on the flipping blade. “I was wondering if you might have been going in to eat the special soup at this establishment.”
“The special soup?” Rylana asked.
If that was what the diner was known for, there definitely wasn’t a dragon inside.
“Yes, the magical spices that the chef uses… Well, they’re known to put most species in the mood to, ah…” The goblin looked toward his comrade.
His buddy, who didn’t appear daunted by the knife flipping, made pumping motions with his hips. “Tozerg. You know the word?”
“Everyone knows that goblin word,” Rylana said dryly.
“Elves are immune to such substances,” Sylin said, “but why would a chef use magical spices in the food?”
“Who knows what motivates dragons?” The goblins stepped back from Sylin and looked across the street, one saying, “Let’s see if our cake is ready for Vardok’s stag party on the docks tonight.”
The pair darted between a horse-drawn carriage and a self-ambulating wagon, a glowing yellow controller embedded in the front guiding it to its destination. A grandmotherly dwarf in an apron opened the front door of a bakery with a sign that promised delicious custom goods for all needs, naughty or nice, no questions asked. The goblins trotted inside.
“I’d forgotten what an interesting part of Tranquility this is,” Rylana observed.
