LETTLE CURVE COULD HAVE—OR SHOULD HAVE—been named Little Curve.
The small hamlet sat on the curve of a fingerling of Lake Falomar that stretched into the chilly plains of southwestern Bhaston. It was possessed of an inne, a stable, a leather worker’s shop, a smithy, and several homes. The shores of the lake were lined with fisherfolk, all with the same warm bronze complexion and ebony hair of my bramble bush contact. I’d ridden along in silence for several hours, thinking long and hard over things. Everything. How odd it was that a native of the Bhaston would work for King Aelir. The nomads of these vast and seemingly lifeless grassy flatlands rarely interacted with others outside their clans.
To find a Bhaston doing the shadow work for Celear was intriguing and confusing. She had a story to tell, of that I was sure, but it was not mine to hear on this day. Flitting in and out among the thoughts of the young woman with the berry-stained lips were numerous thinkings about Asdren and his unusual quietude. No one among us had spoken much since we had left my contact behind. Perhaps the others were suspicious of me now. Which was understandable. None asked me about the woman, and I offered nothing.
The sight of the inne in Lettle Curve was welcome indeed.
“I shall take the ponies to the stable,” I said as I slid from Newt’s strong back. Ever since his injury the pack pony and I had grown closer so I’d taken to riding him to assure he wasn’t overloaded. Smuta nodded wearily, the long trip showing on all of us. A bed and a bath would be grand indeed. Gathering the reins, I plodded to the stable, leaving the dwarves to find us room and board. If none were found, I would be content to sleep in the large barn with the horses.
The stablemaster met me at the doorway, a large chicken leg in his hand, grease on his chin. He too wore his hair as the berry agent had but carried no tattoos I could see.
“Good day to you,” I called as I bobbed my head in respect. He gawked at me openly while gnawing on his dinner. Night was fast approaching. “I would like to rent stalls for these ponies and check on a horse that has been stabled here for a Beiro—”
The whinny of a familiar friend floated down the long, hay-covered hallway.
“Hasulett,” I whispered, tossing the reins and a few silvers to the stablemaster. Running like a gazelle, I raced to find my old friend. He called to me as he pawed at the door of his stall. Skidding in the hay, laughing in sheer glee, I nearly flew past my beloved gray gelding. “I have missed you.”
I threw the gate open. My horse met me at the doorway, ears forward and eyes soft with affection. My arms looped around his thick neck as he made happy grunting noises. I buried my face into his mane, inhaling the sweet scent of sweat and hay.
My friend. Beiro friend. A stranger rode me here. She was nice. Not Beiro.
Eyes closed, I clung to him, tears threatening to spill.I am so glad you are here. The ponies were slow but kind.
I am fast. I will run fast for friend. Faster than pony.
I know. You are like the Bhaston wind god.
“You owe me another silver for the extended stay. Wench said it would be four days, and it was seven,” the stablemaster called from behind me. Releasing my horse, I swiped at my eyes, dug into my coin purse and found some silver among a few coppers and one gold. Amid the coins sat the dark green gemstone. I quickly dropped it back into the bag. Perhaps I would show it to Asdren if I saw him before I left at dawn. Surely a miner’s son would know what kind of gem it was.
“Here and feed him well tonight. We are leaving early with a long, hard ride ahead of us. The ponies will require good grain and hay as well. They have carried us far through treacherous times.”
I handed him four silver.
“As you wish,” he grumbled before leading the ponies to their stalls.
I turned to Hasulett, my brow coming to rest on his long face. Happiness flowed through him into me, filling me with the first flicker of joy I had felt since the meeting in the berry bramble.
Rest and enjoy the extra grain. I will be here come dawn, and we will ride to new lands, just you and me and a new friend.
I had no idea where Jaculi had disappeared to, possibly nosing about the gut barrels along the shore in the hopes of finding rats or cats. I would have to speak to him about cats and dogs and tiny children the size of small dogs.
We will run. Beiro friend.
Yes, we will run.
I kissed his nose and forced myself to close the gate on him. I saw no sign of the stablemaster, so I left, stepping outside to scan the darkening sky. With no sign of the dragonling, I reached out mentally, picking up the emotions of the horses nearby, a dog nosing in a gut bucket, and a few loons on thelake. Their lonesome calls rolled over the sleepy hamlet as I made my way to the inne, a rundown, red-lumbered building with a weathered sign letting travelers know it was the Curving Crown Inne. Not that there were many travelers in sight.
Inside was smoky, small, and empty. An old human woman looked up from her sewing. “You the redhead elf that come with the dwarves?” I nodded. “They went up to their rooms. We have four rooms to rent, so one of you is sleeping with someone else. By the looks of you, you’d be eaten up by the female dwarf, so maybe you’d be best served bunking with the older one or slipping in betwixt the twins.”
I suspected Asdren would feast on me with way more relish than Smuta but said nothing other than to offer my thanks.
“No need to thank me. They paid for the rooms. I already sent up some stew, wine, and hot water. Anything extra will cost you more.”
“That is fine, thank you.”
“Funny color hair for an elf,” she mumbled and bit her thread in half. “You can find the hairy dwarf in the room by the closet. Don’t take no more than one clean towel or you’ll be charged. Huh, hairy dwarf. They’re all hairy!” She cackled at her own joke.
The door next to the closet was easy enough to find. Taking a moment to dredge up some restraint, I eased the door open to find Asdren sitting in a ratty chair, pipe lit, in just his small clothes. His hair and beard were damp, droplets of water visible as the fire reflected off the droplets. The room was cramped: one bed, a chair, and a table. The table held a bowl of stew, a basket with dark rye buns, and a crock of butter as well as a washbasin. A fire burned in a small stove in the corner. The air was thick with the aroma of his earthy tobacco, the foul stew, and lye soap.
