“You can tell from a centuries-old cave carving?”
“This is a temple, not a cave, and likelythousandsof years old. I would not wager my Golden Whisk on my identification, as barley looks similar to rye and also grows well in northern climates such as this, but I believe I’ve heard troll chefs mention that rye is astaple for their kind. There are numerous varieties, however, andthatI most certainly could not identify from this crude carving.”
“I guess I can ask Vormalt if I see him again, though he probably didn’t know either, or he wouldn’t have been out here making rubbings. Of rye.” Rylana scratched her jaw. “Was that truly what he came here for? It’s too bad he got away.”
“Yes, had you captured him, you could have questioned him thoroughly. Since we are outside of the city’s boundaries, you could have applied force.” Jildarin waved to her quiver.
“I don’t usually stab acquaintances to get them to answer my questions.”
“I could have lit him on fire.”
“Wouldn’t he have been too busy screaming to talk?”
“Perhaps. Humans are not hardy when it comes to enduring pain.”
“Especially pain that can signal their imminent incineration. There’s probably a reason he sprinted off when all the dragons arrived.”
“Probably.” Jildarin cocked his head. “It is odd that you did not.”
“We’ve established that I’m strange.” Rylana folded the paper and tucked it into her pocket. “Will you fly me back to the city?”
“Yes. Perhaps the effects of the curse have lessened, and more customers will be waiting at the diner for my next meal.”
“Let’s hope.”
12
When Rylanaand Jildarin returned to Tranquility, signs of the curse had increased instead of abating. In their absence, a temple to the new god had caught on fire, the ferry dock had collapsed into the lake, and every fourth alarm pillar was going off, despite a lack of violence occurring in the area. The gnome peacekeepers looked frazzled as their patrols jogged around the city, trying to reassure citizens while stopping opportunistic thieves seeking to take advantage of distracted purse carriers. Even the expressionless golems seemed a touch frazzled as they trooped after their uniformed handlers.
To Rylana’s bemusement, she spotted Sylin sipping from a mug not on the rooftop of the coffee shop but by the roasting equipment visible through the window. As Jildarin strode into the diner to make sure no more shelves had dismounted themselves from the walls, Rylana took Vormalt’s half-finished rubbing and his journal into the shop to see if Sylin had any thoughts about them. Even if she’d been raised by wolves, she’d traveled extensively, read greatly, and might have ideas.
“Are you trusting the elves will be too distracted by the cursechaos to hunt you down today?” Rylana asked, holding up a finger to Tezilly, who was manning the gnomish espresso machine today. There wasn’t any sign of her partner, Brella, or the half-gnome server who often delivered drinks to patrons. Similar to the diner, the tables were sparsely populated today.
“By the alarm gongs, in particular.” As usual, Sylin was ignoring the chairs at her table and leaning against the roaster. “Elves have keen ears and find loud noises jarring.”
“But you don’t mind them?”
Even Rylana, with her mundane human hearing, found the incessant gongs irritating. At least inside, with the front door closed, the coffee shop was somewhat insulated. Beyond the window, two tusked orcs were rolling a barrel up the street, hoses protruding on either end, and they were spraying the sidewalks and buildings. With something their people believed warded off curses? Rylana had no idea, but a squad of peacekeepers trotted past without commenting, so the liquid was presumably not anything toxic.
“I don’t adore them,” Sylin said, “but I grew accustomed to cacophony and clamor while serving in a mercenary unit.”
“War isn’t quiet.”
“No.”
Rylana pulled out a chair and, since Sylin wasn’t using the other, stuck her legs out straight under the table and propped her feet on it.
“Comfortable?” Sylin sipped from her cup as a great bang outside almost drowned out the word.
“Sufficiently. It’s been a tough day.”
“Of wrangling numbers in an accounting book?” Sylin made fencing-with-a-pen motions in the air.
“If only.” Rylana beamed a smile at Tezilly when she brought a latte unasked. The curse and the chaos must not have affected baking that day because the usual two tasty cookies perched onthe saucer. “Thank you, Tezilly. How are things going? Are you surviving…” Sylin waved a hand in the direction of the nearest gonging pillar, or maybe to encompass the city as a whole.
Tezilly grimaced. “This morning, Brella was trying to fill the hopper with beans, and an access panel opened and shot them out all over the floor, as if they were being sprayed by artillery weapons. I didn’t even think beans couldcome out of that spot.” An upward gaze toward the ceiling suggested some might have made it all the way into the rafters. “We’ve cleaned, but we’re still finding some we missed. One woman pulled a bean out of her ear.”
“At least your establishment hasn’t caught on fire.”
