Page 17 of Ale Storm

“It is,” she agreed, but she had a hunch.

It was proven true when Rylana stepped into the dining room. Other than the cleaning contraption and a couple of people visible through the window, who were studying the menu posted by the door, it was empty, save for two male dwarves. They were the same dwarves who’d been looking into the bakery a few minutes after Rylana had been inside. One was middle-aged with a broad and weathered face with creases at the corners of his eyes and a few flecks of gray in his short red hair. The other had boyish features with a squashed nose and cheeks almost as red as his vibrant hair. They both had thick, bushy beards down to their chests.

“I’m Rylana,” she said, though something told her they already knew. At the least, they knew about her horn. “What can I do for you? Did you come to request that more dwarven staples be added to the menu? I know the chef well and have some influence over him.”

She looked back, but Jildarin hadn’t followed her into the dining room. He was slipping into the kitchen with that book in his grip. She hoped he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong—or maybe out of order—by touching her shoulder and almost kissing her.

“I like rockrhino burgers,” the younger of the pair said, “but you have to go to the southern Skyfang Mountains to find those big rhinos. All other kinds of burgers are good too. Especially with fiery-fang sauce and pickled garlic. Those are my favorites.”

The older dwarf elbowed him. “We’re not here for dinner.”

“We could be. Dinnertime isn’t that far away.”

Jildarin walked out of the kitchen with a notepad and a pencil. What did he plan to do? Write down the burger request? She’d been joking when she’d mentioned dwarven staples.

“I have not attempted to pickle anything other than the popular human vegetable, the cucumber,” Jildarin said when Rylana eyed his notepad. “I have learned, however, that dwarves enjoy pickling many items including fruits, vegetables, and even some meats. It extends the shelf life of these items. Since dwarves often remain in their tunnels throughout the winter, they require long-lasting foodstuffs.”

It was somewhat amazing how quickly his thoughts could turn from romance—or whatever he’d had in mind in the storeroom—to cooking, but Rylana knew well that this was his passion, so she couldn’t blame him. She even caught herself smiling. “Who doesn’t love good pickled garlic?”

“Nobody,” the younger dwarf said.

His buddy elbowed him again and focused on Rylana. “I’m Gormer, and this is Mikon. We’re here about the horn you found, ma’am.”

“And you know about that… how?” Rylana asked.

She was tempted to deny knowledge of a horn at all, but her honor twinged at the idea of lying. Besides, the dwarves spoke with certainty, as if they knew all about it. Maybe they were friends of the antiques appraiser.

“High Priest Vondarik,” Gormer said, “he who leads holy rituals and advises the king himself, sensed it from afar.”

“How afar?” Rylana asked, skeptical.

Even dragons couldn’t sense magical items from that far away.

“The heart of the Ironhammer Kingdom,” Gormer said.

“So, more than a hundred miles away?”

“Almost precisely a hundred, I believe,” Gormer said. “As one follows the road.”

“It’s a shorter trip for a dragon,” Jildarin put in.

“Most trips are,” Gormer said.

The older dwarf was handling their side of the conversation. The younger had sidled over to Jildarin’s elbow and was pointing at the notepad and whispering. Rylana caught the words, “Pickled beets,” and, “Pickled eggs.”

“What about pickled mushrooms?” Jildarin asked, not as quietly. “I’ve numerous varieties on hand, as they’ve been so popular lately with the elves, but I’ve been seeking new ways of preparing them. I enjoy experimenting. I imagine pickling would add a bright and tangy crunch.”

“Mushrooms?” Mikon asked dubiously.

“Elves like mushrooms.”

“Dwarves do not. They’re slimy.”

“Mushrooms can be cultivated in caves,” Jildarin said. “Would that not make them a naturally appealing food to a dwarf?”

“They’re slimy no matter where they grow.”

“The mushrooms I prepare are never slimy. I will allow that pickled fungi might have a slippery-crisp texture, but they wouldn’t be slimy, mushy, or anything unpleasant. My food is never unpleasant.”