Page 60 of Ale Storm

“Any idea what might set off an antique dwarven hunting horn?” Rylana asked her, daunted by the number of substances nearby. Any of hundreds of vials could have been causing the reaction.

The female squinted at the artifact, and Rylana felt an itching sensation. Was the alchemist using some magic to investigate it? Or to investigate her?

“That is not welcome in my shop.” The troll pointed toward the exit. “Leave.”

“Leave?” Rylana asked. “I could be a buyer. I’m in the need of— Er, is that purple beaker smoking?”

“Take that horn and leave. It is not welcome.”

“Why not? Can you tell what it does?”

The troll reached into a basket and grasped a vial of gray powder. “You will leave. I insist.”

The way she held it up made it look like it could be used as a weapon. Maybe it could. The peacekeepers probably weren’t educated enough on alchemical concoctions to know which substances needed tranquility ribbons tied around them.

Sylin must also have thought it a weapon because she’d crouched, as if ready to dodge the vial if it were thrown. Or maybe she meant to attack the aged troll? That wouldn’t be a good idea. For many reasons.

Rylana touched her arm and nodded toward the aisle out front. “We aren’t troublemakers. We’ll leave.”

“Do not bring that near my shop again,” the troll said coldly.

Rylana waved an acknowledgment.

“We aren’t troublemakers?” Sylin asked as they walked away. “Have you met yourself?”

“Funny. You were the one about to pull a dagger on a seventy-year-old troll lady.”

“Don’t be silly. All I have with me is my utility knife.” Sylin eyed the horn again, but it had stopped glowing.

Rylana touched it and found it had cooled, no warmer than any other piece of ivory. She looked back, wishing she could learn whatever the troll female knew. If she handed the horn to Sylin and returned without it, might the troll speak with her then?

“Visiting Plant Master Chalora could be a good idea,” Sylin said.

“Are you willing to risk going to the enclave, given the mixed reception you’re getting from elves?”

“I meant it might be a good idea for you to go. You’re the one with the horn mystery.”

“Yeah, but visiting Chalora was your idea,” Rylana pointed out, heading toward the back exit of the market and the roads that would take them toward the enclave. “Maybe the elves there today will be delighted to see the queen’s daughter. What an honor.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m honored every moment that you bless me with your aristocratic presence,” Rylana said.

“Even when I mention your dragon’s zerg stick?”

“I might be slightly less honored then.”

Sylin halted abruptly. Rylana tensed and scoured the shoppers and booths on the route ahead, expecting trouble. Then she spotted what—who—Sylin must have seen. And he must have sensed her approach because he swung around and beamed a handsome smile at Sylin.

“Zilek,” she said with a groan.

17

Jildarin’s brother stood in front of a shop selling jams with a butcher block slab of wood propped on two barrels to make the front counter. An ogre and an elf stood inside the booth, handing out samples while showing off jars to anyone who paused. The ogre was also packing a small bag for Zilek, almost ridiculously small considering the frying-pan hands and eight-foot height of the looming vendor.

Rylana wouldn’t have guessed dragons enjoyed sweet fruity jams, but who knew?

“That’s a surprising partnership,” Sylin said.