Page 97 of Ale Storm

A male grunt of pain sounded an instant before Jildarin yelled and ran toward Rylana. Magical wind swept in through the open carriage doors, and the smoke cleared swiftly.

As she’d promised, Sylin still had the female dwarf, who now bled from a deeper cut in her neck and had both arms jerked behind her. In front of Rylana, a surly male dwarf glowered, a hand to a gouge in his shoulder. Snarling like the dragon he was, Jildarin grabbed the male by the arms and hefted him into the air.

“I think he was just trying to get the horn,” Rylana blurted, not wanting Jildarin to kill anyone. Especially not with the peacekeepers on the premises.

But Jildarin must have been furious that someone had dared attack her, or maybe had dared start trouble of any kind in his storeroom—his lair. With another snarl, Jildarin heaved the dwarf across the room.

Flailing and shouting, the intruder arced toward the kegs, almost reaching the ceiling on his trajectory. Vials tumbled out of his pocket and shattered on the concrete floor. Vials of poison?

The dwarf landed on the kegs with a great thud and subsequent groan. As he rolled to the floor, three uniformed peacekeepers stepped to the front of the crowd. Captain Laridon was one, and he looked from Sylin and her bleeding captive to Rylana, who still gripped the lance, to Jildarin to the limp male dwarf who’d landed near his broken vials.

“Sir, do we arrest them all for violence?” an earnest young peacekeeper on Laridon’s right asked. “Or, uhm?” He pulled one of the notorious fine-issuing devices out of a pouch on his belt.

“For violence?” Laridon asked mildly, looking to his left, where a lieutenant that Rylana had seen before stood. “Did you see any violence, Chatok?”

“No, sir. I believe some dwarven thieves may have entered the diner and run afoul of a perfectly legal security system though.”

“That is what I saw,” King Ekton, who’d witnessed everything, said.

“Yes, I believe that’s what happened.” Laridon nodded at Sylin, then smiled at Rylana and Jildarin, who’d come to stand—loom—at her side. “Let’s apprehend these two dwarves. That female, at the least, has committed crimes in our city. And that male… Are those vials of poison?”

“I believe they are,” Ekton said helpfully.

“No!” the male dwarf protested from the floor. “I mean, I was trying to dump out the ale that was poisoned earlier. When we saw that the king was here, we weren’t going to…”

“Shut up, Bortov,” the female dwarf growled.

“It was just supposed to affect the staff,” the male continued, pleading with the peacekeepers instead of listening to the female. “And it’s not deadly. I swear! We just wanted a chance to get the horn when everyone was sick and distracted. That’s all!”

The female dwarf, looking like she wanted to strangle her chatty colleague, tried to lunge away from Sylin. Maybe she hadn’t been that interested in dumping out the ale and had yet hoped to get the horn when everyone was sick, even if that included the king and his entire retinue.

Fortunately, with her training and elven strength, Sylin didn’t let the dwarf escape or even move an inch.

“Sweep up the broken vials, Hevkinlon,” Laridon said to the young peacekeeper. “We’ll collect all the evidence as well as these dwarves. Ah, there’s our golem assistant.”

One of the stone-skinned golems lumbered up in front of the carriage doors. Laridon and Sylin walked the female dwarf out so it could take custody of her. The other peacekeepers dragged the male out.

Jildarin watched them, his expression more baleful than grateful, but Rylana made sure to thank them for their assistance this evening.

“You were wise to hire me for your security detail,” Sylin told Rylana as the peacekeepers departed with the prisoners.

“I’m often wise,” Rylana said.

Sylin’s eyebrows drifted upward. And did Jildarin’s also lift?

“I’m sometimes wise,” Rylana amended.

Jildarin nodded agreeably.

King Ekton walked across the storeroom toward them. Rylana handed the horn to him before realizing how dirty the inside was now. Having cookies and scones as well as ale dumped into it had left it needing to be washed with the night’s dishes, but the king accepted it.

“Excellent,” Ekton said. “Thank you. Now that I’ve seen it tested, I believe my antiques advisor was correct and that this is the long-lost family heirloom of my ancestors. It also confirms a hypothesis that some scholars have had, that the heir Vaknorok had poison in his home when the queen visited, and that was why the horn glowed. Whether she knew that when she chose him will remain a mystery, I suppose.”

“We read about that piece of history.” Rylana waved to herself and Sylin. “The text said she believed it activated because the gods were choosing him.”

“Knowledge was lost during that era. She may not have known the horn’s true abilities. Or she may have known and chosen him to save his brothers from him—and because he was clearly the most ruthless of the three. Since those ancestors of mine are all dead, we will never know, but I will start the tradition of again wearing the horn to all meals. And ale tastings.” Ekton winked.

“A good plan,” Rylana said.