Chapter 12
When Rylana and 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 curse chaos 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 on the 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 could come 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.”
“I’m praying to the new god that that doesn’t happen.” Tezilly hesitated, then lowered her voice to whisper, “I’m also praying to the old gods. Just in case.”
“You might want to drop off an offering at a temple to the troll gods.”
“The troll gods?” Tezilly blinked. “You’re human too. You can’t possibly worship them.”
“Worship, no. Have a newfound desire to ensure they’re not irritated and disgruntled, yes.”
“Why them specifically?”
“Just a hunch.” Rylana sipped from her drink, appreciating its warmth and the taste of the mild milk mixed with the strong coffee. And had Tezilly dusted the latte foam with a touch of cinnamon? Perfect.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Tezilly started to turn away but paused. “What kinds of offerings do the troll gods like?”
Sylin raised her eyebrows, perhaps wondering if Rylana had learned anything useful during the day.
“If only I knew,” was all Rylana could offer, but the memory of the rye stalks came to mind.
“I suppose I could ask Mogla. She’s half-troll and supposed to deliver supplies later today.
Assuming no more docks spontaneously sink into the lake and cargoes can still be unloaded.
” Shaking her head, Tezilly walked to another table to collect empty cups.
“Should have known we were in trouble as soon as the glowing water critters disappeared from the lake,” her last muttered words floated back to them.
“Did you leave an offering at a troll temple in town?” Sylin asked. “Or perhaps in your castle’s basement?”
“I don’t think an ancient troll religious chamber can be considered a part of one’s basement.”
“Even if it’s under your library?”
“Even if. I’m assuming it was there before the castle was built.
I wonder why someone decided to construct a dwelling on top of it.
Judging by the way we got in, whoever did so knew it was there.
It’s not as if there were ten feet of stone on top or it had been caved in.
” Rylana took another sip and peered out the window to check on the diner, making sure there wasn’t smoke coming out the front door or anything else dire going on.
Other than the lack of customers in line outside, it appeared normal.
So far. Another ogre with burning incense wandered past, waving smoke toward building fronts and wagons.
A wheel had fallen off one of those wagons, leaving it canted toward its back corner.
“Maybe the castle was originally built by trolls,” Sylin said.
Rylana started to shake her head but paused.
“I’ve never heard that suggested, but I know it has been there for a long time, long before the city and most of the other estates over there were built.
I suppose at least some of the structure could have been standing when my ancestors claimed the area.
The library does have wide doorways and high ceilings. ”
“And we all know of the trolls’ love for fine literature.”
Rylana snorted. “I don’t think anyone but a handful of monks enjoyed fine literature in those days.
That was before the printing press. Long before.
” She nibbled on a cookie, delighting in the simple, sweet flavor, and licked the sugar crystals embedded in the top.
“There are architectural plans in the castle that show many additions and renovations over the years.”
“Such as the turning of a troll shrine into a library.”
“The library is above.” Rylana waved. “I could go back and look at the plans, but I doubt my ancestors would have admitted it, even in architectural drawings, if they’d stolen the land from trolls.
The early humans fought them for territory here.
Over the centuries, many of the intelligent species considered the lake lucky, because of the luminescent water life, and coveted the area.
It didn’t hurt that the lands around it have always been fertile with lots of nearby forests for building materials and burning wood.
Now, I regret that I didn’t read more about the ancient history of the area when I was growing up.
My tutors usually focused on what happened after humans, gnomes, and dwarves arrived in the area and started building the city. ”
“Perhaps the library at the gnomish university would cover the trollish influence that existed before then,” Sylin suggested.
“I’m… not sure how much stock I’d put in the gnome version of the history of this area.”
Sylin arched her eyebrows. “They built the city. Wouldn’t they be most apt to have thorough records?”
“I spoke to Vormalt today. His… research, we’ll call it, makes me wonder about that.
I didn’t get to question him as thoroughly as I would have liked, though I can’t blame him for fleeing to avoid possible dragon incineration, but the stuff he said…
” Rylana dug into her pack to pull out the journal she’d brought back.
“Dragon incineration? I assumed you were being melodramatic when you spoke of having a rough day.”
“Yes, I’m terribly prone to melodrama.” If anything, Rylana thought she underreacted to chaos. All her years of war had inured her to events that would frazzle many people.
“Most humans are,” Sylin said, perhaps disagreeing with Rylana’s self-assessment. “What happened? I assume it wasn’t the curse that brought dragons.”
“Probably not, though Jildarin may disagree.” Rylana summed up her meeting with his aunt and mother at the ruins—and the possibility that both dragons wanted her dead. She also laid the book on the table so Sylin could read Vormalt’s notes on the various gnome leaders in the city.
“You should have taken my advice and not applied for a job working for a dragon,” Sylin said. “Especially not a dragon you had an antagonistic past with.”
“Then I wouldn’t now be a partner in a thriving diner business.”
“But you also wouldn’t have an overbearing dragon auntie hunting you down.”
“Is that any worse than having the entire elven contingent of a city hunting you down?”
Sylin grimaced. “Shall we start a contest to see which one of us is killed first?”
“That’s a contest I would prefer not to win—or even participate in.”