Chapter 16
“What’s that?” As they walked toward the exit of the elven enclave, a couple of armed guards following to ensure they departed, Rylana pointed to a piece of paper in Jildarin's hand. It looked like it had been torn from the notepad one of the elders had been writing on.
“An order.” Jildarin sounded bemused. “For my soup.”
“All those, erm, older elves want a dish seasoned with dragon spices?” Rylana couldn’t imagine any of the stately and sedate people who’d gathered around him longing to enhance their love lives. Did centuries-old elves even have love lives?
“They’ve heard of the dish and are curious to try it. There were also four orders for coffee-rubbed mushrooms.” His eyebrows arched.
“None of those elders were nearby when I spoke about that.”
“Elves have the same ability to communicate telepathically as dragons.”
“Meaning nothing was private about my conversation with Layothlee? Or her boss?”
“Likely not.”
“I wondered if Layothlee might have drawn me aside to feign friendliness while finagling information on Sylin’s whereabouts out of me, but nobody ended up asking about her.”
“Several elves wanted to forcibly coerce that information from you,” Jildarin said.
“They also warned me that they’d looked you up and know that you are dangerous to their kind and also dragon kind.
” His eyelids drooped as he touched the scar on his temple and regarded her.
“I informed them that I already knew that.”
“They’re a helpful people, aren’t they?”
“To their allies, they can be.” Jildarin slowed as they approached the exit archway.
The two guards who had been there before remained, but another elf stood in the pathway, a handsome male with short, spiky silver hair.
Dressed all in black, save for leather armor that covered his shoulders and torso, he wore a sword in a belt scabbard, the hilt tied with a tranquility ribbon.
In addition, numerous dagger hilts protruded from sheaths along his forearms and tucked into his boots.
Rylana didn’t notice ribbons knotting them to keep them from being drawn.
“I am Captain Tassani,” he stated, his voice pleasant but firm. “I work with Captain Laridon of the peacekeepers to ensure there’s no trouble in the city.” He had blue-gray eyes that politely acknowledged Jildarin before turning toward Rylana. With accusation?
“I don’t know if you noticed,” she said, “but there’s trouble in the city now.”
“The otherworldly kind that’s difficult for a warrior to thwart, yes. I stand ready if the priests, shamans, and elven elders determine that I may be of use.”
“That’s nice.” Rylana smiled at him, then made a shooing motion, though she doubted he would step aside. Why did she have a feeling that the interrogation she thought she might have escaped was about to begin?
“At this time, I have been assigned the duty of ensuring all is safe in this area since our queen will be visiting soon.”
“Perhaps,” Jildarin said, “given the possibility of a curse, this would not be a good time for her to visit.”
“So I suggested,” Tassani said with a nod. “But she is already en route and looking forward to enjoying spring in the north.”
“The cursed north,” Rylana murmured.
Tassani's gaze returned to her. “You battled our kind in the war, but, as far as our records can tell, you did not act dishonorably.”
Rylana blinked, not sure what to make of the transition. “That was never my goal.”
“But the assassin of unknown origins… used treachery and stealth to sneak into our camps and leave slashed elven throats in her wake. Presumably, she was ordered by her cowardly commanders to rid the world of elves of power and political importance, those who opposed the insidious presence of humans and orcs in our mountains. No doubt, she gleefully carried out their tasks.”
“Sylin obeyed orders during the war, but I assure you that glee wasn’t involved. I don’t think she’s ever been gleeful in her life.”
Jaw set, Tassani looked at her without amusement.
“After a discussion with the elders, I’ve chosen not to detain you at this time,” Tassani said, but a glance toward Jildarin made Rylana think her dragon ally was the only reason for that choice.
“I’m delighted,” she said.
“Do not make us regret it. One way or another, we will ensure that assassin is not present in the city when the queen arrives.” Tassani strode between them and into the enclave, adding in a low voice, “Perhaps not present in this world.”
“Isn’t he a friendly chap?” Rylana asked.
Unperturbed, Jildarin led the way through the arch and into the park outside.
Sighing, Rylana jogged to catch up with him, though she glanced back a few times, wondering if one way or another meant the elves might follow her, hoping she would lead them to Sylin.
Jildarin delved into a pocket and pulled out another piece of paper, then handed it to her. “I also obtained this while conversing with the elders.”
“Chalora Lakewalker,” she read the top line.
“An elven plant master who uses her magic to create magnificent gardens for clients around the city whose projects intrigue and challenge her. She’s selective, I’m told, but we may submit a request.”
“Installing a garden on a rooftop with no soil and a troll-god curse in place ought to challenge anyone.”
“It was suggested that she might also be enticed by mushrooms and soup.”
Rylana returned the paper to him. “On the way back, I’d like to stop at a temple for the troll gods. If my memory serves, there are a couple in town. If you need to get back to start cooking up orders for your elven clientele, I can go alone.”
“Satisfying the elves is not my priority right now. Besides, since I cannot fly about the city, delivering the meal would require more long walks.” Jildarin paused to squat, then do a couple of hip circles.
“I’ve grown accustomed to standing in the kitchen and moving about for many hours a day, but all this walking of late is not natural.
What a slow, tedious, and tiring way to navigate the world. ”
“Does that mean your legs are sore? We did have to walk uphill to get to the enclave.”
“They feel heavy with fatigue. As a dragon, I could fly all day without growing weary. If your wings do grow fatigued, you can spread them to glide for a time. Legs are incapable of gliding.”
“Yeah, being a land-based creature is disappointing.”
“It must be infinitely so. How do you tolerate it?”
“They say suffering is good for the soul. As for the food delivery, I’m sure you could send Rolf on a bicycle. Though he would complain about the hill too, and he’d want to be tipped handsomely. Do elves tip as part of their culture?”
“They are more likely to share wisdom than money. Did the elder who spoke with you offer any information? She appeared to be telling a story rather than interrogating you.”
“She offered… a story, yes. History. Maybe more than I wanted to know. She also suggested talking with trolls to find out what they leave for their gods as offerings. Maybe, if we get some specific items that the troll deities love, I can take them over to the castle and set them on the pedestal. From what she suggested, the chamber under the castle might not only be the remains of a troll temple but one of the first in our area.”
“Perhaps there will be trolls at the temple you desire to visit in the city, and they can advise you.”
“If not, you’ll have to bake every recipe in those cookbooks, and we’ll hope for the best.”
“Every recipe with rye.”
“Right. How many was that?”
“When we departed, Zalani had identified twenty-three recipes and was halfway through one book. It is, apparently, a staple grain for their kind.”
“That’s a lot of baked goods to make. More than your legs will be tired by the time you finish.”
“I may need to recruit assistance.” Jildarin eyed her.
Rylana had never baked bread in her life. “Maybe Mya will help. She mentioned her business is down since the curse started too.”
“Her assistance could be acceptable.”
They’d reached a key intersection in town, and Rylana pointed to the left, one of several arrow-shaped signs on the corner mentioning Temples and Tabernacles in that direction. “I’ll head this way.” She waved to indicate that Jildarin could continue going straight to return to the diner.
He looked toward the sky for a moment, then back the way they had come. “I will go with you to the temple.” He lowered his voice. “An elf is following us at a distance.”
“Ah. Thank you.” Since she’d already guessed the captain’s words meant she hadn’t seen the last of their kind, Rylana wasn’t surprised. “I look forward to a day when I don’t need an escort to walk around the peaceful, serene, and untouched-by-crime city of Tranquility.”
The baying of a hound sounded, and a uniformed gnome ran through the intersection, being half-dragged by one of the copper-furred log-inspector dogs. The pillars had been silent since they’d exited the sanctuary, but one started sending out gongs of alarm again.
“The sometimes peaceful and serene city,” Rylana amended.
“Indeed.”
As they walked toward an old portion of Tranquility with numerous abandoned and current houses of worship, several grates in the street sent a miasma of dubious green and gray vapors wafting into the air. An unappealing sulfurous scent accompanied them.
“I appreciate your company today,” Rylana said. “Walking around the city is more fraught than usual.”
A few feet ahead of them, a wooden sign in front of a tailor’s shop chose that moment to fall from its hinges and clatter onto the cobblestones.
“Indeed,” Jildarin said again as they walked around it. “I’ve not cooked troll recipes before. Their kind do not participate as judges in the Golden Whisk, and they’ve not been frequent visitors at the diner.”
“So, this could be just the challenge you were looking for?”
“It could be a challenge. As I’ve informed you, baking isn’t my forte or a particular interest, but for the good of the city—and sales at the diner—I will work to end the curse.”
“You’re a noble dragon.”
“I am a practical dragon.”
“You’re kind of noble too.”
“Hm.”
Rylana smiled at him but resisted an urge to clasp his hand.
“There’s the troll temple.” Jildarin pointed between two large domed churches.
A wide alley led to an older structure in the back, a compact pyramid with four sets of columns at the corners.
Though it was in better repair, the temple reminded Rylana of a smaller version of the ruins on the knoll.
Despite being in decent shape, it looked old enough to have been in that spot at the founding of the city, maybe longer.
Two trolls walked out of the pyramid, one carrying an empty bag. Had he left an offering?
Rylana was tempted to run up and ask them about what their gods liked, but they had the look of dock workers, not shamans.
“Maybe we can go in and see what they left,” she mused, wondering if Jildarin could deconstruct existing dishes to guess at the ingredients, or if he would need a recipe book.
He was looking over his shoulder instead of at the trolls.
“Is the elf still following us?” Rylana hadn’t seen anyone but trusted his senses were superior to hers, especially his ability to detect magical beings. “Following me.” Unless the elders were aching and impatient for him to make their soup, she doubted they would be after him.
“Now, there are two elves.”
“If they’d put as much time into tracking down Sylin as they do me, they would have found her already,” Rylana said, though she was glad the elves hadn’t located Sylin yet. She hoped they never did.
“Perhaps they do not truly wish to find her.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure they do.” Rylana turned down the alley and headed for the pyramid entrance.
“Finding an assassin can be dangerous.”
“Less so in Tranquility. And Sylin is retired. The last I heard, she was doing work for the peacekeepers.” Rylana spoke loudly, in case the elves were close enough to overhear. “She’s helping keep order, and she’s certainly not plotting against the elven queen.”
“I believe you.”
“Too bad your ears aren’t pointed.”
Jildarin touched one of his lobes. “I’m capable of shape-shifting into an elven form. It is no more difficult than choosing a human body.”
“You’d better not. Sylin assures me that pointy ears are sexy. I’d have a hard time keeping my hands off you.”
Jildarin lowered his hand. “You refer to recreational mating?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. It was a joke. As long as you don’t give me any more soup to try, I can keep my hands to myself.”
“That is agreeable.”
“I figured.” Rylana led the way into the tall and wide stone hallway at the base of the pyramid. This one was much shorter than the one in the ruins outside the city, and they promptly came to an open chamber.
Flames flickered in lanterns mounted on the stone walls, and centuries’ worth of soot covered the ceiling.
In the center of the chamber, there were two huge statues of trolls kneeling before a wide stone pedestal.
The gods. Gox and Nox. With their hands spread, they were situated to receive offerings, and offerings overflowed.
Everything from baskets of bread and rolls to dried fish to cured and fresh meats to the head of an elk lay on and around the pedestal, filling the chamber with a strange mixture of scents.
A couple of rats had found their way in and were helping themselves.
“Presumptuous of them to eat the gods’ offerings,” Rylana said.
Jildarin walked forward, his approach sending the furry vermin scurrying into holes in the walls, and picked up one of the loaves of bread. He sniffed it. He did the same to the rolls.
“Are they made from rye flour?” Rylana asked.
“Some are.” Jildarin returned the baked items to the platform. “Some aren’t.”
“Maybe the trolls have forgotten what offerings their gods prefer. Though what deity wouldn’t be delighted by an elk head?”
Chin in hand, Jildarin gazed thoughtfully at the statues and around the chamber. Only a few carvings and paintings decorated the walls in this temple, and none were enlightening, as far as Rylana could tell.
A female troll with a braid of white hair bouncing on her shoulder trotted in with a bag. She glanced at them in surprise, but their presence didn’t keep her from setting eight muffins on top of the pile and murmuring something to the gods as she bowed low.
A tremor went through the ground, startling Rylana into spreading her arms. “Is that an earthquake?”
The troll ran out. Rylana was on the verge of following—swiftly—but Jildarin hadn’t moved. The ground trembled one more time before subsiding.
“I believe you are correct,” Jildarin said. “The trolls have forgotten how to appease their gods.”
“That’s going to be a problem for the city, isn’t it?”
Jildarin picked up one of the muffins, sniffed it, and returned it to its perch. “Yes.”