CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The day’s travel brought them to a village whose name Ethenn didn’t catch.
Due to its small population, there was no need for an inn, so while the Warriors and Mages trained separately, Thom led the others (including Ilain once more) to the tavern, seeking rooms for rent.
When their training was completed, Ethenn and the rest of the troop entered the village too.
After days of exhaustive work and sweating through his clothes, Ethenn wanted nothing more than an opportunity to languish in a hot tub.
It was a new experience for him: bathing in hot water.
In Trollenston, he often spent weeks at a time in the forest hunting, and when he returned to his family’s small cottage on the outskirts of town, his only option for bathing was water from the trough.
Despite the fairly modern innovation of many houses in town being outfitted with pipes to draw the water inside, their old home had yet to see the innovation.
His sister, Terrina, often complained about the “incivility” of such primitive arrangements. But Ethenn hadn’t minded. They were happy; they were together. That was all that mattered . . . until it was gone.
It wasn’t until Ethenn’s commission with the Ephrian Army and his short stay in the Loclight barracks that he experienced a hot bath for himself. Ever since then, he understood Terrina’s desire for a proper bath.
Arriving in the backwater village, Ethenn began to debate his chances for a bath of any sort. Tucked within the mountains, the settlement solely survived on its mining exports. The likelihood of them having a proper bath setup (even without hot water) was slim.
Riding through the ramshackle buildings, it was easy to find the tavern.
A rusty sign hung above the door, and a single oil lamp was mounted at its side, glowing yellow in the late evening.
Voices thrummed from within its walls and out onto the dirt streets.
There was an open stable to the side where they saw the rest of the troop’s horses tied for the night.
Ethenn’s gut reaction was to distrust that the villagers wouldn’t steal their mounts, but he followed Deckard’s lead, tying his horse next to the rest. He knew he was more paranoid than the others.
It came with the territory of having spent time with the rejects and refuse of Trollenston.
Yet, as devout Allorians, the average Ephrian was too concerned with incurring the wrath of Allore to be dishonest. Still, he unstrapped both his saddlebags and Ilain’s, bringing them into the tavern just to be safe.
The tavern was old and in great need of repair, though not dilapidated by any standard.
An aged woman with gray hair piled atop her head played a zither by the hearth, her fingers deftly sweeping across the strings.
It was “Draaw’s Jig,” a lively tune he’d often heard in Trollenston’s taverns.
Men and women filled the room, enjoying drinks and meals and singing along to the song.
And in the corner was a roped-off area that looked all too familiar to Ethenn. Instantly, he averted his gaze.
“Cheery place,” Brea noted.
Near the middle of the tavern, they found their companions.
Rafferty was eyeing a nearby party playing cards, his foot tapping merrily to the music, while Ilain picked at a clumpy-looking stew, and Vayden hummed with the patrons.
Thom rose as they neared, immediately informing them that there weren’t enough rooms for all of them in the tavern.
“How many rooms are there?” Deckard asked above the din.
Thom shrugged apologetically. “Two. They said they don’t get travelers out this way often, so they’ve no need for so many spares. We can split six and four. Men and women?”
Somehow, the idea both appealed to and annoyed Ethenn. The chance to sleep away from Ilain would be a welcome reprieve, as it would also be a great disappointment.
Deckard wasn’t pleased either. “How many beds in a room?” he asked, running a hand along his jaw.
Thom grimaced. “Two singles.”
“Singles? What’s the point of a room if most of us end up sleeping on the floor?”
“We could push them together,” Thom suggested.
“Unless my bedmate’s a lady,” Rafferty piped up, white-blond brow raised, “I’m not sharing.”
Evylin rolled her eyes. “What choice do we have?” she asked. “There are two rooms. We’ll have to split and make the most of it.”
A smattering of disgruntled looks spread through the troop, primarily among the married couples. But it was Ilain’s downcast gaze that caught Ethenn’s attention the most. From the moment he’d entered the tavern, she hadn’t looked at him. He wondered if she regretted recruiting Thom’s help.
At first, Thom’s offered advice had greatly angered Ethenn. Who was he to tell him what to do with his wife? Not only was Thom a notable screwup, but he hadn’t even had a single successful love affair. How would he know the appropriate manner in which to handle their situation?
Yet, Ethenn found himself considering his friend’s words. “Ilain wouldn’t ask for help if she weren’t desperately lost.”
Studying his wife in the dim tavern light, Ethenn wondered at that. Why was Ilain so desperate for his physical affection that she’d go to Thom for help? It didn’t make sense.
“Shouldn’t you make her feel loved?”
With a sigh, Ethenn set the saddlebags on the floor by their table and then stepped away from the group to head for the bar. Men lined the counter, tankards in hand, and spoke in grumbling and gruff tones. He pushed into a singular empty spot, flagging down the barkeep.
“Can I help ye?” the man asked in a clipped Ephrian accent. It seemed the mountain region had its own dialect.
Ethenn leaned in so he wouldn’t have to yell. “Anyone in the village looking to make extra coin?”
The barkeep raised his bushy eyebrows. “That’s everyone in the village, lad.”
“Anyone with a spare room in their house?”
He gave a bored blink. “I already told yer friends; there’s nothin’ but my two rooms upstairs.”
The zitherist finished her song and began packing away her things as a man stepped up.
His dark-skinned, bald head shone amber in the firelight.
He wore only a tunic tucked into his trousers, but a red and blue woven tartan draped across his chest like a sash.
Ethenn knew his announcement before he made it.
“Thank ye, Laurey,” he said to the elderly musician, then faced the crowd with outstretched arms. “The night’s entertainment shall begin in twenty minutes.”
The crowd cheered, stomping their feet under the tables. Ethenn clenched his jaw.
“Our champion is back again to defend his title,” the man proclaimed, thrusting his hand toward the back of the room. “Aangus the Hammerfist!”
While the room roared with applause and excitement, a bull-like man with a green and yellow plaid raised his boulder-sized fist in the air. His scraggly bearded face split into a proud grin, and he let out a bellow of challenge.
Ethenn pressed his lips together. He’d fought many men like the Hammerfist. Men who were broad and muscle-bound with skulls thicker than a sheep’s woolly pelt.
The announcer continued with his exuberant speech. “The Hammerfist told me this morning that he’s ready for a challenge, so any man who wants to test his worth against our champion, come forward. We’ve a grand prize for the night: the title, three crowns, and as much ale as you can drink.”
Laughter and chatter filled the room. A few men rose to put their names in the ring.
Ethenn turned back to the barkeep. “Surely, there’s someone with a room,” he said.
The barkeep shrugged lazily. “Sorry, lad, can’t help ye.”
Grinding his teeth, Ethenn’s back grew warm. “You’re telling me that out of an entire village, no one has a bed to spare?”
“We’re small if’n ye didn’t see, laddie.” The barkeep’s eyes were dark with agitation. “Everyone with rooms has got them filled with their own loved ones. We ain’t got space to house travelers.”
Unwilling to give up, Ethenn bristled at the idea forming in his mind. But he held the barkeep’s gaze and asked, “And where do you sleep?”
The man’s expression pinched angrily. “Ye threatening me, lad?”
With a dry grin, Ethenn shook his head. “No, old man, I’m offering you a deal.
” He gestured toward the patrons. “This fighting ring of yours brings in good profit, yes? You put on a show, garner a crowd, earn lots of coin. Yet, it costs you, doesn’t it?
Three gold crowns? And what’s our ringleader there get to organize the event for you?
At least a crown of his own, right? And I’m guessing the Hammerfist isn’t a lightweight when it comes to ale. He probably drinks you just about dry.”
The barkeep eyed him curiously, clearly unsure how Ethenn could know all this information.
“What I’m offering you is a chance to keep three crowns and a whole barrel of ale.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ll fight him.”
The barkeep didn’t look impressed. “Ye’ll lose,” he said flatly. “Yer a strapping lad, but Aangus has got twice yer size. Perhaps ye’ll beat two or three of the men on yer way to him, but he’ll stop ye cold.”
“Then you’ve got no reason not to take my deal,” Ethenn argued. “If I win, I get your room for the night, and you get to keep the prize purse. If I lose, you’re out nothing, and I’ll pay the prize. Including the Hammerfist’s ale.”
“Yer daft,” the barkeep laughed.
“I’m confident.”
With a hearty guffaw, the barkeep held out a hand. “Pay the prize regardless, and ye’ve got a deal, laddie.”