Chapter 5
OKAY, WELL, IT DIDN’T START off fine.
After an unfruitful trip to the Green Serpent, Zig and I strode down the packed-dirt street of the town toward one of the inns.
My sword hung heavy at my hip in its scabbard, and I grasped it with my sweaty palm, hand clenching the leather-wrapped hilt.
I’d pulled my brown hair up in a high ponytail, breaking a few bristles of the brush while untangling the knots.
And I’d changed into a fresh tunic and a pair of wide traveling trousers, but I’d forgone the armor.
Because, hopefully, this could be a friendly meeting and end in a beneficial way for us all.
Maybe this would even become something we’d laugh about later.
But I was not going to lie, I was a bit stressed.
“You let me do the talking,” I instructed Zig, who was breathing heavily from keeping up with my frantic steps. “Keep your mouth shut.”
“Why shouldn’t I do the talking? I’m the personable twin. You just glare and growl at people.”
“Because your talking got us in this mess to begin with,” I said with a sharp glare.
“And I do more than scowl at people at court when I’m there.
I socialize.” I imparted as much disdain as I could into the last word.
I may have socialized mostly with Aven, if antagonistic bickering could count as socializing, but there were other times when I had to talk to the lieges and the king and queen. I had skills. Kind of.
“That’s not what the bards say,” Zig muttered.
I whirled on him, grabbing his sleeve. “I think you learned a lesson about trusting bards.”
Zig raised his hands. “Fine. You do the talking.”
We entered the Griff-Inn through the open front door.
The building itself was a nondescript two-story structure with a small lobby area on the first floor and a handful of rooms on the second.
In the back courtyard was a detached kitchen, where meals were cooked for the guests.
A few teens about our age leaned against one of the walls, waiting to serve food or clean rooms.
Zig tapped my shoulder and pointed a finger at two men hunched over a round table, eating lunch. “That’s them, by the way.”
Even without Zig pointing them out, I could tell they were mages by their fanciful and impractical robes and their obnoxious hats.
One wore a battered pointy thing over his long brown hair, while the other wore a hat adorned with a single feather that looked like it had been smashed into a pancake.
They both had hideous goatees, and many jeweled rings sparkled on their fingers.
Twin staves of ash, though differently carved, were propped up in the corner behind them, glittering jewels ornately attached to the ends.
They weren’t really a council, though. “Council” was the collective noun for a group of mages. Like “bunch” for grapes or “murder” for crows. But there were only two of these gentlemen. A pair. A twosome. Even if “a duo of mages” didn’t have the same authoritative ring to it.
“And then I pulled the chicken out of my robes!” the pointy-hat jerk with the dark mustache said, slamming his mug of mead down on the table.
“Did you actually magic a chicken?” the other asked. His flattened hat with the feather sat atop a nest of dark-blond curls.
Pointy-Hat shook his head, chuckling all the while. “No! It was the same chicken. I just found it wandering outside!”
They both erupted into theatrical laughter, throwing their heads back, clutching their stomachs as their leftover stew sloshed in their bowls.
All the things I’d seen courtiers do when pretending to laugh at one of the king’s awful dad jokes.
Well, at least I knew the level of pomposity I’d have to deal with when talking to these two.
I approached their table, Zig crowding my back as he followed, and cleared my throat. I kept my spine straight, my shoulders back, and one hand on the hilt of my sword.
They glanced in my direction. “Oh,” the pointy-hat one said. “We’re fine, thank you, except maybe I would like a cup of mead to take up to my room.”
“Same for me as well. And you can clear my plate. I’m not going to finish the stew. It was too bland.”
“To put it mildly,” the other said.
They brayed loudly at the bad pun, thus solidifying my theory that all mages were dicks.
“I’m not a waitress. I’m Ellinore the Brave. I believe you’ve made a wager with my brother.” I grabbed Zig’s arm and yanked him forward, his heels sliding across the wooden floor. We stood shoulder to shoulder as we stared down at the duo.
“You’re Ellinore?” the squashed-hat mage asked. “The Mighty? The Strong?” He looked me up and down. “Are you certain?”
I bristled. I should’ve worn the armor. “Yes. And you are?”
The mage with the pointy hat smirked. “I’m Forto. And this is my younger brother, Quip.”
“Okay. Great. Anyway, my own reckless brother here,” I said, clapping my palm against the back of Zig’s neck and shaking him like a naughty puppy, “apparently entered a bargain with the two of you regarding the Elder Beast. It was a mistake, and we are here to let you know that we’re out.”
“Out?” Forto asked. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the bet was made in error. My brother spoke for me, which he had no authority to do. So…”—I gestured with my free hand—“undo it.”
“Oh,” he said with a nod and a huffed laugh. “He made a mistake. I understand. Younger brothers, am I right?” he said, pointing to Quip while wearing a sympathetic expression.
“Hey!” Quip said in protest, but I ignored his outburst.
Instead I let out an airy faux laugh as well.
This was going better than I’d thought it would.
Maybe we’d get out of this with no penalty at all.
And the bag of gold I’d brought would be used for celebratory ale instead of buying my way out of Zig’s mess.
“Yes. Exactly. You understand. So just cancel the bargain and we’ll be on our way. ”
Forto hummed. “Well, we can’t.”
“What do you mean?” My jovial tone petered out more with each subsequent syllable.
He shrugged. “We can’t release your brother.”
“Again, what do you mean you can’t?” I slammed my palm against the table, my other hand firmly on the hilt of my sword. I leaned over them and gave them my best menacing look.
Quip flinched, but Forto met my glare with a steely gaze of his own. “It can’t be undone.”
“What’s there to undo?”
He scoffed. “Your brother shook on the bargain. It’s sealed in magic. We require the Elder Beast’s horn in two weeks’ time, then—”
“Two weeks’ time?” I cut my gaze to Zig. He shrugged.
“Sixteen days, to be exact. But yes. We will either receive the Elder Beast’s horn or your brother’s heart.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to mean ‘hart,’ as in ‘deer,’ would you?”
Quip scrunched his nose. “No.”
“Oh, so you mean it like ‘love,’ right? His first true love? Or the heart of his personality. Could it be the heart of his humor? Because I wouldn’t miss that at all.
” Zig shoved his elbow into my ribs. I grunted, then continued as if my annoying brother hadn’t brought all this trouble on himself in the first place. “Not his actual physical heart.”
Quip steepled his fingers and cleared his throat.
“No. We do need a human heart freely given if we aren’t able to procure the Elder Beast’s horn.
It wouldn’t be the exact ingredient for the curse—” He let out a yelp, and the table wobbled from the force of his knee hitting the underside. “Cure! I meant cure. Potion. Elixir.”
“Well, I refuse. This is obviously a case of coercion. You plied my brother with mead and took advantage. That’s a clear violation of questing rules.” Not really. I made that up, but the mages wouldn’t know that. Probably.
Quip frowned. “We are not compelled to follow whatever rules your king and queen set for quests. We exist beyond their influence.”
That was slightly worrying. Okay. New tactic. “My brother bargained that I would remove the Elder Beast’s horn, and I won’t. I won’t do it. I’m retired. The deal is moot.”
Forto chuckled. “That’s not the way things work, Ellinore the Cowardly.”
I didn’t like his oily smirk. I didn’t like his laugh. I didn’t like how he obviously had the upper hand. And I hated his ridiculous hat.
I drew my sword, the sound of the steel sliding from the scabbard ceasing all other conversation in the inn. I pressed the tip to Quip’s throat, but I addressed Forto.
“I refuse because I choose to do so,” I said, the tip of my blade bobbing as Quip swallowed.
A small bead of blood welled along the shiny edge and slid down his skin, until it pooled in the hollow.
“You will find that ultimatums do not work with me. Release my brother from this sucker’s bet, and I won’t skewer your brother right here and right now. ”
Forto grinned. He quickly reached for his staff and thumped the end twice on the floor, and in a puff of smoke, his brother disappeared.
My sword point dropped and banged on the edge of the table, blood splattering from the tip onto the chair.
The acrid tang of magic, which smelled much like burning hair, wafted from the seat.
Then, with another thud and a flash-bang of bright light and sound, Quip reappeared, standing behind Forto’s shoulder.
A trickle of blood wound down Quip’s neck, and Forto glared at me with shimmering, unnaturally blue eyes that slowly bled back to brown.
“And you’ll find that brute force doesn’t work on us,” he said.
I glared. I hated mages. It was often debated if they held any true magic or if they were smoke and mirrors wrapped up in gaudy packaging. In my experience, mages were the epitome of parlor tricks and tacky explosions, but unfortunately, these two might be the real thing.
I swung my sword around and leveled it at them again, both hands gripping the hilt.
“I have killed greater men and beasts than you,” I said, voice a growl. That was a stretch. I’d killed exactly one. And I didn’t know if I could kill these two, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying. “Just ask any bard in the kingdom.”
Forto clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Oh, Ellinore. Don’t worry. With either the Elder Beast’s horn or your brother’s heart, you will still receive payment. The whole kingdom knows how you just love winning gold.”
I clenched my teeth.
“Now, you have one day to decide. Elder Beast’s horn or brother’s heart.” He examined his fingernails in a forced nonchalant way. “We look forward to your answer tomorrow.”
And with a crackle of energy, a flash like lightning, and a cloud of smoke they were gone.
I lowered my sword and gaped. Zig bounced on his toes next to me.
“What happened to easy peasy?” he whispered.
My thought exactly. But what did I expect, dealing with mages? “Mages are dicks,” I answered.
He nodded.
A person cleared his throat behind us. I slowly turned, sword still in hand, and faced a young man with an apron tied around his waist and a timid expression. He raised a single finger.
“Pardon me, but will you be paying for their meal?”
My mouth dropped open a second time. “What? No! Charge it to their room.”
Then I grabbed Zig by the front of his shirt and pulled him out of the inn.