Chapter 2 #2
“Zilek will make time for you. I’m sure of it.
Besides, if you don’t get it over with, he’ll show up at the trapdoor to the attic.
” Rylana waved toward the small shuttered window above the main floor of the bakery.
Of late, Sylin had been sleeping there. Rylana didn’t know if she paid rent to Mya or if they had another arrangement.
“You didn’t happen to see the title of the book Jildarin was carrying when he walked past, did you? I know you have keen eyes.”
“I do, but they were busy examining the pastry offerings on display today.” Sylin waved toward the window of the bakery. “I did a three-hour run this morning and made it all the way around the lake.”
“So you deserve pastries, naughty or nice?” Rylana tilted her head toward the sign that said the bakery offered exactly those options, no questions asked.
“Both, I should think.” Sylin pushed open the door and waved for Rylana to follow her inside. “I do care more about flavor and texture than whether a pastry has a lurid shape or not.”
“I strive to one day be as mature as you.” Rylana hesitated to enter the bakery, tempted to see what Zilek and Jildarin were speaking about before showing the horn to Mya. “I’m thinking of sneaking in through the back of the coffee shop to spy on the dragon brothers.”
“An act that’s sure to improve your maturity.” Sylin gripped her arm and tugged her into the bakery, perhaps trying to aid with Rylana’s growth into a respectable adult.
Inside, most of the tables were full, people enjoying sandwiches as well as pastries, and scents of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air.
Mya nodded toward them as she dropped off a couple of orders—scones that looked distinctly like portions of the female anatomy.
Several young human women seated at a table were the recipients, and a couple of them giggled and pointed, not unlike the goblins who frequented the bakery for various innuendo-laden cakes.
“Do you have a minute, Mya?” Rylana asked. “I’d like your opinion on something.”
With strands of her red-gray hair having slipped free from her bun and her flour-dusted apron askew, the dwarf baker looked like she’d been laboring nonstop all morning.
Right away, Rylana regretted disturbing her and added, “Also, I’ll take a scone.”
“Make that two scones,” Sylin said. “They need not be shaped like anything.”
More giggles came from the table of women. Judging by their appearances, Rylana would have guessed them in their late twenties, but maybe they were still university-aged. Or younger.
“Of course.” Mya selected two alpine-strawberry scones from the display case, a little sign promising the fruit had just come into season and was extremely fresh. “I’m always happy to give my opinions,” she added as she placed them on plates. “Whether people want them or not, in fact.”
As Mya brought their scones to a small table in the corner, Rylana set a few copper coins out to pay for them before lifting the horn to show her.
“We think this is a dwarven antique,” she said. “I was wondering if you’d seen anything like it before and might guess why it might… glow.”
“It looks like an ale horn.” Mya patted four pockets before finding a pair of reading spectacles in a fifth. She perched them on her nose and peered at the carvings.
“Ale horn?” Rylana asked. “We’ve been calling it a hunting horn. Or a battle horn. Something for calling to troops or hunters across the distance.”
“I imagine that’s correct and was one of its purposes, but dwarves out in the field also drank their ale ration from such horns.
You can see where it would have had a stopper for the bottom at one time.
” Mya pantomimed plugging up the hole and drinking from the top.
“No dwarf heading off to hunt or fight would have been without one. Most of the miners in the tunnels wouldn’t have been without an ale horn either, even though they hardly ever had to round up allies to do battle or take down prey.
Not unless you count the tunnel warthogs and other edible critters that sometimes wander under the mountains. ”
“So, these horns were common?” Rylana asked.
“They were and still are, yes. But this one is more ornately carved than most. And look at the gold. It would have belonged to someone special—someone well-off anyway. And it’s magical. I can sense that. You said it glows?”
“The mugs can glow, and the ivory can warm up.”
“What else does it do?”
“I have no idea,” Rylana said. “I thought you might know.”
Mya rotated the horn around, then sniffed the inside, though the scents of whatever beverages had once been served in it had surely faded long ago.
“It was the ale mugs in that carving specifically that glowed,” Rylana added. “I wasn’t sure if that meant something.”
“It means dwarves highly value booze,” Sylin said.
“That’s the truth,” Mya said. “I’ve added rum cake and beer bread to my menu in the hope of…
Well, I wouldn’t mind if a few of my customers were my own people.
I’ve missed chatting with them.” She lifted her spectacles and gazed wistfully toward the front window, as if a few stout adventurers might pass by.
Until that moment, Rylana hadn’t realized how seldom she’d seen dwarves in the bakery.
They visited the Dragon Diner as frequently as any of the intelligent species, and she knew some who worked and lived in the area.
Was it strange that they didn’t regularly order naughty cakes?
Elves were scarce at the bakery, but they tended to be a restrained and wholesome people.
The dwarves that Rylana had known and fought with over the years always liked a party and were almost as likely as goblins to talk about the merits of recreational mating, as Jildarin put it.
“I’m surprised they don’t visit often,” Rylana said. “I’ve seen them working on the docks and visiting the tavern behind the bakery.”
“Yes, but I’m…” Mya turned her palm toward the ceiling.
Rylana had no idea what she was suggesting and looked at Sylin. Busy nibbling at her scone, Sylin only shrugged.
“A delightful grandmotherly dwarf lady with a good sense of humor?” Rylana suggested to finish the sentence. “I know you mentioned your husband passed, but you have kids, right?”
“Oh, yes. And grandchildren too. They don’t live in Tranquility, but I’d hoped they would all come to visit me here one day. I miss them terribly.”
“How far away do they live?”
Mya pointed in the direction of the Icefang Mountains. “They’re about a hundred miles away, in Kregak, the heart and capital of the Ironhammer Kingdom.”
“That’s not that far.” Rylana almost added that Jildarin could fly there in a day, but he probably wouldn’t deign to take their neighbor on his back—or pick up her children and bring them to the city for a visit.
As numerous people had informed Rylana, it was atypical that Jildarin even flew her around from time to time.
“No. But the dwarves of my homeland—it was actually my husband who was originally from the capital—have decided that I shouldn’t be visited.”
“What? Why?” Bewildered now, Rylana looked at Sylin again.
“Perhaps the dwarves do not approve of anatomically-shaped scones.” Sylin held hers up, pointing out a berry that had been strategically placed in an erect position.
“Entrepreneurship in general isn’t considered appropriate for a dwarf matron,” Mya said.
There had to be more to the story, but she waved the subject away.
Sylin plucked off the berry she’d pointed out and ate it, her eyebrows twitching slightly.
“When does the horn glow?” Mya asked. “I’ve honestly not heard of many of these being magical.”
“I saw it after the battle on our rooftop terrace. It fell into a pot with an elf tree in it.”
“Have you taken it back up there to see if it always glows every time it’s in that pot?” Sylin asked.
“No,” Rylana said. “I could try that.”
“Either that, or you could sell it to the greedy antiques dealer and get rid of it.”
“He was trying to swindle me.”
“Clearly,” Sylin said, “but that horn could be trouble. With your luck, it probably is.”
“Thanks,” Rylana said dryly. “I’ve been considering trading it to my brother to make sure he doesn’t scheme against me again.”
“I doubt scheme-stopping is its magical power,” Sylin said.
A customer walked up to the display case. Mya took the coins from the table, said to let her know if she could do anything to help them learn more about the horn, and left to man the till.
“Didn’t you say your landlord decided not to cave to your brother’s coercion?” Sylin asked.
“For now, yes,” Rylana said. “I’m not sure how badly he wants the rare bottles of wine that Frodin tried to bribe him with.
I could just give the horn to Frodin. I like it when he owes me favors.
But I’d like to figure out if it’s safe first. With the troll-god curse in recent memory, I’m leery about glowing things. ”
“Understandable.”
Rylana shrugged a shoulder and took a bite of her scone. Oh, that was delicious. Was the frosting also flavored with alpine strawberries? There was a tartness to the sweetness that immediately prompted Rylana to take second and third bites.
“We could go up to your terrace and rub the horn on that tree or pot or whatever you think might have prompted a reaction,” Sylin suggested. “Your whole rooftop is magical now. A byproduct of having a powerful elven plant master design the dining area.”
“Chalora is powerful?”
“A simple elven gardener with little inherent magic wouldn’t have gotten the trees to grow into a pergola in two days. Were Chalora to get cranky, she could probably level buildings and cause volcanos to erupt.”
“Maybe I should send her more of Jildarin’s bacon to ensure we stay in her good graces.”
“I would. Anyway, why not go up there and see if it was the specific tree that caused the glow?”
“With my luck with magical items, I might get zapped.”
“Do you want me to do it?”
“Yes.” Rylana smiled at her.
Sylin snorted, finished her scone, and picked up the horn.