Chapter 5
“Their king?” Rylana gaped at Gniknik for a moment, then lowered her hand from Jildarin’s chest and stepped back.
His grip on her shoulder tightened even more, as if he wouldn’t let her go, but then he released her and also took a step back. His expression pensive, he looked toward a crate in the corner. The dreaded book on courting—or whatever the heck it covered—rested on top of it.
“That’s what the dwarves said.” Gniknik spread his arms.
“I’d better see what this is about.” Rylana thought about getting the horn but decided to leave it in the desk drawer. “Do the dwarves have red hair, by chance?”
“They do have red hair,” Gniknik said, “but that is true of many dwarves.”
“It is,” she agreed, but she had a hunch.
It was proven true when Rylana stepped into the dining room.
Other than the cleaning contraption and a couple of people visible through the window, who were studying the menu posted by the door, it was empty, save for two male dwarves.
They were the same dwarves who’d been looking into the bakery a few minutes after Rylana had been inside.
One was middle-aged with a broad and weathered face with creases at the corners of his eyes and a few flecks of gray in his short red hair.
The other had boyish features with a squashed nose and cheeks almost as red as his vibrant hair.
They both had thick, bushy beards down to their chests.
“I’m Rylana,” she said, though something told her they already knew. At the least, they knew about her horn. “What can I do for you? Did you come to request that more dwarven staples be added to the menu? I know the chef well and have some influence over him.”
She looked back, but Jildarin hadn’t followed her into the dining room. He was slipping into the kitchen with that book in his grip. She hoped he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong—or maybe out of order—by touching her shoulder and almost kissing her.
“I like rockrhino burgers,” the younger of the pair said, “but you have to go to the southern Skyfang Mountains to find those big rhinos. All other kinds of burgers are good too. Especially with fiery-fang sauce and pickled garlic. Those are my favorites.”
The older dwarf elbowed him. “We’re not here for dinner.”
“We could be. Dinnertime isn’t that far away.”
Jildarin walked out of the kitchen with a notepad and a pencil. What did he plan to do? Write down the burger request? She’d been joking when she’d mentioned dwarven staples.
“I have not attempted to pickle anything other than the popular human vegetable, the cucumber,” Jildarin said when Rylana eyed his notepad.
“I have learned, however, that dwarves enjoy pickling many items including fruits, vegetables, and even some meats. It extends the shelf life of these items. Since dwarves often remain in their tunnels throughout the winter, they require long-lasting foodstuffs.”
It was somewhat amazing how quickly his thoughts could turn from romance—or whatever he’d had in mind in the storeroom—to cooking, but Rylana knew well that this was his passion, so she couldn’t blame him. She even caught herself smiling. “Who doesn’t love good pickled garlic?”
“Nobody,” the younger dwarf said.
His buddy elbowed him again and focused on Rylana. “I’m Gormer, and this is Mikon. We’re here about the horn you found, ma’am.”
“And you know about that… how?” Rylana asked.
She was tempted to deny knowledge of a horn at all, but her honor twinged at the idea of lying. Besides, the dwarves spoke with certainty, as if they knew all about it. Maybe they were friends of the antiques appraiser.
“High Priest Vondarik,” Gormer said, “he who leads holy rituals and advises the king himself, sensed it from afar.”
“How afar?” Rylana asked, skeptical.
Even dragons couldn’t sense magical items from that far away.
“The heart of the Ironhammer Kingdom,” Gormer said.
“So, more than a hundred miles away?”
“Almost precisely a hundred, I believe,” Gormer said. “As one follows the road.”
“It’s a shorter trip for a dragon,” Jildarin put in.
“Most trips are,” Gormer said.
The older dwarf was handling their side of the conversation. The younger had sidled over to Jildarin’s elbow and was pointing at the notepad and whispering. Rylana caught the words, “Pickled beets,” and, “Pickled eggs.”
“What about pickled mushrooms?” Jildarin asked, not as quietly. “I’ve numerous varieties on hand, as they’ve been so popular lately with the elves, but I’ve been seeking new ways of preparing them. I enjoy experimenting. I imagine pickling would add a bright and tangy crunch.”
“Mushrooms?” Mikon asked dubiously.
“Elves like mushrooms.”
“Dwarves do not. They’re slimy.”
“Mushrooms can be cultivated in caves,” Jildarin said. “Would that not make them a naturally appealing food to a dwarf?”
“They’re slimy no matter where they grow.”
“The mushrooms I prepare are never slimy. I will allow that pickled fungi might have a slippery-crisp texture, but they wouldn’t be slimy, mushy, or anything unpleasant. My food is never unpleasant.”
“But mushrooms—”
Gormer cleared his throat.
Jildarin ignored him, merely writing pickled summer porcinis in his notepad, but Mikon returned to his fellow dwarf’s side.
“I think you heard about the horn from the antiques appraiser,” Rylana said. “Nobody can sense magic from a hundred miles away.”
She looked to Jildarin for confirmation, but he was penning ingredients in another column. She glimpsed white wine vinegar and prepared herself to be sent to the market later.
“From who?” The dwarves looked at each other in puzzlement. Gormer added, “Perhaps I didn’t speak that clearly, ma’am. Or rather, perhaps the high priest didn’t explain how he was able to detect the horn in a manner that one as simple as I might understand.”
“Didn’t he say he had a vision?” Mikon asked.
“That may have been it. Either way, he informed me that a horn that was in the king’s family for many generations before being stolen away by a servant was recently unearthed.
Through the gods or his own magical power—maybe both—the priest could tell it was in Tranquility and sent us to retrieve it.
And… you’ve not denied that you have it, so I believe he sent us to the right place.
” Gormer stroked his beard and smiled at Rylana.
“If you can prove that it rightfully belonged to the king’s family,” she said, “I’ll return it, but since I’ve promised it to another, I can’t give it away to two seemingly random dwarves who walked into the diner.”
Jildarin looked up, either because he’d sensed something worth paying attention to in the conversation or because he’d finished his grocery list.
“It’s understandable that you can’t tell we’re important, not random,” Gormer said with a bow and a smile.
“And, in truth, it’s not as if we serve the king full time.
We live in Tranquility, not the tunnels and mines of the Ironhammer capital, but we do handle some of his shipping business on a regular basis.
That’s why the high priest knew he could reach out to us. ”
“Have him or the king send proof about the horn,” Rylana said.
“In the meantime, you may stay for the dinner meal,” Jildarin said, “providing you’ve the necessary funds for it. It will be excellent. And not slimy.” He skewered Mikon with a look that made the dwarf step back and raise his hands.
Rylana wanted to get rid of these two, not invite them for dinner, but she realized Jildarin might be testing them.
If they couldn’t produce the modest coins required to buy a meal, then they might not be gainfully employed in the shipping industry, as they’d implied.
Of course, they might also not want to eat here, but word had gotten out about the diner’s excellent fare, so most people who came in did stay.
“Ah.” Gormer looked around the dining room. “Yes, I believe we will enjoy a meal here.”
Did he sound triumphant? Maybe he hoped the opportunity would allow him to pester Rylana further about the horn. Grimacing, she resolved to use the dinner hour to catch up on the books for the day.
“We do have money.” Gormer held up a gold coin with a crowned and bearded dwarf on it. Their current king? “Will this suffice?”
“That’s fine,” Rylana said. It would buy more than two of anything on the menu, but she added, “Unless you succumb to our goblin server and feel the urge to tip him generously.”
“Does one usually tip the goblins generously?” Gormer looked at Mikon, as if he couldn’t imagine it.
“Rolf is a hard worker,” Rylana said.
“I see. What proof did you say you would require before handing over the horn?” Gormer asked as Mikon ambled to one of the booths.
“Some kind of compelling evidence to show who it belongs to. You haven’t seen the horn, so you can’t be sure it’s the one your priest supposedly sensed.”
“Our high priest.” Gormer pulled a folded piece of paper out of a pocket. “He was quite certain of its rough location in the city.”
“That was certainly a pinpoint vision he had.” Rylana watched warily as Gormer unfolded the paper. He held up an accurate drawing of the horn.
Rylana chewed on her lip. Since the antiques appraiser had taken a good look at the horn, he might have replicated it with such accuracy, but why would he have selected these two dwarves to then give his drawing to?
Even though the appraiser had wanted to buy it for less than it was worth, Rylana hadn’t gotten the vibe from him that he would hire someone to steal it.
He had a business that had been there for generations and, as far as she knew, a decent reputation in the community.
“It is the horn you possess,” Gormer stated with certainty.
“Yes, but, as a peacekeeper gnome informed me, the law that applies to locating something in the forest outside of Tranquility is Finders Keepers.”
Gormer’s bushy red eyebrows rose. “Our people are not by nature aggressive, and we fought alongside humans in the Ore War, but you should not assume that there won’t be repercussions if you choose to keep a stolen item belonging to the dwarven royal family.”
Rylana bristled. She didn’t claim any real right to the horn—she’d only accepted it because she’d thought she might need it to bribe her brother—but the dwarf’s attitude irritated her.
He also hadn’t proven that he worked for that priest or the king.
What if she handed it over only to later learn these two were scam artists?
An ominous growl came from beside her. Jildarin had lowered the notepad and stood at her shoulder, glowering down at Gormer. “You will not enter our establishment and threaten my business partner with dwarven repercussions. You may inform your king that Rylana is protected by a dragon.”
“But… dragons weren’t allies to humans during the war.” Forehead creasing, Mikon looked at his older comrade.
“This human is my ally.” Jildarin rested his hand on Rylana’s shoulder.
She appreciated his protection, and it touched her when he stood up for her. Even so, she felt bleak at the thought that she might need to stay close to him going forward, not only because of jealous female dragons who might attack her but also because of a new threat from the dwarven kingdom.
“You will inform your king,” Jildarin repeated.
“We can let him know, but it changes little. You are bound by the laws of Tranquility as long as you work and reside here, right? We’ll get the peacekeepers involved if we must.” Gormer tugged on his beard as he nodded. “You have a stolen horn, and theft isn’t allowed in this city.”
“I didn’t steal it,” Rylana said. “I already told you that I found it outside of the city.”
“Yet you insist on keeping it, even now that I’ve told you it’s stolen. We will give you a night and a day to consider if you’ll give it to us before we pursue legal action.”
“We can still stay for dinner, right?” Mikon asked his comrade.
Gormer squinted at Rylana. “We’ll stay.”
Yeah, so they could spy on her. She barely withheld a grimace.
As the dwarves walked to a booth, Jildarin lowered his hand, but he remained close, and he watched them coolly.
“Do you think they’re telling the truth?” Rylana asked.
“I do not know.”
“Do you sense anything about them?” Rylana wondered if, through his magic, he could detect anything awry about the dwarves. Other than that they’d threatened her.
She wasn’t positive they were scheming, but she was inclined to believe so, if only because their story didn’t sound that plausible.
If the high priest could sense the horn in Tranquility from a hundred miles away, why couldn’t he have sensed it in the forest?
It wasn’t as if Bixtok, the gnome, and his log-inspecting dog had excavated it from great depths.
“I can tell only that they do not possess greater than average power for the modest attributes of their kind,” Jildarin said. “It is unlikely that they sensed a magical antique from afar.”
“So they’re someone’s minions.”
As they’d implied. But were they the dwarven king’s minions?
“I will ask Rolf to keep an eye on them as he serves them. It is time for me to begin preparations for the evening meal, regardless, so it is not extra work to make them food.” Jildarin ripped the list off his notepad and handed it to her.
“So that I may make pickled porcinis, you will gather… I request that you gather these ingredients for me at the market.”
“There’s extra work involved for someone here,” Rylana said wryly, but she accepted the list, pleased that he’d changed his burgeoning command into a request. Regardless, she would rather go to the market than be here for the dwarves to pepper with more questions about the horn.
“I will not make the pickled items immediately, so you need not hurry back.” Jildarin gazed thoughtfully at her. “Once the dinner service is well underway, with sufficient amounts of food prepared for our staff to complete it, I may leave on an errand.”
What errand would be calling to him at night?
“All right,” Rylana said, though the temptation to pry was on the tip of her tongue.
Jildarin pointed at the list and said, “Your willingness to do work to further the greatness of our diner pleases me.”
“Such as getting ingredients for pickled porcinis?”
“Yes. Tonight, I shall prove to at least two dwarves that the mushrooms a dragon can prepare are excellent and never slimy.” Chin raised, he strode toward the kitchen.
Rylana noted that he’d effectively distracted her from asking where he intended to go on his errand.