Chapter 13 #3
It was even warmer than before. Because it was lying beside a new mug of beer? Or did the magic want her to get smashed for some reason? That didn’t make much sense. Why would a magical horn care if she drank from it or not? Rylana decided to pour in another drink. Just in case.
Mya drank deeply from her latest mug.
Rylana hadn’t intended to get her in a dark mood and groped for something helpful to say.
“I’m proud of the success I’ve had with my bakery,” Mya said. “Proving that I can be someone on my own, you know? I just wish…”
She shrugged her broad shoulders and drank again.
“It must be hard being ostracized and not seeing your family, especially your children and grandchildren. Though I’ll admit that I wouldn’t mind being ostracized by my family right now.” Rylana laughed without humor.
When Mya looked curiously at her, Rylana poured the latest round into the horn. As she drank, she explained her father’s manipulation. With the topic so recently irritating her, she may have taken more swigs than was wise.
As the server brought a fourth selection of ale, Rylana poured more into the horn, continuing to hope that it would do something. It did not. The antique kept growing warm, so it was doing something, but she had no idea what that signified.
“My parents have both passed on,” Mya said.
“I didn’t always get along well with them, but it got better once we were all adults.
As long as you have the opportunity, you might try to establish a relationship that you’ll both gain something from.
Once your father is gone, that opportunity will be as gone as the ale in this mug.
Hm.” Mya peered into the bottom, then placed a couple of silver coins on the bar.
To order more or settle their tab? Rylana’s thoughts had grown a little fuzzy and she’d lost track of where they were in their debt to the bartender.
Was Mya paying for the beverages they had both consumed?
Or only her own? She’d had more to drink than Rylana, and was more than a foot shorter, but she didn’t appear inebriated in the least.
Rylana, on the other hand… Yes, her thoughts felt a little slow.
“I don’t think I’m going to figure out what this horn does tonight,” she said. “It does feel warm to you, doesn’t it?”
Two hells, what if she was imagining the so-called magic?
Mya rested her palm against it. “Nope.”
“Really?”
Before Rylana could reach out to touch it again, the server brought another round and picked up the silvers.
“Oh, interesting,” Mya said as the mugs were set down nearby. “It is warm. Right there. I must not have been touching it in the right spot before.”
“When the log-inspecting hound, Willow, found it in the woods, she didn’t unearth any instructions.”
“Maybe she should have dug deeper.”
“By then, her gnome handler Bixtok was dropping treats into her mouth. Lamb lung and bovine trachea, if I recall correctly.”
“I prefer apple pie, blackberry cobbler, and a delicious banana bread. Chef Jildarin received some bananas as a gift from someone who grows exotic fare in a magical greenhouse, and he gave me a few to experiment with. The results were far superior to lamb lung.”
“I won’t argue with you.” Giving up on the horn, Rylana eased gingerly off the chair. She had to grip the edge of the bar to steady herself.
As Mya finished off her mug, Rylana had regrets over how much she’d imbibed. At least it wasn’t much of a walk back to the diner. “Tomorrow, I’ll find the dwarven diplomat and hand this horn over to him to deal with.”
“Sounds sensible. There’s no reason it should have been your responsibility anyway.”
“It’s glowed twice in my presence.”
“How does that change anything?”
“I guess it doesn’t. But I thought it might like me.”
“It’s not a hound, and you’re not a gnome handler with a pocketful of dehydrated organs.”
“True. Are you staying here?” Rylana didn’t expect trouble on the short walk home, not in Tranquility, but she remembered other cities she’d visited as a mercenary and knew that drunks could be preyed upon. Since Mya didn’t live at the bakery, she would have a longer walk home.
“No, I’ve had enough. If I get tipsy, I’ll have trouble waking up early enough to start the bread.”
Tipsy. Rylana was far beyond that, but she draped the horn over her neck again and waved an acknowledgment before walking—wobbling—to the door.
“You’re not inebriated, are you?” Mya steadied her as Rylana navigated the doorjamb.
“Maybe a little. I don’t drink that often.”
“It could be that the magic of the horn is to enhance the effects of the drink it holds.”
“I imagine it would have to do something a little more useful to have been treasured and carried around by kings for generation after generation.” The main bar had grown less crowded and raucous, but Rylana hurried toward the exit, feeling claustrophobic and a little queasy.
Eager for fresh air, she pushed the door open.
When she and Mya stepped into the alley, soft summer mist fell from the cloudy night sky. Since they were departing out the back door, there weren’t streetlamps, but the rustle of clothing nearby promised they weren’t alone.
Two stout figures with clubs rushed out of the darkness toward them.