Chapter 4 #2
Back when Ainsworth conducted his initial search for mentions of the Misnich Inn and Mount Vengeance, he had sourced a song mentioning the mountain from a human bard, Byrniel, dated over two hundred years ago.
It consisted of eight verses, one for each region of the kingdom, and recounted each region’s deepest, wildest terrain said to be home to dragons.
It was there, in the short verse dedicated to the Allfhraoch region, home to Mount Vengeance, that Ainsworth first noted the “vengeful” label attached to the rumored dragon.
Although of course it could have been lazy penmanship—an attempt from a writer to embellish the mountain with a little more nuance than its, quite frankly, unoriginal name suggested.
Ainsworth was not an expert in dragon scholarship, but didn’t all dragons want vengeance in some way for their near obliteration a thousand years ago?
Byrniel’s song was intended, Ainsworth surmised, to be a call to action for adventuring parties—to remind them of the strength of the adventurers who had first manifested magic and saved civilization from the dominance of dragons and beasts of dark magic during the Great Sweep.
But the ballad most likely had faded into obscurity in recent years, for Ainsworth had to dig deep to find it.
It was not logged alongside the more prominent and popular songs of its time, and if it had inspired any heroes to take on Mount Vengeance, there was no follow-up song to suggest it.
If a dragon did still reside on Mount Vengeance guarding a hoard yet unclaimed—which the residents of the Allfhraoch region seemed to believe, as Ainsworth had gathered from his recent inquiries—then it was ripe territory for new heroes to emerge.
And Ainsworth fully intended to be the scholar who placed those names in people’s hearts and minds.
So many tales of the mountain were yet to be heard.
He did not even know what had happened to his great-grandfather out there.
But for those who stopped by the inn ahead of their task in the following weeks—well, Ainsworth thought, it was their good fortune indeed.
“So you’ll join us on our adventure tomorrow, then, friend? Your antlers suggest you may be fiercer than you otherwise look!” Fig exclaimed.
Ainsworth tried not to let the remark sting too much.
“Unfortunately not. I am not a honed warrior like you and your sister. But what I do seek is your correspondence.” Ainsworth walked over to the small trunk at the bottom of his bed and unlocked it.
Placed under his clothes, now neatly unpacked in the wardrobe, a separate boxed compartment contained his papers, inks, wax seals, and extra grant money.
He lifted some parchment in a thick, enchanted envelope from the library.
Water could not ruin it, nor fire smolder it.
Both Fig and Fern had followed him with interest, and he could feel them peering over his shoulder.
Ainsworth turned to Fern and said: “If I supply some parchment and some coin for postage, I would very much like it if you could send confirmation of your successful adventure to the Skarrow Library in Hinslyth. The Post Server in most cities will have birds or wildeshifters that send missives there—even across the border in the republic, should you stay there after you have taken on the mountain.”
Fig and Fern both stood upright in unison, allowing Ainsworth to step back from his trunk. “You don’t say!” said Fern. “Birds in every city. You must be a pretty big deal to represent a place like that.”
Ainsworth smoothed his hair, chest swelling with pride.
“The Skarrow Library is certainly a ‘big deal,’ yes. Once you complete your journey and contact the library, providing brief accounts of your journey and where I can find you, I will arrange for the use of a Transportation Circle to visit you and conduct a full interview. What say you? I require your signature here, then I will supply you with some scrolls and coin for the initial postage. You won’t be out of pocket for your participation. ”
It was a swift process. The siblings were keen to sign their names and participate, overjoyed at the prospect of being the first of his research participants.
Ainsworth knew this project would be long-term; gathering the accounts from adventurers after his time at the inn could easily stretch for a year or more, but at least that part of the project could be overseen back home in Hinslyth.
And then there was the daunting process of compiling the manuscript and submitting it for print-press approval and associate review.
But surely the book would not be denied by his contemporaries.
The first comprehensive account of the adventurers of Mount Vengeance, and the strange inn that resided before it: Yes, as Lyria had said, it was of interest to society indeed, and he was convinced it would be positively received.
There was also the prospect of Enach’s warm welcome upon Ainsworth’s return, armed with the kind of data and history that no other scholar had yet captured…
Yes. It would all be worth it.
As the siblings sorted out their inventory for the following day, running to and from the horses to check food rations as well as the conditions of Fig’s swift and sharp rapier and Fern’s impressive bow, Ainsworth managed to make a start on filling out their details and beginning their story, which would be resumed once they reunited after the journey.
“How did you hear of Mount Vengeance?” Ainsworth asked Fern.
“Well, like most, I assume, we knew it was one of the peaks sitting on the border between the kingdom and the republic—I mean, it’s right there on the map.
We’ve spent the past few years adventuring around Saltquart, and once we were in Allfhraoch, most folk who learned of our previous exploits asked if we would attempt the mountain.
It seemed a worthy challenge and a much more exciting way to enter Sylethus than merely sailing along the coast or taking the trading road to the north. ”
Fig nodded. “When we were planning our route, we heard of the Misnich Inn from a town near the Dunbea region’s border.
Some soldiers who used to patrol the Dubhrach range up north near the trading route mentioned it.
Although they didn’t get the name right.
We expected to find the ‘Mishmatch Inn.’ ”
“I suppose the first syllable sounds somewhat right,” said Ainsworth as he scribbled notes. If the soldiers had hailed from the Republic of Sylethus, it was likely they did not speak Sàlais.
Overall, Fig and Fern presented a compelling picture of worthy adventurers.
Both had traveled the world, making coin from assisting towns and villages with bandits and beasts, then often staying on to help rebuild the communities they served.
“The Order of Linn might call you vigilantes,” Ainsworth dared to remark, but Fig noticed the twinkle of admiration in his eyes and gave a shrug.
“The Order of Linn is too restrictive. Had we joined, we’d most likely be posted somewhere as town guards, stuck breaking up tavern brawls in the same overcrowded city.
It is not worth serving time in such a role simply to earn the privileges that we have undertaken from the moment we were of age to pick up a weapon and learn our trade. ”
It was then that Fern burst through the door. “Everything for tomorrow is ready, brother. Now we have been called to the hearth—food and song to lend us courage for tomorrow await us!”