Chapter 14 #2
“Well,” Ainsworth began, “I do not teach regularly at Skarrow—I need to be promoted before I have my own classes! But I have certainly delivered lectures before. What say you, Quiddle? I promise to make it as exciting as I can.”
“I’ll join, too,” Honey said brightly. “You’ve seen me perform plenty; it’s your turn to perform now. I’ll ask the others.”
“Excellent. I’ll set up a space!” Ainsworth said, giving Quiddle no time to actually answer. Honey was right—he needed a distraction, and he needed distance from Alvea’s rejection.
A few minutes later, they were sitting along the table by the hearth in the tavern room. Ruraidh, Quiddle, and Honey all looked at him expectantly. Bren was snoozing behind the bar, Spin was attending her garden, and Ashe had long-since departed on her delivery errand.
“Right, then,” said Ainsworth. For some reason, he felt heat flush from his chest to his neck.
He looked anywhere but at Honey. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?
Of course, the Great Sweep is not the beginning of history, but its end marked the beginnings of the Saltquart Kingdom as we know it today. ”
Ruraidh raised a tentative hand. “U-um, is the Great Sweep also what’s known in Sylethus as the Winged Reckoning…?”
“Yes! Nicely recognized, Ruraidh. Of course, I’ll be teaching you a version of history that may seem a bit different to you.
Let this be a lesson to you all of the biases that may be present in historical accounts depending on the source.
Why, even I am not exempt, which is why I make sure to always make a statement declaring my position as a researcher—”
“Ainsworth, you were saying about the Great Sweep…?” Honey interrupted, jerking her chin toward Quiddle, who was doodling trails of ivy on a piece of parchment.
“Right, right,” he said, clearing his throat.
Quiddle looked up. “So, the era of the Great Sweep began over one thousand years ago. Dragons and dark magical beasts caused, essentially, a desolation, razing towns and cities to the ground. We lost archives, libraries, and a significant amount of oral history, folklore, and tradition. Many of the long-lived who would otherwise remain to pass on knowledge for a couple of centuries were killed prematurely, for instance. As for why these creatures ‘swept’ through the land, as it were—we have reason to believe it was retaliation for civilization becoming too organized and attempting to regulate dragon use of the land and consumption of livestock. But the dragons were far, far stronger in number back then, so it could be that they simply asserted their dominance as predators in this land, with dark creatures not far behind them.”
“You know, this is sounding sort of familiar. I’ve heard some songs in passing, I think,” said Quiddle, frowning. “But you just said much was lost. How do we even know anything about this at all?”
Ainsworth brightened at Quiddle’s captured attention.
“Some things remained: Manuscripts and letters from people in settlements and villages too small to catch the dragons’ attention.
Magically protected manuscripts that stood the test of fire and time.
Historians are still uncovering many of these.
Oh, and of course we have the monarchy itself, in Hinslyth; their castle is a stronghold for historical accounts. ”
Ruraidh piped up. “Speaking of—the first Saltquart king and queen, they were just…regular adventurers?”
Ainsworth nodded. “Indeed. While adventuring parties and the first magic-wielders rose up to push back against the dragons, the Saltquart Party was the most triumphant, thanks mostly to their reclamation of the territory we now know of as Hinslyth, in the Auchtaber region. It was led by partners Linnidh and Drea, who after their victory went on to become the first king and queen as they fiercely organized to rebuild what the dragons destroyed. There were seven other members of the party, and each of them was given a portion of the kingdom to oversee. Thus we still have the eight regions of the kingdom today, and their descendants make up the noble families.”
Quiddle rubbed his nose. “Wait, so the rich folk today, the royals and that—some of them were just normal people who adventured their way to the top?”
“Indeed,” said Ainsworth. “Although that, er, isn’t the case anymore.
Most of them just oversee the land, collecting rent, organizing the Order of Linn in their local territories to keep the peace, setting taxes, and”—he sighed—“creating marvelous works of architecture that the rest of the public are not allowed to access.” He could not keep the disdain from his voice, realizing he could speak freely here as he could not among his circles in Hinslyth.
“Now, the song I spoke of earlier, Quiddle, tells the tale of Elspeth, a ranger in the Saltquart Party, during one of the last battles…”
Having Honey on hand proved incredibly useful, as she recalled the songs Ainsworth spoke of and gave quite the performance.
Quiddle and Ruraidh laughed and at times joined in.
It was a wonderful way to teach, Ainsworth reflected, and he saw no reason why educators could not be sent to remote areas with public spaces such as these to teach those who were eager to learn.
Once Ainsworth felt they had reached a suitable finishing point, he concluded the lesson and headed back to the kitchen to resume cleaning up and to think up another recipe in an attempt to impress Alvea.
But he felt a rush of warmth as Quiddle turned to Ruraidh, asking him questions about folklore and songs from Sylethus, as Ainsworth departed.
Back in the kitchen, Ainsworth started stacking plates, and Honey, wordlessly, came over to help him. “You know,” he said, “it still isn’t clear to me what you actually do around here that isn’t helping me clean up my messes.”
Honey lightly hit him with her tail. “Enough of that. It’s my full-time job to clean up everyone’s messes.”
“I thought that was Ruraidh’s job.”
She grinned. “Different kind of messes. Usually. But I’ll help you with this physical one. It’s been a while since I did anything useful in the kitchen.”
Despite the mess Ainsworth had made during his breakfast endeavors, the kitchen itself seemed to lean into such chaos, the room still radiating a welcoming warmth.
Ainsworth began gathering his assortment of used knives, pots, and pans while Honey got to work on heating up the washing basin.
Soon they stood side by side, Ainsworth scrubbing with his sleeves rolled up yet still sodden at the ends, and Honey drying each thing he passed to her.
Honey’s company was very much welcome, and not just because of the amusing tales she told of the past chef who worked at the inn—a clumsy old elf named Ryn. “When I hired him, I did not foresee spending more than his wages on replacing half of my kitchenware…! Bless his soul.”
“You do have a knack of attracting opposites, you know,” Ainsworth remarked as he carefully wiped tomato from one of Alvea’s impressive knives.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, just think about it. Elves aren’t typically thought to be clumsy, and yet you spent most of your budget on replacing crockery during Ryn’s term.
Dunelfen folk aren’t typically anxious, and Ruraidh scuttles off like an insect whose rock has been lifted whenever you try and talk to him.
Bren is a placid, sleepy dwarf, and Alvea—”
“Ainsworth Gladsly!” Honey cried. “You can’t tell me you take much stock in stereotypes?”
“No!” he said, laughing. “But all the same, it does seem like quite a remarkable coincidence.”
“And what of you?” she asked, drying her hands on her smock. “What do humans with a hint of druid blood tend to be like, according to the gospel from Hinslyth?”
Ainsworth snorted. “Outdoorsy. One with nature, I suppose. Much better at using magic than me. So yes, you’ve done it again.”
“And what of me?”
“Hmm. Well, tyflans are meant to be territorial. Proud. Haughty and…” He paused. “Intelligent.”
She gave a small twirl, waving the tea towel she held in the air. “And this is the part where you tell me I’m the opposite of all those horrid stereotypes and prejudices, correct? Except the last one, of course.”
He gave a mock sigh. “I wish I could. But alas…”
She laughed and hit him with the damp towel. “It’s a wonder they sent you away from the archives, Gladsly. To think your superiors thought you could speak with people!”
His laugh was a little forced. Honey paused. “Oh, come on. You were joking about harsher things than I—”
“It’s not that,” he replied quickly. “I was just…thinking about that. Why they sent me here.”
“I recall you spoke about wanting to make something of yourself. It was you who came up with this project and came here, yes?”
“Not precisely. There was another project I was attempting to pursue, but when I found the letter from Artan, my supervisor felt I had the lead for a good solo project.”
“Ah, your great-grandfather, correct?” Honey said gently. “Have you—have you found any leads upstairs?”
“Nothing,” huffed Ainsworth. “I know he stayed here, but I do not know what he was doing here, really, or what happened to him afterward. However, that’s merely a side project compared with my wider research.
As I was saying, when I found his letter, I conducted some preliminary research about the mountain, sharing it with several peers.
I agreed with them that there was likely a gap in adventuring culture knowledge and documentation of this place, but I…
was somewhat shoved out the door. It was all rather…
quickly done. Normally, we would have sent a messenger ahead.
I would have spent some time here, then returned home, then come back with maybe a research team and…
Well, there was no time for any of that.
” Ainsworth closed his eyes. Recalled the mortifying state Lyria had found him in.