The Onyx Throne - Ch.62-63

Chapter 62

It was full dark by the time they emerged back into the clearing around the cottage. They'd cleaned up after their love making and that had led to another quick round with Allora bent over the edge of the pool and Mitchell taking her from behind, but he wasn't about to complain. He was actually impressed at his own stamina and wondered if it was a result of not having had sex for months, his seemingly insatiable hunger for Allora, the heart stone making his body stronger, or a combination of the three. He'd remarked about it to Allora on their way back.

"Likely a little bit of all three, but mostly the latter," she'd said with a small laugh. "The heart stone makes your body more of whatever it is."

Her hand traveled down and she gripped his ass firmly.

"And I am sure that, between Lethelin and I, we will put you through your paces, so you will need it."

Mitchell had laughed at that but then felt a twinge of fear in his gut.

"Is it really okay to sleep with Lethelin, too?"

"Ah, yes. I remember you saying that such relationships were uncommon on your world. But here, there are no such restrictions. If someone wants to join a group relationship, all that matters is that all the other members approve. And I approve of Lethelin. Mostly."

Mitchell had known about the polyamorous nature of relationships here for a while but, raised as he was, it was still hard to accept that he was going to get two women. He knew Allora wouldn't lie about it or hide her feelings if something was wrong, however, so he decided to go with it and see what happened.

"Will, um..." Mitchell paused, wondering if now was the time to bring it up. Just ahead he could see the lights from the cottage through the trees. "Will you and Lethelin be sleeping with each other also?"

Rather than get angry or look insulted, she looked more thoughtful.

"I do not know," she replied. "I have not had much experience with women but I will admit that she is very attractive. I guess we can see what happens. But there is no dragon on the roof."

She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

"I think Lethelin would be willing, though. Sometimes I see her watching me as much as you do."

"There's no dragon? What?"

"Ah, I am sorry," she smiled. "It is a saying. It means there is no problem, so do not worry about it. What will happen will happen."

Mitchell smiled at that and filed it away to try and use if a situation presented itself. He still had some trouble with the curses as they felt weird to him, but he was slowly getting a knack for it.

Once they broke the tree line, Lethelin looked up from the little table she'd been sitting at, polishing the bow that Gilriel had gifted her their second night. Apparently, it was quite valuable, made of the special wood they'd told him about before. Lethelin had almost gotten on her knees and bowed to their host at the offering but Gilriel had told her it was no problem; she was never much of an archer and it had been sitting idle for years.

As they walked up to her, hand in hand, both smiling, he saw Lethelin break into a grin as well. Mitchell saw her give Allora the once over and she noticed the dress that was barely holding together after Mitchell had ripped it open in the heat of the moment.

She looked over at Mitchell then.

"Food's waiting inside. We kept it warm for you."

Then she arose, walked up to Allora with a conspiratorial grin, grabbed her free hand, and started to pull her away.

"I need to borrow our knight for a bit."

Allora resisted, laughing, and said, "I'm hungry, too!"

"You'll be fine!" Lethelin said and pulled harder.

"Go, I'll see you inside," Mitchell told Allora, who was already blushing.

She went and before they'd even gone a few meters, their heads were near pressed together as they walked and moments later, he heard giggling.

Mitchell shook his head as he watched them walk away. In this world or his, women would still be women, it seemed. Leaving them be, he followed his nose around to the side door on the cabin and went in to eat. He was famished.

***

"You said it yourself," Lethelin said, her tone exasperated. "You're the most wanted woman in Awenor. You can't just go waltzing into a town. It is better that I go. No one knows who I am, and Mitchell is mostly unknown as well. You, on the other hand, stick out like a High Sun dancer at a Halik light baptism! Even if I found enough sejic root to color your hair, I can't do anything for your eyes. Plus, the way you walk."

"What is wrong with the way I walk?" Allora demanded.

"You walk like you own every place that your eyes can see. You may not actually be a noble but you'd never know it by the way you carry yourself. I could shave you bald and fashion you a crutch, and you'd still walk like the High Lady of Iletish."

Allora looked to Mitchell.

"I do not! Do I?"

"You kinda do," Mitchell had to agree. "People notice you when you go places. Even if they don't know who you are, they know you are someone important. We can't risk it when we're this close to Lorivin. We'll leave at dawn and be back as quick as we can. Straight to Clayfaire, pick up a few things, listen for rumors, and straight back. And Vras will come with us. Once we're back, we'll head to Lorivin.

Mitchell pulled her in and kissed the top of her head.

"It's a good plan," he said.

"Fine," she said at least. Then she spun to Lethelin. "But if anything happens to him, I wi--"

"I know, I know," Lethelin cut her off waving her hands. "Horrible death, take my head, blood everywhere. We'll be fine."

Despite herself, even Allora smiled. Then, she surprised everyone by turning to where Vras was lounging in his customary spot beside the fire. She kneeled down and scratched him behind the ears. He opened bleary eyes, having gorged himself earlier on some sort of large guinea pig-like creature called a goha. Apparently, they were quite a nuisance for Gilriel as they liked to try to get into her garden and eat whatever they could dig up, so she'd actually been pleased to see the remains of the corpse just past the tree line north of the cottage.

"Take care of him, Vras. I am trusting you to protect him."

Vras blinked, looked from Allora to Mitchell, then back. After a moment, the gratha flicked his ears and leaned into the scratches before setting his head back down in his paws and closing his glittering green eyes.

"Hey!" Lethelin shouted. "What am I? A bucket of chum?"

***

"So this thieves' guild thing is pretty serious, I take it?" Mitchell asked Lethelin between bites of the bread and cheese that was serving as their lunch the next day.

Lethelin paused in her chewing and gave him a nervous look, then swallowed and took a drink of the sweet wine they'd packed.

"A little bit," she finally said. "Lots of lower-level thieves, fences, smugglers, and the like work for the guild on the periphery, but they aren't really in the guild."

"Is it hard to get in?"

She looked uncomfortable but she nodded. Mitchell waited but when it became obvious that she was going to offer up nothing more he let out a long, slow breath.

"I guess this is happening now," Mitchell told himself, and girded his loins for an argument.

"Look, Leth. I know there is a lot about yourself that you haven't revealed. Mostly, I respect your privacy. Like I told you before, I trust you to tell me things that I might need to know. But if you're in this group then you're in this group. I'm trusting you with my life. So is Allora. So is Awen. And you can trust us with yours. But you are going to have to give a little sometimes. That's how relationships work. If you're in, you've got to be all the way in."

He had not been able to fully bind Allora to him without her finally revealing what she'd been hiding for so long, and Mitchell knew that he needed to push through this barrier with Lethelin as well. She had proven herself loyal and while he had no doubt she would defend him with her life, and would fight as hard as he and Allora would, it was her trust that he needed now. No more half measures.

"You have to trust me, Lethelin."

Her face went from cautious to flat at that remark.

"I'm here, aren't I?" she blurted out, her voice hard. "Can't that be enough? I could have left you all a thousand times over but I didn't. I could have betrayed you as soon as we crossed the mountains but I didn't. I even made nice with your pet!"

"I know you never would betray us. But that's not enough," Mitchell gave her a hard look of his own. "Not anymore."

"I--" Lethelin started but shut her mouth and looked away. Her leg started bouncing and she was twisting her hands again.

"We're going into Lorivin soon," he pressed on. "You have secret connections neither I nor Allora know anything about. You hid your moon child abilities from us for weeks. I don't even know if there's more you're not sharing about what you can do. Had Luvari not told me about them, you probably would never have said anything. Even now, I don't have any idea what else you can do. You never talk about it and when we ask you say nothing."

"I only have the one ability," she said, but even that sounded like she was struggling to admit it to him.

"You say that now. You could have told me weeks ago. You reference your life before all this once in a while, but never in much detail. You talk about a mentor, but when I've asked in the past, you change the subject or refuse to answer. Your stiletto has a name. Why? Is that important? I don't know. Your cloak. It impresses everyone who recognizes it, but you won't say exactly how you came by it. Some enchanter? According to Allora, Gilriel is a master at that stuff and even she was impressed as hell by it. Then there's your token and your bow work, which Gilriel says is also excellent. But when asked about that, you say little. Where did you learn? Who taught you? You never served in the military or the guard. But you won't tell us anything. This won't do, Leth."

Lethelin had crossed her arms and when her eyes met his again, they were glistening chips of emerald ice.

"Trusting people is how you get killed," she said, her voice hard. "You lean on them, expect them to be there for you, and then they aren't. They abandon you! I swore my blade to you. I swore my life to you until the job is done. Why isn't that enough?"

"I'm not going to abandon you, Lethelin. I wouldn't abandon you anymore than I would leave Allora. You should know that by now."

"All that will change when you're at the palace," she almost spat the words.

Mitchell was taken aback.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're going to be the bloody monarch, Mitchell! Balls and fucking taint!"

"So?"

She glared at him like he was some sort of halfwit.

"Assuming we retake the throne and you get control of the city, you will be surrounded by rich, powerful, beautiful women and men. You'll have more partners to bed than you know what to do with. I know what happens to me, then."

"Wait a minute," Mitchell paused her with a raised hand. "I have no interest in men."

"Whatever! Just the women then. Humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, and more races besides. All more beautiful than me, more educated, more refined. Diplomats, scholars, warriors, mages, all of them. Strutting around in their fancy clothes like glitter fish. And you'll have Allora next to you, your perfect little princess. Then it will be so long, Leth, take your coin and shove off like a good little dock whore, there you go. Back to the boats with you. It happens to dock petals all the time. They would meet some rich merchant or ship captain who would promise to take them away from life on their backs and then he was gone with the next tide."

"Dock petals?"

"Whores!"

Lethelin was full on in tears now, her hands gesticulating wildly. Mitchell could only stare at her, stunned.

"And that's fine, my mother didn't raise a fool. River slugs don't swim in the coral. This is a job. That's all it is. It doesn't matter if I love you or even if you love me, too. Because once this is all done with, you'll be monarch and I'll just be some piece of Varset trash you had some fun with. So, if it's all the same to you, I'll keep my secrets! You've got my body, and I'll even bed you willingly, but what's up here," she tapped her head as her eyes flashed through the tears. "That belongs to me and only me. That keeps me safe and it keeps me alive. Nobody gets that."

Mitchell was dumbfounded. He could only watch, speechless, as Lethelin got up and stormed off through the trees. She'd left her pack so he knew she wasn't running away. That meant she just needed some time so he let her go.

Mitchell felt a bump at his leg and looked down to see Vras staring up at him expectantly. That usually meant he wanted to talk.

"Is something wrong? I know you can't be hungry yet, you ate a whole goha before we left this morning."

"Why is Maula's face wet? There is no rain."

"Is Maula your name for Lethelin?"

Ear flick.

"She stalks well. I have watched. Not as good as gratha, but she kills well for a tar two legs. Her claws are sharp. She is Maula."

Tar, Mitchell remembered, was the Waivian word for mortal. And it sounded like 'maula' might mean hunter, or something similar. He would have to ask Allora and Gilriel when they got back.

"She is sad. When tar are sad, in pain, and sometimes when we are happy, water comes from our eyes. She is sad because she thinks I will betray her trust."

"What is 'betray'?"

"It means when you lie to someone about something you promised to them and it causes them pain or causes them to get hurt."

"What is 'lie'?"

Mitchell blinked.

"It's when you say something that isn't true."

Vras bared his fangs and hissed and he looked up at Mitchell, meeting his eyes squarely.

"Did you... lie... to Maula?"

"No, I would never. But I think others have in the past and it hurt her. She is afraid to trust me."

Vras's body suddenly got very tense and his lips started to curl up around his fangs and he began to growl. The hair on Mitchell's whole body stood on end at the sound and he suddenly felt like he needed his sword. Vras's eyes bored into his.

"Did you lie to me?"

Mitchell swallowed, his mind racing. Where had this come from? Then he remembered the strange way Vras had looked at him when he'd mentioned a few nights ago that Gilriel didn't believe that Vras would not hurt anyone. He had no concept of lying. Then it hit him. Gratha--shadow cats--were from the Fey lands. Fey couldn't lie. Maybe gratha couldn't lie, either.

"I have never lied to you, Vras." Mitchell said, meeting the cat's angry emerald glare. "And I never will. I vow to only speak truth to you."

Vras's diamond-hard stare searched Mitchell's face and he inhaled several times. Then, as suddenly as the moment had come over him, it passed. Vras relaxed, pressed his head against Mitchell's shoulder, and then walked off in the direction Lethelin had gone.

"I will watch over Maula until she returns," the cat said as he bounded up effortlessly into a tree.

It was only when the creature had vanished into the canopy above that Mitchell realized he was sweating and his shirt was already wet against his skin.

"Balls and fucking taint," he said to himself.

***

It took about an hour for Lethelin to return. Mitchell had waited patiently for her, knowing that she would be safe enough with Vras on overwatch.

"Welcome back," he said casually. "We've still got plenty of daylight left if you're okay to keep going. I think we will have to cancel our plans to make it there by nightfall though. We'll have to rough it."

That had been a long shot as it had taken them two days from Clayfaire to find the grove to begin with, but Gilriel said that's because they weren't going in a straight line. If they pushed hard and headed straight for the town, it would be possible to make it there but it would be after sundown by the time they did. He and Lethelin had started out that morning attempting to make the run in a single day, but that hadn't worked out.

Lethelin looked at him briefly as she began to gather her things up.

"Sure," she said, her voice tight and clipped.

Mitchell stood up and began to gather up what few things were still laid out from their brief lunch but before they got moving, he grabbed her gently by the arm.

She looked down at his hand and then up into his eyes. Hers were still a little puffy from her earlier outburst and he could see red around the edges.

"I don't know what happened before, Leth. I don't know what other monarchs did, either. I don't know and I don't care. I also don't care who all these smart, pretty glitter fish at the palace are. We have fought together and bled together. I've saved your life and you've saved mine. That means something."

Lethelin looked away from him again, but she didn't pull her arm free.

"I want you at my side, Lethelin. You and Allora both. Always. Do you understand? When this is over, if we're all still alive, you are free to go. But if you do, know that it won't be because I pushed you aside. I love you just as much as I love Allora and I will be devastated if you choose to go.

Lethelin looked back at him then and her gaze was searching.

"I think you really believe that," she said at last.

She didn't sound sad. She didn't sound angry. She sounded... defeated. Mitchell's heart broke a little at hearing that hopelessness in her voice.

"I do."

"We'll see," was all she said and she pulled away and started walking toward Clayfaire.

They walked largely in silence for the next several hours and Mitchell let it be. Similar to Allora, he knew he had to let this play out. The ball was in her court, so to speak and she needed to decide if she was going to be on the team or not.

They picked a spot by a stream to camp just before sundown. Vras did a wide circuit of the area and said that there were no signs of anything dangerous nearby, so it should be safe enough. Mitchell made a small fire while Lethelin rinsed off some of the vegetables they'd brought from Gilriel's stores. The meal was cooked mostly in silence and it was quite good. He sauteed the vegetables that he didn't remember the names for with some salted meat that Gilriel said came from an animal called a takir, which sounded like a deer analogue. Still, even with his limited cooking skills, it was delicious.

Once the meal was done and they'd cleaned up, Lethelin sat next to him by the fire and joined him for a cup of tea. They both stared at the dancing flames for a bit and Mitchell could see that she was pondering. He had his own pondering to do, so he left her undisturbed.

Tomorrow should be an interesting day. He was going to be doing a little bit of recon. In some ways it was like his first real mission. He was both excited and nervous. The girls had assured him that, while his accent was still a little rough around the edges, he shouldn't be too noticeable. People would just assume he was from some little backward village in northern Awenor or something. Just make sure he didn't mix any 'Engish' into his Common as he still had a habit of doing sometimes.

Lethelin suddenly shifted beside him and pulled out Mira.

"My mentor's name was Alvi," she said. "He was a moon child, also. We can sense each other, sometimes. Some are better at it than others. But he was in one of the gangs and they had a run-in with the gang I was in. Nothing serious, just a dispute over a gambling den. A few of them died, a few of us died, but that's how the line gets cast sometimes. And I didn't know what I was doing. It was the second time I'd run away from home and I'd joined up with the gang just a couple of weeks before. But he sensed me and he came looking for me.

"We all have different talents," Lethelin explained. "Some are like mine or his, and can be used for less savory things, and others not. He said he met a moon child once whose talent was getting babies to stop crying."

She snorted at the idea, and made to continue on when Vras suddenly appeared from her left and sat down, placing his head on her thigh and looking up at her. She went stiff as a board and her breath caught in her throat but Vras only blinked languidly at her, his tentacles folding down on his back as he watched and listened.

Mitchell felt her shudder as she tried to get her lungs working again and he held her hand to try and help her calm down. It worked and he felt her slowly unclench. After clearing her throat a few times, she continued, her voice only trembling a little.

"His talent was sussing out truth from lies. He only needed a few minutes with you and then he would know a lie before it even left your lips. He could have worked for the crown with a talent like that, or some rich merchant who would have paid him more gold than he knew what to do with to sit in on negotiations, but Alvi said none of that ever appealed to him. He was born on the docks, a dock rat through and through, and he liked it there. But he found me, told me what I was, and offered to help me find my talent and learn to use it."

Mitchell stayed quiet, not wanting to risk her changing her mind by asking questions.

"He was one of the best blade hands I've ever seen. I told him that it must be a part of his talent, too, because he could do things with a blade that didn't seem natural. Alvi said it was just practice. 'Some kids get hilung sticks to play with when theys little, I gots me a blade' he would tell me."

She smiled at the memory and was quiet for a time before continuing. Mitchell didn't bother asking what a hilung stick was.

"He said he fell in love once, when he was a young man. With a wave dancer woman."

Then, remembering that Mitchell would have no idea what a wave dancer was, she thankfully explained.

"They're a sort of nomadic tribe that stick primarily to the water. Live most of their lives on their boats. You often see them in ports. They're highly sought after traders. One such ship came into Varset once, he said. It was called The Thirsty Blade. He said he'd only been about fourteen high suns old at the time, was only beginning to figure out he had a gift, and was just doing pickpocketing work on the docks, stealing enough to get a hot meal, pay protection to one of the more established gangs, or maybe even a night at one of the lower-end brothels.

"At fourteen?" Mitchell said, somewhat shocked.

Lethelin looked at him and grinned a little.

"Girls at those kinds of places often don't much care as long as you've got the coin and some of them wouldn't be much older to boot."

"Ah," he said, understanding.

"Anyway, Alvi said he was sitting on some crates trying to look lazy and unnoticeable so he could scout out marks and signal his crew who to target as they left the wharf, when the Thirsty Blade slid into the berth next to where he'd posted up. It was a fine-looking ship, but no more so than any of the other wave dancer vessels. But then he saw her. He said she was older, maybe sixteen or seventeen high suns, and she was balanced on one of the booms, just hanging off a rope with her toes on the beam, watching the harbor as the ship docked. The sun was setting behind her and it looked like she was on fire, he said.

"Wave dancers don't wear much and she was near naked as the rest of her people and Alvi said he'd never seen a woman more beautiful in his life. Said it was like Vish herself had come down and taken the form of a young girl. Long raven black hair, full breasts, eyes dark like living obsidian. Olive skinned and firm, he said."

"How did he introduce himself? Did they fall in love, have kids, all that?"

Lethelin shook her said.

"He never spoke a word to her. Wave dancer children aren't usually allowed off the boats alone until after their eighteenth high sun. When she was off the ship she was always accompanied and there was no way they would let a dock rat like him anywhere near her. All he ever learned was that her name was Miralescent Ne Okirazia. He said it meant waters of heaven in the old tongue.

"The Thirsty Blade was docked in Varset for four days and he never left the wharf. He waited all that time just in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her. Ate scraps he could steal without leaving the docks, whatever his crew would bring him, he barely slept. Then the ship sailed away and he never saw her again."

Lethelin handed Mitchell the stiletto. It was a beautiful piece. Mitchell was no expert, but even to his untrained eye he could appreciate the hard work and skill that had gone into its making. As he really looked at it now, he could see things he'd missed before. There was etching on the cross guard made to resemble waves. At the crest of each wave there were tiny diamonds placed into the steel, barely bigger than grains of sand. But they glittered as they caught the firelight. Mitchell couldn't even fathom how something like that was possible.

As he followed the pattern towards the center, he saw there was a tiny ship engraved into the steel of the handle as well. Were it not for his improved vision, he wasn't sure if he would have been able to make it out but, whatever the reason, he could.

Mitchell could see each individual rope of the ship. He could see the individual pieces of wood that made up the hull. And there, standing on the boom, was the form of a woman with two tiny black gemstone eyes.

He then noticed a thin line of text in a language he didn't understand that ran down the center of the blade -- delicate and flowing lines of script that almost looked like gentle waves themselves.

"What does this say?"

"It's Waivian. I can't actually read it, but it says, 'To the waters of heaven I commend my soul'."

"I never realized how beautiful it was," he told her honestly as he handed it back to her.

"It was his gift to me when he died," she said quietly. "He could have died in a palace surrounded by wealth and women, but he died in a flop house at the docks, and this was all he had with him. It was all he ever really cared about. Well, it and me. I was like a daughter to him. I think he liked to imagine that I was the daughter he and the real Mira could have had. And in a way, he was like a father to me. He taught me to use a blade, taught me how to be a proper thief, and got me into the guild. I learned how to sing locks open, how to scale a wall, how to trip up perimeter wards, how to cut a man but not kill him or stab him so he dies days later, either with my blade or with poison. How to kill a man clean, or how to kill a man messy. And he helped me learn my gift and master it."

"I wish I could have met him."

"Me, too."

Before them the wood crackled and popped and the small line of smoke drifted lazily up into the heavens. They sat in silence watching the flames and listening to the night sounds, her hand still in his. A moment later she rested her head on his shoulder and he leaned against her just the same.

It was a start.

Chapter 63

The little town of Clayfaire was pretty much like Mitchell had always imagined a small fantasy medieval town would be like. Squat wood and stone buildings, built in a vaguely European style, although the people here did seem to have a penchant for ornate roof decorations that he could make out even from the forest. Wooden carvings of animals and people seemed to dot most rooftops with some even having decorations on each individual tile.  

They came out from under cover of the canopy around four hours after dawn, following the road that led to the town walls. It had been decided that approaching from the road would be a little less suspicious than emerging from the forest, so once they got close, and with orders for Vras to stay behind and stay out of sight, they'd circled the town until they came to where a road cut through the forest.  

As they neared the gates, Mitchell took a chance and hooked Lethelin's fingers in his and, thankfully, she didn't pull away. Despite her story last night, she wasn't very talkative this morning and he opted not to try to push her further by pressing for anything new for a while. Given how strongly she'd reacted, Mitchell suspected that talking so much about herself had been difficult and she might be experiencing regret. So, as he had discovered so well with Allora, the best thing he could do with such strong women, was to give them the space to come to decisions on their own. Push them too hard and they would resist merely on principle. Never offer help unless they asked for it.  

It was an oddity about women that Mitchell had never quite figured out. Sometimes, when a woman would have some issue or problem, she didn't want you to fix it for her and she didn't want help, she only wanted you to listen and sympathize. To Mitchell's mind, if you brought someone in on your problem that meant you needed help or advice. But it wasn't always so with the women he'd known. Sometimes it was best to simply hear them out, give them some space, and be there if they needed the support. While there might be women out there that were always waiting for a man to come rescue them, Allora and Lethelin were not those women and that was something he was very grateful for.  

Suddenly Mitchell's ears started ringing and then, clear as day, he heard Gilriel's voice as if she were standing right beside him.  

"Mitchell, have you made it to Clayfaire? Is everything well? You can reply to this message." 

Mitchell was so shocked he nearly fell over his own feet as he whirled around to see where the voice had come from, but Gilriel was nowhere to be seen.

"Balls and taint!" Lethelin cried out, almost as startled as by his sudden movement as he was by the voice. Luckily they were alone on the road and there was no one to notice. "What's the matter?" 

"Did you hear that?"

Lethelin looked around, releasing his hand and reaching for Mira.  

"No, I just hear the sounds of the town. What did you hear?"

"I heard Gilriel. Like she was standing right beside me, speaking directly into my ear." 

Lethelin relaxed then and let out a short laugh.  

"It's a message spell. She's trying to contact you. The spell should be good for one return message. But it has to be short. Do you feel the tingling in your ears?"         

That information brought Mitchell up short.

"It's a spell? You can do that?"

"Sure. Do you feel the tingle?"

"Yeah..." 

Mitchell reached up and rubbed at his ears. It was not unlike the pins and needles you got when your leg fell asleep, but not as intense.  

"The spell is waiting for a response. It will last a minute or two, so you should probably answer soon.

"What do I do?"

"Picture the face of the one who sent you the message, and then speak the reply as if she were standing next to you. I can't cast it myself, of course, but I've done jobs with casters before who would use it. You don't need mana to respond, only to send. Keep it short, though. Twenty-five or thirty words, max. Anymore and the message usually fails." 

Mitchell nodded that he understood and imagined Gilriel's face in his mind.  

"Yes, we're approaching the town now. All is well." 

Once the image of Gilriel dropped from his mind, the tingle in his ears vanished.

"That is awesome! I need to learn that spell." 

"It's not in your spell book already? It's basic, as I said."

"No," Mitchell said, wobbling his head. "I definitely would have seen it." 

"You might not have the right mana to cast it." 

"What kind do I need?"

"How should I know? But if it's not in the spell book, that's probably why." 

"Well..." Mitchell said, suddenly dejected. "Shit." 

"Hey, none of that now. None of your Engish in town!" 

It was only then that he realized he'd sworn in his own language, rather than a Common equivalent.  

"Sorry," he said and grimaced. "No English from here on out." 

"Good boy," she said with her old playful grin. "Don't think I won't thump you like we were back in the wagon. Because I will." 

She brought her thumb and middle finger together and made to actually do just that, and he danced back, laughing.  

"Yes, ma'am. I promise!" 

Just like that, she seemed to slip back into her old self. She gave him a side glance and held out her hand.  

"Come on, we'll find an inn and get to work.  

He laced his fingers between hers and then pulled her in for a kiss. It was slow and gentle.  

"Maybe one with a big bed," he whispered to her as she leaned into him.  

"Ha! If you're lucky."

Then she pulled away laughing.  

Before she got out of arm's reach, he lunged forward and landed a quick slap on her tight, leather-clad ass, making her jump.

"Ouch!" She turned back to glare at him, but he also saw there was something hungry in her eyes which gave him some ideas.  

"After you," he told her, nodding toward the gates.  

***

They did find an inn easily enough, a few hundred meters through the gates and towards what served as the town square. It was a squat, three-story building called The Sleeping Giant Inn and Tavern. It was made of river stone and a honey-colored wood that had started to turn dark with age. But the ground around it was clear, with various topiary well-tended and it looked in good repair. Even the sign had been repainted recently. So, whoever owned it cared about it enough -- and had the funds -- to keep up appearances.

Once he'd worked out the meaning of the words on the hanging sign, his eyes went wide.

"Are there giants here?" 

"Hmm?" Lethelin looked up at him from where she'd been scanning around, then saw where his gaze was pointed. "Oh, no. Not anymore at least. There are some very old tales that talk about how giants used to live here, but there was a great war between them and the dragons and all the giants were wiped out. It's a really old story, though, so who knows if it's actually true." 

They had gotten a couple of looks from the locals as they wondered in. Mitchell's sevith stood out, of course, but didn't draw any comments, although he did see a couple of sets of eyes widen as they counted the stones. Not that Mitchell knew how to cast much. At present, he was up to six spells and was working on a couple of others, but they didn't know that.  

As for Lethelin, besides being beautiful, her cloak looked nondescript, still that same forest green it had been since they'd left the mountains behind, and seeing anyone carrying a bow, especially walking through the woods on foot, would not be remarkable. She did seem more at ease with the weapon on her back, though. Her bow had been destroyed in the fight that freed them, and Mitchell knew that being without it and her rapier had caused her no end of annoyance since they'd met. But she'd said this one was far superior, so it more than made up for it.  

Glancing around as they closed the distance to the inn, Mitchell guessed it to hold less than a thousand people inside the walls which looked more decorative than functional. Gate houses were boarded up, stairs to upper levels were in various levels of collapse, and thick weeds sprouted up around the base and doorways. Lethelin said it had probably been a generation or more since anything serious attacked the town so there was little need for keeping the walls manned or in decent repair.

She reminded him that they weren't deep into the Shadow Glen, still just the outskirts, really, and the truly nasty things lived farther in. Trolls, tribes of frog men and goblins, giant spiders, lesser elementals, even harpies, as well as forest and river drakes, or so the stories said. The Shadow Glen was mostly wild and untamed. As long as the monsters didn't wander too far outside the woods, the rangers and the knights had left well enough alone. Lethelin said that occasionally bounties were posted for a hunt, even as far away as Varset, but it was dangerous work and not many took them up on it.   

Before Milandris, these outer parts of the forest were patrolled pretty heavily to keep the nasty things from gaining a foothold and spreading out into the settled lands. Even if whoever was in charge of the rangers these days wasn't as diligent, it would be a while before the darker things of the forest crept back out.  

"We should be safe here," Lethelin said quietly as they approached the inn's large oaken door. "If a squad of soldiers or mercenaries come through while we're here, we're no one to them. If we keep our heads down, then we should be out of here by tomorrow. Maybe the day after if there's some extra information we want to tease out." 

Mitchell nodded his understanding, and they entered the inn together.  

Inside was a large common area that was dominated by a fire pit sunk a few feet into the river stone floor and which currently held the roasting carcass of something about the size of a pony. There was a stout, bare-armed dwarf with skin the color of river clay clad in a leather apron sitting off to the side of the pit next to a large handle and crank that was connected to a chain. Mitchell saw that it was connected to the gear wheel of the spit, meant to turn the animal whenever he deemed it ready. The bottom of the pit was thick with coals and the radiated heat created a noticeable shimmer in the air. The air itself was several degrees warmer than the outside, but not as bad as he thought it should be as he took in the size of the fire pit. Then he allowed his gaze to explore the rest of the inn.

The central hall opened up all the way to the top, and he could see both upper floors and the ceiling above, braced by thick trusses the same honey color as the rest of the wood in this place. And in the roof, he could see actual skylights that were cranked open to let the smoke out and which was pulling a steady flow of fresh air in from the windows at his back.  

Beyond the fire pit to his left, he could make out what was clearly a bar, only not like one he'd ever seen before. It sat at three different heights with three different stool sizes.

Beyond the fire pit was a large dining area, and he could see twelve or fifteen tables of various sizes, only a couple of which had any customers at this early hour. There were carvings on almost every surface of various animals, beasts, monsters, and the humanoid races engaged in everything from pitched battles with each other to tilling fields and weaving baskets. Everywhere he looked, there was some type of display. It was also obvious to tell that it much of it had been done by different hands, as almost no two tableaux were alike. It was both beautiful and dizzying to look at.  

Mitchell finally brought his eyes back to the dwarf at the fire pit. He was hunched over some sort of game that looked a little bit like a Chinese checkers board, except it was a little smaller and made of a dark wood, rather than rainbow colors. But it had small holes cut out in a hexagonal pattern in a nearly identical way to the game remembered from childhood. Mitchell suddenly had memories of Christmas at his mother's parents' house with cousins playing old board games.  

Set into the holes in the board were a series of black and white marbles, mostly grouped up around the center, but with lines of two or three marbles at different angles near the edge of the board. As they watched, the dwarf glanced up briefly from the board, eyed the meat, then reached over to the handle and cranked it enough to give the roasting animal a quarter turn. Only then did he notice the newcomers.  

Mitchell hadn't met many dwarves yet, but this one looked younger than Nothok. His face was still flat and rock-like with a bulbus nose and a long, trinket-filled beard, but his skin was not as lined, nor did his hair have any gray. Instead it was a ruddy sort of brown not too different than his skin. He had dark black eyes that glittered in the firelight coming from the coals and Mitchell saw him give them both a once over, pausing, as many did, on the sevith, before taking in the rest of them.  

"Aye, welcome to the Sleeping Giant. Be ye needing a room?"