Kingdom of Jovana: Day 3
Morning arrived without a dream he could hold on to. Whatever his sleeping mind had conjured slipped away like water through cupped hands.
Tyria was back. She lounged in the rented room with the indolent air of someone who knew dawn could wait. Among her scattered belongings Jimmy’s sharp elven eyes picked out something new: a large jar that had certainly not traveled with them yesterday. He watched her a moment longer, weighing the jar and the thief against each other, then cleared his throat and laid out his plan.
“I will fetch the package for Bahari. We meet downstairs in the tavern and then head to that other place, the Paladin’s something. Perhaps we can be rid of Aureliana.”
Adegar pushed himself upright, hair sticking at odd angles. “Really? You do not want one of us to go with you?”
Jimmy shook his head. “I will be quick.”
They were eager to move on and did not press him. He went across the street into Tyriantheus’ Bouquets.
Color exploded there. In drab Greenfell the shop was a riot of petals, like a hidden garden had swallowed a room and learned to keep books. A slight man in his late thirties worried a length of ribbon between nervous fingers, trying to tie it around a small bouquet. He had a short scruffy beard and the pink eyes of someone who had not slept well. When he looked up he forced a smile that would have been charming if not for the missing tooth, which made the smile into something hapless and goofy.
“Ah, good morning,” he said, voice trying and failing to be smooth. “What can I do for you today?”
“I need a bouquet,” Jimmy said. “Elegant, but not very colorful. Rather dark and silver and the like.”
The florist raised an eyebrow. “Dark and silver and alike. That is an odd request. Who is it for? That might help me find a suitable alternative.”
“Elves live long, but my time is limited,” Jimmy said dryly. “Make it look witchy. If that is a word.”
The man blinked, then dove into his stock. He returned with a spray of violet irises, the petals like night dyed in starlight. “These,” he said, brightening. “Violet irises. You said witchy. Black flowers are not exactly a thing, but this is close. The violet iris symbolizes wisdom and mystery, which is as witchy as words get, if witchy means anything at all.” He laughed, and the laugh wobbled.
Jimmy entertained, very briefly, visions of a future where flowers bloomed in impossible colors by art and enchantment. He could retire, name a shop, and argue with a witch over shades of midnight. “No,” he told himself under his breath, and took the bouquet. “This might do. How much?”
“Eight silver pieces, if you please,” the florist said, visibly relieved.
Jimmy paid, tucked the bouquet under his arm, and stepped back into Greenfell.
On his way past their tavern he found Tyria leaning against the front facade with a pipe clamped between her teeth, blowing lazy ribbons of smoke that did not belong to mornings. She called out, “I heard what happened. You sure you do not want some company to make sure when she removes your head she does not lay her eggs in your neck hole?”
“Since when do you have a pipe?” Jimmy shot back. “We will talk about this later.” He hurried on.
“Don't judge me, I'm on break,” she yelled after him.
Break from what, thieving, he thought, and smiled despite himself. Elves had their prejudices ready-made like fine boots.
He followed the southern wall toward the market square before the citadel. This district wore its years like moss. One of the oldest buildings sagged under a roof stippled with green. A carved wooden sign swung from a bracket, its swirling script promising: Percipia’s Enigmatic Wares: Secrets and Splutions for the Bold. The extra curl in Splutions made the word look like it had been enchanted by a carpenter.
He pushed open the door. A bell sounded, not a cheerful tinkle but a low resonant tone that seemed to linger after the air had forgotten it. The shop was dim, the light supplied by a few floating orbs that drifted like patient fireflies. Shelves ran in rows, crowded with clay jars sealed with wax, vials filled with liquids the colors of rare birds, and bundles of dried herbs hung from rafters. Stranger things swung above, bones bound in cord, feathers dipped in wax, crystals wrapped in copper, all creaking faintly when the door closed.
A large counter dominated the back wall. A leather-bound ledger lay open upon it, ink drying in neat lines. Behind the book stood Percipia, spectacles perched on her nose, the very picture of a woman who had hoped for a quiet hour of sums and was not at all surprised to be denied.
“Well, well, well,” she said, playful as always. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Do you have a cat?” Jimmy asked. “I am here for the package. Also, I brought flowers.” He offered the bouquet.
Percipia’s mouth curved. “Flowers for a witch. Such a dangerous gift,” she said with mock seriousness. “In certain circles, irises are considered a binding gesture. A way of pledging yourself to someone’s service.” She stepped from behind the counter and, with theatrical grace, accepted the bouquet.
“There are many forms of service,” Jimmy said. “Some more desirable than others.” He let the line linger. “Violet suits you. Especially with that hat we talked about.” The spectacles suited her too, giving her the look of trouble that had learned to read.
He glanced along the shelves. Clay hid the contents of most jars. The vials glowed without meaning. He recognized a few bundles of herb by scent and outline, but many were strange to him. The shop felt like a box of riddles.
“You have decided to take the package to Aicfrida in Bahari, then?” Percipia asked. “I will fetch it.” She vanished into the back.
From the other room her voice drifted. “How about the charm. Have you reconsidered that?”
“We are taking the package,” Jimmy called. “It might take some time to reach Bahari. As for the charm, perhaps it will not be necessary now. How about a pipe and some good weed, though?”
“Well,” came the amused reply. “You have proven yourself an elf of bold tastes. I suppose I can part with something unique.”
She returned carrying a small chest with a pouch set on top. She placed both on the counter. First she opened the pouch and drew out a twisted tree knot, dark and polished. Its hollow opened into a perfect bowl and mouthpiece. Carved leaves and vines spiraled over it, as if the memory of branch and sap still lived in the wood.
“This is the Knotpipe,” she said. “Carved from the heart of a dryad’s tree. Treat it well. Be careful who you use it around. The forest remembers its own and may take offense.”
She pressed a second, smaller pouch into his palm. “This is a gentler herb than last night’s adventure. Perfect for clearing the mind without the risk of losing it.”
The final item was the chest. It wore an elaborate lock and leather straps sealed with wax. It was not large, about 15 by 10 by 10 centimeters. It looked like a secret that had remembered to dress for travel.
“And here is the package,” Percipia said. “Deliver it to Aicfrida. She is an animal healer in Bahari. The village is not large. You will find her easily.”
A dryad’s heartwood. Jimmy turned the Knotpipe in his fingers and wondered what bargain had traded tree for tool, spirit for smoke. He felt the prickle of an old unease and the calm that comes from accepting the price of living among people who made do with what they could take.
“How nice a pipe,” he said, allowing the excitement to show. “Do I owe you anything? When the package is delivered, should I report back next time I am in the area?”
“The pipe and herb are a gift,” Percipia said, smiling like a knife sheathed in velvet. “One must look after those in her service. Check back the next time you are in Greenfell. I may have need of you.”
“Have you ever thought about enchanting flowers?” Jimmy asked on a whim. “Creating unusual colors. There might be a market.”
Percipia sighed and lifted one violet iris from the bouquet he had brought, tilting its petal to the light. “Enchanting flowers is a beautiful idea,” she said. “But beauty does not sell. People like to admire it and dream about it. When purses open, it is hearts and fury that drive the strings. Love potions, curses, promises of power or revenge. That is where the money is.” She set the iris back with unexpected care. “It is the ugly parts of humanity that keep a witch in business.”
Jimmy glanced around again. No cat. Only the faint smell of herbs and old smoke, and the sense that if a cat lived here, it knew better than to be seen.
“Yet some witches still come through that business with their wits and their beauty intact,” he said, and winked. “We all do what we must to survive.” He thought, briefly, of thieves and idiots, and the thin thread that tied them all together.
He gathered the chest, the Knotpipe, and the pouch of gentle herb, and stepped back into the day. The low tone of the bell followed him out, as if the shop were humming a secret to itself.
Tyria leaned against the citadel wall as if it had been built for her shoulder alone, smoke curling from her pipe in lazy ribbons. She watched the door like a cat watches a mouse hole.
“You made it out alive, and with some loot,” she said, chin tipping toward the bundle under Jimmy’s arm.
“Stop following me,” Jimmy said, keeping his voice cool. “Percipia is a fine, grand witch. The chest is our delivery for Bahari. The rest I will try later. Shall we head back to the tavern?”
Tyria shrugged. “Sure, sure. Somebody had to be ready to collect our salaries from your corpse in case she decided to finish the job.”
They walked through the bright, humid streets to the tavern. Inside, four familiar faces sat gathered and waiting: Aureliana, Azwin, Adegar, Unica. Tyria slid into an empty chair with the ease of someone who liked to look like she belonged everywhere.
“Finally,” Aureliana said, rising, hands on her hips. “Are we ever going to leave?”
“I had important business essential to keeping our group afloat financially,” Jimmy replied, bowing with exaggerated politeness. “Which, may I remind you, also enables us to serve as your humble escort to your tavern.”
“I heard you were making a booty call to the witch who charmed you last night,” Aureliana said, voice like a clean cut. “But I guess we all have our own idea of important business. I will let it go if we can get going.”
She stood fully. Azwin stood with her, a shade slower, as if he needed permission from gravity.
Better even as a witch’s slave than bossed around by this person, Jimmy thought. He did not say it. He was proud of himself for that. “I am ready to go.”
Everyone scattered to fetch their gear. When they returned, Jimmy noticed Tyria’s bag hanging much heavier at her hip, the strap biting into her coat. She offered him a bland smile that promised nothing and admitted everything.
“So what is the plan?” Unica asked, buckling a satchel. “South, I guess?”
“Yes. To the south,” Jimmy said. He tipped his head toward Aureliana with a pleasant smile that did not reach his eyes. “Our Lady will lead the way to the next tavern.”
The six of them left the tavern for the south gate of Greenfell. The guards there barely looked up before swinging the gate open. Outside, the road began as the same neatly set cobbles as the town streets, then surrendered to compacted dirt that ran into the forest. The trees rose tall and bare of branches near the ground, their canopies drooping only at a great height, as if the leaves had melted and draped themselves down. The air was heavy and warm. Underfoot, the fallen leaves held on to moisture with stubborn pride, turning each step into a soft, damp hush.
As they walked, the clarity of the day soaked into fog. At ground level the path stayed visible, but a low ceiling of mist ate the upper world. The trees changed to enormous conifers, trunks so thick Jimmy imagined you could hollow a home inside and the giant would keep on growing, unfussed. He craned his neck and still could not find a treetop.
Planks had been spiked into some of the trunks to make ladders. They went up into the white, vanishing like a trail of bread crumbs for the sky.
As an elf, and a son of forests besides, Jimmy let his gaze travel over bark and needle, moss and rot, the delicate scrawl of lichen. What lived here? Dryads, perhaps, though did a dryad need a ladder any more than a fish needed a horse? He frowned thoughtfully. “How about one of you goes and checks out that ladder.”
Everyone looked at Adegar, who happened to be standing closest to one. Adegar stiffened.
“Un, no thanks,” the man said, frowning. “I will just keep an eye on things from here.”
They all looked at one another. No volunteers. The fog said nothing to help.
“I guess we just move on, then,” Jimmy said.
They did. The road began to climb, winding up a great hill until they walked within the low belly of the cloud. The world tightened to wet air and dark trunks. At the crest, a building emerged from the mist, built of dark wood that drank the light. Above the entrance a sign swung, painted with a mace wrapped in light as if dawn itself had been caught and coiled around the weapon. A small courtyard of cobblestones spread out before the door, scattered with a few wooden benches. No one sat there today. From inside came the muffled sounds of activity, the clink and murmur of people who had not decided whether they were busy or bored.
“Yup,” Tyria said. “This is the Mace all right.”
Aureliana reached the door first, opened it, and slipped inside. She shut it behind her without a backward glance.
“That is it?” Jimmy said. “What a jerk.”
Tyria laughed, smoke curling from the corner of her mouth. “Did you expect anything less? I mean, we have gotten off mostly unscathed. Maybe she will send somebody out to rough us up.” She cocked her head toward the door, as if listening for the sound of boots.
“Like, some payment or a thank you or something. Perhaps we should check inside.”
Azwin had the same idea. He pushed the door open and went in. Udica and Tyria traded a look, shrugged, and followed. Jimmy and Adegar came last.
Inside, the gray light of noon died against clouded panes. Warmth from a hearth on the left rolled through the room, chased by the smoked scent of roasted meat. Braided iron chandeliers hung from the rafters and spilled a golden haze across walls dressed in battered shields and dented mail. Six big round tables stood like drums in two tidy rows, and along the right wall four recessed nooks waited with benches and shadow. At the far end, a long bar cut the room. An older man with a long pipe clenched in his teeth sorted glass bottles as if they were chess pieces. Beside him a young woman with a long red ponytail noticed them and offered a small nod.
It was quiet for midday. Six patrons hunched to their meals and their gossip. In the first nook by the door, Aureliana sat alone. No drink. Eyes flicking, expectant, as if she were a bell balanced on the cusp of ringing. The rest of the party drifted toward the bar.
Jimmy slid into her booth. “Care to explain to your faithful escort what is going on?”
Aureliana’s annoyance flashed and cooled. “What is there to explain? You stole my escort, then remembered you were an elf of honor, and escorted me here. Now we are here.”
“And what are we doing here exactly?”
“What do you mean we? I know what I am doing here. You, on the other hand, are likely preventing the person I am here to meet from approaching.” Her gaze darted past him and back, all nerves and sharp edges. “You are not subtle.”
“Who would be afraid of a friendly elf such as me. Introduce me as your guardian and bodyguard.” He tapped his newly acquired pipe against his knuckle and packed it with a pinch of leaf.
A side door opened. Aureliana’s head snapped toward it. Jimmy followed her gaze.
Two men stepped through. One was human and big, a wall in polished plate with a shield strapped across his back and a mace hanging at his hip. One of his hands rested on the weapon as if it were a sleeping hound that might need waking. His eyes were a green so bright they could have been gemstones. The other was an elf with bulging blue eyes and eyebrows that looked conjured in a hurry, thick and comical, like a storybook wizard. His skin had the pale, silky look of some highborn line. Chainmail hung on him, practical and not especially clean.
They took their time surveying the strangers in the room. When they found Jimmy and Aureliana, they came on.
The elf leaned his elbows on the table as if he had owned it for years. The human stood where he blocked the way out. “Good afternoon to you both,” the elf said, cheerful as a street vendor. “I do not think I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance. The name is Hildemar, and that there is Zal.”
Jimmy nodded and waited for Aureliana to speak. She did not. The silence swelled until it pressed against the ribs.
Jimmy struck a spark. The pipe caught. He drew the first sweet pull and the tavern shifted. A silver thread traced itself around every person, as if the world had chosen to outline its intentions. Around Hildemar and Zal the lines shone bright enough to sting the eyes. Aureliana’s contour quivered like a plucked string. Hildemar’s cheer glittered, but behind it lay something tight and watchful.
“Now, do not be shy, miss,” Hildemar sang. “We are all friends here, are we not? No need for the nervous fidgeting. Though I must say, it has a certain charm.”
He slid into the bench beside Aureliana without asking. Zal dropped onto the bench beside Jimmy, heavy as a tower stone.
“And you, my smoking friend,” Hildemar went on, grin widening, “who might you be, and what is your relation to this one?” He nodded at Aureliana.
“We are just passing through,” Aureliana said, forcing calm that broke at the edges. “No need to trouble yourselves on our account.”
Jimmy puffed a friendly cloud. “I am the lady’s humble escort. It can be dangerous to travel alone.”
Hildemar’s silver outline brightened, as though secrecy thrilled him. “A humble escort. How noble. I had heard chivalry was dead.”
Zal’s silver lines were hard bars. He glared. “And how long have you been escorting this one? Seems like you would know her pretty well by now. Or maybe not.”
Aureliana’s outline jittered. She looked ready to bolt, yet she could not make her legs remember the trick of it.
Footsteps approached. “Hey, Jimmy,” Tyria called, bright as ever. “You think you could pay us out for the last couple of days, I am running low on—” She stopped at the sight. “Hildemar? What are you doing here? And Zalathar too? Shit. I was hoping we would drop by Zamara tomorrow. I have something for you.”
Hildemar blinked, genuinely surprised. “You know these people?”
“Yeah. I have been traveling with them back from Onher.” Tyria shifted her pack, and the silver light around her flared with quick, complicated feelings.
Hildemar’s shining softened, the edges blurring. “You needed to talk to me about the last job?”
“I got one,” Tyria said, “just not in the place you said it would be.”
“With you now?”
“Yeah.”
“Wonderful.” Hildemar draped an arm around her shoulders with the ease of long practice. “Come with me.”
They turned toward the far door. As they reached it, Jimmy saw Tyria fish a stoppered jar from her pack. The two passed through and the door shut behind them. Zal stayed where he was, scowling at the table as if it had offended him.
“So,” Jimmy said, in the tone one uses to lay a blanket over a fight, “how about lunch?”
Zal grunted approval and stood to let him out. Aureliana, freed of a wall of plate, looked ready to flee. Jimmy tilted his head to the bar. “Join us? Got to see what food this place can manage.”
“…Sure,” she said, voice thin. She rose carefully, watching Zal, and walked with Jimmy past the party toward the counter.
“Food,” Jimmy told the barmaid. “Plates for the table and our friend in armor. Beers as well.”
The old barman glanced up from his bottles. The place was no city inn with perfumed menus. Prices were plain and cheap, two copper a mug, two silver for roast chicken on rice. Jimmy tipped a full gold onto the wood. Mugs lined up like soldiers. Plates followed, steam curling from the meat.
He slid a foaming mug toward Zal and passed out the rest. “Are you alright?” he asked Aureliana as they waited. “What are we waiting for here, really?”
“I was supposed to meet someone here,” she said. “They are not here. They absolutely should be here.”
Azwin drifted up behind them. In Jimmy’s silver-sight he was outlined in bright wire. Stranger still, he carried his spear all the way to the bar.
“Thank you,” Aureliana said nodding to Azwin, then flicking a look toward Zal. “Keep an eye on big boy over there.”
“Sure,” Jimmy said, keeping his tone light. “But let us try to be friendly. Meat and ale keep big boys happy.”
Everything came fast. Platters thumped down. Jimmy took a tray back to the nook and waved Aureliana to join either him or the party. She chose the larger table with Azwin, Unica, and Adegar. Jimmy sat across from Zal in the booth, so he could still see his people and the door.
Between bites Zal loosened a forearm strap and let the leather fall away. A tattoo covered the skin beneath, a flaming sun half hidden behind a crescent moon. He tapped it with a thick finger. “We are part of the Order of the Radiant Covenant. You have heard of us?”
“I cannot say so. Sounds impressive.”
“Oh, it is.” Pride warmed even his scowl. “We shine light into the shadows and burn out the evil in the dark. Like today. This tavern is a meeting point for a cult called the Black Followers. We already took one of them. We are waiting for more.”
“A commendable mission,” Jimmy said. “We are just passing through, headed south. How do you know Tyria?”
“Tyria is a freelancer. Usually works out of Zamara, where we are. We hire her sometimes, for her talents. Hired her recently to chase a lead in Onher. Looks like she had some success.” He lifted his mug. “Where is your group headed now?”
“Bahari and Jokka, maybe.” Jimmy kept it vague and chewed the last of his chicken.
Zal snorted. “Really? There is nothing down that way. A real backwater.”
“We will see. Rumors to run down. Pouches get lighter by the day. One can hope.”
The far door opened again. Hildemar and Tyria returned from the back room looking pleased with each other and the world, laughing low as they crossed the floor toward the booth. Jimmy stood.
“Excuse me.” He carried his mug to the party’s table. “How is the chicken?” he asked loudly.
“Pretty good,” Adegar said around a bone.
Jimmy leaned to Aureliana and said softly, “We better leave.” First a raccoon, now a cultist, what is next for this woman, he wondered.
It took only a moment to bundle cloaks and coin and stand. Unica, Adegar, Azwin, and Aureliana trailed him to the door. Outside, the light felt cleaner than it had going in. It was just after the thirteenth bell, the kind of early afternoon that pretends to be harmless.
Outside the tavern the air felt cooler, the clamor of voices dimmed to a low murmur behind the door. The haze from the smoked herb had finally lifted, clarity settling in Jimmy’s head the way frost settles on a windowpane. Aureliana stood with her arms folded, the hard look back on her face, though a moment earlier when he had mentioned a captured cultist her color had gone a shade paler.
“So, does your cult have any dark elves?” Jimmy asked, voice low and flat. “Fitting, given the name. Black Followers, was it.”
Aureliana arched a brow. “Oh, is that what they are calling us now? The Black Followers. How dramatic. I suppose next you will accuse me of sacrificing kittens under the full moon.” She leaned in, voice dropping. “All right, since we are playing this little game, tell me what you think these Black Followers want.”
The tavern door swung open. Tyria popped out with a cheerful wave, shut the door behind her, and grinned. “All right, lets roll.”
Jimmy kept his gaze on Aureliana. “How would I know? Cults and covenants are not my business. Covens, perhaps.” Witches flickered through his thoughts, and for half a breath he wondered if staying in Greenfell would have been the wiser choice. “I only feel we are in danger because we do not know what you are dragging us into. So what now, milady, or is it priestess of the dark arts or something.”
Aureliana rolled her eyes. “Just get us away from here. I am not sure what I want to do next.”
“Hey, Jimmy,” Tyria said, stepping close and pressing a small pouch into his hand. “I got something for you.” She counted out twenty five gold pieces and dropped them in his palm. “That is half of what I got paid. It was a job I started before I joined up with you. I figure I would not have finished it without your help, even indirect, so here is half.”
Jimmy swept the coins away. “Should we know what was in the jar, or does it remain a mystery, like someone’s cultist activities. Thank you, by the way. We are heading to Bahari, I suppose.”
“They call it a flesh seed,” Tyria said, face turning serious. “It is really gross looking, so it is probably good you did not ask to see it. This cult produces them somewhere out in the wilderness, then smuggles them back into the cities. That is what Hildemar said. Last night was the first time I actually saw one.”
“Flesh of kittens, eh.” Jimmy glanced at Aureliana.
Aureliana’s jaw tightened, fury sparking so bright she could not find words.
“More like flesh of people,” Tyria said, her voice flat. “The Black Followers are known for kidnapping and sacrificing folks to make those things. There is a reason the Radiant Covenant tries to wipe them out.”
“Ha. Let us get going then. After you, your dark highness.” Jimmy turned and started down the road.
They paused at the fork that would matter. South and west lay Zamara, about 9.7 kilometers away. Tyria knew these parts and named the trees, the gullies, the old game trails. “There is a shortcut to Jokka through the forest,” she said, nodding southeast. “About 19 kilometers as the crow flies, but you can get lost off the road. The road from Zamara to Jokka is safer, around 38.5 kilometers, just longer.”
“Is there a good tavern in Zamara,” Jimmy asked Azwin, “and how about witches.”
Azwin’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Aye, the Cursed Staff. That tavern has given me mixed memories.” His eyes slid away. “No witches though. Most of us do not go looking for them as readily as you do.”
“Elves have a natural admiration for magic and all things mysterious,” Jimmy said mildly. “Such as witches. We go to Zamara, then. Maybe someone there has heard of Bahari.” He gave a last look south, toward mountains that might have held the hidden name.
They took the road into the Goldenswan Woods, tall conifers hemming them in like a cathedral of spears. The cloud cover thinned, light stirring in the high branches. Under the trees the ground became a tapestry, bright with flowers, berry shrubs, and sprouting mushrooms. A few steps off the road to admire a cluster of bell-shaped blooms revealed something else beneath the lush cover. Bones. Not a pile. Scattered, here and there, white arcs in the moss. Human sized, and very likely human.
“Perhaps someone’s cult was at work here,” Jimmy said, pointing. “Not a good place to gather flowers. A shame. They look nice.” He guided them back to the safety of the road.
The road climbed a hill and a wooden palisade rose into view, sharpened logs forming a crown around the town. A gate barred the way. On the banner above the walkway a crescent moon crossed two maces. Two guards stood watch. They moved to open the gate, then hesitated.
“Well, well,” said the left guard, smirking, “if it is not Zamara’s own local sack of shit. Back from losing your new friends’ money in Greenfell, are you. What happened, run out of places to squander your coin.”
“Care now,” the right guard grinned. “He might still have that legendary luck of his.”
Their laughter trailed away as the left guard stepped close to Azwin, his expression turning cold. “You are not welcome here, Azwin. Do not think we have forgotten the mess you left behind.”
Azwin lowered his head.
“Dear sirs,” Jimmy said smoothly, “this man is my hired help now. In that sense he is certainly lucky. Why dwell in the past when weary travelers might be heading to a comfortable and friendly tavern instead.”
The left guard looked over the group, lingering on Azwin. “You have questionable taste in company. A word of advice, do not give that one anything you would like to keep.” He jerked his head. “Fine, go on then. Do not expect a warm welcome.”
The right guard swung the gate wide. Within, Zamara showed itself in a lesser echo of Greenfell. Dark timber buildings with stone foundations and steep roofs. Streets of packed dirt. An inner citadel ringed by more sharpened logs. Modest, but sturdy.
“I will lead you to the tavern,” Azwin said quietly. He hesitated. “Unless you want to look around.”
“We will look a bit,” Jimmy said. “Anything interesting in town.”
“There is a distillery Altilde runs at the north end, if you need a barrel of something.” Azwin managed a small, rueful smile. “A general store along the citadel wall to the east, good for journey gear. Next to that is Amara’s Groceries. And a bathhouse run by Aico down that way.” He pointed.
He swallowed, then added, “I suppose I should go see my wife and kids. You can still book me a bed at the tavern, but I should at least drop by.”
“Beds are expensive,” Jimmy said, half jest, half not. “Perhaps you could stay with them, or all of us could. Who needs a tavern when one can sit in a warm family home with home cooked food, children’s laughter like music, and wine.” He brightened. “General store. Does anyone have a ten foot pole. We should get one. They are said to be useful.”
“And who wants to join me in the bathhouse,” he added. “Elves are clean by nature, but delightful hot water is not something I refuse.”
Azwin’s eyes dimmed. “I do not reckon I will be welcome. Likely to get berated in front of my kids, then run off again. Go get yourself a pole and a bath, elf.”
Adegar and Unica confessed they would like baths. Tyria smirked. “I already bathed this month. I hear it is unhealthy to bathe too much.”
“In dirty water, certainly,” Jimmy said. He eyed Tyria’s careful cosmetics. Inwardly, he decided the makeup hid less of a scar and more of a stubborn layer of road. He turned to Aureliana. “How about a refreshing bath, this time in water instead of blood.”
Aureliana growled, temper crackling, and strode away. Tyria waved them off and wandered toward the Cursed Staff. Azwin headed for the east side of town and whatever waited at his door. That left the dynamic trio, as Jimmy thought of them, himself, Adegar, and Unica, crossing to the west side near the citadel wall.
As they walked, Unica nudged him. “You have been mean to Aureliana,” she said. “She probably did not deserve that.”
They came to a modest storefront with a hand painted sign: Otmar’s Tradehouse: Quality good for Quality folk. Inside, an elderly gentleman with a short white beard and a posture crisp as folded parchment looked them over.
“Good afternoon,” he said, polite, with an edge that could cut thread. “Welcome to my tradehouse. If you are here to browse, feel free. If you know what you are looking for, let us get to the point.”
“We are looking for a ten foot pole,” Jimmy said. “Preferably a quality one that does not break easily.”
“Lucky for you,” Otmar replied dryly, “I keep a few in stock for adventurous sorts. Good sturdy oak. Forgive the lack of embellishments. I assume you care more for utility than aesthetics.” He went to a corner and awkwardly fished a very long pole from a shelf without toppling the rest of his inventory. “One gold for the pole. Anything else.”
“A lantern and some oil flasks,” Jimmy said, then glanced at Unica. “Do you have a mirror.”
“I will check,” Otmar said, and went to a different shelf.
Unica rummaged in her pack. “Oh no, I do not think so. I have a magnifying glass, though.” She held it up like a trophy.
Adegar said, “Unica and I both have camping kits. Each of us has a lantern and one vial of oil. We thought the journey from Aral to Onher would be more rustic than it was.”
Otmar returned. “Sold out of lanterns and oil. There are candles, if you want an alternative.”
“That is convenient,” Jimmy said. “No need for a lantern then. More oil would have been nice.” He studied Unica’s face over the magnifying glass. “No mirror. You look pretty good, must be all natural. I heard mirrors are useful against certain creatures, too.”
“I do have a mirror,” Otmar said with a small, merchant’s smile. “Five gold pieces.”
“Is it made of silver for that much,” Jimmy asked.
“Not even,” Otmar laughed. “Steel. There is demand. If you do not want it, someone else will.”
“All right.” Jimmy paid six gold in all, one for the pole, five for the mirror.
“Excellent,” Otmar said, setting the steel mirror on the counter. He peered at Jimmy with renewed interest. “Since you seem the adventuring type, have your journeys taken you through Greenfell lately.”
“That may be so,” Jimmy said carefully.
“You would not have noticed if a certain dwarven queen was visiting while you passed through, did you.”
Jimmy blinked. “Is the queen from Aral a dwarf.” He looked to Adegar and Unica.
Unica gave him an equally puzzled look, then nodded. “Oh, yeah. Of course Queen Weltrude is a dwarf. I guess you are not from here.”
Otmar sniffed. “Despite your ignorance of politics, your distaste for the race of the Queen is mutual.”
Adegar and Unica both half gasped.
“Strange place,” Jimmy said mildly. “The queen is said to keep to a citadel. We did not see her.”
“Indeed,” Otmar said, disappointment curling the word. “I was hoping for confirmation of the rumors. Anyway. Thank you for your patronage. Feel free to come by again.” His hand and his eyes both suggested they do their feeling elsewhere.
“On to the bathhouse,” Jimmy muttered once they were outside.
He adjusted his new acquisition, a ten foot pole, about three meters long, and decided to carry it himself. It felt like a banner in his hands, a simple length of oak that promised leverage, reach, and the occasional comic entrance through a narrow door.
They took the eastward lane through Zamara, past the market square that was more a scab of compacted dirt than a marketplace. No stalls had been raised, no hawkers cried their wares, only knots of townsfolk stood chatting and trading rumors like coins. Azwin’s name drifted across the murmur once, then again, as if the man himself were a pebble tossed into a pond and the ripples kept finding them.
At the town’s edge the wall sank away and the forest rose beyond it, green and patient. There the bathhouse waited, a low building with small chimneys puffing steam into the cool air. A simple wooden sign swung above the door, carved with a steaming cauldron and the words: Aico’s Steam & Bath: Clease, Relax, Renew. The misspelling did not appear to bother the windows. They were open, curtains breathing, a warm light glowing behind them.
Inside, the lobby gleamed. A polished wooden counter caught the lamplight and returned it politely. Behind it stood a wiry man in his early forties with a stubbly beard and the bright, assessing eyes of a shopkeeper who had already decided what you needed.
“Ah, fresh meat,” he said. “I’m Aico, and welcome to my baths. You looking to get clean?”
“Good afternoon,” Jimmy replied. “I wouldn’t say we are dirty, but a hot bath would be nice.”
“Everyone is dirty,” Aico said, irritation sharpening the words. “Especially you, elf. Two silver per person, includes towels and access to the bathing areas.”
Jimmy, annoyed, set six silver on the counter. “Fine.”
Aico’s smile turned smug and efficient. He drew out four towels from beneath the counter, handed one each to Jimmy and Adegar, and two to Unica. “Gentlemen to the right,” he said. “Lady to the left.”
Unica slipped through the left-hand door without a backward glance.
As Jimmy and Adegar moved to the right, Aico leaned against the counter and cocked an eyebrow. “Now, I know you just paid for the basic service,” he said, voice turning sly, “but if you’re looking for something extra, I offer a unique treatment.”
He lifted a bundle of thin leafy branches from a shelf and shook it. The dry leaves rustled like a small forest whispering.
“It’s simple. I take these and beat the grime and tension out of you. Good for the blood, good for the skin, and,” he leaned in close, lowering his voice, “excellent for getting rid of whatever piss-poor attitude you walked in here with.”
He grinned wide. “Of course, if you think you’re too delicate, I wouldn’t blame you. Not everyone is tough enough to handle it.”
Jimmy eyed the bundle, wondering briefly if this was a perverted trap and deciding that if Aico had been a pretty witch he would have been less suspicious and more enthusiastic. Elves did not let themselves be cowed by a minor businessman in a frontier town. “For free, eh?” he asked, indignant.
“For you, elf, free,” Aico shrugged. “Not for pointy hat, though. He pays.”
Jimmy glanced at Adegar.
The young wizardling swallowed. “Just the bath. I do not want to be beaten with that branch.”
“Young people these days,” Jimmy muttered. “So closed-minded. Not open to new experiences at all.” He waved Adegar toward the door.
Adegar went through, and Aico fixed Jimmy with a look. “What are you waiting for? Go get clean.”
“Not that I am not already cleaner than the average human,” Jimmy said primly. “Fine.”
A wall of steam met him on the other side. The air was thick with eucalyptus and the honest scent of soap. There was no changing room, only wooden benches to keep clothes and gear off the damp. Stone slabs paved the floor with the occasional drain grinning up from between them, and stout beams crisscrossed the ceiling like the ribs of a wooden whale.
In the center sat the tub. It was not a marble pool carved by immortal artisans, nor a naturally steaming grotto attended by the loveliest maidens of the elven springs, but a dark-polished wooden tub bound by iron bands. It looked as if it could fit four if those four agreed to get very well acquainted, shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee. A stout, middle-aged man already lounged within, eyes closed in the blessed vacancy of heat. Adegar, already naked, was climbing in.
“How underwhelming,” Jimmy said to no one in particular. “Nothing like the famous elven hot springs. And the staff is certainly not delightful elf maidens dedicated to their art.” He considered whether it was wise to join possibly quite dirty humans in so cramped a bath. Prudence lost to warmth. He slipped in.
His knee bumped the stout man. The man’s eyes popped open.
“Well, good evening to you too, stranger,” the man grunted. “Fancy making yourself right at home, didn’t you.”
“I suppose we are bound to share this wonderful and spacious tub,” Jimmy said with a thin smile.
The man snorted and shut his eyes again. Steam filled the silences. After a few minutes, the door opened and Aico entered, birch branches in hand.
“Alright,” he said. “Who’s first.”
The stout man stood as if a spring had been released. Water sheeted off him as he climbed out. “Right then, Ulderic,” Aico said gruffly. “Let’s get that blood flowing.”
He dunked the branches into a bucket of hot water until they darkened and drooped, then laid them across Ulderic’s back with a crackle of leaves and a wet smack. He worked steadily, dipping and striking, the rhythm rising from brisk to vigorous until Ulderic was red as a cooked lobster and smiling like a man who had just been forgiven for an old sin.
When it was done, Aico looked at Jimmy. “You ready, elf?”
“Certainly,” Jimmy said, stepping out.
He lay down on a low wooden bench, face turned to the wet-grain smell of seasoned boards. The first patter of leaves was cautious, exploratory, then the strokes grew firm. The birch hissed and whispered against his skin, sound like rain in a stand of trees. Rough, yes, but not cruel. Heat pooled in his muscles and spread until he felt made of warm wax and good intentions. The forested scent rose from the branches and for a few moments he was not in a bathhouse on the edge of Zamara but beneath green boughs in a land where everything remembered his name.
“Sure you don’t want to try?” he asked Adegar when he could speak again. “It is kind of nice, actually.” He filed away the thought of recommending it to the spring maidens back home, should circumstance ever let him be that lucky elf.
Adegar shook his head. “No. I think I am good.”
“I knew you would like it,” Aico said, laughing. “Elves are skeptical, but I have never met an elf who did not enjoy it. Makes for good repeat customers.” He gave the bundle a sharp shake, droplets scattering like tiny stars, and left. Ulderic dressed and went as well, humming under his breath.
Left to the quiet swash of water, Jimmy leaned back in the tub and tried friendliness on Adegar. “So, any plans for life apart from adventuring, hoping for treasure and such? By the way, how did you end up with Unica?”
Adegar let out a long, satisfied breath that fogged the air. “Plans for life, huh. I wanted to make a name for myself. Become a renowned wizard someday, have a tower of my own. The kind bards write songs about, except less dragons and more practical magic. Helping people, creating something lasting.” He paused, the steam drawing thought to the surface. “Since the academy did not accept me, it will be harder. As for Unica, we grew up in the same district in Aral. She has always been adventurous. A little reckless. When she heard I wanted to head north to the academy, she insisted on coming along. I did not mind the company.”
“What about you,” he added, turning the question back. “You are not from here, and you do not know anything about Jovana. What are you trying to accomplish, hopping from tavern to tavern?”
“Going from tavern to tavern is mostly accidental,” Jimmy said. “Not that I mind the convenience. Would you rather spend the night in a cold, wet dungeon with the fragments of ancient terrors still buzzing in the stones, or out in the wild with beasts creeping about? I am not sure what I am looking for. Adventure, money, a companion. As you might have noticed with a certain party member of ours, elves can have difficult personalities. So one must travel, see what, and who, else is out there.”
Adegar nodded. “If we cannot learn the trade in a tower, we will figure it out the hard way. I am not keen to return to Aral and work as a lorimer. Despite the danger, I want to pursue that magical artifact Tyria mentioned the other day. It seems more practical if it is all of us, instead of just Unica and me.”
“Once we figure out where this Bahari is and drop the delivery, we should look into that Jokka rumor,” Jimmy said. He rose from the tub, water slipping off his now perfectly clean skin that, he felt, shone with a faint and righteous glow. “Time to head to the tavern?”
“All this hot water has given me a thirst,” Adegar agreed.
They dressed and returned to the lobby. Unica was there with Aico, and the proprietor was in full, animated rant.
“…and that is why Sighilde is a piece of shit you should avoid at all costs,” he was saying. “In fact, if you end up back in Aral, I would not mind if you burned that dump, The Harpy and Bloody Peasant or whatever, to the ground.”
“Noted,” Unica said, bewildered. She spotted them. “Oh, good, you are here. Time we took our leave.”
“Before we go,” Jimmy asked, “do you know a place called Bahari?”
Aico scratched his beard. “Never heard of it. Presumably it is in the south, on the frontier. I only keep track of the towns up here in the north. Aral, Capeya, Zamara, Greenfell, and Onher. Zamara is about as far south as you can go and still be in the civilized part of Jovana. The road southeast out of town leads to untamed lands. There are settlements down there, but no regular trade routes like up here.”
“Helpful enough,” Jimmy said.
They stepped back into the evening, the last of the steam trailing them out the door while the forest beyond the wall watched with a million green eyes.
That was not encouraging, but there was nothing Jimmy could do about the map of the world tonight. He found Unica as they set off for the tavern. “How was the bath?”
“It was really nice. Had the whole place to myself. The ladies room was pretty basic though, small tub, a couple benches.” She looked and smelled markedly cleaner, wrapped in the same oversized dark-brown robe, now bright with embroidery of flowers and stars. A nose ring caught the lantern light, and her frizzy hair had been wound into a bun. She had smudged a little dark eye shadow along her lids, the effect more charming than severe.
They crossed Zamara end to end a second time, from the bathhouse on the far eastern quarter to the western wall where The Cursed Staff Tavern slouched against its stones. The place was two stories of weathered timber pinned to a squat foundation of rough-hewn rock. A sign above the door showed a gnarled staff strangled by green, glowing vines. The door hung a little crooked. A lantern on a hook shot a thin, nervous light across the packed dirt.
Inside, the quiet murmur of talk rose into a cheerful roar. Damp wood and ale perfumed the air, with a drifting undercurrent of roasting meat. To the right a hearth burned bright, three people already rapt before it. Tapestries of unfamiliar heraldry hung on mismatched paneling. A bulletin board lurked near the hearth. Long tables sprawled ahead, chairs drawn from the city’s entire history of carpentry. To the immediate left, a table for six by the door sat empty. Along the far-left wall, a long bar ran half the room, and behind it stood an older man in stained clothes. Chalky script on the wall listed the drinks and their prices, legible now that Jimmy was closer:
Ale 4 cp, Beer 5 cp, Craft Beer 1 sp, Cider 8 cp, Wine 2 sp.
Crawfish Stew 2 sp.
Across the room, stairs climbed to the second floor. A dozen patrons dotted the place. Tyria sat with two men in chain mail. Elsewhere Jimmy marked a woman with black hair, another with the same, a man in a wizard’s robe, a dwarf with a long black beard, a muscular fellow in chain mail, a patchy-bearded man in chain mail near Tyria, a woman in a long black robe, someone in black leather armor, and an elf with dark skin smoking a pipe. A few others kept their backs turned to the room, the better to look mysterious.
The bartender gave his name as Ithamar, owner and keeper. The rooms upstairs were all eight-bunk affairs, four frames stacked two to a side. Renting a whole room for the night was 10 silver pieces.
Jimmy slid a gold piece over the counter. “For the room. And a wine and four beers, please.”
The drinks came and Jimmy counted out another 4 silver for the lot. He handed the beers to Adegar and Unica to do with as they liked and nodded toward Tyria’s table. “Join her if you want. I will be by the fire.”
He took his wine to the hearth and chose a chair near the dark-skinned elf. The fellow wore leather armor, carefully kept despite hard use, and smoked from a long, carved pipe with hints of inlaid silver. Half his face glowed softly in the firelight, all fine bones and calm. Yet his brow twitched, and his jaw was tight. In his lap he shuffled playing cards, back and forth, back and forth. Every so often his gaze flicked toward the bulletin board and returned to the flames.
Jimmy lit his own pipe. A sweet euphoria rose, and silver outlines began to halo the living shapes around him. The firelight itself seemed to lean toward the elf, shadows stretching like cats toward a warm hand. Near the elf’s boot sat an empty glass vial.
Jimmy let the hearth keep its secrets. He gazed into the flames and wondered what he was doing in this corner of the world. Xathar had been mentioned. Percipia, if memory served, hailed from there. Perhaps he should have stayed in Greenfell.
He stood and examined the board.
Heading to Bahari? Payment guaranteed to a trusty courier. Ask for Astara Wiseltrude.
Travelling to Aral? I will pay anyone carrying a package for me. Yours, Duin Ermenfred.
Back at the bar he asked, “Do you know Astara?”
“If you mean the notice, that would be Astara Wiseltrude,” Ithamar said, brightening. “She runs a hat shop down the road, Astara’s Caps. She was indeed looking for someone bound for Bahari. Likely hats are involved.”
“Do you reckon the shop is open?”
“Shut by sundown, like the rest. It is dark as a well now. She lives above it though. If you are in a hurry, you might still get her attention.”
Jimmy sighed, then told Adegar and Unica he wanted to chase a lead at a hat shop, should they care to join. Adegar stayed with Tyria and the chain mail crowd, already tipsy. Unica came along.
“The bath was great, by the way,” Jimmy told Tyria in passing.
She waved him off, wholly unimpressed.
They followed the wall south until they found a hanging sign carved into a fanciful hat and a placard that read Astara’s Caps. The shop was closed. A light burned in a second-story window.
Jimmy knocked. They waited. Nothing.
“We need her attention,” he said. “Unica, could you put a simple light at that window?”
“Sure.”
Unica spoke an incantation and traced forms in the air. Instead of a gentle glow, a sharp burst flared from just inside the glass.
A scream answered it. After a long breathless count, the door flew open. A woman hurtled out and tripped over Unica. Both went down in a tangle.
“Someone is in my house,” the woman cried, panicking. “We need the guard!”
“There is no danger,” Jimmy said quickly, dragging Unica to her feet. “Only light. To get your attention. Like knocking, but more visual.”
The woman stared, horrified. “How can you be so desperate for a hat that you cast spells in my kitchen?”
“We are here about the Bahari delivery,” Jimmy said. “The notice at the tavern. Do you sell witch hats, by the way?”
She looked at him as if he had begun speaking in bird.
Jimmy leaned close to Unica. “Wasn’t it supposed to be a soft light? Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” she whispered back. “You said to get her attention. I thought a bright flash would do it.”
“… I guess,” the woman said, bristling. “But you are all over the place. You assault my kitchen, then ask after witch hats. Do these sound like the actions of sane people anyone should do business with at night?”
“We are nice and honest people,” Jimmy said, putting on a smile that had won over several stern city clerks. “And clean too. Unica is a powerful wizard, she will blind any bandit or monster that tries to steal your delivery. Also, perhaps the full sum in advance is not necessary.”
“Who in the hell are you anyway?”
“Jimmy,” he said, with a shallow bow. “And companions. We are traveling to Bahari.”
The woman tossed her hair back, and in the shifting streetlight he saw a tattoo across her face, the design unreadable in the gloom. “I am renowned hatter Astara Wiseltrude,” she said crisply, “and I have never heard of Jimmy the Elf. Yes, I need something delivered to an associate in Bahari, but I require trust. How would I know you will not take the money and goods and vanish?”
“You would not,” Jimmy admitted. “But you could find worse couriers.”
“Perhaps,” she said after a pause. “I will sleep on it. Come back in the morning. I will look at you in sunlight and see if you are up for the task.”
She retreated and shut the door. The lock slid home. Unica sighed, unhappy with herself.
“Good spell, though,” Jimmy said, and they returned to the tavern.
Inside, three guards sat at the small table near the door, two men Jimmy recognized from earlier in the day. Unica excused herself. “I am turning in. I need to study that light spell again. We might need it tomorrow.”
Adegar and Tyria were still with the two chain mail men. Jimmy joined them, said he planned to retire soon, and offered a hand. “I am Jimmy.”
“Hey, Jimmy,” said the first, Haelcar. He had bulging dark eyes and the round beginning of a beer belly pushing at his links, but his arms were thick with labor. “Your friend here has a mouth on her.”
“I am not taking anything from either of you pricks,” Tyria said, slapping the table. The men laughed.
“Jimmy the Elf,” said the second. “I am Ademar.” He had a patchy beard, haunted eyes, and calloused hands. A tarnished medallion hung from a leather thong around his neck, a broken sun half hidden behind clouds, a symbol that meant nothing to Jimmy.
Adegar leaned in, troubled. “They traveled from Aral. They tried to enter and were turned away. Not even trade caravans are running. If that continues, this region will feel it.”
“What business are you in?” Jimmy asked. “I hear the queen is in Greenfell. Aral is off limits now. I wish I knew why.”
“No business,” Ademar said. “I go where Solaios leads me. Today Zamara. Tomorrow, we will see. Unlikely to be Aral, ha.”
“Sell-sword,” Haelcar said. “Aral is where the coin usually flows. Always someone up to something. We missed whatever this is. Guards at the gate were not saying. If the queen is in Greenfell, it is politics, hogwash.”
“How would you like to explore the wild south?” Jimmy asked. “We are headed to Bahari. After that, a matter of an artifact in Jokka. More swords would not hurt.”
“The frontier pays because the frontier kills,” Haelcar said. “Not for me.”
“Ahh, I knew you was a little chicken-shit Haelcar.” Tyria said merrily, clearly more than a little intoxicated.
Ademar shrugged. “I would not mind company on the road south. It sounds like a fine opportunity.”
“Your religious nonsense has turned your head to mush,” Haelcar said, still dismissive.
Jimmy and Ademar moved to an empty table toward the back and spoke briefly. “Standard terms,” Jimmy said. “One gold piece, and half a share.”
Ademar accepted. “Tyria speaks well of you,” he added. “That helped.”
Jimmy welcomed him in other words, privately counting the shape of his little army, then retired upstairs. Unica had claimed a top bunk and read by a dim lantern, a spellbook open across her knees. After a while Tyria, Adegar, and Ademar came in. The tavern quieted below. Azwin and Aureliana did not appear.
“No point waiting,” Jimmy said. “They will show when they show. Choose your bed.”
With elven ease he took a top bunk in a single, fluid motion. He lay back and let the noise of the day dissolve into the slow tide of sleep, despite the competing snores of Ademar and Tyria.