“We press on,” Alias said.
“Thank heavens,” the bard said, kicking her pony past Akabar’s stallion. “Great adventure can wait. Hark, I hear something calling my name, too.” She held her hand up to her ear. “It’s a warm bed and something else … a hot meal, one not spiced to within an inch of my life.”
Ruskettle peeked out from under her wide-brimmed hat to catch Akabar’s reaction, but his face remained impassive. Five nights before, Olive had complained about the mage’s cooking and announced that, if Akabar didn’t go easier on the pepper, she’d be forced to take a hand in the cooking herself. Since then, she had continued to complain about the spicing, but had yet to lift a finger to help prepare meals.
The halfling set her pony in a trot. Akabar followed, looking regal on his white mount. Dragonbait waited for Alias to pass him, then brought up the rear, still watching the cliff-side warily.
“Don’t worry,” Alias told him. “I can get another dagger when we reach Shadowdale.”
Dragonbait did not look away from the cliffs for a long time.
Olive’s dreams of a warm bed and a less-seasoned meal were shattered when they topped the last set of switchbacks. Instead of a charming house and a warm, welcoming cup of mulled wine, they found the remains of a great hall, its massive timbers blackened by flame, its stone floor littered with slate from the collapsed roof.
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Olive snapped angrily. “This place has gone downhill somewhat since you last visited it.”
“Obviously, the clientele has changed,” Akabar said dryly, gingerly poking his foot through the rubble. He, too, had been looking forward to a comfortable bed.
“Nine circles of Hell,” Alias muttered. Above the shattered roof, the last rays of the evening sun were playing against the eastern cliff, turning it as red as blood.
“There are no bodies,” Akabar pointed out, “and the fire damage looks several months old, so I don’t think there can be much danger. As to comforts, there’s still some roof left in that corner and the firepit is serviceable. Shall we stay or ride on?”
Alias sighed. “We may as well stay.”
Inwardly, she was thankful for the mage’s calm assessment. She had been looking forward to collapsing in the inn, and her disappointed muscles revolted at the thought of riding any farther.
Akabar nodded. “Stay it is.”
“I say we should go,” Olive objected vehemently. “There’s still daylight left, and we can be a few miles beyond this place when whatever did this comes back.”
“As I said—this damage occurred some time ago,” the mage argued.
“Increasing the likelihood that whatever caused it will return,” retorted the bard.
“There are no bodies,” Akabar insisted.
“That’s even worse,” Olive cried, her voice growing shrill. “It just proves that whatever did this burns or swallows people whole, probably vomiting up their bones in its lair. Look!” Ruskettle lifted up a very large, heavy, two-handed sword. “Not even the owner of this sword could defend himself.” She dropped the blade in disgust.
“Or—” Alias interrupted, “—or it proves that this was just an ordinary fire—an accident—and everyone got out in time or other humans buried the corpses. Try not to overreact, Olive.”
“Me?” Olive squeaked. “You’re the one who tried to skewer a robberwing for calling out your name. If it were just an ordinary fire, why didn’t they rebuild the inn? Why isn’t anyone using the pass?”
Alias shrugged. “They’d have to import the building materials, and that would take a few months. I’m sure we simply went through the pass on a slow day.” She knew her last comment was improbable, but she also knew she’d feel foolish giving in to the halfling’s anxieties.
“Ha! This is just the kind of place you tell children about to keep them from straying into the woods.”
Alias reached under her stallion to unbuckle the saddle straps. “Well, Olive,” she said, lifting the saddle from her horse, “just be sure you don’t stray too far, then.”
Olive growled in frustration and left to tend to her pony.
Dragonbait, who was snuffling over a pile of timbers, snarled once.
“See!” Olive turned excitedly. “Even Dragonbait votes we should go.”
Alias laughed. “He’s more likely snarling at a garden spider. Besides, Dragonbait doesn’t get a vote. He can’t talk. He barely understands what we’re saying.”
“He understands well enough when it really matters,” Olive muttered.
“Pardon?”
“I said, we could be halfway down the gap, away from this place before night fell.”
“Then we’d have to eat a cold supper,” the mage teased.
That was food for thought to the halfling. In the end, she decided safety was more important than comfort. “It wouldn’t matter, you’d only add too much spice anyway.”
“Perhaps you should show me how to do it properly.”
“I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of the joy of figuring it out for yourself,” Olive replied. “Besides, I have a more important job this evening.” She drew out a set of pasteboard cards from a jacket pocket.
“Oh? And what job is that?” Alias asked with a smile.
“Teaching your lizard to vote,” the halfling announced, grabbing Dragonbait firmly by the arm and hustling him to a far corner of the ruins.
“You keep an eye on Olive, Dragonbait,” Alias called. “Don’t let her wander into the woods.”
Akabar started the fire, using pieces of charred wood from the inn. The mage struck a spark off his flint onto some wool and soon had a small blaze going. Alias squatted on her haunches and blew into the flames, spreading them among the drier tinder until the heavier kindling caught.
Akabar pulled out a pan, some cooking utensils, and a package of meat from a saddle bag. “Lamb, I think.” Carving the meat into strips, he added, “We’re going to have to start hunting soon.”
“I know,” Alias sighed, staring into the flames. “If I hadn’t been such a frightened ninny and had hit that bird square on, I’d still have my dagger and we’d be eating fresh meat tonight.”
“Your aim can’t always be perfect,” he said.
“Why not?”
The mage laughed. He poured a splash of oil into the cooking pan and balanced it on two large logs which straddled the fire. “You’re only human.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Why is perfection so important?” he asked her.
“Why is being alive important?” she returned. “One miss too many and I could end up someone else’s supper.”
“You lead a hard life.”
“It’s worth it,” the swordswoman insisted.
“Why?”
Alias shrugged. “The feeling of being free, I guess.”
“Free of needing others?”
Alias did not reply. She fished a brush from her saddle bag and walked over to where Lady Killer stood munching the stiff mountain grass.
The mage smiled as he watched her grooming the purebred stallion. If she took that brush to her own hair, he thought, she would look as well bred. Akabar believed he understood why she spent her affection on the horse. The creature would never betray her, it didn’t really need her, and it didn’t ask questions. Rather like her other companion, the lizard.
He shook off the pity he felt for her, knowing that if she saw it, she would go for his throat. The oil in the pan spat, and the mage added the strips of lamb.
The mountain air was chill. Before long, Alias returned to the fire to warm her hands.
“Do you think a dragon may have caused this damage?” Akabar asked. The thought had been preying on his mind, but he had not wanted to appear nervous.