“No,” Alias replied. “A dragon wouldn’t leave things so neat. It’d burrow through the stones on the floor, looking for treasure. The damage was probably caused by an ordinary fire. Unless two mages decided to fight it out here with heavy magic.”
“I was just wondering,” the mage explained as he covered a pan of boiling broth and millet, “because you said Mist had ravens as familiars. This is the height of the trading season. It is unusual, is it not, for this route to be so deserted?”
“Yes,” Alias admitted. “But it might have nothing to do with the inn’s destruction. Trade routes go out of fashion for other reasons than monsters. Sometimes it’s just the rumor of monsters, put out by secret societies to discourage competition. Wars. Too little grain to trade. Import taxes and tolls. You know more about trading. What do you think?”
“I think something is wrong, but it may or may not concern … us.”
“You mean me, of course. And my affliction.”
“Have there been any problems?” the mage asked.
“Not since the wedding.”
Alias watched as Akabar lifted the lid from the pan and crushed a fistful of dried peppers over the steaming grain, letting most of it settle in a quarter of the pan.
“I take it that’s Olive’s portion,” Alias noted, smiling.
The mage grinned fiendishly. “The vengeance of wizards and cooks can be subtle but terrible. Each day I add another quarter fistful. Eventually Mistress Ruskettle will help prepare a meal, or her tongue will fall out of her head.”
“More likely, you’ll run out of spices.”
Akabar chuckled.
Alias looked over to the far corner of the ruined inn, where Olive sat cross-legged before Dragonbait. The bard held a card in front of the lizard and said something Alias could not hear. Dragonbait looked at the card with a deadpan stare, then abruptly plucked it out of her hand and started to nibble on the edge.
“The halfling has less chance for success than a fat school priest trying to convert kobolds,” Alias said with a smirk.
“You remind me of my younger wife. What she cannot see, she will not believe. When I return, she’ll sit and count the money I bring home, but she’ll laugh in disbelief at the wondrous things I tell her about the north country.”
“She’ll be laughing pretty hard about this troupe,” Alias predicted.
“Perhaps when you have finished your quest you might accompany me back to Alaghon, where my wives base our business.”
His tone was light, but Alias felt something underlying it, something deeper that he struggled to keep from surfacing, “I hope that wasn’t an invitation to join your little harem, Turmite.” She intended the remark to sound like a sneer, but it became more of a question.
Akabar sighed inwardly; he’d made her shy away again. He forced a smile he did not feel. “The invitation was only for a traveling companion, not a future bedmate. I hoped to prove to my wives that women of the north wield dangerous weapons and travel where they please. You need not fear my desires. Turmish women keep their mates so enraptured with their amorous abilities that foreign women pall by comparison.”
“I see,” Alias replied, looking down into the fire to keep her grin from showing.
“Besides,” continued Akabar, “as I’ve explained once, they have veto power over co-wives. They would never approve of you joining the family. You’re much too hot-tempered, and my older wife is offended by the smell of damp wool.”
Alias laughed and threw the horse brush at him. “You smell like damp wool, too, Turmite.” She gave a tug on his cloak.
Akabar shrugged. “Yes, but my wives cannot veto me.”
Olive and Dragonbait joined them at the fireside, the only warmth and light for miles now that the sun had set. The lizard carried wood for the fire. The bard was all smiles.
“I’ve done it,” Olive declared.
“Done what?” Akabar asked, tasting his concoction.
“Taught Dragonbait to speak to us,” the bard said. Fixing Alias with a reproachful stare, she added, “It’s surprising no one thought of it before.”
“So, let’s hear what he says,” Alias said, holding out a piece of flat trailbread for Akabar to spread with the meat and grain mixture.
“It doesn’t work like that,” the bard explained. She pulled out a deck of Talis cards from her pocket. “He doesn’t speak any tongue I recognize, but he can understand us. Watch.” Ruskettle leafed through the cards, pulling out two.
“The Holed Plate, Primary of Stones, means yes,” Olive said. “The Flaming Dagger, no. He picked that one himself.”
“I wonder why,” Alias smirked.
“I ask him a question and he can give the answer. Watch.” She turned back to the creature and, smiling like a maiden aunt, Alias thought, she asked, “Dragonbait, are you a lizard?”
The lizard-creature held up the Holed Plate indicating yes.
“Are you hungry?” Olive asked in the same cheerful tone.
Dragonbait held up the same card. Another yes.
“Should we stay in this haunted place?” Olive demanded, suddenly stern, pointing to the burned rafters.
Dragonbait lifted the Flaming Dagger card.
Olive turned back to face the swordswoman and mage. “You see. You’ve held this poor creature, virtually as a bondservant, for weeks now without even trying to communicate with him. I reached his mind in a single session.” Olive shook her head sadly. “I wonder why you humans are running the world at all.”
Alias studied Dragonbait curiously. She had tried to communicate with him back at The Hidden Lady without success. Why did I give up so soon? she wondered, but she knew the answer to that. Dragonbait seemed to understand what she wanted without her even having to ask, and besides, he’d offered her his sword, which made her his leader. Still … is it possible that I didn’t want to know anything he could tell me? She felt more than a little annoyed with herself.
Akabar polished off his supper and licked his fingers. “Congratulations,” he said to Olive, handing her a folded meat and millet sandwich filled from the far side of the skillet. “May I try?”
“Of course,” the halfling replied, relinquishing her seat beside the lizard. “Answers told, mysteries revealed.”
Akabar sat in front of the lizard, frowning in deep concentration. “Dragonbait,” he asked, “can you understand me?”
The lizard held up the Flaming Dagger. No.
“Well,” the mage said, “at least he’s honest.” With a smile he asked, “Is the halfling a perfect fool?”
Dragonbait lifted up the Holed Plate. Yes.
Alias giggled.
Akabar screwed his face into a scowl. “Would you mind very much if we threw her on the fire for kindling?”
The Flaming Dagger. No.
Akabar burst into laughter. “Idiot bard! You’ve trained him to show the yes card when you smile and the no card when you frown. He’s a quick study, but there are trained monkeys in Calisham who know that trick. Now, eat your dinner before it gets cold.” He and Alias turned back to the pan for second helpings.
“The way you spice food, it could melt steel for hours,” the halfling grumbled. Before she took a bite of the peppery mixture, she glared at Dragonbait, saying, “I bet you’re proud of yourself, lizard.”
Dragonbait held up the Holed Plate, cocked his head at the halfling, and a strange clicking sound came through his stubby teeth. Olive felt certain he was laughing at her.
12
The Dream and the Kalmari
The evening sky over Shadow Gap was overcast except in the far south, where a few stars glittered between the mantle of clouds and the horizon. Alias exhaled slowly, watching the vapor from her breath rise and drift away in the cool mountain air. Despite the chill, she was quite comfortable. Akabar had not stinted on warm clothing and blankets for their trip north.