The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  Ryoka turned and moved out of the crowd of onlookers, shaking her head as she left the Merchant’s Guild.

  “Amazing. How the hell did he get all that money, Ivolethe?”

  The faerie just stared up at Ryoka, cheeks bulging. She swallowed and didn’t answer. Ryoka scowled.

  “Whatever. But at least I’ve got Reynold off my back. Well, there are probably other spies around, but I hope they like running.”

  She left the building and began to jog and then run down the street. Back inside the Merchant’s Guild, Reynold stood to attention next to Laken. He knew Ryoka had gone, had seen her leave, but he couldn’t make himself abandon the conversation. Laken kept asking him questions and Reynold found himself pressing Merec hard on the young man’s behalf. He was stuck, and Reynold realized this might have been Ryoka’s plan all along.

  —-

  Ryoka had intended to go to the Mage’s Guild to send the Horns of Hammerad a message, but she found herself in the Runner’s Guild first. It was just a thought. She wondered if the [Receptionist] had heard about Valceif yet.

  But when she approached the counter, the young man on duty immediately asked her to wait. Confused, Ryoka found herself ushered to the side while one of the staff on duty went to go get the [Receptionist] she’d talked to.

  When the woman came walking down the stairs, Ryoka realized something was wrong. It was written all over the woman’s face. The young woman felt a lurch in her stomach, though she didn’t know what the problem was.

  “Miss Ryoka? You were asking about the whereabouts of Valceif Godfrey?”

  The [Receptionist] led Ryoka to an unused counter to talk. Ryoka nodded, keeping her voice deliberately casual.

  “Yeah, I was wondering. Do you know where he is?”

  “I do, Miss. I’m sorry to say that Valceif is dead. He was killed two weeks ago on a delivery.”

  Ryoka blinked. She rubbed at one ear and stared into the other woman’s grave eyes. She opened her mouth and slowly closed it.

  “How? I mean—I mean—how? How did it happen?”

  “He was killed on a delivery, Miss Ryoka. A group of [Bandits] waylaid him. It wasn’t an assassination or someone trying to intercept his delivery. It was simply—bad luck.”

  A hole had opened up in Ryoka’s chest. She felt herself lurching, felt all the positive emotions drain out through a pit in her stomach and the void rush in.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, Miss Ryoka.”

  There was too much sympathy in the [Receptionist]’s eyes. She’d seen this before, told other Runners the same thing, Ryoka knew. She hated that. She hated…it couldn’t be true.

  “Bandits did it. [Bandits]? How could they get him? Valceif was—he was a Courier. He could outrun a horse!”

  “They used magic. When they were captured, the surviving bandits said that they’d used a [Sleep] spell on the road. Apparently they took him unawares, before he knew they were there. It’s rare that a Courier doesn’t have magical items to ward against such spells, but—”

  Ryoka’s hand had gone over her mouth when the woman mentioned the [Sleep] spell. When the [Receptionist] got to the part about magical items Ryoka threw up.

  —-

  Someone got Ryoka a towel and some water to wash her mouth out with. Ryoka sat and stared at her hands as she sat at a table.

  “It was my fault. I got him killed.”

  There was a gasp. The [Receptionist]’s eyes flicked to the young man and other woman hovering around Ryoka. She glared at them.

  “You didn’t hear that. Either of you. If I hear a word out of your mouths—”

  They fled. Ryoka raised her head to stare at the [Receptionist].

  “Why bother hiding it? It’s true. Valceif—he had—he had an amulet. A dreamcatcher that could shield him from spells. He gave it to me and I broke it. If I hadn’t—”

  “I understand. But you must not say that openly.”

  The woman stared at Ryoka.

  “Why?”

  “Because Valceif had friends. And family. And they might come here seeking vengeance if they hear the wrong things. Rumor would spin you as his murderer.”

  “I might as well be. I killed him. I did it. I let him run off without protection—”

  “Listen to me.”

  The [Receptionist] tapped Ryoka’s arm, making the younger woman look up at her. There was kindness in the other woman’s gaze, but something made of steel as well.

  “Valceif Godfrey was a Runner. He was a Courier—one of the best of us. He knew the risks of running without an artifact and he took it. His death was not your fault. He helped you because that is what we Runners do. The people who killed him are at fault, not you. Runners carry deliveries, but we do not bear grudges. We run and die and help each other. Valceif was a true Runner to the end.”

  Ryoka stared at the [Receptionist].

  “You were a Runner?”

  The woman’s mouth turned up slightly.

  “City Runner. Like you. I grew too old and slow for it. It’s too dangerous and I have a child. But I know what it’s like. I’ve lost friends too. Valceif probably thought he could outrun any mage before he bought another charm, but he made a mistake. That’s always how it happens. A small mistake or bad luck.”

  Ryoka shuddered.

  “But if—”

  She paused and shook her head.

  “I know. I know I couldn’t have known. But if—”

  “If you could have, you would. But it was just bad luck.”

  The two sat in silence for longer than Ryoka knew. Time lost its meaning for a while, but no one came over to bother the [Receptionist] and she ignored the queue at the desks.

  After a while, the [Receptionist] thought she heard a voice. She looked at Ryoka, but saw nothing. It was a faint sound, almost indistinct. Then the woman saw a blue creature, a being of frost and ice standing by her ear. She stared at the Frost Faerie, but Ivolethe just whispered into Ryoka’s ear, quietly.

  Time passed. All three sat in silence, then, Ivolethe sitting on Ryoka’s shoulder, staring dreamily at the sky. She did not weep, but there was something deep in the faerie’s eyes. A hint of forever. At last, Ryoka stood up.

  “I’ve got to go. Thank you.”

  The faerie darted towards her pouch and the [Receptionist] stood. She didn’t comment about Ivolethe, just walked with Ryoka to the doors.

  “Come back if you need to.”

  “I will.”

  Slowly, Ryoka left the Runner’s Guild. All the energy she’d had before, all the excitement, was gone. She felt numb and hollow, and she remembered the feeling. She’d known it before.

  Too many times. But this time Ryoka didn’t give into the feeling or allow it to overtake her. That was a luxury for later. Right now she walked and then jogged down the street, feeling as though she were shot or stabbed while she moved.

  —-

  The man at the desk in the Mage’s Guild was only too happy to show Ryoka the many messages left for her. In truth, they were all short slips of paper, [Message] spells being far too expensive for long missives, but there were a lot of them.

  Ryoka stood at the counter, aware of the man’s eyes on her as she flipped through message after message. Quite a few were from Krshia, asking when she would come back.

  There is unrest. You must return soon. Do you have what is needed?

  Ryoka remembered the book full of spells in her bag of holding. Another promise, long delayed. She shook her head and read the next piece of parchment.

  This one was from Ceria.

  …hope you can reply soon. Let us know. We hope all is well.

  They must have been worried without a response for days. Ryoka felt something else stab into her heart, but it was already bleeding so it hurt only a bit.

  The next message was from Pisces and more direct.

  What’s taking so long?

  Just that. Ryoka sighed and took the next bit of parchment out. She read it
and froze. It was from Lyonette.

  Come back. Mrsha misses you.

  The void in Ryoka’s heart didn’t shrink, but now she could feel it hurting. She thought of Mrsha. How long had it been since she’d seen her? She’d just run off, looking for Erin—but Erin had come back and Ryoka hadn’t.

  “I have to go back.”

  The bored man at the desk looked up, but Ryoka’s eyes were on the pieces of paper. She pulled a lengthy one out from Erin and almost smiled at it.

  “Excuse me.”

  “Yes, Miss? How can I help you?”

  The man covered a sigh as Ryoka pulled out a bag of coins.

  “I need to send a message to all these people in Liscor. Can you post an open response or something?”

  “Certainly. What would you like to send?”

  The man had a silver-tipped quill ready. He paused over a piece of parchment as Ryoka closed her eyes.

  “Tell them I’m sorry. And I’ll be home soon.”

  The man paused, and coughed.

  “Do you mean for me to write ‘tell them I’m sorry’ or—”

  Ryoka glared at him.

  “No. Write ‘I’m sorry. I will return home soon’. That’s the general response. Now—I have specific messages I want sent to Erin Solstice, Krshia Silverfang, Ceria Springwalker, and…one for Mrsha, to be delivered to any of the people I just mentioned.”

  The Mage’s Guild hired only those who could write as fast as other people talked. The man neatly wrote down each of the recipients as Ryoka mentioned them. Ryoka stared at his quill blurring over the parchment.

  “Oh, and I want the messages sent right now. Yes, I’ll pay extra.”

  The man coughed as Ryoka slapped down coins on the counter.

  “Very well. May I have the first message, please?”

  “Right. This one’s for Ceria.”

  Ryoka closed her eyes and thought. Then she began speaking.

  “This is Ryoka. I have had the items analyzed. Contents are as follows: magical sword, strong enchantment. Second sword: damaged beyond repair. Useless. Dagger—flame enchantment. Useful. Buckler: damaged but can be repaired. May have to sell one item to repair the rest…”

  Her voice was low, but clear and precise. Ryoka dictated her message for Ceria, and then Krshia, and then left a message for Mrsha before pondering how to reply to Erin’s question. She thought about what she needed to get done in the city before she left, what she could say to Laken, and what to do about the magical items that Hedault was keeping for her.

  It was hard, very hard. Every two seconds Ryoka remembered a grinning face, and a man who ran past her. She remembered his back, and the burning air in her lungs as she tried to keep up.

  Just for a moment. It had just been a few days, but she had liked him. Ryoka closed her eyes as her breath caught in her chest, and the man at the desk looked up expectantly. But Valceif was dead. She’d mourn him later. Right now, she had a job to do. She had people counting on her, and Ryoka couldn’t let them down as well.

  Slowly, painfully, Ryoka got back to work.

  3.38

  The word that travelled north was brief, but noteworthy. Amid the surge and ebb of tensions among the city-states and local aristocracy, it stood out.

  Around the city of Liscor that marked the sole safe passage between the northern and southern parts of Izril, news was seldom good. The Goblin Lord was only the most recent of bad tidings; the Human cities were always facing some minor crisis. After all, they bordered not only the ill-tempered Drake lands, but the High Passes, from which bands of monsters occasionally emerged to wreak havoc.

  In addition, the city-states that far south were far newer and less well-developed than their northern counterparts. Celum was a far cry from a northern city like Rectes, let alone a major hub like Invrisil.

  But the whisper that came north by mage [Message] was hopeful. It was a simple line that made those in the know sit up:

  Esthelm has risen.

  Esthelm has returned.

  Esthelm is not dead.

  The city lives. The people rebuild the walls, and pledge to stay and fight rather than give way to the Goblin Lord’s armies. It was a small miracle, but what was far more miraculous was hearing where this sudden surge of life and hope had come from.

  Esthelm had received aid…from Liscor of all places! No, not just Liscor—the Antinium of all species had come to help them. And somehow, Celum had sent a convoy down the roads without it falling prey to the Goblin armies.

  Such boldness from the southern cities and generosity from the Antinium and Drakes was unprecedented. But with this, Esthelm might well recover and survive another Goblin assault and the remaining winter.

  For a few seconds, hope blossomed in the cold. But just as quickly as it had been heard, the news of Esthelm would pass from the minds of all but a few listeners. Oh, some [Merchants] would mark down Esthelm as a prime target for business in the future if it survived, and a bold [Trader] might calculate the odds of making it to the city alive with a caravan, but no one else would pay attention to such news.

  Almost no one. In fact, only two individuals of note paid attention to the news of Esthelm, despite their urgent business. The most powerful [Lady] on the continent listened to the news of the city’s revival and wondered, and the most infamous [Lord] frowned and adjusted his plans slightly to account for this discrepancy.

  And then they too returned to business. Esthelm was put out of mind and the world continued to move onwards. Just for a moment though, it had shone brightly for all to see. For a moment, the world had stopped and stared at the small spark glowing there.

  And who had lit the spark? It was a conflagration of many hands and claws it was true, but the young woman from which it had all started was a young [Innkeeper]. She dozed lightly as a wagon trundled down the road back to Liscor just before dawn. It was far too early for such a trip she felt, but the roads were clear, and Termin had wanted to go now.

  “After all, that second army of Goblins has been raiding and burnt down a town not fifty miles north of here. If I’m moving my wagon, it’s with a convoy or clear roads or not at all.”

  Thus, he’d persuaded the reluctant Erin to ride back with him to Liscor, escorted by the Horns of Hammerad as before. They lay asleep in the back of the wagon, exhausted from a day of work.

  More traffic would soon flow south to Liscor. The majority of wagons would head back, as would the Gold-rank adventurers, Zel Shivertail, and a good portion of the Antinium who’d come north.

  Only a day had passed since Esthelm had received aid. That was too short a time to effect that much change, although the Antinium had managed to repair a good deal of the walls themselves. But the convoy had done its job, and staying longer would do no good. Extra hands to help meant extra mouths to feed, and the food and supplies that had been brought would go to waste that way.

  So the adventurers who had been hired would stay, the extra [Guardsmen], [Hunters], [Healers], and so on would lend their expertise, and a group of Antinium Workers and Soldiers under Anand’s supervision would stay to complete construction work. Everyone else would leave.

  That suited Erin just fine. She woke up a bit as the cold air blew into her face. But after adjusting her head so she was sheltered by the wagon’s sides, she dozed off.

  Woke up again. This time Erin saw Liscor in the distance. She blinked around blearily and decided a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt…

  “Miss Erin? We’re here.”

  A hand shook Erin gently. She groaned and then opened her eyes.

  The wagon was parked right next to the hill the inn stood on. Erin looked at Termin, and realized he’d stopped here for her.

  “Oh, thanks, Termin!”

  He smiled at her, and dipped his head slightly.

  “My pleasure.”

  There was much more to say, but it was too early. Erin got up and woke up the other Horns of Hammerad by yanking the blankets off them. They swore at her—Ce
ria nearly hit Erin with her skeletal hand before she opened her eyes. But they did get up.

  It was customary to tip drivers, even if they had been paid. Erin fished around for a coin but Termin waved her away.

  “Treat me to a meal tonight, miss. You’ll be open? Then I’ll be there.”

  He gently flapped the reins and Erma and Fox began to plod off.

  “Bastard. It’s not a minute’s travel up the hill.”

  Pisces glared at the wagon as it rolled through the snow. Erin glared blearily at him, shivering already despite the blanket she’d draped around her shoulders for extra protection.

  “That’s a lot of work for his horses. We can walk. Come on.”

  Silently, the adventurers trudged up the hill after Erin. She pushed open the door to her inn and they practically fell down the steps to the basement. Erin paused only to make sure they had enough blankets. Everyone but Ksmvr was already back asleep.

  Silently, Erin wandered over to the fireplace and added a few logs that had been piled up next to it. The glowing embers set fire to the wood as she blew carefully at it.

  The ash made her cough. Erin took a few steps back and stared as the temperature in the common room began to rise. She glanced towards the window.

  It was still night. But there was light there, too. It would be dawn soon.

  If she were back home, Erin would have been dead asleep—or going to sleep if she’d pulled another all-nighter playing chess online or studying games. She would have never contemplated anything remotely resembling hard work at this hour, and probably would have slept in till one.

  “Huh. I guess I’m a morning person now.”

  Erin smiled, and bowed her head as she shivered and sat at an empty table in her inn. She closed her eyes, but that was a mistake.

  Yes, if she were back home, she’d be lying in bed with her laptop, covered with blankets as the snow fell outside. Maybe she would be thinking about getting a part-time job, or what college would be like next year. She’d be studying chess or chatting online with a friend and—