SongWeaver

by Derek Moreland

  Ven stood, his legs wobbly. “Actually. I have a request about that as well.”

  X’on cocked an eyebrow.

  “It’s nothing bad… and feel free to shoot me down… but we’ve spent, what, a month or more traveling the back roads and byways, avoiding civilization, and where has that gotten us? Chained up in a cell. Dragged underground. Who knows what the molten hell else. Would it hurt if, just this once, we got back to the real world for a while? I mean, I like camping as much as the next gargoyle, but I’m kind of tired of getting my teeth kicked in.”

  X’on sighed. “I suppose you have a point. This journey has not gone at all as I had expected. Our initial supplies have been confiscated, my maps long lost to us.” The edges of his mouth turned up, just a little. “I’m sure a change of scenery wouldn’t hurt.”

  Ven smiled back. “Thanks. Where we heading, once we get past the mountains?”

  X'on stood as well, offering Ven a supportive hand. “West. For quite a while. And before you ask, I hadn’t planned on passing anywhere near Lathshia’s Blessing. We’ll be too far north for that to be of any concern.”

  Ven thought about arguing, but decided it wasn’t worth it. He put a hand on his friend’s proffered forearm, and went in search of something to eat.

  *

  The pair's goodbyes to the dwarven caves were as perfunctory as expected. Dwarves were a practical species, and after a short celebration that consisted of almost entirely of boiled rat and warm ale-- the later of which Ven partook quite liberally--they returned to their duties and left the travelers to their quest. Eitri walked them to the mouth of the westernmost cavern as soon as the moon had risen, and shook their hands before seeing them off.

  “Take care, Canary,” he said.

  “You too, Goggles,” Ven had replied. In response, Eitri snapped his lucky eyewear back into place, gave the pair a thumbs up, and left. X'on nodded at the little fellow, but said nothing.

  They began to walk, X'on at his typical pace, Ven lagging behind. He kept craning his neck, looking out into the night sky.

  After about a kilometer, X'on halted. He turned and called out to Ven, who was several meters behind, “Everything all right, my friend?”

  Ven took a deep, satisfied breath. The land around them smelled of moss and limes, low and heavy green. The moon was full, flooding the plains with pearlescent light.

  “I just never thought I'd miss the moon, I guess,” he said. “Sorry. I'm coming.”

  Part 4: Dance With the Devil in the Pale Moonlight

  Chapter 18

  For a fortnight after they left the mountains, Tanith Ven was not beaten, whipped, kicked, tortured, or electrocuted. He was not tied up, handcuffed, bound, or restrained. He ate regularly, and slept comfortably, when the sun rose above the horizon. He had a beer or a whiskey or an ale when the mood took him, but never to excess, and never from a sense of need or longing. He spent time in cities, in taverns and eateries, sold the bits of dwarven-forged armor he found awkward or had no use for, and shopped at the venues that catered to the nocturnal or those suffering from insomnia.

  It didn’t last, but it was a refreshing change of pace.

  *

  The trouble began shortly after the pair crossed the border into Gedeva. Robust metropolises with a thriving nightlife began to give way to cities that, while large and populous, closed their doors as the sun dipped below the horizon. Where once tap houses had poured their wares until the early predawn hours, they now shoved their clientele off before sundown--what little of it remained, as most patrons were already home even before then. And inns, usually happy to take a weary travelers compensation for room and board, were becoming openly hostile to new faces.

  Ven, of course, hadn’t experienced any of this first hand. But for the last few days, he’d awoken to cities and towns that, for all intents and purposes, looked completely deserted. X’on filled him in on what details he could glean, but even his natural gregariousness had found little in the way of information. Tonight had been no exception; Ven roused himself out of the hay-filled wagon he hid in during daytime transport, found the room X’on had surreptitiously marked as theirs, and crept in through the open window. X’on was sitting on one bed, reading by candlelight, turning the pages of an old book with a casual finger. It looked like something out of a dollhouse in his enormous grip.

  “I was almost unable to secure us accommodations tonight,” he said in a low voice. “The innkeeper was very reticent to rent a room with two beds to only one patron. I’m afraid I may have overspent our lodgings budget.”

  “It’s fine,” Ven shrugged. They had plenty to spend; even the most minor bits of Eitri's gift was worth half a fortune. He hated parting with it, but he hated going dense out in the sticks more. “Any news?”

  “None,” X’on replied, his voice tinged with irritation. “I haven’t seen this kind of superstition, this level of fear, in half a hundred years. Something is scaring these folk, something that hasn’t crossed the Gedeva borders. Not yet at least. And for the life of me, I cannot discern what it could be. That flusters me.”

  Ven nodded. He had wondered why X’on hadn’t just returned to night travel through the countryside when cities had become so unsociable. He was caught off guard, however, by the fact that X’on was so interested in the mystery. Up until now, he’d shown almost blind adherence to his quest, bar the couple of minor distrationsVen had more or less forced upon them.

  Then again, Ven wasn’t much for mysteries either. “I can appreciate that. It’s always frustrating to be somewhere new and not know the score. How far in are we, anyway? What city?”

  “More of a municipality, actually,” X’on said, his voice distracted. His eyes looked glazed. “We're in Siplait. Sorry. Just inside, actually, the sun was on its way down when we crossed the border. I pulled into the first public lodgings I could find.”

  “Siplait, huh? We’re only a couple of hundred miles from Goruth Dal. I should probably pop in to Guild Headquarters, I haven’t checked the books in ages. We’re still heading west, yeah?”

  “Indubitably.” X'on yawned as he spoke, stretching the vowels of the word like a taffy.

  “Great. Hey, did you manage to score anything from the kitchen?”

  “I’m afraid I taxed our proprietor to his limits with my request for a double-bedded suite. Asking for a second meal would have been a step too far, I’m guessing. I am sorry, Ven.”

  “Ah, don’t sweat it,” Ven replied. “I’m feeling cooped up in here anyway. It’s been days since I did anything besides hide in a room all night. Tell you what, I’m going to slip down to the common room. See if I can get a meal and maybe find someone to talk too. You take the night off. You’ve barely kept your eyes open this whole conversation.”

  X’on quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to risk it? If anyone notices you’re not on the registration, they may do something worse than just escort you out. I don’t want you getting hurt, and I don’t want to lose this room that I overpaid for.” His expression softened, his eyes half-hooded with exhaustion. “I very much plan to take advantage of it.”

  “No worries.” Ven winked at him. “This is why you hired me. Information gathering is one of my skill checks.” And he glided out of the room.

  Ven found the inn's common area with almost no difficulty, and without a single question as to his right to be there. The trick, he's learned over the years, was to act like you owned the place. Guests of an establishment like this walked around with a sense of entitlement, as though the money they were spending gave them free rein to act however they wished. It was simply a matter of behaving the way you expected to be treated.

  The room itself was built with mostly smaller folk in mind--Siplait was hobgoblin territory, after all--but, much like the gnomish tavern where he had first met X’on, the Lutins had made provisions for travelers of larger stature. There was a bar at the far end of the room, standing a little over half a meter tall, its counter polishe
d oak trimmed in dull brass. The floor in front of it was cushioned with plump, cheerful pillows for guests to sit upon. It smelled clean and azure, with tinges of amber liquor. The alcove was almost completely empty, with a few notable exceptions: a couple of shaggy-furred, dog-like vielfras gorged themselves to bursting on a dessicated elk carcass at a table in the corner, and a sullen, skinny little Napaeae nursed tonic water by the barred window, a longing gaze cast towards the trees outside. But the sight that caught Ven’s eye was sitting at the bar, legs curled underneath her, tail coiled around her waist, wings folded down around her like a winter cloak, her scent so icy it made him a little homesick.

  Another gargoyle. He hadn’t seen another of his kind in almost twenty years.

  Okay.

  Things just got interesting.

  Chapter 19

  “May Lathshia’s song warm your soul,” he sang as he sat down next to her at the bar. Why the cold hell not, he figured, may as well start super courteous and go from there. No telling what her caste is, yet.

  She looked at him and over him, studying him like a new specimen pinned to a cork board. She was pretty enough, for what it was worth, though not at all his type. She had short, rounded horns protruding along her forehead; her auburn hair flowed back from the crown of that head, tied back in a loose ponytail that stopped just at the base of her wings. Her eyes changed as the candlelights crossed them, sometimes blue, sometimes green. Her beak was petite, sharper than his own; her soft pebbled pink skin almost beige compared to his deep purple. She was wearing a business casual tunic and cloak of dark satin red. She smelled like frozen earth and indigo.

  It wasn’t love at first sight. It couldn't be, not for Ven. But he couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed.

  After a moment, her expression softened. “I certainly wasn’t expecting to hear High StoneLyric this evening,” she said in Lower Pitch, her voice warm. “Buy a lady a drink?”

  Ven was happy to hear the more plebeian inflection in her response. It meant that she wasn’t Laith’shian’alee, for one, and it was the pitch of Lath'shian he’d been singing with X’on over the last few months, which made him more comfortable. “It would be my pleasure,” he sang, then turned to the Lutin behind the bar and said in Elvish Common, “The lady would like another, put it on my room. And I’ll take a Smelted Fizz, if you have it.”

  The bartender nodded, though the look on his face was suspicion personified; Ven could tell he wanted to call the gargoyle's bluff. That suspicion evaporated, however, when Ven laid a large gold coin on the oaken counter. “And keep them coming,” he added.

  “Big spender,” the woman mused, a smile still playing at the corners of the beak. “What did I do to earn such regard? Or is there something you would… like me to do?”

  Ven put on his most charming grin. “Well, I’d like you to tell me your name. It would seem rude to keep referring to you as ‘the lady’ all night.”

  Her laugh was music. “I can see that. Torolathe Al’lessae. ‘Less’, to my friends. And you?”

  Ven put out a hand. When she took it, he put the tip of his beak to each of her talon’s knuckles, just grazing one after another in turn. “My lady,” he sang, “I am Rahvin Shinloven. ‘Ven’ to my friends, though I can only hope that before the night is through I can count you among that number.” The lie about his caste came easily. Any mention of his Tanith station would have obligated him to her service, until he could be returned to Jakat. Besides, he knew he could pull off Rahvin, as he was mistaken for one all the time. And Torolathe was only a step above Rahvin; it kept her above him, but not so far above that he wasn’t worthy of respect. Or conversation.

  “Well, Ven, may Lathshia’s ballad keep you, though I can’t imagine why your friends would call you 'Ven'. It sounds so very lower caste.”

  Ven wiggled his eyebrow ridges. “Maybe I’m a lower caste kind of gargoyle. On the inside.”

  She laughed again. It was a bad joke, which meant she was flirting, which meant he had her where he wanted her. “So what do you do, Rahvin-with-a-lower-caste-mindset Ven?”

  “Travel agent,” he lied again. This was getting to be fun. He hadn't had a chance to get into a character since Grok's Hollow, and that had just been bluster. He’d figured when he left X’on that he would have to pull a con this evening, but he’d never imagined it would be on another of Lathshia’s Chosen. And a Torolathe at that! Dad would have been proud.

  No, that wasn’t the right word.

  Mortified. Dad would be mortified.

  But still. It’s the thought that counts.

  “I’m currently working with a single client,” he continued. “He wants to see the world. Has some coin to spend. I'm trying to show him a good time, give him his money's worth.” He took a sip of his drink. It was warm, but not as hot as he had been hoping. The bubbles felt good on his tongue. “How ‘bout you, what do you do?”

  “Finance,” she said, raising a talon to indicate the need for another. She cocked a questioning eye at Ven, tapped the rim of the glass with her other talon. “Sure you don’t mind?”

  “Why, for Al’lessae of the Torolathe caste, it would be an honor.”

  “Oh, you,” she smiled, again, and Ven could swear she had even blushed a little.

  “So, finance? Is there a lot of opportunity for wealth portfolio construction in this part of the world?”

  “That was the idea,” Al’lessae – Less – sang, her tone taking a note of annoyance. “The institution I was working for had a lot of data that suggested the hobgoblin market was coming into its own, and were even looking to form a trade guild. You know, like their cousins with the contract killers or whatever?”

  Ven, who worked for said cousins, decided to let that one slide. “Absolutely. So that’s not the case?”

  Less threw back another shot, continued. “I’m sure it would be, if the whole population wasn’t so damned spooked.”

  Jackpot. Maybe. If he played his cards right. Keep it light, keep it friendly. We're just two of Lathshia's Chosen, having a drink, shooting the breeze. “Yeah, I noticed that. It’s odd… this isn’t the first area my client and I have visited that seems to shut itself down come nightfall, but the problem doesn’t seem to extend too much further east.”

  “Or south, for that matter,” Less sang in agreement. “No one down in the Blessing has heard anything either.”

  So whatever it is, it’s local. New alpha predator moving in? Or something worse? “How long have you been in town, Less? Have you heard anything?”

  “Not much. Mostly stuff about the ravine just outside of town. Nobody wants to go there anymore, not even the traders.” She gave him an odd look, her pupils slightly glassy. She’d probably had one or two more drinks than she’d needed. Ven hoped she hadn’t come to the same conclusion. “Why do you ask, Rahvin-mind-in-the-gutter Ven? Would you say your client a bit of a thrill-seeker?”

  Ven had a chuckle at that. “Not really, no. I’m actually trying to put together an itinerary of things to avoid.” He held a steady talon flat over his head. “Super scary ravines are right at the top of that list.”

  Less chuckled, long and low and melodious. “I like you, Rahvin-but-not-quite-Rahvin Ven. It’s so nice to meet someone outside the Blessing, you know? It’s like, it's like we can relax around each other. Like caste doesn’t mean as much.” She tapped her glass once more. “Listen, I think this is my last one. Could you walk me to my room? I’m not entirely sure I can find it all by myself.”

  “You do me too great an honor, Al’lessae of the Torolathe caste. But I’m afraid I must decline. I’m hoping this gentleman,” and he jutted his chin at the hobgoblin pouring her drink, “will open the kitchen for me at this late hour.” He laid another gold piece on the table to emphasize his request. “My client wanted to get so much sightseeing in before everything closed, I’m afraid I missed dinner.”

  Less’ tone affected mock indignation. “You would dare to turn down the request of a Torolathe?” sh
e sang, but her tone was playful.

  “It is as you said, my lady. Outside the Blessing, the castes don’t have as tight a grip on our behavior.”

  She sighed, but it was tinged with a giggle. “You are a Rahvin after all, Shinloven. Only they would argue in such a fashion.” She stood in a theatrical exaggeration of poise. “Oh well. Maybe you’ll change your mind?”

  I sincerely doubt that. “Maybe,” he sang, and smiled, and watched her leave, holding up a glass in a toast as she glanced back over her shoulder at him. Then he turned to the Lutin behind the counter. “How ‘bout it, mister? Think I can get a plate this late?”

  “I have some cold mutton in the pantry, ser, if it please,” he said. “And I may still have a trencher to put it on.”

  “I couldn’t ask for more than that,” Ven said, pushing the two coins forward. It was enough to pay for a week of such meals, but what the hell, he was hungry and he’d needed to put on a show. “Hey, don’t answer if it makes you uncomfortable, but can you tell me anything about that ravine?”

  The Lutin eyeballed the two coins a long time before he answered. “Aye,” he said. He pointed to the door. “It’s that way,” he said. Then he scooped the coins into his apron pocket, and headed into the kitchen.

  Chapter 20

  Ven spent the day dense in the bedroom he shared with X’on, curtains drawn, door locked and bolted, hollow eyes lifeless and staring in mute boredom. He awoke as the last of the sun’s rays faded behind the horizon. Once again, X’on was sitting on his bed, feet dangling aimlessly over the footboard, thumbing through another weather-beaten book. This one appeared to be a collection of poetry.

  “Tell me you haven’t hung out in here all day while I slept,” Ven said.