“Nothing too fancy, I fear,” Forterran said as he settled in his chair next to the old woman.“My wife, Obeda, and my mother, Ila.Mother, I would make you known to Aramal of Athelbryght.You have met Halithe and you know Ritathan.”
Halithe blinked.She had met Ila before, but she was still trying to absorb the idea that Forterran’s mother—that Forterranhada mother—was a master of portal magic.Despite her marriage.Despite giving birth.
Ila leaned over and pinched Ritathan’s cheek.“I know this rascal,” she said, her voice thin and wavery.“But Aramal?Not the Aramal that —”
“How much did you see when you scryed?”Ritathan interrupted her.
Ila chortled and patted his hand.
Foreterran snorted.“Not much.Athelbryght does not lend itself to scrying and the vore are sensitive.”
Scrying?Her interest piqued, Halithe picked up her napkin and spread it on her lap.Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aramal do the same.
“Bread?”Forterran asked.He offered Halithe the basket.“There’s honeyed butter,” he said.“But I also have a pepper and garlic oil for dipping, if you prefer.”
Halithe pulled out a piece of warm bread, and offered the basket to Aramal.He was frowning slightly, as if concentrating on what to do.
Butter, please,” Halithe said.Aramal took some bread, then passed the basket to Ritathan, who had already splashed his bread plate with the seasoned oil.The mage took two pieces of bread, tore off a piece, dipped it into the oil, and crammed it into his mouth.
Aramal gave Halithe a look that conveyed, “what was I worried about?”and began to eat.
Halithe took a bite of bread to cover her smile.
“So,” Foreterran said as he started to butter his bread.“What happened?”
“Well,” Ritathan started, his mouth full.
Forterran stopped him with a gesture of his butter knife.“I wish to hear it from Master Aramal.”
Aramal stared, his bread in his hand.“Guildmaster Forterran, wouldn’t Ritathan be the better one to speak?I am no mage, sir, and come to that, not even a Master of any craft.”
“Aramal can do anything he puts his mind to,” Ritathan spoke up.
“Jack of all trades, Master of none, but offtimes better than master of one,” Forterran quoted with a nod.“I’ve already heard Ritathan’s version of the story.”
Halithe shot Ritathan a glance at that.Surely there hadn’t been enough time for him to explain everything.
“Your tale of the events at the Rim of the Wastes is just as valuable as theirs and maybe more so, since you weren’t wrapped up in the magic.”Forterran leaned back to allow one of the servers to pour him a foaming ale.“Ale or wine?”
“Ale, please,” Aramal also leaned back to be served, following his lead.Ritathan was already gesturing with his cup.
“Wine, well-watered,” Halithe murmured to the server, having learned that lesson early on.To her delight, the drink was cold and sweet.It tingled on her tongue.
Another server placed a hot dish before her, something topped with a flaky crust, slightly steaming.She waited until all had been served, and then broke the crust with her spoon, to find a rich chicken-in-gravy below, with tubers and carrots.
“Smells wonderful,” Aramal said.
“My wife’s recipe,” Forterran beamed.He looked at the servers.“My thanks,” he said.“We’ll call if there is a need.”
The servers bowed and retreated into the tent.
“Dig in before you start your tale,” Forterran urged.
Halithe did just that, marveling at the slightly spicy, peppery taste.For long moments, they all just ate, passing bread and fixings.Halfway through his helping, Aramal took a breath and wiped his mouth with his hand.
Halithe froze.
Such manners would have earned her a punishment.
