Yes, this would be worth it, he told himself. It had to be worth it. If he managed to coax a coherent, interesting history out of this place, perhaps discover the next hero of the Saltquart Kingdom, he would prove his worth—to everyone at the Skarrow Library, and to himself.
“Goodness! How…ambitious!” Honey squeaked, a slight flush to her cheeks.
“Why yes, it is, isn’t it?” Ainsworth smirked, knowing all too well the impressive portrait he and his academic accolades painted.
He ignored the small snort from the direction of the bar.
“Do you— Do you plan on tackling the mountain yourself, alongside the adventurers you seek?” she asked.
“Matron, no!” Ainsworth shuddered. The very idea! First and foremost, he was not trained in the type of observational research methods that such an endeavor would require. Instead, he possessed an enviable ability to uncover stories from just about anyone or anything—helping research subjects weave what they thought were mundane aspects of their lives into the significant markers ofheritage and history that they were, or tirelessly following the smallest of leads to unearth the importance of seemingly inconsequential objects or documents. Ainsworth knew his place. Herecordedhistory; he did not makeit.
Plus, there was the small matter of his lackluster spellcasting, his meager physical strength, and his lack of combat ability with any weapon whatsoever.
Honey considered him with what he took to be wariness, so he quickly cleared his throat and amended: “Alas, I do not have the provisions or the practical skills for such a task. Instead, I seek to connect with the guests who do possess such things, to ensure their story is never forgotten—as has been the case thus far, I believe.”
“Right. However, there’s just one problem—” Honey began.
Ainsworth held a hand aloft to stop her. “I know; I can see. There are no guests. But surely across forty nights I will encounter at least a handful, and of those I imagine some will be successful in their quest. And in the meantime, I can document the history of this inn.”
“Very well, that’s…nice.” Honey could not seem to look at him, fixing her gaze on her clawed hands instead. “But it isn’t that,” she added, finally looking up at him.
“Whatever else could be the matter?” Ainsworth asked through gritted teeth. Oh, how he longed to sink into a hot bath!
“You see…” Honey began, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, briefly disturbing the small, shining trinkets dangling from her horns. “In my time as innkeeper, no one who has ever stayed here has actually goneonto Mount Vengeance. Oh, they arrive here full of those intentions. But come the next morning, they all decide not to go through with it. They turn back. Head home.”
A few seconds of heavy silence descended. Ainsworth did not quite let the enormity of her words settle over him.
Eventually, he placed his hands on the counter. “You jest,” he said in a quivering voice that barely carried the weight of his frustration.
“She doesn’t,” called the barman from across the room. “Fancy an ale, lad?”
Chapter 2
The rain picked up outside, lashing against the arched windows loudly enough to dim the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Ainsworth slumped in a seat close to the bar, and it was a testament to how irritated he was that he tried to run his hands through his hair—a motion he had not attempted since he was a young boy. He cursed as his hand bumped against his antlers, but remembered fondly how his mother would ruffle his golden curls before the horns made their appearance in his teenage years.
A skinny hauflin boy, perhaps in his late teens and standing at half Ainsworth’s height, slammed a wooden tankard of ale in front of Ainsworth. The handle had little carved bees scurrying across it, and they shimmered in the glaze of spilled drink. “Thank you,” Ainsworth said wearily.
The boy did not move. Where he stood, his eyes—an intriguing peacock green—were at a level with Ainsworth’s.
“I do not require anything else,” Ainsworth said when the silence stretched a moment too long.
“I usually get a coin for my service, sir.”
“Oh, right. And how much is the ale in question? I had assumed meals and drink were covered in my fee.” The slightclink, clink, clinkof Honey counting his coins served as a gentle backdrop to their conversation. Ainsworth had left his grant money at the counter as Honey fussed and worried about what she would charge himfor a long-term stay. It did not bode well for her competence as an innkeeper, Ainsworth reflected sourly. She’d barely last a day if she tried to run such an establishment in Hinslyth.
“Well, itisn’tincluded, sir. But you can settle wi’ Bren at the end of the night.” The boy wiped his nose on his cuffed sleeve—a fine fabric. Ainsworth winced at the treatment ofit.
“The innkeeper has my money, so I’ll be sure to see you are appropriately compensated once everything is settled.”
“Eh. All right, then.” The boy clambered into the seat in front of Ainsworth and promptly began wiping the mess he’d made with a small embroidered handkerchief from the pocket of his amber apron. “What brings you here? Bren said it didn’t sound like you wanted to set out for the hill in the morning.”
Ainsworth suppressed a laugh. Mount Vengeance was the pinnacle of the Dubhrach Mountains—one of the largest mountain ranges on the continent—that straddled the border between the Saltquart Kingdom and the Republic of Sylethus. Like much of the wild terrain across both nations, the territory was home to an abundance of fearsome magical beasts that typically drew adventuring parties seeking to establish themselves and prove their mettle.
Ainsworth retrieved pieces of folded parchment from his breast pocket. “No, I am not heading out for ‘the hill,’ as you call it. Can you read?”
“Aye, ’course.” The boy nodded, and the topknot he had tied his russet hair into bobbed furiously. “Common, and Sàlais of course.”
“Of course,” said Ainsworth, raising a brow and passing the copy of his great-grandfather’s letter across the table. He guessed the boy may have stressed his use of Sàlais as they were so close to the republic’s border; maybe the lad was unaware his accent marked him firmly as someone from western Saltquart. And just what was he doing all the way out here? “My parents passed some time ago, but a family friend recently sent me a chest of their belongings left in their old home. I discovered this letter inside.”
