It turned out that not wandering desperately from building to building in unfamiliar villages, settlements, and towns seeking an inn every other night saved him quite a bit of time. Ainsworth reached the village of Dursyth, situated at the edge of the Dunbea region, in just over a week—two days quicker than his first journey. He knew a quaint tavern resided there, and although he would not waste coin on a bed for the night when sleeping under the stars or within his small tent would suffice, he decided to treat himself to warm bread and fresh vegetables. A good ale would be welcome, too.
When he stepped into Dursyth’s tavern, however, he immediatelyfelt tension in the air—not at all like the sleepy atmosphere of his last visit.
“Once again, I deny your accusations, old man. Now, you wouldn’t refuse a paying patron a drink, would you? I’ll even pay double—a gesture of goodwill, to show there are no hard feelings between us.”
The voice came from a hooded figure standing in front of the bar, and it carried loud and confidently across the room. Sheepskin rugs lined the creaking, splintered floors, and a large hearth filled the back of the room, surrounded by plush and dusty armchairs. Uneven tables filled the rest of the space and there was a small, raised platform on which fiddlers could perform. Only three other patrons sat with drinks. One, an elven woman who looked like a traveler, had turned to watch the cloaked figure with a hand on her dagger.
The man behind the bar rubbed his hand along the wispy, golden beard that did nothing to conceal his weak chin. “I can refuse to serve anyone I want, and I won’t have a Dragon Pèidse in here! My wife’s family losteverythingto one of you lot—”
From behind, Ainsworth saw the figure’s cloak briefly rise and fall, as though he shrugged. The motion revealed the tip of his scaled tail, brushing the floor behind his legs. “I told you, those people are myths, and I am certainly not one of them. Many people have horns like mine, and as for the scales, those of us with druid lineage—”
“Leave, or I will call the guard.”
The cloaked figure sighed. “Very well, then.”
He turned to face the room, smirked at everyone looking at him, and walked out. As he passed Ainsworth, he grinned and gave a wink. His eyes seemed almost molten silver, shimmering in a human face of verdant scales. His horns rose from his forehead and curved back toward his cloak. They were a dull gray in comparison with his magnificent eyes. “I hope this place is worth it, friend. Better hope your antlers aren’t cause for concern!”
With that, he left. The tension flooded out of the room as the door closed behind him, and the elven woman finally relaxed hergrip on the hilt of her sheathed dagger, returning to the flagon on the table in front of her.
Ainsworth took a hesitant seat on a stool by the bar. Did this barman have a problem with druid-bloods and their earthly connections?
But the barman didn’t seem to care. At first, he didn’t even notice Ainsworth, as his eyes continued to burn into the back of the departing figure. It wasn’t until Ainsworth cleared his throat that he jumped to attention.
The bartender blinked as if dazed. “Oh? Yes, right…what can I get you?”
“Er, I was hoping for whatever stew is going in the kitchens, and some bread, if you don’t mind. An ale, too—whatever you recommend.”
The barman gestured to Ainsworth’s antlers, and for a moment he froze.
“I take it you don’t eat meat? We have a root vegetable stew going if you’d prefer.”
“Oh, that would be splendid, thank you, although I’m fine with either!” Ainsworth said, heart returning to its normal pace. But still, he could not take his mind off the confrontation, so when his food arrived and he brightened the barman’s day with a generous tip, he asked: “What was the hassle with that fellow who came before me? A…troublesome sort?”
The barman scoffed, wiping the same goblet over and over with a rather dirty cloth. “You could say so.”
The elven woman with the dagger abruptly turned to them. “It was nothing but an old man being discriminatory based on myths, that’s what! I was worried you were going to provoke that fellow, start something you wouldn’t be able to finish.”
“It was no such thing! The Dragon Pèidsean are not well-known, but they certainly exist.”
“And what…exactly is a Dragon Pèidse?” Ainsworth asked.
“Traitors to civilization, that’s what,” the barman spat. “Theybind themselves to the servitude of a dragon and do the dragon’s dirty work—stealing riches, robbing folk, all to increase the dragon’s hoard, wherever they store it. And they become touched by dragons, too!”
“Many people have reptilian and dragon-like features, you idiot!” the elven woman snarled. “And I find the whole myth to be preposterous. Why would a dragon need aservant,when they could take what they want by force, razing towns and cities to the ground like they used to?”
The bartender rolled his eyes. “They don’t all have eyes of a dragon, though! That’s how you can tell. And that’s just it—the dragons have been on a steady decline since the days of their reign during the Great Sweep. There’s nothing left in them, so they resort to their other strengths—trickery, deviousness, and ensnaring servants to do their dirty work.”
It took everything Ainsworth had to keep quiet, to not interject with:Well, actually, scholarship and accounts from adventurers suggest existing dragons are just as powerful as before, but there are considerably fewer of them and more adventuring parties willing to tackle them should they step out of line!
“You speak nonsense, barkeep.”
“Well, if you don’t like how I run things here, dear, you can leave.”
“Whatever, old man. I won’t be back here.” The traveler finished her drink in one huge gulp, then stormed out the door.
The barman shook his head again. Ainsworth was reluctant to be seen as an ally to such a man, and yet something he had said intrigued him. “Eyes of a dragon?” prompted Ainsworth.
The barman nodded sagely. “Almost liquid, luminous. Sure, other folk have eyes like that—the dunelfen, certain elves—but this is different. More…”
