Both Fig and Fern had followed him with interest, and he could feel them peering over his shoulder. Ainsworth turned to Fern and said: “If I supply some parchment and some coin for postage, I would very much like it if you could send confirmation of your successful adventure to the Skarrow Library in Hinslyth. The Post Server in most cities will have birds or wildeshifters that send missives there—even across the border in the republic, should you stay there after you have taken on the mountain.”
Fig and Fern both stood upright in unison, allowing Ainsworth to step back from his trunk. “You don’t say!” said Fern. “Birds in every city. You must be a pretty big deal to represent a place like that.”
Ainsworth smoothed his hair, chest swelling with pride. “The Skarrow Library is certainly a ‘big deal,’ yes. Once you complete your journey and contact the library, providing brief accounts of your journey and where I can find you, I will arrange for the use of a Transportation Circle to visit you and conduct a full interview. What say you? I require your signature here, then I will supply you with some scrolls and coin for the initial postage. You won’t be out of pocket for your participation.”
It was a swift process. The siblings were keen to sign their names and participate, overjoyed at the prospect of being the first of his research participants. Ainsworth knew this project would be long-term; gathering the accounts from adventurers after his time at the inn could easily stretch for a year or more, but at least that part of the project could be overseen back home in Hinslyth. And then there was the daunting process of compiling the manuscript and submitting it for print-press approval and associate review. But surely the book would not be denied by his contemporaries. The first comprehensive account of the adventurers of Mount Vengeance,and the strange inn that resided before it: Yes, as Lyria had said, it was of interest to society indeed, and he was convinced it would be positively received. There was also the prospect of Enach’s warm welcome upon Ainsworth’s return, armed with the kind of data and history that no other scholar had yet captured…
Yes. It would all be worthit.
As the siblings sorted out their inventory for the following day, running to and from the horses to check food rations as well as the conditions of Fig’s swift and sharp rapier and Fern’s impressive bow, Ainsworth managed to make a start on filling out their details and beginning their story, which would be resumed once they reunited after the journey. “How did you hear of Mount Vengeance?” Ainsworth asked Fern.
“Well, like most, I assume, we knew it was one of the peaks sitting on the border between the kingdom and the republic—I mean, it’s right there on the map. We’ve spent the past few years adventuring around Saltquart, and once we were in Allfhraoch, most folk who learned of our previous exploits asked if we would attempt the mountain. It seemed a worthy challenge and a much more exciting way to enter Sylethus than merely sailing along the coast or taking the trading road to the north.”
Fig nodded. “When we were planning our route, we heard of the Misnich Inn from a town near the Dunbea region’s border. Some soldiers who used to patrol the Dubhrach range up north near the trading route mentioned it. Although they didn’t get the name right. We expected to find the ‘Mishmatch Inn.’ ”
“I suppose the first syllable sounds somewhat right,” said Ainsworth as he scribbled notes. If the soldiers had hailed from the Republic of Sylethus, it was likely they did not speak Sàlais.
Overall, Fig and Fern presented a compelling picture of worthy adventurers. Both had traveled the world, making coin from assisting towns and villages with bandits and beasts, then often staying on to help rebuild the communities they served. “The Order of Linn might call you vigilantes,” Ainsworth dared to remark, but Fig noticed the twinkle of admiration in his eyes and gave a shrug.
“The Order of Linn is too restrictive. Had we joined, we’d most likely be posted somewhere as town guards, stuck breaking up tavern brawls in the same overcrowded city. It is not worth serving time in such a role simply to earn the privileges that we have undertaken from the moment we were of age to pick up a weapon and learn our trade.”
It was then that Fern burst through the door. “Everything for tomorrow is ready, brother. Now we have been called to the hearth—food and song to lend us courage for tomorrow await us!”
Chapter 5
Ainsworth had to admitthat Honey, Quiddle, and Bren had done a spectacular job of creating a jovial atmosphere downstairs. To his delight, the largest table in front of the hearth was heavy with dishes, and Ainsworth’s stomach growled as he spotted a platter of roasted hare, spiced with sprigs of rosemary and thyme. A large loaf slathered with honey was accompanied by a mighty serving bowl of steaming vegetable stew, a poised ladle awaiting hungry hands. Glasses filled with a thimble of golden amber liquid lingered between the empty plates. Quiddle was already seated, eyes alight and assessing the feast in front of him. Bren swatted the boy’s wandering hands away from the bread before taking his own seat and—Ainsworth almost gasped at the sight—the solitary Ashe sat silently at the end of the table, her silver hair shining as she sipped from a large tankard.
“Welcome down, brave travelers!” Honey beamed as Ainsworth, Fig, and Fern walked into the room. Ainsworth knew he was not included in the “brave traveler” label, and was therefore surprised when Honey also aimed her warm smile at him. He could not fault her politeness and hospitality, and found himself returning the gesture. “We have prepared a farewell feast to see you off—fitting, we hope, for courageous souls such as yourself. We are currently understaffed and at the end of our supplies, but I do hope what we have prepared will suffice!”
Fig swooped in and took Honey’s hands in his own before she could pull a seat out for him. “Gracious innkeeper, we are honored to be the recipient of such glorious and generous hospitality. We can think of no better way to spend the night ahead of our journey, and we will do our best to spread the word of your generosity far and wide.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them sincerely, earning a small squeal from Honey and generating a curious, burning feeling in Ainsworth’s stomach—most likely secondhand embarrassment.
The following hour was filled with good food and surprisingly delightful conversation, Honey’s blush from Fig’s thanks—flushing the skin of her cheeks almost violet—still lingering long after they had all taken their seats to begin the meal. Fig and Fern, it transpired after Honey’s questioning (she would make an exquisite social or historical researcher, Ainsworth thought), had quite the noble motive for wishing to conquer Mount Vengeance. One that made Ainsworth’s heart overflow with admiration for them—and for the prospect of getting to immortalize their tale.
“We never knew our father, and our mother was left with us two kits squalling and hungry. She gave everything so that we wouldn’t go without. Willow, her name was. She scrubbed taverns and cleaned the streets, eventually finding her place in a bakery after she impressed the local owner with her kneading skills. But before our fourteenth year, the Iron Flux came for our town and for her, too.” Fern’s eyes glistened as she spoke, and even the boisterous Fig spent a few moments in silent reflection after she recounted that part of their tale. “We’re doing this for her.”
“She…wished for you to traverse Mount Vengeance?” Honey asked after a delicate sip of wine.
“Goodness, not quite that specific!” said Fern, who reached for another serving of hare. “I mean, we’re doing it to make her proud. We wanted to be folk who made something of themselves. Folk their mother would take pride in.”
“And we cannot wait to see the world beyond Mount Vengeance—the cities of Sylethus,” said Fig.
“You’ll have to slay a few beasties before you get there,” Bren said, heavy brows raised, and Honey gave him a pointed look.
Ashe nodded from the other end of the table. “Just two of you against that whole range? It will be difficult.”
Fern grinned. “We have each other, and that is more than enough. What a tale we’ll be able to give you, eh, Ainsworth?”
“But just the two of you to slay a dragon?” asked Quiddle incredulously.
“They did not say they would slay it, Quiddle,” said Honey.
“We’re not setting out to face the dragon, but we are not naive enough to believe it will simply let us pass unchecked. Should we need to defend ourselves against the dragon, we will be ready. I secured slivang arrowheads back in Wistward.” Fern slammed her drink on the table triumphantly, as though she had been waiting to announce this feat.
Honey shuddered. “My, that’s nasty—and rare—stuff. How did you come across that without spending a fortune?”
“Happened to save the hide of a very respected yet very cowardly sorcerer, who had an abundance of it. It took a fair amount of time and coin to find a blacksmith who would dare work with it, however,” said Fig.
“What does it do?” asked Quiddle, cheek resting on his hand. He stared wistfully at the serving plate, now devoid of honeyed bread.
