Page 6 of Ale Storm

“She mentions her fecundity less than you’d expect.” Rylana patted Zalani, glad things had worked out. “Will you take over for the last few tables? I want to ask Mya about something and possibly spy on a dragon. Maybe two dragons.”

“Of course, but is that wise?”

“Rarely.”

Rylana retrieved the horn from where she’d been storing it for safekeeping—under her bed and tucked into her arrow quiver. Curious about whether Mya would have any insight into the dwarven artifact, she headed across the street. Sylin happened to be standing in front of the bakery while eyeing her favorite coffee shop, her expression more one of distaste than her usual adoration.

“Is Zilek already in there?” Rylana guessed.

“I can sense him, yes. Your dragon is with him.” Sylin gave her a sidelong look.

Her hood wasn’t up. She’d been walking about more openly since the queen’s departure—and since making it clear to anyone who would listen that she had no intention of assuming the position as her mother’s heir. Even so, Rylana didn’t think Sylin should flout her identity around Tranquility. There might yet be elves from the rival Shaldona family who would target her, ensuring that neither Sylin nor future offspring she might have would end up in Queen Fareesa’s will.

“If they’re still engaged in a conversation when the hour of our supposed date arrives,” Sylin added, “I could leave. If they’re busy discussing important matters…”

“Zilek will make time for you. I’m sure of it. Besides, if you don’t get it over with, he’ll show up at the trapdoor to the attic.” Rylana waved toward the small shuttered window above the main floor of the bakery. Of late, Sylin had been sleeping there. Rylana didn’t know if she paid rent to Mya or if they had another arrangement. “You didn’t happen to see the title of the book Jildarin was carrying when he walked past, did you? I know you have keen eyes.”

“I do, but they were busy examining the pastry offerings on display today.” Sylin waved toward the window of the bakery. “I did a three-hour run this morning and made it all the way around the lake.”

“So you deserve pastries, naughty or nice?” Rylana tilted her head toward the sign that said the bakery offered exactly those options, no questions asked.

“Both, I should think.” Sylin pushed open the door and waved for Rylana to follow her inside. “I do care more about flavor and texture than whether a pastry has a lurid shape or not.”

“I strive to one day be as mature as you.” Rylana hesitated to enter the bakery, tempted to see what Zilek and Jildarin were speaking about before showing the horn to Mya. “I’m thinking of sneaking in through the back of the coffee shop to spy on the dragon brothers.”

“An act that’s sure to improve your maturity.” Sylin gripped her arm and tugged her into the bakery, perhaps trying to aid with Rylana’s growth into a respectable adult.

Inside, most of the tables were full, people enjoying sandwiches as well as pastries, and scents of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air. Mya nodded toward them as she dropped off a couple of orders—scones that looked distinctly like portions of the female anatomy. Several young human women seated at a table were the recipients, and a couple of them giggled and pointed, not unlike the goblins who frequented the bakery for various innuendo-laden cakes.

“Do you have a minute, Mya?” Rylana asked. “I’d like your opinion on something.”

With strands of her red-gray hair having slipped free from her bun and her flour-dusted apron askew, the dwarf baker looked like she’d been laboring nonstop all morning.

Right away, Rylana regretted disturbing her and added, “Also, I’ll take a scone.”

“Make that two scones,” Sylin said. “They need not be shaped like anything.”

More giggles came from the table of women. Judging by their appearances, Rylana would have guessed them in their late twenties, but maybe they were still university-aged. Or younger.

“Of course.” Mya selected two alpine-strawberry scones from the display case, a little sign promising the fruit had just come into season and was extremely fresh. “I’m always happy to give my opinions,” she added as she placed them on plates. “Whether people want them or not, in fact.”

As Mya brought their scones to a small table in the corner, Rylana set a few copper coins out to pay for them before lifting the horn to show her.

“We think this is a dwarven antique,” she said. “I was wondering if you’d seen anything like it before and might guess why it might… glow.”

“It looks like an ale horn.” Mya patted four pockets before finding a pair of reading spectacles in a fifth. She perched them on her nose and peered at the carvings.

“Ale horn?” Rylana asked. “We’ve been calling it a hunting horn. Or a battle horn. Something for calling to troops or hunters across the distance.”

“I imagine that’s correct and was one of its purposes, but dwarves out in the field also drank their ale ration from such horns. You can see where it would have had a stopper for the bottom at one time.” Mya pantomimed plugging up the hole and drinking from the top. “No dwarf heading off to hunt or fight would have been without one. Most of the miners in the tunnels wouldn’t have been without an ale horn either, even though they hardly ever had to round up allies to do battle or take down prey. Not unless you count the tunnel warthogs and other edible critters that sometimes wander under the mountains.”

“So, these horns were common?” Rylana asked.

“They were and still are, yes. But this one is more ornately carved than most. And look at the gold. It would have belonged to someone special—someone well-off anyway. And it’s magical. I can sense that. You said it glows?”

“The mugs can glow, and the ivory can warm up.”

“What else does it do?”