Grym Prophet (Song of the Aura, Book Three) (11 page)

The light was dim and muted, but substantial enough after the darkness outside that Gribly had to rub his eyes for a minute before he could see clearly. When he did, he almost gasped: a tall, pointy-eared nymph man had just walked past him, a green cloak wrapped around his shoulders.

“There're nymphs in the Grymclaw?” he yelled to Elia above the noise and bustle of the room. She just shrugged, looking small but not so frightened anymore.

There were men and nymphs in abundance, the thief soon realized, in addition to one or two curious persons that seemed to be of an entirely different species.

“It's a melting pot of the whole world,” Elia murmured, and Gribly could barely hear her over the rough melody of a small group of musicians plucking a lively tune on stringed instruments over in one corner. The buzz of scents, sights, and sounds was too inviting; Gribly stepped forward into the crowd, pulling Elia with him.

“Let's find the innkeeper. Perhaps he'll have some idea of what we're to do next.”

“We... we don't have money,” Elia told him, straining to speak over the noise. “How're we to pay for food and drink?”

“We'll find a way!” he assured her, and then they were at the bar near the center of the room. The bartender, a portly man with an open, flapping shirt that revealed an unnaturally hairy chest, leaned forward to address them, and Gribly was shocked to discover the man had ears like a donkey's, along with two little horns at the top of his head.

“Yeeeess? Whaaat caan I doo for youu?” the man bleated, and Elia gave a little hiccup of surprise, which he didn't seem to notice.
Just like a goat!
Gribly thought, trying to keep a straight face.

“We... ah... we need to speak to the innkeeper,” he managed, and the goat-man squinted at him with a new attitude.

“Aaand whyy woulld youu beee waanting thaat?” he wondered loudly.

“We...” Gribly faltered, glancing at Elia. Her eyes were glazed, and she was leaning to one side, away from him.
It's too much for her,
he realized.
She's never even been outside the Inkwell before.
“We're friends,” he said finally, reverting to the wheedling tone he'd perfected as a thief. “We... we have a message for him. It's very, very important.”

Maybe I overdid that.
The bartender frowned.

“Oooh? Aaa messaaage? Frahm whoo?”

Gribly was at a loss, but salvation came from an unexpected interruption.

“It's from Byornleo, the Longstrider,” Elia broke in, seeming to shake herself out of the daze that had her. “You know him, do you not?” she added, leaning in conspiratorially to the bartender. “The
ranger
?”

The curly-headed goat-man reacted visibly to both the name and the title. Wringing his fleshy hands, he nodded his head up and down as if he'd expected as much the whole time. “Oooh, riight theen, riight. Ah'll seend someoone wiith yoou, thenn... aand would yoou bee haaving aanything to eeat oor driink fiirst? Frieends oof the Loongstrider neeed noot paay forr theiir sustenaance heere.”

As Gribly ordered food and hot drinks for both himself and Elia, he shot the nymph girl an appreciative glance, but she seemed to have sunk back into her daze again, barely aware of her surroundings in an ill-fated attempt to see and hear everything at once.

Soon they were both deposited in a relatively quiet corner of the common room, their packs set aside, with a candle or two to light their table and a jovial, curly-headed, bright-eyed servant boy to wait upon them. Though he spoke more like a man than a goat, his ears and horns- not to mention a conspicuous pair of hairy goat-like legs stuffed into too-small trousers- identified him as one of the same strange, half-animal race to which the bartender belonged.

“Here we are,” he said, smiling from ear to ear as he laid a steaming tray of food and hot drink down between the two tired young travelers. “Fresh from the places they was growed in.”

Come to think of it, his speech reminded Gribly more of Cal the village boy than anyone else. “Thank you,” he answered for them both. “And will you be the one taking us to see the innkeeper?”

“That I'll be,” the goat-boy nodded, shuffling his hooves in a rush to be off.

“Wait a moment, then,” Gribly said, “And if your other matters aren't too pressing, maybe you can explain a few things to my friend and me.”

“Well...” answered the servant, “I suppose I could. Master Bwether
did
tell me to 'elp you, in whatever you was needing...” darting into the smoky haze of the room's center with the speed of long practice, the boy soon returned with a medium-sized stool, which he plunked down on the side of the table between both Striders. Sitting himself heavily upon it, he wiped his curly brow and leaned his elbows forward on the table.

“Good,” Gribly told him. “Now while we're eating, tell us all you care to about yourself and this place. We've never met the... the innkeeper... here at his inn before.”

“What would you like me to be startin' with? There's a lot to say, if you've never been 'ere afore.”

“I'd like you to tell us what kind of... well, if it's not rude to ask... what kind of person you are.”

Able to resist the tantalizing smells rising from his plate, the Sand Strider leaned in to begin business, but as the goaty servant began to reply, Elia cut them both off.

“Gribly... aren't you going to give thanks for the food?”

“What?” Gribly asked in surprise. Elia was staring at him curiously.

“With the Treele, and the Reethe too, we always gave the Aura thanks for our feasts, and the Creator for His goodness in giving us the time to enjoy them. You remember that, don't you?”

“Oh.” Gribly thought about it, and he
did
. “I suppose you want to do something like that now?”

Elia nodded, and bowed her head. Surprised but not annoyed, the servant boy followed her example, as did Gribly, a little miffed.

“Lord of Seas and Skies, we thank You for this bounty of food. Send Your Aura to bring us life and health through this meal... We believe and pray.” she lifted her head, and a small chill passed up Gribly's spine. That she had remembered to give thanks for the unexpected victory of their first good meal of their journey... even as overwhelmed as she had to be feeling from it all... it scratched the armor of lethargy he had built around his own heart, and he wasn't sure whether he liked the feeling or not.

“We all done?” the goat boy asked timidly, a hesitant smile tugging the edges of his mouth. Gribly shrugged.

“Well, yes,” Elia said, looking a bit embarrassed. Gribly couldn't help but feel that he was somehow contributing to her confusion in this new world. She was, after all, no older than he, and with much less experience- despite her iron will in the face of her parents' death.

“Righty, then,” bleated the boy. “I'm what's called a Haedus. Goaty, manny, half on half... that's me and all me kind.” he winked as Gribly and Elia dove wholeheartedly into their respective meals. “I call meself Leafly, if that explains anything much more to you. The old bartender, what you may be calling the
leader
of us Haedi, his name's Bwether, or just 'Ol' Beth,' if you want to make him mad sometimes... We all- but espec'lly Bwether- work for Ol' Swaying Willow, doing whichever he wants, when and how and where.”

“The inn?” Elia asked, her face very improperly smeared with a warm yellow butter.

“No, the innkeeper,” corrected Leafly, frowning. “Don't you even know his
name
?”

This time, it was Gribly who came to the rescue. “He always went by a different name, when we met him. We've come from a long,
long
way off- farther than the entire Grymclaw, in fact.”

Leafly raised an eyebrow. “That all? I've been goin' farther than that, for sure... Ever been to the Sandlands? Nation? Westren? Rune?”

“No... where are they in Vast?”

Leafly grinned mischievously. “I can see you're from the outside, right enough. No one from here knows the outsiders' names for things. Vast. They're not
in
Vast, Stranger. They be across the water and in a dozen other places.”

“Impossible,” Gribly answered, as soon as he had finished chewing a particularly succulent hunk of roasted meat.

“Not at all. Many o' these inn-goers be from those places.”

Elia finished downing some of the hot cider-like drink from the mug at her elbow, wiped her mouth, and said “But how do they get to this inn, then? I thought we were the first to come to the Grymclaw from the outside in... well, years and years.”

Leafly frowned again, which only made his friendly, curl-framed face look all the more comical. “D'you know nothing about the innkeeper after all? He… he can
do
that sort of thing. It's this inn, too, you know. It's sort of... well, I'm not sure I can say, or
should
say, but it's... different. It's in more than one place, you might say...”

“I'm not following you,” Gribly shook his head.

“Well there now... I tried!” gasped Leafly, throwing his arms up and addressing the ceiling. Returning his gaze to the two Striders as they plowed through their vittles, he sighed. “It's harder to say than to know, I guess. But besides... you're not the only ones at this inn who've come in from this place. There're more than a few hardy village men, and even a few women, all come in from the Grymclaw. Then there's the two outsiders like yourselves.”

The lively noises and sights all around Gribly seemed to freeze in place, or melt away on a river of lesser thoughts that soon disappeared.

Two strangers. Lauro and the Pit Strider. It had to be.

Leafly waited eagerly near him, obviously wanting to know how his narrative was being received, a quizzical smile on his face.

“What kind of outsiders?” Gribly asked nervously. Despite the flow of food and drink he had inhaled, his mouth was dry with anticipation.

“Well,” thought Leafly, rocking on his stool and thinking hard. “I didn't see the one. Ol' Beth- er, Master Bwether, I mean,
he
was the one who saw the dark-cloaked fellow with the bone coins... Gave him the shivers, but we can't be the judges in this inn... no...”

“Out with it!” Gribly burst suddenly, unable to contain his excitement any more.

“Oh!” exclaimed Leafly, looking apologetic. “I'm sorry, sir... Got carried away there, didn't I? What I meant to say, about the other one, the one I served only yesterday, see... He's a rough one. A warrior, or a pirate, probably... likely. He's here- they both are- if you want to be seeing them after you speak with the innkeeper.”

A mug dropped to the ground and shattered. It was Elia's.

“Oh deaaar!” bleated Leafly, more than a little bewildered at the strange turn the interrogation was taking. “Let me clean that up and get you a new one, Mistress!” leaping up on his hooves, he scooped up the shards in a tough canvas apron he wore around his waist, then clop-clopped away into the throng to dispose of them and gather what he needed to clean up the mess.