The Halfway Inn

The Halfway Inn

Part 7

It was late evening when Rowan tottered back through the doors of the inn. All the lanterns had been extinguished, leaving the main dining hall wrapped in darkness. Voices and laughter radiated from the corridor, carried by the scent of woodsmoke. Curious, Rowan headed toward the kitchen, where he found everyone seated around the table. Caja had prepared a large meal, which they all seemed to be in the middle of enjoying. An empty bottle of wine sat discarded on the counter, and another sat half full between Vornalla and Feralith, who were, strangely, seated together. Goom, Krugga and Kazir sat opposite, while Caja tended to the cooking, her tail gently swaying as she worked.

'Ah, Rowan,' the Tabaxi's ears perked up as she turned, a large side of roast meat in her hands. 'We believed you would be dining with the mistress tonight,'

Her tone was apologetic, as though she should have anticipated Rowan's participation.

'You always cook enough for an army Caja,' Krugga grunted, 'There'll be morsel enough for him,'

'He'll need it,' Vornalla remarked knowingly, 'the mistress has taken a liking to you, Rowan, and I doubt you have been discussing business practice these last few hours,'

Rowan felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Vornalla shot a stern look toward Goom as she spluttered a laugh into her drink.

'Or battle-plans,' Kazir chimed in, 'we still need to prepare to venture into those damned dungeons,'

'You mentioned you lost someone there?' Rowan asked, quickly changing the subject.

'Kazir used to be a caster for a group of dungeoneers,' Vornalla explained, 'he was part of a group used to come to drink here quite often, their leader was Bjolf, a wolfman. Krugga used to accompany them on a few ventures now and then, so she could get some exercise, but the last time they visited Shatterbarrow something went wrong,'

'We don't know what happened exactly, but something was there that wasn't before, it snatched Bjolf and wounded Krugga so badly she had to be dragged out.' Kazir continued.

'Left a pretty nasty scar too' Krugga interrupted standing up with such enthusiasm she sent her chair skidding across the floor. 'See?'

She lifted her shirt with one hand and her britches with the other, revealing a long, jagged line that ran diagonally across her impressive abs, from below her left breast to the curled mass of pubic hair that peaked above the fabric of her garments. It was a wonder that she had not been eviscerated from such a wound, but the orc seemed proud of the trophy she had won.

'I have other scars too...'

'That will be enough Krugga,' Feralith said with a disgusted roll of her azure eyes, 'nobody needs to see that mannish body of yours,'

'And Fenraven?' Rowan asked, trying not to stare too much at the statuesque musculature of the orc as she begrudgingly covered herself up again, eyes staring daggers at the haughty elf opposite.

'It's now the lair of a Lamia Queen and her brood, they took up residence there and ate or drove the other creatures out,'

'Now adventurers hardly visit either dungeon, which was the main reason people visited this part of the Halfway at all,' Vornalla's tone was one of sombre annoyance. The Inn must have had quite the clientele when parties of adventurers passed through, Rowan had doubted Xeryix would have set up shop in the middle of nowhere, then again, demons were not known for following the normal routes of mortal logic.

Caja had prepared a sumptuous feast, and true to Krugga's word there was more than enough for everyone, including Rowan. The conversation turned from the deal Xeryix had struck with Ronove, to more domestic topics. Rowan inquired how Caja was able to conjure such a marvellous spread, as he had not seen and carts arrive with supplies in his time there.

'I cannot say,' the tabaxi had answered as she placed another large plate of steaming roast potatoes before them. 'The stores remain stocked with whatever is needed for the menu, I am never in need of ingredients,'

Vornalla, ever a well of magical knowledge, explained that the stores were enchanted. Like many things about the Inn, it was all under the whim of Xeryix, if she remained the patron her spells would ensure the Inn would not be without anything. Caja could not seem to fully grasp the concept but accepted that a near-everlasting stockpile was something they should all be grateful for. A glass or two of wine later and Feralith had forgotten her usual condescending attitude and graced everyone with a short rendition of an elven song she performed while a Cantor of Eloriae. Rowan had no understanding of elvish beyond a few simple phrases, but her voice was pleasant, and she clearly enjoyed the opportunity to be the centre of attention. Kazir relished the opportunity to accompany her with a strange stringed instrument, rather like a lyre, but played with a bow. It produced a haunting sound that reverberated within your chest like the fluttering of your heartbeat.

Discussion turned once again to the task of dungeon delving, but now tinged with merriment and wine. Kazir and Krugga recounted their times in both areas and seemed to recall details with enough clarity to fill them with confidence.

'Tomorrow I'd like to gauge your fighting skills,' Rowan realised the statement was directed toward him. He quickly swallowed the mouthful of sweet wine he had just sipped. The most experience he had with weaponry was using a blunt dagger to peel vegetables. He'd never been in a situation where he would have needed to defend himself and was thankful for that.

'I haven't so much as lifted a blade in my defence,' he spluttered, aware that Krugga would likely judge him heavily for those words. 'I wouldn't have a notion of where to start,'

'That much was obvious,' the orc gestured to Rowan as if he were evidence enough of her statement. 'But you'll need to start somewhere or you'll never go anywhere,'

'We have a selection of weaponry here, but they're not the most well-kept.' Vornalla was musing aloud, gently stroking her pointed chin as she pondered. 'they'd serve their purpose, I'll let you decide Krugga,'

Krugga grunted in response, and it was at this point that Feralith decided to lend her voice to the conversation.

'Magic would be far better use,' with a flick of her golden hair she produced a tiny candle flame at her fingertips to illustrate. It was not met with the awe and enthusiasm she anticipated.

'Can you cast anything more... substantial?' Kazir blew the flame out with a short puff, earning himself a scolding look from the elf

'Like?' Feralith huffed, folding her arms across her ample chest.

'Fireball? Icy Spear? Magic missile? Even a healing cantrip would be helpful,'

'And you expect me to just know those?' she spluttered the words out indignantly.

'Can you learn?' Kazir inquired, glancing pleadingly toward Vornalla, who met his eyes before taking a deep sip of her wine.

'I've had enough of this,' Feralith scooted her chair across the floor tiles with a horrible screech. 'I do my best to help you lot and all you do is demean my efforts, and then you wonder why I'm so cold toward you.'

She stormed out of the kitchen, muttering elven obscenities under her breath. Kazir shrunk into himself and began idly playing with a solitary pea with his knife.

'Well,' Vornalla was the first to break the awkward silence. 'I'll see what I can find out about Fenraven and Shatterbarrow. Krugga, grab the weapons and meet Rowan by the thicket tomorrow. If you can find anything magical that might be of assistance Kazir bring it to my attention. Caja will prepare provisions.'

With that, Rowan and the others bid each other goodnight. Caja had slipped a small plate of grapes and a beechwood cup of warm mead into Rowans hands as he left "to help him sleep" which he did not have the energy or will to refuse.

Early the following morning, Rowan met Krugga near the treeline outside the low wall bordering the grounds. She wore the sleeveless fur-collared garb traditional for her kind, with studded leather cuirass and thick wool arm-wraps. An array of weapons had been propped up against the stonework. Rowan noted a handful of swords in various styles, though he knew not their names, as well as several axes and vicious-looking spiked clubs. Krugga had a terrifyingly large broad-axe hefted across her shoulders, the blade worn and scratched with several notches along the edge.

'Take your pick,' she gestured toward the weaponry. Rowan took a moment to peruse the selection, before settling on a humble steel blade with simple bronze fixtures. Krugga grunted her approval through her tusks.

'Arming sword, light, versatile and easy,'

'Feels right,' Rowan drew the sword from its sheath and gave a few tentative swings. His other hand felt empty, and he was suddenly conscious of its uselessness 'shouldn't I have something else?'

'Usually you'd use that with a shield or buckler,' Krugga nodded, 'But the weapon itself will suffice for now, unless you'd like to try another?'

'I'm happy with this,' Rowan replied, 'As you said; "versatile and easy"'

Krugga led him into the thicket, where a small ring had been defined in the leaf-strewn floor with sticks and twine. Three posts stood at the far end, their length marked with cuts and gashes. The centre one fared the worst, having nearly half its length whittled away from countless months of abuse. The orc gently placed her axe against the trunk of a tree and ushered Rowan into the circle.

'Right, before we start with anything serious you need to familiarise yourself with the weight and feel of the blade,' she spoke with a veteran's authority, showing him how to grip the blade correctly, demonstrating a handful of simple moves. Once satisfied that Rowan understood the basics she directed him to the poles. 'Have some time just swinging at one of those.'

Rowan approached the least beaten of the three. Recounting her advice in his head, he made a few rudimentary moves, doing his best to mimic those she had instructed. When he was comfortable his grip was correct, he turned to face his static opponent. Raising his blade high he brought it down overhead and felt the steel ring against the wood. His whole arm shook with the force of the blow, almost jolting the blade free of his grip. The pole looked no worse for wear. He swung from the side, and managed to make the edge bite, but could not wrench the weapon free.

'Sharp tug,' Krugga hollered from behind.

Rowan tugged, and on his fourth try freed the trapped blade. He swung underarm, and again the sword glanced off without leaving much more than a thin scratch. He was sorely aware of how inexperienced he must look, barely able to harm an immobile opponent. Swordsmen spent years honing their skills, he had a month at best. He risked a glance over his shoulder. Krugga remained stoic, no sign of approval or disapproval could be found. He lifted the weapon again and slashed. This time the sword sliced a neat gash as it passed.

'Better,' he heard Krugga yell, 'you're getting there,'

'It's not as easy as it looks,' Rowan responded, hefting the weapon for another hit. Once again, the blade bit and stuck, though with a twist he ripped it free.

'I think you'd be better off trying this for now,' Krugga hopped into the enclosure, presenting Rowan with a steel flanged mace. 'Swords are a last resort anyway, with this you needn't worry about the technique so much as whether or not you hit,'

The mace was far heavier than the arming sword. Every swing was a chore, his shoulder ached after the first three, each impact sent vibrations along the length of his arm into his chest to the point he though his ribs would be shaken loose. Rowan saw the benefit however, each strike with the mace left a dent no matter where he hit, even if the flanged head missed, the metal handle would impact, and the sheer weight would carry the blow through.

'There's not much to maces,' Krugga explained as he stumbled out of the ring. Sweat drenched his shirt; his shoulder was on fire and his arm felt like it was about to fall off. 'Sure, there's techniques you can learn, but at the end of the day it's a fancy metal club,'

'It's fucking heavy,' Rowan managed to gasp in reply, 'can't I stick with the sword?'

'You can,' she shrugged, 'But you'll need a lot more training until you are anywhere near good enough to use it effectively. The mace is perfect to help you build your strength and do damage without needing to worry much, even thick armour won't stop a good hit from breaking bone, if you aim it right that is,'

'So I'm not using the sword?' Rowan failed to hide his disappointment, he had no confidence the mace was the better choice for him, and the sword didn't make his arm feel like it was about to fall off after a few swings.

'I didn't say that,' Krugga huffed, folding her burly arms as she leaned back against the rough bark of an old beech. 'Swords aren't frontline weapons, they're for your personal defence. I know you have likely heard tales of fancy magical blades, and though they exist, they're few and far between. If you have to rely on your sword in battle you're not doing well,'

'What about an axe?'

'you'd need more time to train with an axe,' was her gruff reply, 'like swords, you must think of edge alignment, and they're almost as heavy as maces. Trust me, with your skills, a mace is your best starting point.'

Rowan begrudgingly nodded. He thought perhaps his display hadn't been wholly abysmal, but Krugga certainly had more experience than he did, and who was he to question a warrior on weaponry? He helped her gather the assortment of battle gear and stuff them into a large sheet of sack cloth. The orc declined his offer to carry some of the equipment, stating that he was "too scrawny to be burdened" but let him keep the sword and mace. They climbed the wall together and Rowan sauntered across the beer garden to the outhouse.

Memories of his time spent with Goomluga flooded back to him as he pushed the creaking door inwards. The stove still had its simmering pot of water upon it, waiting for someone to pour into the beaten-brass bathtub nearby, always the perfect temperature no matter what. He took the pot and emptied it into the tub, the magically enhanced vessel refilling as quickly as it was emptied. He began to unlace the collar of his shirt, and it was halfway over his head when the outhouse door burst open. Krugga ducked under the doorway, flinging the pack of weapons haphazardly into the corner. She pulled the straps of her cuirass open, dumping the leather armour atop the heap, then turned to Rowan.

'Don't be too long,' she warned, 'we open in an hour,'

'You're just leaving those there?' he indicated the sack ditched chaotically against the brick wall, 'aren't you worried they'll rust?'

'Nah, no time to put them away,' Krugga dismissed the thought with a snort, 'I'll oil them later, they'll be safe here for now.'

'You're joining me?' Rowan gave her a quizzical look, folding his sweat drenched shirt over his arm.

'Hah, don't flatter yourself,' the orc chortled in amusement. 'I have other things to do. If you want, I can send Goom up?'

'No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume,'

'I'm not that easy to fuck, but keep trying human,' she snorted with laughter. Rowan couldn't tell if her encouragement was serious or not, especially as she stared at his shirtless body with shameless scrutiny 'when you can hold your own in a fight, I'll consider it,'

Rowan finished his bath quickly. He threw himself into a clean set of clothes and was soon on his way back toward the inn. The chill morning air was bitter against his damp skin, the soft breeze sent gentle icy fingers through his hair. The unearthly sky was cast in a vague mix of azure and violet, with a strange sun shrouded in silver clouds. It astounded Rowan how such a realm could exist, with little islands of shattered rock suspended within as though by string, yet this is now the place he called home. Even the odd birdsong that broke the eerie silence now seemed familiar to him. He slipped into the kitchen, where Caja was already busy preparing the day's menu.

'Rowan, you have missed breakfast!' she exclaimed, her hands furiously mangling eggs in a large mixing-bowl. Caja wore a simple dress covered with a stained apron. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and the collar kept unlaced while working in the heat of the kitchen. She regarded him with the caring disapproval of a mother.

'Sorry,' Rowan mumbled in apology, 'Krugga wanted to see my skills with weapons,'

'On an empty stomach?' she replied in shock, 'That simply will not do. Let me see if I have anything left over.'

Caja set the bowl down and turned to the counter, where the trays of dirty crockery lay. Within a few moments she had managed to procure a plate with three sausages, two slices of toast and a boiled egg. She placed it upon the table and gestured to Rowan to take a seat at the bench. Rowan had not realised how hungry he was until the smell beckoned him to sit and partake. He attacked his breakfast with the fervour of a famished hound. Caja looked on with smug approval.

'See?' Caja gave a satisfied sigh, 'I knew you were hungry, a strong young man such as yourself should not be going without food,'

Rowan nodded in agreement, his mouth stuffed with fragments of toast and sausage. Caja sat down beside him with a simple meal of bread, cheese and half a sausage. Rowan noticed that her beechwood cup held a generous serving of wine, which did not seem to have been watered down.

'Do not worry about attending to the bar, it is too early to be serving ale,'

'Not too early for wine though?' Rowan joked, with a quick nod to her tankard.

'Tsk, was left over from last night, I could not let this go to waste,' She took a brief swig and then offered Rowan a sample. The strong aroma of alcohol and spices caught in his throat.

'It is good, no?'

'Smells strong,' Rowan noted, taking a small sip. He was correct. The dry liquid burned his throat as he wrestled it down, but he managed a choked smile.

'Yes, it is of elfin vineyards, Vornalla is especially fond of it,'

'I bet she is,' he politely refused a second offer of the elven wine.

'she thinks I do not notice when she comes to drink here late at night,' Caja continued, seemingly pondering her thoughts aloud, 'but I hear her, she is not so sneaky as she thinks.'

'You don't think she'll drink through the entire supply in a night?'

'Tsk, no, the wine does not run out, but I worry of her habits.' she emptied her cup, 'sometimes I hear her crying. Last time she was in the kitchens I heard her speaking with you,'

Caja's confession uneased Rowan. He was not pleased at the possibility of being snooped upon, unwittingly or not. He stared down at his plate of half-eaten food as he plucked up the courage to ask his next question.

'So... how much have you heard while eavesdropping?'

'Eavesdropping?' Caja seemed quite hurt at the accusation, her ears flattened against her head defensively. 'It is not my fault that people cannot keep their thoughts in their heads, whispers to me are as clear as daylight, and the walls here are very thin,'

'So how much have you heard?' Rowan repeated, less accusatively.

'Perhaps too much.' The tabaxi admitted with a guilty shrug of her shoulders, 'It is the goblin who is most talkative, she does not know when to keep quiet,'

Caja poured herself another small serving of the elven wine, emptying the last dregs into her beechwood cup.

'I have heard her talking to Krugga and Kazir, about you,'

Rowan paused, a forkful of food halfway between his mouth and the plate. He glanced at her inquisitively.

'I will admit, from what I've overheard, I am a little curious...' Caja continued, placing her hand softly upon Rowan's thigh. 'I may not be as young as the others, but I was hoping, perhaps, if you wouldn't mind... showing me?'