The Sword and the Flame: The Forging

Chapter 8

Like most cities, Hope had several inns and pubs scattered within their limits. Of those, the Horse's Head was on the lower rung, if the standards of society were to be the judge. To his credit, old man Winston worked tirelessly to make the Horse's Head the most comfortable and welcoming establishment in the city. While it was shunned by the elite in society, its income was one of the highest in the city. Never one to allow his pride to overwhelm his common sense, Winston took it all in stride. Even going so far as to recommend other establishments for their food, drink, or other niceties. The people weren't fooled and often stayed for the tight, comfortable confines that first caught their eye. Understanding his guests' opinion of him, Winston made a point to greet as many patrons as possible, often regaling them with tales of his adventures as a marshall during his younger days. Many nights, Janessa curled up near the fireplace in the common room listening to his tales. She heard them so often that she could retell them word for word, although she lacked Winston's flair for the dramatic.

All of that the Halfling explained to Mern as they approached the inn, a little more than a stone's throw from the city gates. Mern listened to her stories, picking out bits and pieces he thought were relevant and could be used at a later date if needed. Once they came to a stop, he handed a silver piece to one of the stable hands waiting for travelers. "Feed and water, please. That's a good boy." Mern turned to another, handing him a silver piece. "Mind giving me a hand with my trunk? Thank you, my boy."

Janessa watched with interest at how the old man orchestrated the movements of Winston's stable boys with ease, demonstrating to her that he was a man accustomed to travel. As if everything were rehearsed, the first stable hand drove off towards the inn's stables moments after the last of Mern's belongings were taken inside, leaving Janessa shaking her head. No matter how hard she tried, she could never make the simplest schedule work.

Mern sensed her thoughts. Halflings weren't known for their organizational skills, and patted her on the shoulder as a grandfather would've done, his warm smile full of the same qualities. "It comes from years of experience, my dear." He leaned down close to her and whispered with a wink, "Unless I'm mistaken, you won more than enough to do some traveling of your own. If you need any advice, don't hesitate to ask. All right?"

Janessa smiled at his offer and nodded, but she wondered how he knew about their winnings. It took her a moment before she remembered he gave them the hint about Berek.

Mern couldn't help but smile. He knew the thoughts winding through his little friend's mind, but instead of feeling arrogant or even ashamed, he enjoyed himself. It'd been so long since he last dealt with someone who was an open book with little, if anything, to hide. "Don't worry, child, you weren't the only ones that won a large sum on Berek's efforts. Come; let's enjoy the hospitality the Horse's Head has to offer." Mern guided her towards the entrance with his hand. He'd heard rumors and stories about the inn long before Janessa told him about it. It was a place that he longed to visit.

The Horse's Head never disappointed any patron, including an old mage whose true age was known only to himself. As soon as he opened the large heavy oak door, the smell of roast beef, potatoes, and mead surged into the mage's senses. For a moment, he closed his eyes, inhaling as deeply as he could, then repeated it three more times. He closed the door behind them with his head swimming from the rich scents. Though pleased at how every smell wove together with the smell of cedar logs in the fireplace, Mern forced himself to regain his senses and take in as much as he could about his surroundings. As its reputation claimed, the common room was smaller in size than most, but the golden color of the finished wood covering the walls reacted with the fire, giving the room a golden sheen. Though light came in through the common room's several windows, the sunlight failed to match the fireplace and burning candles sitting on each table for light. He counted six medium sized tables, as well as a series of benches sitting about eight feet apart along the walls. In the center of the wall, opposite from the door, was a spiral staircase cut from a single oak tree and wide enough for two people to climb shoulder to shoulder. To the staircase's left was a large doorway Mern assumed led to the kitchen, and a large bar where a rotund older man stood talking, laughing, and cleaning up after his patrons. In general, two barmaids would be working, but that early in the day meant they weren't needed. Old man Winston didn't get where he was by not being frugal.