Page 27 of The Pastel Prince

Off he went, short legs carrying him out into the foggy day with speed. I sat at the table, my clothes damp from the misty weather, and watched Agathe spoon feed Eldar. The twit had ridden upright for miles and had exhausted himself. There was no lacking ego in my elder siblings. While my brother gratefully ate the stew—refusing the chunks of meat—I glanced about the home. There were boards on the floor and around the windows. No glass, for that was too expensive for those on the fringes. The kitchen and living area were one with two doors that led off the main room.

“Once we get him fed and some moldy misty clover tea into him, we’ll move him to my son’s vacant room until he is able to ride,” she informed me.

“Again, I need remind all that I am lying right here and can hear what is being said about me,” Eldar stated between mouthfuls of vegetables and thick gravy.

“Shut your mouth and eat,” Agathe said as she chased something around in the bowl resting on her lap.

“If I close my mouth, how do I eat?” Eldar asked.

The look he got made Tezen burrow into my braids. “I brook no wise mouths be they dwarf, human, yeti, or elf. Now, do as you’re told or your brother there can haul both of your pretty asses out into the rice patty to sleep for all I care,” Agathe replied.

“Humans are mean,” Tezen whispered into my ear.

“No, she is just firm. Sometimes churlish boys need a firm hand,” I said aloud and got a glower from a now silent Eldar. Bissori returned with a handful of moldy flowers in one handand a keg on his thick shoulder. Beirach followed him, his clothing now wet.

“Rains come in it has,” Bissori called out. “Take off your boots and cape, cousin, and we’ll get you fed and filled with my best pumpkin ale.”

Eldar fell asleep as we settled down to eat. Agathe worked at the fire, crumbling bits of this herb and that flower into a teapot hanging off one of several metal hooks inside the hearth. The stew was delicious even if there were bits of beaver in it. Bissori chuckled at me, then asked for my meat. I was happy to scrape it into his bowl.

“So, cousin, what brings you back to the patties with such an interesting entourage?” Bissori enquired after the stew was eaten and the pumpkin ale keg tapped. I declined the beer several times but was encouraged to take one tankard as a courtesy. Tezen, who had nibbled on carrots that I had passed her from the stew, emerged from my hair at the mention of ale.

“We are on a mission to reach the two white oaks on the side of the Witherhorn,” Beirach explained as he sipped at the ale.

“Truly? That is a rather steep climb for two such as yourselves,” Bissori commented.

“Ahem, there are three on this quest,” Tezen interjected and got a nod from our new dwarven friend.

“My apologies, my lady. I meant no slight. Surely you are superior to these two gangly elves as you have wings to carry you up the side of the mountain like a snow condor riding the currents.” Tezen preened. Bissori leaned over the table, his beard now pinned between the table’s edge and his belly. “There is an old path, overgrown I am sure, that will lead you to Mother Moth, the waterfall that roars downward from the very edge of Franzen Dun, where I was whelped. I could lead you to the falls but cannot go further by writ of the yeti clan who claims thatarea of the mountains as a base camp. Perhaps they will allow you passage behind the falls if you take them a shiny bobbin. They love sparkly bits and bobs.”

“Your offer to guide us is well received,” I said and glanced at Beirach for confirmation. He nodded with enthusiasm.

“Then we will strike out at sunrise, for only a tit-headed cock dribble would traverse the sides of the Witherhorn Mountains in the dark. Eat. Drink!” Bissori shouted and shoved two full tankards of ale at us.

Beirach took a large gulp. “Mm, you have outdone yourself! This is even better than the strawberry lager we had the last time I visited.”

Bissori beamed, then stroked his long beard. “The pumpkins were the best we have ever grown last fall. Fat and filled with seeds just like the fishmonger’s wife!”

“You and those fishmonger wife tales. Honestly, I think you lie awake at night with your pecker in your hand and make them up,” Agathe interjected as she ladled the rather pungent smelling tea into a stout cup.

“Now, my love, you know that ain’t so. It’syourhand on my pecker at night,” Bissori teased and got a snorting laugh from the pixie on my shoulder. She flitted down to dip her tiny mug into my untouched stein of beer.

“I like you. Anyone who talks about peckers and horny fishmonger’s wives are top of the midden heap in my book,” Tezen announced with a toast to the smiling dwarf.

Soon the small house was filled with raunchy tales of oversexed fishmonger’s wives. Beirach partook of only that one mug while I had a few sips. Tezen and Bissori were well into their cups by the time night had fully arrived. Agathe had sat by Eldar, dribbling her moldy tea into him despite his sleepy protests over the taste.

“Let us move this man to the spare room,” Agathe said over the hoots of her husband and our drunken pixie warrior. “Then you two may make use of the steam hut across the way. I’ll not have you crawling into my bed with the stink of horse and sweaty man on you.”

“Cousin, we cannot ask you to give up your bed. Kenton and I will be happy to call the barn our resting place for the night,” Beirach argued gently. He was summarily told that he and I would sleep where we were told.

“She wants to cuddle with me on that fancy Kanazem couch that I brung all the way from Ballybar to woo her with.” Bissori winked, then patted Agathe’s skinny rump. She blushed red as an apple before scooting Beirach and me to the door.

“Hey, hey, you two need to get your wankers out and into each other,” Tezen shouted while balancing on the edge of my stew bowl on her tiptoes. “I mean…I mean it.” She hiccupped. “Life is short!”

With that, she passed out and teetered backward into the cold stew. Bissori plucked her from the gravy by her wings.

“We’ll dry her out above the fire,” the dwarf told us as my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Beirach and I headed out into the night, the mucky road into the village lit by a few torches that sputtered in the thick mist. I had a thought to try to wheedle out of the comments from Lady Tezen, but how could I without making it worse? So, I said nothing as we entered the small lean-to barn that housed our horses and two wooly sheep. Our saddlebags were tucked under a hay mound. After we rummaged about for soap and what had to pass for clean clothes, we silently made our way to the steam hut. It sat at the end of the road, a torch stuck in the ground at the walk to the flat-roofed building. There were two windows that mineral rich steam seeped out of. The dooropened with a creak, the interior dark aside from several fat candles that Beirach lit with a small flick of flint to pyrite.

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