Page 4 of Tusks, Tails & Teacakes
His wife, she thought as she took her drink and stole another look at the surly man with heavy lines tugging at his jaundiced skin. She might have more scars than she’d had five years ago, but the passage of time had been crueler to him. And to The Tusk & Tail.
Lira plunked a few copper bits on the bar before she made her way back to her table. She pushed back the hood of her cloak, careful not to disturb her dark red hair too much and reveal her slightly pointed ears. Folks could be quick to judge, and she preferred to keep the fact that she had some elvish blood under wraps for as long as possible—even in the village where she’d once lived. Not that anyone in the place seemed to care—or remember her.
Wasn’t that what she’d wanted—to sneak in, get what she came for, and leave without being noticed? But now that she was here, could she walk away again? Or had she been drawn back for something more?
She eyed the ale in her tankard, wary of taking a sip. Instead of drinking, she slid her gaze around the room to the other brave souls who must have had nowhere else to go.
Quietly observing others was a talent she’d honed, and one that had become as natural to her as breathing. Without moving her head, she observed an old drunk slumped at the far end of the bar, his words slurred as he griped to himself. A creature she suspected was at least part troll hunched near the fire and let out the occasional startling snore. Then there was a female dwarf who appeared surprisingly tall for her kind, with light brown skin and darker brown hair that she wore in a frayed plait over one shoulder. Her clothes were well-made but worn thin and smudged with dirt. Leather armor clung to her shoulders, and Lira suspected the woman was well-armed, although she couldn’t spot an axe. Lira also had a feeling that the dwarf was sizing her up, even though she hadn’t caught her glancing her way.
There was that paranoia again. Her profession had made her naturally cautious, but that had bloomed into something darker lately. Her usual confidence—buoyed by the crew who’d surrounded her—had been shaken, and the comfort she’d expected by returning to someplace familiar was scant.
Observing others without drawing attention to herself had always been one of her strengths, but as she took in the lonely patrons gathered in the sad tavern Lira’s heart squeezed for those who were cast out, ignored, overlooked. Perhaps it was because she was half-elf and half-human—and didn’t feel fully accepted by either race—that she felt a kinship with outsiders. And anyone who’d braved the storm to take refuge in the dreary tavern clearly had no welcoming fireside to call their own.
When the door blew open, she followed everyone’s gaze to track the new arrival, curious by the instant stiffening of spines and hunching of shoulders, as eyes dropped to the floor and even the faintest snippets of conversation died.
Lira instinctively flipped her hood back up as the wyvern strode into the tavern. His velvety black wings were tucked close to his body but peeked from beneath the hem of a dark green cloak that was fastened at his throat by an ornamental jeweled pin. He swiveled his long face, gold eyes narrowed and ears folded flat against the scaled skin of his head.
He didn’t break stride as he headed for the bar, his arrival making even the surly tavernkeeper shrink away.
“Durn.” The wyvern’s voice started as a hiss but descended into a growl. “You’re late again.”
The tavernkeeper’s cheeks reddened as his scraggly mustache drooped further down his face. “I told you already. I paid as much as I can.”
The wyvern tipped his snout into the air, the nostrils flaring as he inhaled. “And I told you that I know you have gold here.”
Lira sucked in a breath then went still, hoping that the wyvern’s hearing wasn’t as sharp as rumors held it was.
Durn barked out a laugh. “You think if I had gold, I’d still be here?”
The wyvern tilted his head and rested both clawed hands on the edge of the bar. “The laird appointed me to be Wayside’s reeve, which means I collect the taxes. Taxes you haven’t fully paid.”
Durn’s expression darkened. “Not even you can get blood from a stone, Rygor.”
Rygor rapped his claws along the wood. “It isn’t blood I want.”
Lira had encountered enough wyvern to know that, while not as violent as their dragon ancestors, their desire for gold and treasure was almost as acute.
The tavernkeeper shook his head and resumed his task of reapplying grime to the top of the bar. “Like I’ve told you before, there’s no gold here.”
The wyvern reeve straightened. “That’s too bad. I would hate for you to lose all of…” He turned to the grim interior and his thin lips curled, “this.”
Then he stomped from the great room and out the door, treating patrons to a blast of frigid air in his wake. Durn muttered to himself and kept his gaze down, but a few folks whispered to each other and even more shifted in their seats.
Lira reminded herself to breathe as she sat rigid and unmoving. Since when was the village reeve a wyvern? Her stomach snarled, a cruel reminder that it had been a day since she’d eaten, but another glance at the ale made her think better of taking a drink.
She shouldn’t have come here. She shouldn’t have come back.
Lira swallowed hard and attempted to push aside the guilt that had been clawing at her since their party disbanded. There were a lot of things she shouldn’t have done.
“Stop it,” she scolded herself furiously.
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She didn’t have time for regret. Not until she got what she came for. She’d returned to Wayside because she’d felt drawn back to the place, but she was also there to retrieve what she’d hidden in The Tusk & Tail.
Then she thought of the wyvern. She might have arrived just in time.
Lira’s gaze flitted to the cellar door, and she jiggled her leg under the table. Biding her time had never been one of her talents.
Two
