Skull Dansuer: Chapter 5
xr:d:DAEt-v5vZzU:59,j:33860536861,t:22082716The pub was a quiet, warm affair, more comfortable than I would have assumed on first passing the place. Rowan slid into a chair near to a smokeless fireplace and motioned me to the opposing overstuffed monstrosity masquerading as something akin to a loveseat.
A woman, heavily curved and exhausted around the edges wove her way through the mixture of furnishings to drop a pitcher and pair of cups on the side table next to me before casting a contemptuous gaze at Rowan. “What’ll it be, sir?” She turned the question back to me.
“He’s ordering for me tonight; I’m just visiting.” I motioned to Rowan, deflecting from making a fool of myself and making her stop pointedly dismissing him.
“I’ll get it, Nina!” A soft male voice called from the counter, disrupting the repulsed woman.
“Thank you, Farrow! Can’t be letting the rolls burn.” The woman turned quickly away from us and switched with a young man with a stunning shade of red hair.
“Hey, Rowan. Sorry about that. Didn’t see you come in.” The man’s footsteps were dove-soft on the wood floors as he padded up to us.“Who you got here? New recruit for your dad’s command?” The man nodded my way.
“Of a sort. Tanywyn, this is Farrow. He knows all the good gossip, has the best connections, and knows when the beer on tap has gone flat before it reaches me.” Rowan shook Farrow’s hand with a broad smile for the man. The look Farrow returned had me wondering if the man was maybe a bit partial to Rowan.
“Tanywyn. Nice name. Hope you’re on for slogging it. The king’s command isn’t a picnic in Blevere.” Farrow took out a slate and chalk and motioned to Rowan.
“Two pots of garren and a pitcher of leroda.” Rowan fished a bag from his hip and took out a pair of coins to drop in Farrow’s hand.
“Can do. Just give me a minute. Gotta get Nina out of the kitchen.”
“I’d rather not find a werebut in my garren again, that’d be nice. That, and your cooking’s better anyway.” Rowan leaned back into his chair and crossed his feet.
“You know sweet talking me doesn’t get you a discount, right?” Farrow laughed and walked off to the back.
“King’s command?” I flicked crumbs from the worn table.
“Oh, right. Told you I was a paladin, right? That was something mom pulled with him. That I’d be consecrated to the God of War if I wasn’t to receive a royal title through her marriage to Wallace’s dad. Seeing as it takes forever and a day to become a war priest, it made better sense for him to place me in the royal guard, but I already had my blessing by that realization and one thing led to another and now I’m a paladin rather than a regular soldier. Anyways, that just encouraged him to create a new subcategory in the guard for paladin, the King’s Command as most know it. One of those, if the Blessed follow this guy’s word, then he must be entrusted with the future by the gods the paladins follow. All of them are consecrated to the God of War, which terrifies the surrounding nations enough to not poke our borders more than necessary.” Rowan tugged at his cap.
“So, you go AWOL, and I disappear. Will he send men after us, or will they write us off pretty quick and hand the title over to Prissy?” I flinched back at the thunk of tankards in front of us.
“Garren beer at its finest. Hope ya’ll are hungry. We just got in a fresh cut for the leroda.” Farrow beamed. Red curled ringlets fell around his face in swaths. The blue eyes were a trap. My ears told me as much, the tips burned. He blinked, staring at the table where my fingers had been sweeping away crumb specks. I stifled a gasp and hid my hands in my lap, the skittering blue plasma balls fizzling away in tiny sparks.
“Not King’s Command?” Farrow raised an eyebrow with a mischievous grin.
“Farrow, meet Tanwyn, a guaranteed sorcerer,” Rowan scooted over.
“Give me a sec and I’ll get Vessa to cover my shift.” Farrow waved a hand, grabbed a tray from the table next to us and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned quickly enough, this time with plates of what appeared to be a slab of some meat looking vegetable browned and slathered in a white sauce.
I tapped the one on my plate with, want for better understanding, I could figure was a two-pronged fork.
Farrow slid in next to me, instead of Rowan. “Look like you’ve never had leroda.”
“Maybe in a past life,” I hedged, cut a chunk off the side and taste-tested it. The best I could explain of it was compressed black pepper packed around tofu coated in a turkey gravy. Not exactly keen. Rowan was going at his slab like it was going out of fashion.
The redhead raised an eyebrow at me, then at Rowan. “Where’d you find this guy? At the bottom of a ravine?”
“Just about,” Rowan shrugged.
Chapel Orahamm (C) 2022-2024. All Rights Reserved.
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