Azure bonds - Kate Novak [83]
*****
Back atop the hillock that once held the hut of the river witch Sylune, the old man used a stick of charred wood to sketch out Alias's five sigils on one of the flagstones. He tapped the unknown one with his stick and frowned.
"Why is it," he muttered, "that the years seem to fly by, but the nights seem to last forever?"
15
Olive's Deal and Dragonbait's
Secret
It was long past midnight when Olive weaved her way to bed. The local merchants had been thankful for the figurative nose-tweaking Ruskettle and her companions had given the Iron Throne by destroying the kalmari, and they showed their appreciation in the form of several kegs of Jhaele's finest ale.
It was no Luiren Rivengut, Olive thought, but still a potent brew. With Akabar off kissing up to some high sage, her high-and-mighty ladyship disappearing into the night, and the lizard watching everything mutely from a corner, someone had to accept all the congratulations and free brew being passed around.
Actually, Olive had a dim recollection of Alias returning to the inn. At the time, the bard had feared the sell-sword might resume her foray into musical entertainment, but Alias had simply hurried to her room.
The trouble with humans, thought the halfling as she rested on the second story landing, is that they're no fun at parties.
She glared at the stairs she had yet to climb. And their buildings are the wrong size, she added. No doubt her ladyship thinks it amusing making me climb steps that come up to my knees.
Olive wondered if some servant would carry her up to her room if she pretended to pass out. More likely, she realized, they'd call out her ladyship or her pet lizard to dispose of my body. It doesn't matter, anyway. I'd never willingly suffer the indignity of being carried by a human. It's bad enough putting up with the pats on her head. Some day, Olive knew, she'd take a bite out of one of those hands- when she could afford to be considered a "tempermental" artist.
"Happy thoughts, Olive-girl," she muttered to herself. That was her motto when living among humans. No matter how patronizing or cruel or stupid they are, she told herself, keep a smile plastered to your face. Tonight wasn't too hard. This celebration, she realized, was the group's first tangible reward since they rescued me from the dragon.
Olive ordinarily would have considered herself a fool for offering to share the loot she'd secreted from the red's lair, but the halfling had been grateful to Alias for her rescue. She'd even forgiven the sell-sword for lugging her around like a sack of potatos as they made their escape.
For a foolish human, Olive thought, her ladyship sure knew what made dragons tick. Olive shivered at the thought that, were it not for Alias, she would still be a prisoner beneath the Storm Horns, wasting away until she was too feeble to sing. Then the dragon would make a light meal of her, an appetizer before a hearty meal of a herd of cattle or a brace of villagers.
This thought distressed Olive so badly that she craved the comfort of a late snack. However, the thought of all those stairs deterred her from raiding the kitchen.
She scrambled up the remaining stairs quickly, to get then; over with. then zigzagged down the long corridor to the Green Room. She was sober enough, however, to notice the bits of shaved wood on the floor before the door.
Olive had put the wood shavings between the door and the jamb at halfling waist-level, where a human was unlikely to spot them fluttering to the floor should they open the door. In her mind rose the image of someone malicious pawing through her things, looking for treasure.
The halfling knew that the mage hadn't come back yet and the lizard was still sitting by the taproom hearth. Could it be her high-and-mightiness? Olive wondered. Or an outsider?
Olive turned