Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [38]
He was grateful when, a few moments later, his server returned laden with food and drink. She was a thin-set, lanky girl not far from the first flower of womanhood. Long woolen skirts hid the shape of her legs from view, and a linen blouse, covered with grease spots, hung around her frame. Thick, golden-blonde hair threatened to escape from the single braid that wound around her head like a crown; a few of the wild strands fell into her face only to be blown away in haste as she set down food before them. Crocks of thick venison stew, laden with winter vegetables and golden potatoes; trenchers of thick brown bread, piping hot and slathered with melted butter; and a seemingly endless array of earthenware mugs topped with a foamy brew found their way from her arms and on to the table with a speed and aplomb that surprised the half-elf. He thanked the server when she had finished and was rewarded with a shy smile that set a sparkle dancing in the young woman's green eyes.
How different the people of Urling's reactions were now. Like all Rashemi, the men and women of Urling were reserved around strangers, almost suspicious in their appraising glances and clipped speech. When Taen and his companions had first arrived, they were greeted with frank stares and an almost glacial politeness-until Borovazk had stepped forward and quietly spoken to his countrymen. After that, the people of Urling's attitude had thawed, and soon Taen and his friends found themselves treated as old friends. It was, he reflected, a very welcome change.
By unspoken agreement, the group ate in silence. Roberc stared at the shadows as he tucked into the mound of food before him, but the half-elf noted with a hint of dismay that Marissa barely touched her food. The druid absently stirred her stew all the while gazing out at nothing, rarely blinking. The enormity of what had happened beneath the Red Tree came crashing down upon him, shaking loose the comfort and ease he had so recently discovered.
When Marissa had first gathered the group, bleary eyed and grumbling under the dawn sun, and recounted what the telthor had asked of her, Taen wanted to shout with frustration. There was a part of him-a surprisingly large part, it had turned out-that had hoped their time in Rashemen would end soon after Marissa completed her pilgrimage. Sacred journeys made at the behest of one's god were all fine and good, but too much had happened to disturb the fragile peace he had struggled to build within himself since they had entered this strange land. He wanted a chance to return to the life he had known, even if it was filled with the bitter melody of guilt and shame. The half-elf preferred the strains of that familiar tune to the unknown song that played now in his heart.
Surprisingly, Roberc was the first one to agree to accompany Marissa. The halfling simply nodded his head after the druid had finished her tale and stood up. "When do we leave?" was all he had asked before heading off to ready Cavan for their journey. Borovazk, too, was quick to assent to Marissa's quest-though in truth Taen had suspected that raging dragons wouldn't keep the ranger from shedding his blood in Rashemen's time of need. "Borovazk go where the