Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [14]
The great fireplace was cold and dark, and only a few smoking oil lamps offered their wan illumination. The polished wooden bar that had once stood against one wall was now covered with dirty cloths. Lord Cutter's Rules were posted in plain view.
A handful of sour-faced cityfolk looked up from the bare tables, staring at Caledan with suspicious eyes. Grimly, he laid the limp form of the Harper down on a long bench and surveyed the scene. The longer he looked, the worse it seemed. This place had been his home once. Now it was almost as inviting as a dungeon, but not quite. "Listen, stranger, we don't want any trouble here." Caledan turned around and found himself looking down at a stout, curly-haired halfling. The halfling's nut-brown eyes glittered warily, and his broad face was drawn down in a scowl. He stood firm, raised to his full four feet, gripping a cudgel in one hand. "This is a respectable establishment. At least as respectable as you can find these days. We post the city lord's rules for all to see. You'd best be off, ruffian. Work your mischief elsewhere."
Caledan winced. Ruffian? He rubbed the dark stubble on his chin. He was going to have to do something about his appearance.
"Friend," he said wearily, "I have a lady here who's been gravely hurt. Once there was a healer who lived here, a woman who would never have turned away one in need. Has she vanished as well, like everything else of good in this city?"
The halfling's gaze took in the limp form of the Harper, and his wide-spaced brown eyes softened somewhat, though they remained resolute. "Come back in the morning."
"Gods, man, she may not have until morning!" Caledan bellowed in exasperation. He took an angry step forward. A half-dozen chairs scraped against the floor as an equal number of burly men stood, glaring at Caledan. He froze. It looked as if this was about to turn nasty. He crouched, ready to give his best before he was dragged down.
Suddenly a halfling woman clad in a gray homespun dress entered the inn's common room from the kitchen, a startled expression on her kindly face. "Jolle, what is it?"
"Stay back, wife!" the halfling man told her, lifting his cudgel, but before he could swing it the halfing woman let out a cry and dashed forward, throwing herself at Caledan. Caledan nearly tumbled backward from the impact. Then he caught himself and returned her embrace.
"By the Lady above, Caledan!" the halfling woman cried, caught between laughter and tears. "You've come home. You've come home!"
Caledan cast a wry grin at the halfling man in answer to the fellow's look of bewilderment. "It's good to see you after all these years, Estah," he said, hugging the halfling woman tightly. "Especially when so much has changed. But I've someone here who needs your attention more than I."
"Oh, by the Lady!" Estah said, letting go of Caledan and only just now seeing the still form of the Harper lying on the bench. Concern flooded her deep brown eyes and touched her broad, rosy-cheeked face. She laid a small hand gently on the Harper's pale brow. "My pretty child," she said, and then she assumed an air of briskness. "How like you, Caledan Caldorien, to drag a poor lass about when she's hurt like this. Now don't be in my way. I've work to do."
Estah promptly began running her hands over the unconscious Harper, expertly feeling for injury. Caledan looked at the halfling man-evidently Estah's husband- and shrugged.
"We're old friends, Estah and I," was all Caledan said.
The halfling man whom Estah had called Jolle simply nodded and lowered his cudgel. "Then you're welcome here, friend."
As if on cue, the room suddenly burst into action. "Coast's clear!" a man keeping watch out the window called. With a swiftness and efficiency that suggested the movements were well rehearsed, the inn's patrons proceeded to transform the