Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [4]
Kellen liked kneading dough. He leaned over a halfling-sized wooden table in the center of the warm kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his tunic so he could stick his arms deep into the floury mass. Mountains, castles, and dragons all took shape under his deft hands ore he squashed them, laughing, like a careless giant.
When the dough and Kellen's arms needed a rest, Estah sat him down in front of the kitchen's massive stone fireplace with a breakfast of oat porridge, honey, and sausages. The first red-gold glow of dawn was gilding the kitchen's windows when Jolle, Estah's husband, tramped inside with a load of firewood. As the halfling man went back out to the courtyard for more, Kellen got up and neatly stacked the wood he had brought in.
"It looks as if someone's in a helpful mood today," Jolle observed with a broad grin as he returned, setting down a second armful of wood. Like his wife, the halfling man was not even as tall as Kellen, but he was sturdily built.
"More so than usual, actually," Estah commented with a sharp glance at Kellen.
Kellen just smiled mysteriously, returning to his breakfast. Sometimes it was fun to make adults wonder if you had done something wrong.
Soon Jolle had a summer-fattened piglet roasting over a steady fire in the gigantic fireplace. Kellen finished his breakfast and returned to the bread dough, this time shaping it into loaves instead of unicorns and wyverns. Before long these were baking in the ovens next to the fireplace, filling the kitchen with their warm fragrance. Kellen was wiping excess flour off the table when two voices drifted from the inn's back hallway.
"I told you I would take care of the problem, Caledan." The first voice was rich, like wine and smoke, but there was a sharp edge of annoyance to it.
"What's the difference, Mari?" This voice was rougher than the first, almost a growl, but with a note of musicality to it all the same. "You wanted the problem taken care of, and I took care of it. It doesn't really matter whether it was my knife or yours."
The first voice was blistering. "For your information, Caledan, 'take care of the problem' does not universally mean 'put a dagger in its heart.'"
Kellen looked up to see a man and a woman enter the kitchen. The woman was not pretty. She was tall and rawboned-though not at all ungainly-wearing doeskin breeches and a green velvet jacket over a billowing white shirt. She tossed her thick, darkfire hair over a shoulder like a horse tossing its mane; indeed there was something rather horsey about her large features and too-square jaw, though in a pleasing way.
If the woman was equine, the man was wolfish. He was lean and broad shouldered, and moved with a stiff, predatory grace. Gray flecked his dark hair, and his eyebrows were shaggy above gray-green eyes. His slate-colored doublet was well kept, but over it he wore a travel-stained cloak of midnight blue.
Kellen knew the pair well. The wolfish man was his father, Caledan Caldorien, while the square-jawed woman was Caledan's companion, Mari Al'maren. The two of them were more than lovers; they were partners as well, for both Caledan and Mari were Harpers. As a team, they embarked on dangerous and invariably secretive missions for the mysterious, benevolent organization known as the Harpers. Kellen's mother had died over two years ago. As his father's constant companion, Mari might have filled the void. However, Estah was more than enough mother for everybody who lived at the inn. Thus, over time, Mari had become more like an aunt to Kellen, and a very special friend. Together they made up stories, practiced at archery-for Mari was a master of the longbow-and went for long treks in the rolling hills outside the city, hunting for lizards, interesting stones, and buried treasure. For a time, Kellen had imagined that Mari and his father might get married one day. Now he was not so certain. The two had always been contentious in their relationship. However, these days arguing was all they seemed to accomplish.
"Good morning,