When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods by Bruce Blake (books under 200 pages txt) 📗

"I've never seen anything like this," he said.

"No one has, lad," Rilum replied. "This be the land across the sea."

X  Danya - Inn

The sharp aroma of mutton and spices wafted from the kitchen behind Krin, the odor overpowering stale beer scent always emanating from the stained wooden bar. With his patrons now satisfied, the barkeep rubbed at one of those stains, knowing full well no amount of elbow grease possessed the power to erase it. He stopped, inspected his work, flipped his cloth over, and got after another, smaller mark to the left of the first.

If the marks could be removed, Krin wasn't sure he'd rid the bar of them. Each told a story, even if he couldn't remember their details. He knew most of them came about during good times—ale slopped during an energetic toast, or splashed from a cup knocked over by a grand gesture. Only one stain did he wish to remove, the one not made by a spilled beverage, and certainly not created out of goodwill or merriment. His eyes slid along the bar's length until his gaze rested on the dark, ugly mark at the corner—the one stain whose origin he'd never forget though he wished to.

Krin paused in his cleaning and stared at the near-black patch of wood, sudden emotion roiling in his chest. But why should it? How many times had he wiped his bar, exactly as he did now, without feeling overcome? The turning of seasons proved no better at erasing the memory than at removing the stain. He wrenched his eyes away, sucked a deep breath between his lips, the air tasting equally of fresh stew and old beer. Just then, the door swung open on squeaking hinges.

They need oiling tomorrow.

The barkeep forced a smile on his face and readied a greeting. He'd be damned if he let the stain of blood spilled long ago prevent him from offering a bit of friendliness to his guests. For a breathless moment, no one entered; Krin's grin faltered. Had the wind picked up and blown the door open? Normally, if it gusted so hard, he'd have heard it groaning in the chimney, rattling a loose shutter, whistling in the roof; he detected none of these.

"Greetings."

The word entered before the dark figure, outlined in the sun's glare. The tightness Krin experienced before returned at the sound of the voice; his hand holding the cloth clenched into a fist. Tall and slender, the shape crossed the threshold into the tavern, two more smaller ones following close behind. The speaker proved exactly who the barkeep thought it to be.

Ive.

His heart plunged into his stomach as he awaited the slight man's stocky partner entering after him. He resisted the urge to glance back toward the ugly stain as he forced the even more false smile onto his lips. The weapons merchant crossed the threshold and closed the door behind himself, no Fellick following him. Krin let out his air.

"To the bar, please," Ive said, prompting the two girls forward, partially under his breath.

As they crossed the room, feet scraping against the dirty plank floor, the patrons who'd stopped to assess them returned to their conversations, their meals, their ale. A few continued watching as they made their way to the rough wooden bar. Ive put his elbow on the edge and leaned in with the familiarity of someone used to performing such an action.

"Mr. Ive," the barkeep said. He nodded at the weapons merchant but couldn't stop his gaze from flickering toward his unusual companions. "I dare say Mr. Fellick appears less intimidatin' than usual today."

Ive creased his face with a fake-looking smile—he rarely offered better—and chuckled an empty laugh. "Mr. Fellick is watching the wares, as always, while I see to feeding my niece and her friend. Can you supply four bowls of your infamous stew?"

"Aye, the missus has a fresh batch ready to go. Will you be wanting ales as well?"

"Tch, tch. When have you ever seen myself or my companion imbibe, Mr. Krin?"

"Never, and it be damn curious. Man's got to ask, though. They say sometimes people flip their leaves to a new side, whatever that means. Besides, how else am I going to make me some coin?" Krin cocked his head to call over his shoulder. "Four bowls, mother. And be sure they're hot."

He moved to the other end of the bar, busying himself again scrubbing a part of the wood unneeding of the attention to avoid making conversation with the weapons merchant. The man made his skin desire to shrivel up and peel off. Ive turned to the room, cleared his throat, and raised his arms. With his height, his fingers brushed the underside of the thick ceiling beams. Krin waited to see what he'd say, caught the older of the two girls watching his unnecessary cleaning. Her expression gave him pause.

"Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone else in attendance at Krin's Glorious Home of Food and Drink, please note: Fellick and Ive have arrived. We come to satisfy all your weaponly needs. Did you bury the hatchet and need a new one? Have you lost your edge? Sales and repairs of every type of weapon. Well, hand-held weapons; if you're having troubles with your trebuchet, you may have to look elsewhere for assistance."

A murmur of laughter swept through the room as everyone trained their gazes on the stick-like man. He paused, enjoying the attention, then lowered his arms and pointed toward the door.

"On the other side of the portal stands Mr. Fellick. Don't let his appearance or demeanor dissuade you; he is gentle as a newborn piglet... unless you short-change him. He will attend to your needs, great and small, so hurry yourselves outside for the wares of Fellick and