Page 7 of Ale Storm

“I have no idea,” Rylana said. “I thought you might know.”

Mya rotated the horn around, then sniffed the inside, though the scents of whatever beverages had once been served in it had surely faded long ago.

“It was the ale mugs in that carving specifically that glowed,” Rylana added. “I wasn’t sure if that meant something.”

“It means dwarves highly value booze,” Sylin said.

“That’s the truth,” Mya said. “I’ve added rum cake and beer bread to my menu in the hope of… Well, I wouldn’t mind if a few of my customers were my own people. I’ve missed chatting with them.” She lifted her spectacles and gazed wistfully toward the front window, as if a few stout adventurers might pass by.

Until that moment, Rylana hadn’t realized how seldom she’d seen dwarves in the bakery. They visited the Dragon Diner as frequently as any of the intelligent species, and she knew some who worked and lived in the area. Was it strange that they didn’t regularly order naughty cakes? Elves were scarce at the bakery, but they tended to be a restrained and wholesome people. The dwarves that Rylana had known and fought with over the years always liked a party and were almost as likely as goblins to talk about the merits of recreational mating, as Jildarin put it.

“I’m surprised they don’t visit often,” Rylana said. “I’ve seen them working on the docks and visiting the tavern behind the bakery.”

“Yes, but I’m…” Mya turned her palm toward the ceiling.

Rylana had no idea what she was suggesting and looked at Sylin. Busy nibbling at her scone, Sylin only shrugged.

“A delightful grandmotherly dwarf lady with a good sense of humor?” Rylana suggested to finish the sentence. “I know you mentioned your husband passed, but you have kids, right?”

“Oh, yes. And grandchildren too. They don’t live in Tranquility, but I’d hoped they would all come to visit me here one day. I miss them terribly.”

“How far away do they live?”

Mya pointed in the direction of the Icefang Mountains. “They’re about a hundred miles away, in Kregak, the heart and capital of the Ironhammer Kingdom.”

“That’s not that far.” Rylana almost added that Jildarin could fly there in a day, but he probably wouldn’t deign to take their neighbor on his back—or pick up her children and bring them to the city for a visit. As numerous people had informed Rylana, it was atypical that Jildarin even flew her around from time to time.

“No. But the dwarves of my homeland—it was actually my husband who was originally from the capital—have decided that I shouldn’t be visited.”

“What? Why?” Bewildered now, Rylana looked at Sylin again.

“Perhaps the dwarves do not approve of anatomically-shaped scones.” Sylin held hers up, pointing out a berry that had been strategically placed in an erect position.

“Entrepreneurship in general isn’t considered appropriate for a dwarf matron,” Mya said.

There had to be more to the story, but she waved the subject away.

Sylin plucked off the berry she’d pointed out and ate it, her eyebrows twitching slightly.

“When does the horn glow?” Mya asked. “I’ve honestly not heard of many of these being magical.”

“I saw it after the battle on our rooftop terrace. It fell into a pot with an elf tree in it.”

“Have you taken it back up there to see if it always glows every time it’s in that pot?” Sylin asked.

“No,” Rylana said. “I could try that.”

“Either that, or you could sell it to the greedy antiques dealer and get rid of it.”

“He was trying to swindle me.”

“Clearly,” Sylin said, “but that horn could be trouble. With your luck, it probably is.”

“Thanks,” Rylana said dryly. “I’ve been considering trading it to my brother to make sure he doesn’t scheme against me again.”

“I doubt scheme-stopping is its magical power,” Sylin said.

A customer walked up to the display case. Mya took the coins from the table, said to let her know if she could do anything to help them learn more about the horn, and left to man the till.