Page 53 of The Last Dragon
Nida brings the bracelet forward more. “Yes,” she says with a slow nod. “I wanted to help sell more trinkets, in hopes they would attract more customers from places like the Middle.”
“I’d definitely buy one,” Eryca comments, leaning in to get a closer look.
Sam nods in approval. “Me too.”
“I wove it when I was nine!”
“Nine?” Ilian exclaims, pushing Eryca away to get a better look.
“You had talent!” Raumen laughs. They continue to comment on her bracelet, and I notice how Nida’s eyes stray to my wrists. The one she weaved for me isn’t there. Disappointment flickers across her face, and she returns to the others.
The barkeep returns from the countertop and places the liquornext to me. I dip my head as a thanks, and he proceeds to tend to other customers. We sit in silence as the room fills with more people. The sound of chattering and clinking tankards spreads as people get their orders. Now and then, a door or chair creaks, heavy footsteps groan against the wooden floor, or chairs scrape and leave marks behind. In a matter of moments, the shallow room fills, nearly all tables occupied. Different aromas take over as people pass with sweet buns or salty booze in hand. The lute plays in the distance, the bard singing along.
When a mother sleeps
Deep in the gloom
She cradles her babe
Whose eyes shun the moon
When a mother wakes
Her tears turn to rain
She calls for her child
But silence remains
The fire cracks
The stories fade
The dragon comes
And burns all you’ve made
I rake the room with my eyes. In the farthest, darkest corner, a cloaked figure waits at a table. I can’t see his face, but it almost feels like he’s watching me. The longer I stare, the more a shiver crawls down my spine. Is it an Acolyte? Yet his cloak is different. It’s dark gray and green, ripped in different places. Acolytes usually wear black, with intricate detail in their cloaks and a metal necklace with a rigid stone as a pendant. But he had none of those. And Acolytes, when amongst people, would preach about the Mother and the Black Mountain.
Alex plays around with throwing knives by the barkeep. He’s an exceptional sharpshooter, I’ll give him that. Every knife he throws is a bullseye.
“Nice to have you here, bud,” the voice sounds, and I turn forward, Raumen offering one of his soft smiles. I look down at my tankard, haven’t yet taken a sip.
“As if I had a choice,” I say, a laugh stuck in my throat.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Not with us, no.”
I cringe. “Couldn’t you have picked a different place? It’s too crowded. A lot of people.”
“That’s the point of a tavern. A good way for us to come together as a team!” Ilian adds, biting his piece of bread before pushing it to me. “Want one?”
I reach for it, feeling the crispness in my hand. “Something less loud would’ve been nice,” I grunt as Ilian proceeds to push the plate around to the rest of the unit. When Raumen notices that one piece remains, he quickly looks around before catching a glimpse of Alex, already threatening someone with a knife. He waves to him, calling him closer. Alex hesitates but soon approaches us.
“What do you want?” Alex says, towering over us. Raumen reaches for the plate and gives it to Alex.
“The hell’s this?” Alex sneers.
Raumen is taken aback. “It’s bread.”
