A rune lantern flickered at the small table jammed into the corner. It wasn’t as bright as a fire lantern but it didn’t emit any heat with the light. The small pub was able to be relatively cool even at noon. At night, the pub had opened what few windows and doors it had to capture the sslight breeze, cool in the absence of the sun. Along with the cool draught of ale, Ral found the spot actually quite enjoyable. He could see why Ivron would want to come here every night, although he expected the pleasant location wasn’t exactly the reason.

The surly man introduced himself as Donn and had ordered a drink for Ral the moment he sat down.

“You’ll sit and tell me everything that man’s done to you,” Donn said severely. “I want to know.”

Ral quickly tried to gather himself. He didn’t know what he had expected but certainly not this. “Maybe I should start with trying to sell me a horse for an arm and a leg,” Ral said cautiously. “Is there something else I should avoid?”

“The whole man,” Donn snorts. “You should avoid the whole Parts-damned man, that’s what I say.”

“Donn here says that but still drinks with him night after night,” the bartender spoke up, a middle aged man with a gut hanging over his cloth belt. He had a relatively clean rag in his hand and was busy wiping down a table behind them. “Whole lotta bullshit if you ask me.”

“Bah, shut up Gars,” Donn shook his head. “Don’t know half of it even if he listens to our conversations. Don’t know nothin’. Besides, I ain’t dirtying my hands just to sit in an Alkkian jail for the rest of my life. No Part-fucking horse master is worth that.”

Ral drank more of his ale, the bitter-sweet drink fueling more words. “Nobody asking you to drink with someone you don’t like,” Ral said. “Ever heard of that Yscian saying? ‘An enemy is just a friend’s dark shadow’. Maybe you get along with Ivron more than you’re letting on.”

“A Yscian saying huh?” Donn said. “You’re getting more interesting by the sentence. How is it that a young man like you know a Yscian saying?”

“I learned it from a well traveled merchant,” Ral said, mouth quirking. “And I think it was Yscian. It might have been Kuvanian, I always get the two mixed up.”

The bartender gave a bark of laughter as Donn just shook his head. “Them’s scandalous words, boy. You should be lucky no Kuvans are here. They’ll just come over and chop you up like meat mince. Their king is chummy enough with the emperor that they can do what they want in the name of the Parts.”

“Thank you for warning me. I’ll keep that in mind.” Ral didn’t mention that he was already sure there were no Kuvans in the pub - among the things he’s picked up from Kentor was how to approximate where people were from. They way they dress, the way the spoke and sometimes even the way they sat. If anything, Kuvanians wouldn’t be in a pub at that time of night in the first place. “So, am I talking to a friend or a foe of Ivron the stable master?”

Donn made these grumbling sounds under his breath for a few moments before straightening again. “Fine, let me tell you a story. There once was a beautiful girl named Affie who had long flowing hair and big beautiful eyes. When life became tougher and more complicated, Affie was always there for me, comforting me. My constant. The stone foundation of my life. One day Affie got sick. It wasn’t a normal sickness, it was one that would eventually kill her. I didn’t know what to do but Ivron appeared to me one day and told me to sell her to him.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Ral blinked. “You sold Affie?”

“Yes, for a handful of coins and a replacement which is a very good deal. A ludicrous deal. For days I was impressed that I landed such a good deal that I told everyone about it. But then I started to regret it. How can I have sold Affie so easily? She was my girl, my beautiful Affie…” Donn gave a slight sob and bowed his head over his drink. “I mean, the replacement was fine! She was hard working and eager to please but… I’ve grown to regret it. I just want my Affie back, my dear Affie with her long flowing hair…”

“Mane,” the bartender said dryly. “They call it a mane.”

“Wait, Affie’s a horse?”

“Of course Affie’s a horse,” Donn suddenly snapped. “What the fuck did you think I was talking about, boy?

“I - you know what, never mind.”

“I asked Ivron for Affie back,” Donn continued. “But the man refuses to tell me. I even offered twice the amount of coin and the replacement horse back but he still refused! I had even just asked to see her again, wherever she is, but he won’t tell me who her new owners are or where she is.”

“And even after you buy him a hundred drinks, he still won’t tell you,” the bartender added.

Donn sighed heavily. “I wanted to shelter Affie in her remaining years, no matter the cost. I’ve told Ivron again and again of my regrets but he’s said nothing. Today he even gave me this stupid rein and told me to forget about Affie. As if I could ever forget her over such a cheap gift!”

“I’m very sorry about Affie,” Ral said. “I’ve visited Ivron’s stables and they are roomy and full of people taking care of the horses, I’m sure she is well taken care of.”

“She’s not in there,” Donn said. “I checked, of course. She was never there. It seems like she was almost immediately sold again after Ivron got her. No surprise, my Affie is the most beautiful brown horse with the softest hair, of course she was quickly sold!”

“Yeah, it’s still called a mane,” the bartender muttered.

Donn pointedly ignored him and began drunkenly rambling on about just how beautiful his horse was until someone else in the bar said, “who’s the horse fucker now?” a little too loudly. Donn almost immediately rushed up to start a fist fight - Ral didn’t bother trying to stop it, only watched it amusedly while finishing up his ale.

Why did he even try to hide around the shadows like he did earlier? This was much more fun. Not too long ago, social gatherings with the Somas were always rife with anxiety for him: he constantly wondered if he was doing something wrong, offensive, or out of line. Further in the past, drinking or eating at a pub or tavern with Rask was spent wondering if there were people who recognized them. Even now, eating and drinking with Kentor was filled with planning and discussions on business. Not once did Ral just enjoy himself like he was now.

Somehow it’s given more information than he’s gotten over days of pointlessly stalking Ivron.

The fight fizzled out with a lot of coaxing from the bartender. Donn sat back down with a huff, just in time for Ral to say his goodbyes.

“If you ever get around to killing that bastard, I’m with you strictly in spirit,” Donn slurred. For some reason the fight seemed to have made him more drunk.

“I’m not going to kill him,” Ral said. “That’s not my line of work.”

“Oh. What is your line of work?”

Ral stared at the drunken man. Was Donn even going to remember any response he gives him by tomorrow? He hadn’t given much thought over his ‘line of work’, Ral had simply followed Kentor’s lead in almost everything since getting to Alkkes. He was simply the help that followed a merchant around - that didn’t make him a merchant. But actually… traveling from place to place, picking up orders, doing tasks: even occasionally finding things or information. It sounded familiar. How Rask would chuckle at the irony of it all.

“I guess you can call me a Freerunner,” Ral said. “If I ever find your Affie, I’ll let you know… as thanks for this drink.”