By the time the sky had been painted with the reds and golds of sunset on the next day, they arrived back in Krandaelyn. Many of the shops in the mercantile had closed their booths for the day and the nightlife of the Inn and the Tavern had begun. The streetlamps had been lit and groups of people weaved their way from sidewalk to sidewalk.

After hitching the horse and cart to the rail by the gate, they stretched their legs and made haste toward the church. The dim glow of firelight emitted a warmth from within, Sister Rosalynd’s circular window cast silhouetted shadows against the paned glass.

Inside, the practitioners of the faith had seemed to have all gone home for the day, save for a few nuns who were sweeping and dusting. One of the nuns was the young woman Circe had spoken to on the hill. They both took notice of each other, the girl unnerved by the pale woman’s eerie presence. Circe detached from the group, opting to stand completely still and watch the young nun unblinkingly until she let out a soft Eep! and scampered out of the fellowship hall.

Acadian knocked on the door to Rosalynd’s office, prompting it to swing open on its own. They all filtered inside, greeting a tired-looking Rosalynd behind her desk.

“Friends,” she said with a smile. “I’m glad to see you all have returned. I do hope you found success.” She was seated in her chair, looking up at them all. Even still, her presence made them feel as though she were the one looking down on them.

Acadian reached inside his bag and pulled out the book. He set it down gently on the table. The Priestess flicked her wrists to free them from her robe and gently pulled the spellbook closer. She caressed its edge with her pointer finger and grinned.

Frank cleared his throat, “So, do we get paid now?” Circe nudged him with her elbow and Arsa shot him a silencing look.

Rosalynd looked up without raising her head and chuckled, “Not yet. I will need to do some examinations to ensure this find is not… counterfeit. Come to me tomorrow. If this is indeed the item I requested, then you shall receive your reward.”

Acadian crossed his arms, “Do y’all want a report for yer records? I dunno how churches log their treasure.”

“Tomorrow. We will discuss everything tomorrow.”

They bid their goodnights to the Priestess and made their way into town. Acadian, tired from the ride dismissed himself and went on to one of the rooms at the Inn, going on to pay for the others’ lodging as well. The rest of the group followed Gostor directly to the tavern where the dwarf shoved a drunk patron off of a barstool and tapped ferociously on the counter.

Grista smiled wide when she saw him and went ahead to pour him three tankards of ale. The bar was quite full, with the bar lined with customers and nearly every table occupied by groups, dates, and townsfolk looking for a simple drink. Voices overlapped shouts and songs, providing a constant hum of revelry.

The remaining four slid into an available booth and ordered their drinks. Arsa stared down into his mug of beer and watched the drink ripple with every stomp and shout of the bar. He kept replaying his argument with Acadian over in his head, regret increasing by the hour.

“Apologize,” Circe said at one point. Arsa looked up at her. “It’s eating at you, I can tell. And the tension is annoying me. Go talk to him before another day passes.”

Sudden fear wrapped around his chest, but he knew she was right. He gulped down his drink and nodded before excusing himself and leaving them.

Flynn had only had one mug of beer but was slowly sliding down the back of the cushioned booth and giggling to himself. He tapped Circe’s wine glass, “You’re really good at getting people to do what you want.”

She pulled her goblet away from him, “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Oy, fellas!” a gravelly shout came across the bar. “Your Royal Highness ‘as graced us with his presence!”

Frank closed his eyes and shifted out of his seat. He cast an annoyed look at the group of Red Baron thugs stomping their way over. He leaned against the table and tied his hair back, summoning a magic band around his black locks with a shimmer of his tattoos.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“We meet again, brute,” he said coldly.

The creature laughed, “Right, right. We never ‘ad proper introductionals, did we? Name’s Mowgnor. This ‘ere is Yarno, Edelay, McCloud, and Lizluth.” Frank noted that Lizluth was the woman who had stared strangely at him the last time he met the lot.

“With all disrespect,” Frank sighed, “I’m not terribly interested in your names. What do you want?”

The man with the tattoos, Yarno, scoffed, “We just wanted to come by and pay our respects to our king, your Majesty.”

Circe stood behind Frank and stared across his shoulders, “He is not your King,” she said. “That does not make him any less royal-blooded. A drop of his blood is worth more than any one of your lives.” Frank couldn’t help but smile at her affirmation.

“Is dat so?” Mowgnor said.

Circe’s eyes flashed a bright green, “Would you care to find out?” The large mass of a man straightened his back and shifted his eyes to his posse, who also seemed taken aback. Circe pushed past Frank, grabbed his arm above his metal bracer, and guided them out of the bar, leaving the Red Barons behind them.

And Flynn.

“I like your patches,” he slurred, pointing lazily at the symbol on their uniforms. The group looked at him inquisitively. Lizluth sat herself across from him.

“Thanks, kid,” she smiled a sinister grin. “Boys, get another round. I’ll be right over.” The men left them. Flynn began to offer them seats at the table, but they were gone before he could remember how to get the words out. Lizluth smacked the table to get his attention back on her.

“I see you’re traveling with Mr. High-and-Mighty, huh?” she led.

“Yeah,” he hiccuped. “Me, him, Acadian, and Arsa have been taking jobs together for half a year or so. I like your patches.” He started to reach out to touch the symbol but she smacked his hand away.

“Where’s he from?”

“I don’t think he’s ever said. Only mentioned it's far away. He doesn’t like to talk about it a lot. He gets quiet whenever it’s brought up.”

She leaned back, “I’m sure he does.” Flynn cocked his head, but Lizluth brushed it off. “Hey, kid, why don’t you ditch those guys and hang with us instead? You seem the type that would do well as a Baron.”

Flynn narrowed his eyebrows and began shaking his head hard, “No, no. They’re my friends.”

“Your friends left you drunk at a bar with a group of strangers. They don’t seem like they care all that much for you.”

He frowned, “They… they care about me. I’m not alone, either. I’ve got a friend over there.” He pointed at Gostor, who had created an impressive pyramid of empty tankards that Grsita admired as she cleaned other glasses.

Lizluth sighed, “Well, if they ever give you a hard time, come find us. We’ll take care of them.” She got up and rejoined her group before Flynn could say anything else.

Gostor unleashed a burp so loud that the countertop rumbled. Grista put her hands on her hips and smiled.

“I gotta say, I have not seen somebody hold their alcohol like this in all my years.”

“Another,” Gostor grunted after finishing another schooner.

“As much as I’d like to, darlin’,” she slid a couple of shots to some patrons down the bar, “You’re out of coin, see?”

Gostor reached into his pocket and pulled out the two gemstones and smacked them onto the bar. Grista’s eyes widened before her lips curled into a grin. She grabbed the gems and then walked through a small swinging door behind the bar. A few moments later, she emerged carrying a large barrel.

“I’ll do you one better,” she said, carrying the barrel around the bar and setting it down on the floor in front of Gostor. It was slightly shorter than he was and just as wide. He opened the lid, disappointed at finding it empty. She laughed before grabbing one of the tankards from the pile and holding it above the barrel. She tilted it, allowing a single drop of the ale at the bottom of the cup to drip into the container.

At once, the barrel filled to the brim with the same ale. Gostor’s eyes grew wide and he began to lap up the drink like a dog out in the sun. Grista pushed his face away and slapped the lid back on.

“Now there’s a keg that never goes dry. Pour any kind of liquid in it and have yourself an endless supply.”

Gostor looked at her, his pupils as large as the color of his eye. He began to lean across the top of the barrel with his arms out to his sides. She pushed a stray hair back behind her ear as she began to blush, glancing around to see who was watching. With the other nearby patrons too drunk to look down at the pair, she began to lean into him as well.

Suddenly, the barrel lifted off the ground and hit her in the chin. Gostor was trotting off into the night with the barrel lifted high over his head. Grista just chuckled and wiped her hands on her apron. She shook her head after the dwarf and resumed her duties behind the bar.