Gorehammer the Merciless pinched the delicate handle of her teacup, lifted, and took a sip.

“Mmm… lavender.” 

My parents had never talked about my aunt, maybe because she’d served the Dark Emperor. Or because she’d cut my uncle’s foot off in the war.  Meeting her in person, the mystery was only deepened.

She wore a paisley sundress with a toile bow and pink polka-dot slippers. 

A loud outfit, even for a barbarian.

It might have drawn more attention if not for the thunder that rumbled over the village, rattling our tea service and shaking the bones of the old gazebo. The diners at the table beside ours abandoned their tea, while the servers clung to the railing, leaning out and craning their neck to look for storm clouds.

It was a clear, summer-blue sky.  

Gorehammer sipped then sat back into her chair. 

“Are you alright dear?”

 I gripped the edge of my chair as another rumble shook the village. Another couple gave up their table and ran from the park.

Gorehammer seemed not to notice. 

“I’m fine… Auntie, it’s just… This is a lot to take in. When did my uncle die?”

“Earlier than any of us realized, I’m afraid.” A sad look overtook her war-scarred face and she clutched the napkin from her lap to dab at her mascara. “It took a while to get his affairs in order. Oaths to fulfill. Grudges to settle.” 

She rubbed a red line that ran up the side of one arm. A fresh-healed wound, atop a patchwork of older, deeper scars. “Once the soothsayer confirmed there were no claimants from his marauder days, we set off to find you straightaway.”

“Claimants?” 

I had figured something strange was up when the innkeeper came knocking at the stables that morning. I’d been shoveling manure there for the last week in exchange for being allowed to sleep int he hayloft. There was a lot of manure to shovel these days. 

There was a story about my aunt and a brawl at Winter feast that led to her being exiled from the city. We had something in common now, because I couldn't go back there either.

“Your teas’s getting cold, Rendi,” she said, then plucked a biscuit from the tray and jammed it into her mouth, raising an eyebrow as one of the servers bolted. The man’s apron flapped in the wind as he ran for cover. The ground shook again. Cups rattled. Gorehammer dabbed at her mouth with the napkin. The hostess—a sweet old woman in her eighties—shuffled from table to table with a kettle, topping up teapots. Each rumble caused her to waver, but she never spilled.

I lifted the cup and scalded my tongue.

“They grow the lavender here,” I said, blowing on the tea “The honey comes from back home.”

“Yes, your home….” a sprinkle of crumbs dusted the table as she chewed. “I was very sorry to hear about your parents.”

“Wait? My parents?” I clutched the tablecloth. “Has something happened?”

Gorehammer looked confused. 

“No, nothing…they’re are well and unharmed.”  

I let the tablecloth go, smoothing it, then took a more cautious sip of the tea. 

Gorehammer reached out to pat the back of my hand before continuing. “I was just sorry for the wound to your pride. When I left home, at your age, I bested my mother and father in mortal combat. But, then I suppose things are different here than in the blackened lands.”

“Oh,” I settled back into the seat. “No mortal combat. I just had to leave. Did you go to them before you came here?” 

Gorehammer nodded.

“So you know what happened?” Nobody outside my hometown knew why I had to leave. And I’d hoped to keep it that way

She drained her cup, clacking it down on the plate. 

“It is a different world than I remember.” A puff of steam curled on her breath and she stared out of the gazebo into the green. I watched her expression, for some hint of what they might have told her. Beneath the makeup, two long scars formed an X, starting on her forehead, crossing over the bridge of her nose, and ending on either side of her chin. 

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

No quarter was given to subtle expressions on that face. But when she made the effort to force a smile, I knew she meant it.

“Do you know why the grass is so green in the commons?“ Gorehammer said, leaning on the rail that overlooked the village dueling-green. Another rumble shook the gazebo and the last of the other guests abandoned their tea.

“Well…” I swirled my tea, not wanting any, more, but afraid to set it down for fear it might shake off the table. The smell of the honey reminded me of home and the lavender only dredged up old memories of places that I wouldn't be going back to. I looked up at the old retired warrior in her sundress. “You gonna say it's because of all the blood on the ground?”

“No,” said Gorehammer, “it's because of peace. Because of peace, this quaint little village can stop drilling soldiers on the lawn and can put it back to the use it was meant for.”

“I never thought of it like that.” The war was another thing my parents didn't like to talk about. I frowned at my tea, but sipped it anyhow. I could tell from the taste of it that the honey had been harvested as the burdock was flowering.

“You’re young,” she smiled. “But you have seen things…” she leaned over the table, eyes locking with mine. “I can see it in you, a hard year at least. Two?”

“It's been a while.”

"Your uncle has been afraid that your inheritance would be a burden on you, but now that I’ve seen, it seems that you’ll make some good use of it after all." 

"Use of what exactly?"

Another rumble. I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Is that what I think it is? Barnabus? The Blood-spatter Tavern?” 

In the old days, at the height of the great war, the Palanquin King—not to be confused with the Dark Emperor—had employed great war elephants to smash the enemy line and to carry his moving citadel forward in his endless war of conquest. Along the front lines they were traveling fortresses, watchtowers, and in one particular case, a lumbering tavern where war-weary soldiers could drown their troubles in spiced mead and warm ale. 

And my uncle had won it, somehow. Much as they didn’t speak of him or my aunt, a war elephant with a tavern strapped to its back was hard to ignore.

Another big smile—forced, but genuine.

“It’s a Teahouse and Inn now. We’ve re-branded.” Gorehammer pushed her cup aside and folded her napkin, placing it daintily upon the table. 

“You’re joking…”

“I don’t joke about sobriety dear. I was a real terror when I was in the cups. It was your uncle’s idea, I fought him all the way, but he bested me.” She said, rubbing another of the many scars., “and I’m grateful for it. But, enough reminiscing, shall we go and get your things?”

“My things? How far are you taking me?”

“As far as you need me to, my dear. You have to claim your inheritance.”

“It isn’t here?” I stood anyway, pushing my chair in and looking around. 

Gorehammer laughed. “It is wherever you want it to be. Your uncle left you the inn.”

“Oh…” I dropped a coin on the table for the hostess, who was the only one that hadn’t fled yet. “The inn…on the elephant…” Another rumble from the west  The view was blocked by a mulberry tree, but just behind it a wide, lumbering shadow fell over the town.

So it was real after all. I wondered if my days of sleeping in haylofts might just be over. Something told me my days of shoveling manure had just begun.