Alara snapped towards the tavern door, flashing a frown at Wellynd before entering the front room. Her once weary eyes were now alert and focused.

“What’s all this?” Wellynd heard her ask, her voice muffled by the solid oak door that had swung closed.

After a beat, he casually followed his friend through the door and leaned against the counter. A broken chair lay in the centre of the floor and a man with long ragged grey hair hung limp from the arms of the two Vertan soldiers, his knees just barely held aloft from the shattered wood.

“Old pisser here can’t hold his drink or his tongue. He’s been muttering rumours about our great General Gravician. Not very nice ones either. And we really can’t have that, can we wrinkles?” snarled the short, thick-bearded soldier, jostling the man whose head had now slumped even further forward, a patter of blood dripping to the floor.

Alara’s eyes flicked to the blood, then back to the soldiers. She bowed and shook her head slowly.

“Obviously Jensen’s had one too many, unfortunately a frequent occurrence here. The whisky always gets him a little fiery, ”she placated, turning back to the bar and pouring two large mugs of ale.

“We can’t have people going around slandering a hero of Verta, miss. We’ll have to take him back to the Port; a few weeks at the Fort will get him straight.” said the other soldier, a large woman, nearly two heads higher than her companion.

Wellynd shifted over to one of the barstools, half sitting on it sitting with his hands gripped firmly on the rim. No one seemed to be paying him any attention and he wanted to keep it that way; his bag of skald was propped up just inside the back storage room door.

The inn had stilled to an eerie quiet now, with only the occasional sound of tankards coming to rest against wood. After pouring the foam off the flagons of ale, Alara moved swiftly around the edge of the bar and walked with a relaxed gait towards the soldiers. “Why don’t you stay for another round or two, on the house, and let Jensen dry out in our back room. You’ve got a few hours until the next crossing — no need to ruin the rest of your evening having to lug this one around,” she said coolly, proffering the tankards that were beginning to sweat from the cold liquid within.

The short man remained still, but Wellynd marked his eyes darting up towards his companion. Obviously, she was calling the shots. The woman had locked eyes with Alara, clearly mulling over the offer.

After a few strained seconds, she dropped Jensen to the floor, the weight of his collapse setting her shorter companion off-balance. He quickly followed suit and let go of the unconscious man’s arm. Jensen’s body slumped and Alara deftly placed her foot beneath his head, preventing it from smacking against the floor. She smiled, extending the two tankards another inch towards the soldiers.

“Fair enough” the woman grunted “just make sure you bring him back out here before we leave, or you’ll be just as guilty for aiding this miscreant,” she finished, nudging Jensen with her elbow, who grabbed the two drinks and followed his companion back to their table in the corner as the din of the room cautiously returned.

Impressive, Wellynd thought. Alara was rough around the edges, “spiky” in Bertrand’s words, but she could turn on the charm in an instant.

He walked over to where she was inspecting Jensen’s wounded head. Plastering on a face of severity, he angled away from the soldiers in the corner who were engaged in what appeared to be a disagreement.

“You’re good” he whispered mischievously, positioning himself to lift the older man.

“Not now, just help me get him to the back.”

They carried Jensen into the back of the shop, where they laid him down on the sacks of flour. Wellynd kept an eye on him while Alara went into the kitchen and fetched a cloth and some water. Wellynd held back Jensen’s hair while Alara wiped the blood off the man’s face.

“Handsome fellow,” joked Wellynd.

“Tell me about it.”

“Is he in here every night?”

“Most of the….”

Jensen let out a grunt and shot up, eyes darting back and forth between them.

“where’d ya get off takin me on” he slurred nonsensically, before refocusing his eyes on Alara, a toothy smile spreading across his face.

“Ya know yer gettin’ pretty old now, you thought about findin’ someone to settle down with” he continued slovenly, placing his hand on Alara’s shoulder.

“Alright take it easy, Jensen” interjected Wellynd with a friendly pat on the man’s back.

“Who’s this nump?” Jensen spat, turning on Wellynd and clumsily swinging an arm at him, the strike flying well above Wellynd’s head, causing Jensen to fall backwards onto the pile again.

Alara sighed.

“Why don’t you go to the usual spot and I’ll join you with some food after I take care of things here.” she said.

“Are you sure?” replied Wellynd, looking askance at Jensen, who was now trying to push himself up with little success.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. Can I store my bag back here?” Wellynd asked as he was getting up, brushing stray flour off his trousers.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want old Jensen here getting a hold of that would you” she remarked devilishly. “Put it in the usual spot. You’re pretty much the only one that uses it now.”

Wellynd flashed a mischievous smile at Alara before snatching his bag and striding over to the small staircase at the back of the room, taking an oil lantern off the windowsill before heading down into the cellar.

As he descended, the air grew heavy with the distinct aroma of damp earth, wine, and cured meat. Flickering light spilled into the room as the lantern swung lazily from Wellynd’s hand, its iron cage casting long shadows across the many crates of supplies. Stepping carefully between boxes of wine on the floor, he made his way to the side of the staircase, where he proceeded to tap each of the wide wooden boards until he found a loose one. Steadying himself, he pushed it in, and with a small click, several of the boards tilted inwards to reveal a crawl space that could easily fit three or four adult men. Wellynd chuckled to himself as he carefully lifted his pack into the space. The common name for this type of space was a “smugglers hold”; Laine just called it “a surefire sign of a bad day.”

Traditionally, these types of spaces were used to hide contraband or sometimes even smugglers who were evading the authorities. In recent years, however, all the mainland smugglers that Alara’s father had dealt with had been either captured or deterred by the Excisor’s office, so Wellynd rarely found himself fighting for space. He pulled the latch closed and took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

When he ascended the stairs, he found Jensen sitting up, eyes closed, drinking deeply from a cup of water held by Alara. Wellynd crept by, exaggerating his movements in an effort to make her laugh. Somehow, she managed to chuck a potato at him, which narrowly missed his head as he scurried out the back door and into the night.

Half an hour later, Wellynd sat staring out over the sea, his legs dangling from the small balcony that wrapped around the upper floor of the lighthouse. The sound of crashing waves against stone lulled him into a trance, his eyes fixed on the glow of Port Revenshore, its many lanterns made brilliant in the fading twilight. He let out a deep sigh and embraced the night’s cool sea breeze. Last time he sat in this spot, he’d contemplated Revenshore as his future home.

Now it was just a place to deliver skald.

Craning his neck towards the heavens, he scanned the starless sky for Arthus. Even on overcast nights like this one, its eerie pale glow could be spotted when the cloud cover thinned.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

A creak inside the lighthouse pulled him from his search. He hopped up and pushed through the door. The small room had once been used as a dwelling for the lighthouse keeper working long shifts. Now, the whole mechanism ran on some sort of oil system, courtesy of Illuvian Minerals, but there were still remnants of the room’s former purpose, including a small cot and wood stove.

The trapdoor in the middle of the room floundered up and down a few times before Wellynd heard a muffled yell.

Walking over, he lifted it up to find Alara holding onto the ladder with one hand, a pot under her other arm, and the strap of a grocer’s bag held between her teeth. She gave him an angry stare.

“Arf..you…g..na..help?”

“What’s that?” said Wellynd, smirking and standing idly for a moment before leaning down and grabbing the pot out from under her arm. Alara clambered up and spit out the strap before punching Wellynd in the calf.

“How’d it go with Jensen?” he asked, setting down the pot and rubbing where she had hit him.

“He’s fine. I put him upstairs in one of the beds. That stubby little soldier insisted on standing outside of the room though. Guy seems a little too intense. I’m starving. Let’s eat.” she replied, pulling two small wooden bowls out of the pocket of her cloak.

Wellynd took the lid off the pot and the small room immediately filled with the mouth-watering scent of beef stew. Alara began to ladle it into the bowls as Wellynd reached around and pulled a warm loaf of bread out of the grocer’s bag and split it in two.

For the next ten minutes, the two sat on the floor and ate voraciously. The only sounds to be heard were the slurping of soup, chewing of meat, tearing of bread, and the muffled hushes of ocean crashing against the rocks outside. Wellynd always loved this part of his visit.

After they had their fill, he lit the small cooking stove, and boiled some water to make tea.

Alara packed up the bowls and utensils before the two headed out to the balcony. Their comfortable silence continued for a while, the two sitting and staring skyward, occasionally sipping their hot tea to combat the growing cold as they contemplated Arthus, which had appeared once again, the glacial rotation of its outer ring just faintly visible against the deep sky.

“Why’d you help him?” said Wellynd.

“What? Who? Jensen?” replied Alara, briefly startled by the break in silence.

“Yeah. I mean, Vertans are annoying, but Jensen is too. He kind of deserves to get locked up for a bit, no? Yeah, they shouldn’t have beat him up, I agree with that, but it seems like he gets out of control often.”

Alara raised one eyebrow at Wellynd before turning her gaze back to the sky.

“I guess so. Part of me just wanted to prevent any more damage to the furniture” she chuckled, before continuing “And, he is still getting locked up. But while Jensen is a huge pain, I don’t think anyone deserves to get pummelled and thrown in a dungeon for being irritating, do they? Maybe Bertrand...”

“Hah. Maybe not. I dunno.”

“Technically, you’re breaking the rules by smuggling that skald. Do you deserve to get beat up and imprisoned?” she asked.

Wellynd bit the side of his cheek “Hey. I’m not doing anyone any harm, irritating anyone, causing any damage. I’m just delivering rocks to people.”

“Illegal rocks, Wellynd. They’re illegal in every nation for a reason, y’know.”

“Pfft. Some outdated law. Yeah, I know, the stones can explode, but most people are just buying them from us to sell to someone else. I don’t really think about it beyond that.”

“What do you think those people are using them for? Light shows?”

Wellynd chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

“And aren’t you selling them to the resistance?”

He looked around “Okay, okay. Keep it down. I see your point. But, they’re probably using them to fight the Vertans. Isn’t that a good thing? I’ve never really cared but, I imagine it’s why Laine is fine dealing with them.”

Alara turned and stared at him for a moment, her lips pursed, a line creased in her forehead. Wellynd swallowed. He’d almost forgotten that Alara’s brother, Corvin, had joined up with the Vertan military after failing the exam. He could see why she might not like the idea of selling explosive rocks to people he might eventually be fighting.

“Sorry. I forgot about Corvin. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Alara’s face relaxed “I know. I don’t like the Vertans being here either. Ever since Corvin joined up, I’ve been confused as to where I stand on the whole thing. I sometimes wonder if that’s why the Vertans started recruiting from the island in the first place.”

“I’ve wondered about that too...It’s like we’re not getting the full picture.”

Alara turned her head “Or perhaps, some powerful Rellian Koshai has us under his spell, and this is aaaaallll a dream world” she stated, adding a quiver in her voice and waving her hands in front of him.

Wellynd kept a straight face “Really? I thought that too! I’ve been seeing black-robed figures flying up the mountainside and hearing the word Deakon echoing in my head for the past few months.”

“Wait. Really?” Alara started.

Wellynd cracked a grin and Alara hit him on the shoulder, edging a little bit closer.

“It’s getting cold.” she said, folding her arms.

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his head. “So, are you still thinking about the exam?”

Alara shifted back.

“Sometimes. When I keep busy I don’t think about it. And I’m coming to terms with the fact that our dream of all of us going together was pretty much impossible...” she paused “No. I’m lying. I’m a little heartbroken. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. Am I just Alara the innkeeper now? Forever?”

Wellynd nodded. “I feel the same way. I’m happy for Neer and Bert, and I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I feel a little abandoned.”

Alara searched the side of his face “Well, at least we can feel abandoned together. And we still have our families.”

Wellynd nodded, but didn’t say anything. That wasn’t entirely true. He had Laine, and Alara, and Klof, but he had neither of his parents. His father had died right after he was born and his mother had left the island soon after. It wasn’t a thing he tried to dwell on often.

“So.” Alara started, in a more upbeat tone, clearly recognizing Wellynd’s train of thought, “Speaking of Corvin, I got a letter from him a few days ago.”

Wellynd perked up. “Oh yeah? Where is he stationed now?”

“He’s apparently somewhere near Vel Demyn, but obviously not allowed to say. They have him working with a squad of a few Koshai and about thirty other Kosun. He says they’re kind of like an auxiliary force that deals with local problems.”

“Cool. Like what?”

Alara popped up onto her feet. “Oh, Wellynd, it’s like something straight out of one of those silly books you read. There was this crazed beast terrorising some village about two days south of the capital, and by the time they had arrived, the creature had ravaged, like, half the town. Corvin says it looked kinda like a Bellok, only it was ten times the size with razor-sharp spikes on its back and massive fangs. He said each tooth was longer than me.”

“So not very big at all?” Wellynd poked.

Alara shook her head “Anyway, it apparently killed seven of the soldiers in his squad before his captain, one of the Koshai, stepped in and cut off all six of its legs from more than 30 paces away. Then his lieutenant somehow conjured up this thick substance to prevent the beast from moving, so the rest of the squad could safely go up and attack it with their weapons. And it still took ten minutes before the thing died!”

“I don’t even understand how a Koshai could do that...” Wellynd said, awe-struck.

“I dunno.” Alara replied. “Corvin says the Koshai are super secretive about their magic.”

They both stared silently. No one wanted to acknowledge the fact that neither of them would ever find out now.

“I do miss him though.” Alara finally said. “He says he’s going to probably get moved to the navy soon, what with him having grown up sailing with Dad and all. He thinks he’s a shoe-in. And I’m pretty sure that he’d be able to come see us sometimes that way.”

“That’d be great.” Wellynd replied. A crack of thunder shook the air, followed by a quickening tempo of rain pattering against the windows of the lighthouse.

Alara took a lap around the balcony.

“So, it looks like Dad’s been back for a while, but there is no way he will do a night ferry in this. You can crash in one of the rooms and I’ll see if he can take you early before anyone else gets up.” she said sympathetically, her hair already soaked and beginning to stick to her face.

Wellynd groaned as he got up. Great. Laine would not be happy about another day’s delay, but, then again, Wellynd didn’t feel in much of a hurry to get back to Kellek’s Watch.

The two grabbed the pot and bag and headed down the ladder. By the time they reached the door, the sound of the rain had quickened to a rapid thud, and the torrential winds and sleet thrashed against the outside of the tower. They pulled up their cloaks and looked at each other, Wellynd standing with his hand on the door handle.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

They burst out through the door and bolted down the road, their cloaks swirling in the gale as they sprinted towards the warm glow of the inn.