The sun was nearly below the mountains when the thunderheads that had rolled in from the East, over the ocean, finally caught up with it. Arial, despite her heavy wool cloak and drawn hood, shivered in her saddle. Diona received the most precipitation of all the Ten Kingdoms, and though it in turn provided some of the most fertile land in the region, the sorceress had never enjoyed the frequent showers.
“You're brooding”, Matthias poked. Arial replied with a nongynic grunt.
“Still angry about the elusive quarry?” Tebryn teased. The priest had found it supremely amusing when the sorceress had failed her attempt to capture a nearby deer with a well-aimed, telekinetically-controlled cage Matthias had magically fabricated from nearby branches. When she missed, Arial had angrily launched a series of beams of blazing fire after the deer as it pranced away.
“Mind your tongue, priest”, the sorceress warned testily, “or I'll transmute it into lead”. A disapproving scowl from Matthias caught the corner of Arial's emerald eyes. She turned to regard the scribe, who wore a look of concern at the blue tinge to the sorceress' lips.
“I'm cold”, she grumbled, shaking her shoulders, sending rivulets of excess water from her soaked cloak.
“I don't have anything helpful prepared”, Matthias said apologetically.
“You have your spellbook”, Arial reminded him assertively.
“We're almost there”, the scribe responded as they crested a tall hill. Indeed, he was right. Scarcely a mile away, even through the downpour, the town could be seen.
“Another two hours”, Tebryn estimated as he joined them a moment later. The priest's short red hair was plastered to his scalp in the rain, making him seem squirrely. His heavy wool cloak was drenched, and the red robes he wore underneath were beginning to absorb the excess moisture that soaked through. The garments clung to the priest's deceptively muscular body, betraying the combat training that had prepared him for his previous relic-hunting escapades. Arial had to give the man some respect; even Matthias – whose body she knew intimately – wasn't as fit as the priest.
“We'd best be under way if we mean to arrive before nightfall”, the scribe said, kicking his mount into motion.
**
Two guards were posted at the main gate, a pitiful sight compared to the prodigious appertures of Diona city and Waterford. Even the guild headquarters had a more impressive gate.
“Your name and business”, called one of the guards, holding his spear tightly at his side. Arial nearly laughed. The man had probably seen fifty summers, and wouldn't have been able to skewer a rabbit if it stood still at the end of his spear. The sorceress may have simply brushed by without a word if Tebryn hadn't spoken first.
“We are travellers seeking shelter from the storm”, the priest said from under his sodden hood, “our business is our own affair”. Arial scowled to herself. Even though dismissive, the priest afforded the guards the benefit of the doubt. The older guard narrowed his wrinkled eyes as if to see more clearly through the rain. After scrutinizing the mounted adventurers for a moment, he gave a half hearted “bah” and waved them through the open gate. A glint of metal caught Arial's eye from the battlement above the gate, and after focusing on the spot for a moment saw another guard through the haze. He was removing the bolt from his crossbow, having deducd that the travellers weren't a threat.
Lucky for him, the sorceress smiled,
wet, metal armour channels electricity very well.
Evertide was like most towns along the coast. Gambrel-roofed houses were arranged along narrow cobblestone streets, standing almost roof-to-roof in neat rows. Though most of the houses were composed of timber, one of Diona's major exports, several flagstone buildings appeared on street corners, indicating official enterprises. The entire city was enclosed within a wall that was more to keep out owlbears and displacer beasts than to thwart invasion. With its three major gates, West and South for major trade routes and East to the docks, Evertide wouldn't have been able to withstand a siege if the fate of the Ten Kingdoms rested upon it. Drunken sailors abounded, enjoying shore leave in one of the cheaper ports along the Shining Coast.
Pebblebrook Cove, the natural harbour that Evertide was built along, was more of a very deep inlet. Far below the water's surface was a network of natural caves that extended far beneath the city itself. When the tide came in, these caves, which were always partially submerged, filled with more water. When the tide went out, the water level in the caves dropped, replenishing the amount in the bay. Consequently, the bay's water level remained nearly constant, earning the town it's name.
Despite the dreary weather and being soaked to the core, Matthias could not help but smile as the trio dismounted. Everything was exactly as he remembered it. Every strand of ivy was in exactly the same place, every facade exactly the same – except perhaps for a little weather damage over the past few years. A warm feeling filled his breast, in spite of the chill.
He was home.
“This way”, the scribe guided his horse by the reigns towards a rather nondescript building. A plain sign reading 'Brin's Bed and Breakfast' hung above the wooden door, and a sturdy stable built off the side of the building already contained a few fine steeds. Coaxing their mounts into the stalls, they slipped a copper to the stableboy who emerged from a side-door, before returning to the front entrance.
The inside of the building was a stark contrast to its outer appearance. Rich rugs lay on the floor, with a fine set of furniture facing a roaring fireplace in one corner. A polished mahogany bar stood in the other corner, a door leading to the kitchen beside it. The rest of the entrance – a sizeable portion of the main floor – was devoted to tables and seating. A few patrons sat among the tables, tankards of ale and wine, as well as delicious-smelling meals, before them. As the adventurors began to strip away their sodden outer clothing, the door to the kitchen opened and a staturely woman of about thirty summers, bearing three plates emerged. Her long blond hair was drawn back behind her head in a loose braid, and her blue eyes immediately set on her target. Crossing to the table with a few strides, she placed the plates before their respective patrons.
“Enjoy”, she said in a heavy accent. Then, turning toward the front door, pursed her full lips for a proper greeting to the new guests. Then her blue eyes saw Matthias.
“Hello, Brin”, the scribe greeted with a smirk.
“Well I'll be damned”, she replied with a smirk and started towards the trio, “when did ye get thy book-bound arse inter town?” She gave the other adventurors a cursory glance. “And who be thy friends?”
The proprietess took their wet cloaks in her arm and indicated a table.
“We've just arrived”, Matthias informed, “and we're looking for a place to stay the night”. The trio took seats in a booth secluded from the rest of the establishment.
“Well”, Brin replied, “ye've come ter the right place. How long're ye gonner stay? Ye won't take off without givin' this lass a proper goodbye this time, right?”
“Certainly not”, Matthias conceded, “we shall be in town for the next few days, I imagine”.
“Depends if the town lasts that long”, Arial muttered under her breath, her emerald eyes glaring at the blond proprietess.
“Jealous?” Tebryn quietly chimed. His face contorted for a brief moment as a fierce kick was delivered under the table.
“I've got three rooms for ye”, Brin informed.
“Two will suffice”, Tebryn informed politely. The blond's blue eyes darted briefly between the priest and the sorceress. This time the kick elicited a grunt.
Matthias picked several gold coins from his coinpurse and poured them into Brin's hand.
“That should cover us for a week”, he said, “now how about some of your finest ale?”
**
“She's chatty”, Arial remarked as the trio retired to their rooms. Hours had passed since their arrival, and the trio was beleaguered from the trek thus far.
“She's got quite a past”, Matthias replied. The sorceress didn't miss the slight slur in his speech.
“I'm sure”, she replied as she reached the top of the stairs. Matthias' hand came forward and gently grasped her wrist.
“You aren't jealous, are you?” he asked, unable to tame the corners of his mouth.
“Of that wench?” the sorceress asked incredulously. Matthias chuckled, his breath smelled like ale, but Arial didn't retreat when the scribe moved closer. Leaning back against the wall and tracing her hands along Matthias' chest as the scribe leaned in, Arial closed her eyes as their lips met in the dim corridor. They remained in that position for several moments before the sorceress gently pulled back and pressed her index finger against the man's lips.
“Let's continue this discussion in our room”.