Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen

It had been years since Gregory was last in Stonebrook, but the city hadn’t changed much. It held an air of mystery and power to it from a distance, but once inside, the scum and rot was visible if you looked.

The crowd continued to party as if nothing had happened. Gregory knew his mission, and he approached an inn.

“One room,” he said, putting the coins in front of the innkeeper.

The man swept the coins up with a grin. He was an older man with a crooked nose, the kind that had been broken and never healed quite right. “First room on the left,” he said, motioning to the hallway as he handed him the key.

“Where can I find a bard named Arlic?” Gregory asked.

The man gave him a blank stare, so Gregory put down another coin.

“I heard he was at the Burning Candle inn,” the man said.

Gregory put his meager belongings in his room and locked the door. He found the inn two streets over, nestled between a tavern and a butcher shop. Knowing what Gael was like, he tried the tavern first.

It was crowded and loud. The smell of smoke and alcohol hung in the air, thicker than he was used to. He repeated his question and the barkeeper motioned to the corner of the room without taking his eyes off the glass he was polishing.

“Are you Arlic?” Gregory asked as he took a chair beside the only man in the corner.

“That depends who’s asking.” The man sat up. He was unwashed and his clothes were worn, a worse state than even Gael was known for. “Have I offended you or owe you money?”

“No.”

“Then yes, I am Arlic.”

“I have a question about my mother,” Gregory began.

“Now hold on,” the bard said. “I didn’t agree to talk about anyone’s mother. It’s not my fault when a young lady has a little too much to drink and I never—”

“I only want to know if you met her. Her name was Dorothea Smith, the wife of Baron Josef Smith.”

“Ah.” The bard grew thoughtful. “She was your mother?”

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“Yes.”

“Well, what do you want to know about her?”

“She left when I was three,” Gregory said. “My father says she died but I know that’s not true, and Gael told me you saw her with another man.”

“You seem like a nice boy,” Arlic said. “I will tell you what I know.”

A sense of relief poured over Gregory at the realization he might finally get answers.

“I was in Greenfields that week,” the bard began. “I was out late because I was caught in the middle of, ah, meeting a lady acquaintance of mine. I had to leave rather quickly and found myself alone in the streets after midnight. It was a full moon, and I saw two figures ahead of me. I recognized Dorothea right away, but I had never seen the other man. He was tall and blond, a rather striking fellow.”

“Did you hear any of their conversation?” Gregory asked.

“Patience, boy,” Arlic said. “I heard a little. Something about ruling Erithor one day and how she couldn’t stand your father but it wasn’t safe to bring you with her.”

“Did the man use magic?”

“Well, now, it’s difficult to say. It did look mighty suspicious.”

The tavern door opened, and Gregory turned to see his father. Baron Josef stumbled to the bar and waved for a drink, already drunk.

“Thank you,” Gregory said to Arlic. He rose from his chair and quickly closed the distance between him and his father.

His father blinked twice. “Gregory? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I heard about Greenfields.”

“Almost everyone survived,” Gregory said. “No thanks you to. Why did you abandon us?”

His father’s cheeks, already red from drinking, turned a deeper shade as anger flashed across his face. “That’s none of your business.”

“I think it is,” Gregory said. “With you gone, the people look to me for a leader. I need to know what is happening.”

“Go home.”

“You took all of our gold. Why?”

“To finish something that started a long time ago.” He downed the rest of his drink and pointed to the door with a shaking finger. “Go, before you ruin everything.”

A man took a seat beside them. He wore his hood pulled over his face, so that only his chin and the tip of a long, crooked nose were visible.

“Josef, I told you to come alone.”

Gregory did not move. “I am his son,” he said. “I came of my own volition.”

The man fell silent and ordered a drink, which he proceeded to sip cheerlessly. “I think I would prefer to speak with you son,” he said at length.

“My son has nothing to do with this.” Josef’s face reddened again and he slammed his fist against the table. “We had a deal.”

“We had nothing of the sort.”

Gregory saw his father become angrier than he thought possible. Not the hot, rash anger of a father who hit his son, but the quite kind of a dangerous man. Josef pushed his chair so that it fell over, and he stormed out of the tavern.

The stranger ignored the baron’s outburst. “Gregory, do you wish to know more about your mother?”

“What do you know of her?”

The man grinned, revealing his stained teeth. “I could tell you where she is this very minute.”

This was why his father had come. “My father has the gold,” Gregory said. “I can’t pay you.”

“I don’t want your money,” the man scoffed. “There is something else you can do.”

“Anything.”

The man’s smile widened and he pulled back his hood. He was striking in an unsettling way, with a dull complexion and sunken eyes. “How well do you know Armaila Farland?