She tickled him behind his ears. “Hello Gurple” she said, grinning down at the little troll. When she gazed back up she saw her uncle in the doorway, one arm against the frame for support, his mouth gaping open before he suddenly shut it.
She went to him, Gurple still gripping tight to her leg and pulled Nat into a hug.
“I thought you were dead,” he said, gently kissing the top of her head.
She looked into his tear-filled eyes. “Not quite.” Then when she saw his face go stern, his gaze falling upon Diagus, she continued. “It’s ok. I know who my father is and so does the Shadojak.”
Nat let out a deep breath and held her at arm’s length. “I’m so sorry for lying to you all these years.”
“Hush. I wouldn’t have had it any other way, even if there was another way, which I doubt.”
Nat nodded and brushed his fingers through his grey hair. “Norgie will be glad to see you, he’s in the kitchen helping Ejan.”
The thought of freshly cooked food made Elora’s stomach gurgle, the noise heard by her uncle who chuckled.
“Come on through then,” said Ragna, going ahead of them into the inn.
Elora followed him into the large room, taking in the dark wood of the exposed beams above, the same used to carve the thick window ledges and wall supports. Another thicker piece used for the bar, old and well worn, dipping in the places that had at one time propped up the elbows of many a patron but the highly polished shine to it showed the little use in recent years. Fresh logs had been placed in a stone fireplace, large axes, one crossed over the other, were attached to the bricks on the chimney breast above the hearth. Several tables stood around the room, their tops worn and chipped in places, but like the bar, polished so as you could see your face in them, chairs pushed neatly beneath. Lanterns hung, two to each wall giving the room a warm cosy feel.
Elora could imagine a smoky atmosphere, the laughter of men being served ale, travellers propped up at the bar being served by a burly innkeeper. Somebody like Ragna. The inn had a pleasant ‘old world’ feel about it.
A door beside the bar slammed open, the smell of freshly baked bread drifting out behind an angry looking woman, hands on hips, as she glared at Ragna.
“How many times do I need to tell you to take your bloody boots off?” she spat. “I didn’t spend the morning polishing the floor, just so’s you can trample in dirt from outside.”
Ragna paused mid-step, his face fixed with the expression of a boy being caught doing something his mother didn’t approve of. “Not in front of the guests, wench,” he said, then screwed his face up as he realised he had said the wrong thing.
“Wench? Call me that again you five-bellied pig and I’ll shove that hammer of yours up your...”
“Ejan.” offered Nat, intervening between the bickering couple. “This is my niece, Elora.”
Ejan gave Ragna a final scowl before turning her fiery gaze on her. “I thought you’d gone back to dust,” she said, then her features softened. “It’s you I have to thank for all the firewood.”
“Firewood?” Elora asked, unsure what she meant.
She found the woman before her beautiful, her smile transforming her from the deadly battle axe, her first impression as she emerged from the kitchen, to a curvaceous vixen with long blonde hair that she wore in a thick golden plait that settled over her shoulder and trailed down into a deep cleavage.
Elora felt annoyance of the fact that Bray had spent several days with this woman. Or was it jealousy?
“Bray’s being in one hell of a black mood. Disappearing into the woods at dawn, chopping down tree after tree, reducing them to logs and kindling before hauling it all home by dusk. He’s been at it like a mad man, that one; working himself to exhaustion each night and then doing it all again the next day. I think he blames himself for your death, that’s what Norgie tells me. He’s cut enough firewood to last us until winter, three years from now.”
A lump caught at the back of Elora’s throat at the mention of Bray. He did have feelings for her and they must have been deep for what he did to himself.
“It’ll be nice to have some female company around the place too,” Ejan continued. “But you best get yourself cleaned up, you’ve got road dirt and dust ground into your hair and you smell of sweaty horse - no offence.”
“None taken” laughed Elora, feeling every bit as grimy as Ejan depicted.
“That goes for you two as well,” said Ejan, eyeing Diagus and Otholo.
The Bard approached and bowed low before the women, taking her hand in his and was about to kiss it when Ejan snatched it away and flicked out a paring knife, blade wickedly sharp.
“None of that, I’m married to five-bellies there,” she nodded to Ragna. “And that man is more than enough for any woman to cope with. Raise your lips to me again and I’ll cut them off.”
“I warned you,” said Diagus, grinning, his white pearl twinkling in the lamplight.
Otholo took a step back, masking embarrassment with another bow before Ragna slipped a large meaty arm over his shoulder, a laugh bellowing from huge lungs.
“Don’t worry yourself lad, she scares the hell out of me and she’s my wench.” He flinched again, unable to change the word.
Ejan narrowed her eyes on her husband, flicking the knife expertly around her hand and appearing as if she would throw it.
“I’ll go fetch the water then,” said Ragna, making a quick exit.
Ejan took Elora by the arm and steered her through the kitchen door. “Let’s get you freshened up before the men folk make a mess.”
Elora was desperate to see the Shaigun but would prefer it if she wasn’t smelling of horse and a week’s worth of road dust when she did.
The water had been barely above room temperature but felt like the best bath she had ever had. Crystal clear as she climbed in and a greyish brown when she climbed out; clean and smelling of lavender from the homemade soap. Ejan had been waiting outside and showed her to the small room where she would be sleeping.
A simple bed, fresh white linen and a rough spun woollen blanket were luxuries she was looking forward to after spending a week in the saddle, using the hard ground as a bed. Ejan opened a heavy chest that was against one wall and pulled out a pretty silk gown with lace worked into the sleeves and neckline. It was a pale blue that shimmered green when it moved against the light. She held it up to Elora’s body, cocked her head then laid it carefully down on the bed.
“You’ll find that the clothes in here should fit you nicely. Take what you want, there’s britches and shirts if you’re not one for dresses, I never was.”
Elora peered inside the chest and selected a pair of suede trousers that had been dyed green, and a light cotton shirt. She put them on, the trousers fitting snugly and surprisingly comfortable, but the shirt was large so Ejan found a leather belt to wear around her waist to cinch it tight.
“Were these clothes yours?” asked Elora, as she went to peer out of the leaded window.
“Some of them were, not the dresses. Those were probably stolen in the raids before we settled here.”
