Page 49 of Ale Storm

“Gnomish communication device,” Mya said. “They’ve become increasingly popular in the city these past few years. A tinkerer in the Ridge District figured out how to make them from glass instead of rarer and more expensive materials, and he sells them. You might want to pick one up so you can receive orders from your new rooftop terrace.” Mya took another sip from her mug.

“We like to send Rolf up there in person regularly to check on the patrons. How would he get tips if the orders came in through a magical device?”

“From what I’ve observed, that goblin always finds a way to get tips.”

Reminded that Rolf sometimes came to the bakery and helped Mya with her dishes, Rylana waved an acknowledgment.

“He’s a hard worker, even if he’s always scheming.” Mya held up her mug in a salute before drinking again.

“Have you had a hard day too?” Rylana guessed.

“No more so than most. This talk of dwarves and the Ironhammer capital has put thoughts in my head though.”

“Thoughts of home?”

“I lived there with my husband for decades.”

Since another drink would come soon—and Rylana didn’t want to keep her thumb in the horn indefinitely—she finished off the ale in the horn. The ivory had a smooth texture that made it an interesting vessel to drink from, but maybe she should have washed it better—she hadn’t washed it at all, other than rubbing off the dirt—before smearing her lips over it.

“I’ve dreamed of one of my kids coming to the city to help with the bakery,” Mya said, “not a goblin, though I don’t mind Rolf’s company. Or paying him a little for his assistance. Have you met his passel of children? There are a lot of them.”

“I haven’t yet, but I have heard about them. They sound like a handful.”

“Passels usually are, yes.”

For the next round of drinks, the dwarven bartender himself came. He set full mugs of a dark-brown stout on the bar, then gave Mya a pat on the shoulder before departing.

“Jildarin gives Rolf leftovers to take home to his family sometimes,” Rylana added.

“That dragon is turning out to be a more conscientious neighbor than I would have expected.” Mya had finished off the first mug and wrapped her hands around the second and sipped from it. “The first months after he moved in, all he did was yell and kick people out for having sex. He was so busy glowering with exasperation that I never dared approach him. It was amazing to me that Rolf, Gniknik, and Zalani took jobs working for him.”

“As I recall, work was hard to come by when I arrived in the city.”

“It still is, from what I hear. All those war refugees loitering in the area.” Mya waved at Rylana.

“My family has been here for a long time.”

“Meaning you’re not loitering?” Mya picked up the mug that the bartender had left for Rylana.

“No, I’m pursuing a new career in a determined and decisive manner.” She’d finished the amber ale in the horn and was about to pull out her thumb and wash it, but Mya poured some of the stout in before Rylana could stop her.

“Maybe that’ll do it.” Mya peered at the carvings. “You said the mugs specifically glowed?”

“Yes. And once there were even storm clouds visible over them.” Rylana doubted one type of ale or beer would be more likely than another to evoke magic but checked the carvings again. “You mentioned before that your children don’t come visit.” She debated whether she should pry. When the subject had come up earlier, Mya hadn’t gone into details.

“They don’t. Unfortunately.” Mya stared glumly into her mug. “They’re… Well, I doubt they’re forbidden, but, the last I heard, it’s strongly discouraged.”

“By whom?” Rylana assumed that the salacious pastries Mya served might have gotten her ostracized.

“It’s a long story.” Mya took a deeper drink.

The horn seemed to warm a little more in Rylana’s hand. Or was that her imagination?

Just in case the drinks made a difference, Rylana took a few more swigs, examining the carvings after each. She supposed there was no pressing need for her to figure out what the horn’s magic did, but she couldn’t help but be curious.

“I miss them.” Mya gazed into the bottom of her mug. “And I barely know my grandchildren. Gito and Glyna have had a baby since I left three years ago. Maybe…”

Though Mya had piqued her curiosity, Rylana sipped from the horn and waited, letting her tell the story—or not—as she wished.