War Of The Wildlands(67)

“What color do you take?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Whatever fits will do.”

Again the girl’s mouth dropped open. “It certainly does matter!” she protested. “You must have a specialty.”

“Specialty?” Yori asked, wrinkling his brow.

“Yes,” she replied. Seeing that Yori still didn’t understand, she added, “Your magical specialty. These robes enhance your abilities.”

“I see,” Yori said, trying not to sound like an oaf. “Is earth magic an option?”

The girl giggled slightly with her mouth closed, and she lowered her head. Once she had composed herself, she said, “Of course it is. Green or brown?”

Good grief, he thought. “Green, I think,” he replied. Green would match his eyes, at least.

“I might have a green one in the right length,” the girl replied as she searched through a pile of clothing.

As the girl continued to search, an older man appeared from behind the booth. “Are you looking at my daughter?” he asked, eyeing Yori suspiciously.

“No, sir,” he replied, shaking his head.

“You should be!” the elf shouted. “She’s rather beautiful. Just don’t touch her, or I’ll melt you.” The man’s eyes flashed red, suggesting the truth behind his threat.

Yori nodded quickly, not knowing what to say.

The girl offered Yori a plain green robe and smiled. “My father is only teasing,” she said. “See if this is the right size.”

Slipping the robe over his clothes, Yori could tell it was a perfect fit. “It’s perfect,” he said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Five silver,” she replied. “I thought you’d want the cheapest one.”

“Thank you,” he said as he handed her the coins. She was correct in her assumption. He did not want to spend much on clothing, but this robe had cost him five times the price of his journey by ship. There was little choice, however, if he intended to blend in among the locals.

He made his way to the inn to inquire about a room and a bath. It was nestled within one of the tall towers, and he was anxious to see what the inside looked like.

Within the tower was a polished marble floor and several tables made of white stone. A long twisting staircase led high into the tower. Behind the stone bar, an elf was busy wiping down crystal clear, long-stem glasses. “May I help you?” the elf asked.

“I need a room,” Yori replied, approaching the bar.

“Goodness, how did you get to be so short?” the man asked, looking him up and down.

“Spell went wrong,” Yori lied.

The elf nodded sympathetically. Apparently, not all Enlightened Elves could smell his mixed blood. “You can have a room on the third floor for three silver,” the elf said.

“Thank you,” he replied, handing the elf the coins. “Where can I find a bath?”

The man seemed puzzled by the question. “Each room has its own, of course. I trust you can heat the water yourself.” He went back to wiping the glasses.

Yori walked slowly up the stairs, preparing himself for a cold bath. As he entered the room, he could not believe its size. For only three silver, the room was nearly as large as his uncle’s entire cottage and had indoor access to water. This place was beyond belief.

Removing his clothes, he slipped into the tub and turned on the water. It was freezing cold and his entire body tightened as it splashed on his skin. An idea came to him, and he climbed back out of the tub. In his leather bag were three chisels gifted to him by his grandfather. Choosing the medium-sized chisel, he climbed back into the tub and began to etch fire runes into its stone surface. His eyes flashed green as he focused on the runes. Suddenly, the water began to heat as it reached the level of the runes. Smiling, he sat the chisel down outside the tub and sank deep into the warm water.

After twenty minutes of scrubbing, he declared himself clean enough for anyone and tossed his dirty clothing in the tub to soak. If only he could etch runes into cotton, his clothes would always be clean.

Wearing his new green robe, he exited the inn and strolled through the marketplace once again. He walked for nearly a mile before he came across a stall selling weapons. Beautiful, gem-inlaid daggers were spread neatly on a marble countertop. Inside the stall were a variety of jeweled swords, some of them with colored blades. They were marvelous to behold, but he did not dare to touch them. They might hold strange enchantments that he was not prepared to handle.

An older, white-haired elf greeted him. He was tall and thin and wore a dark red robe. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” he asked with a smile.