T Lain: The Living Dead

The bard waggled his eyebrows. If they weren’t targeting her, the pair’s incompetence might have been funny, but now they simply irritated Mialee.

The bard, still clutching the halfling’s ear and Mialee’s shoulder, turned to the elf woman.

“Miss, meet Hound-Eye, the sharpest pickpocket in Dogmar. Or at least the sharpest one in the Silver Goblet,” he added, casting a look around.

“That’s my sp—” Mialee caught herself before she revealed the pouch’s true nature. She’d learned long ago the danger of casually revealing the source of one’s power, and she’d nearly blurted the secret, “—my pouch full of birdseed. Birdseed,” she finished lamely. “I have this bird, and…Look, I study magic, and prophecies are a load of—”

“Hound-Eye, I believe you have something belonging to the lady,” the bard said, twisting the halfling’s ear a bit. Hound-Eye let out a yelp and dropped the familiar leather pouch to the tavern floor. The thief kicked the bard hard in the shin, wriggled from the half-elf’s grasp, and scrambled out the swinging doors.

The bard watched the thief leave and reached down to rub his shin. He hooked the pouch with one finger and tossed it up over his shoulder to Mialee, who snatched it from the air. “Your birdseed?” the bard grunted, then straightened.

Mialee tied the pouch into place at her waist, tucking it safely under her wide, leather belt. “Thank you…Devis, is it?”

“The one and only,” the bard said, bowing with just a little too much flourish. “And please, don’t mention it. We don’t see many elves around here. Perhaps in return for my good deed,” he continued, settling into the empty stool next to hers as he signaled Gurgitt with a wave of his hand, “You might join me for a glass?” The barkeep caught the movement and waddled to comply.

“No, thank you, really” Mialee reached instinctively for her purse. “I have no head for wine or ale. Let me give you something.” She fumbled for a silver piece. Devis leaned onto the bar, turned to the elf woman, and held up a palm.

“Please, you wound me,” he said, “I’m not looking for money. Just a few minutes with the most beautiful girl in Dogmar.”

Was he serious?

“May I ask your name?” Devis pressed. He flashed her a lopsided smile she suspected was meant to be utterly disarming. Despite her irritation, she had to admit he was on to something there.

“Mialee,” she replied in surrender as Gurgitt arrived with a small pot of minty-smelling tea and a foamy brown ale. He placed the former before the bard, the latter in front of Mialee, then lumbered back to his work.

“I wouldn’t think of forcing liquor on someone with no taste for it,” said Devis, nimbly swapping the drinks. “Don’t see many elves around here,” the bard said over a gulp of ale.

“I’m not surprised,” she said, pouring tea into a small, ceramic cup. The elf woman glanced at the man’s ears and added, “How do you stand the smell?”

“You get used to it,” he laughed. “Besides, mother was human.”

“Lucky,” Mialee said. “Mine was a lunatic.”

She resigned herself to the conversation and sipped at the tea. To her surprise, it was quite good. Mialee grinned despite the unpleasant atmosphere. She had a weakness for musicians.

“Mialee, you’ll pardon me for saying so, but you don’t fit in here.”

“You’re right, Devis,” said Mialee, “I’m not looking to. I’m here to meet a friend.”

Devis took another slug of his ale. “I can help. I know this town pretty well, maybe I can help you find your friend.”

“I doubt it,” Mialee replied. “He’s not from around here, either. In fact, I have absolutely no idea why he wanted to meet me here.”

Mialee, have you found Favrid? A voice reverberated in her temple.

“No, Biksel, I haven’t, and I’m busy being prophetically wooed,” she blurted to the air. Normally, she would have communicated silently with her familiar, but the raven’s sudden, mental intrusion caught her off guard.

“Pardon?” Devis asked.

“Nothing,” said Mialee.

You locked me in the bloody wardrobe, Mialee, the voice reverberated in her head. It smells, and there’s nothing to eat. And I can see what you’re doing.

So what ? You can always see what I’m doing. I’ve gotten over it. You’re locked in for your own safety, Biksel.

Mialee had had it. She flashed a mental image to him of the previous night, when the little raven had very nearly been hacked to pieces by the innkeeper’s wife after trying to make off with some food from the kitchen.

If you’re really hungry, I can have Mrs. Gurgitt bring something up, she added as she swallowed a mouthful of tea.

No, that’s all right, Biksel replied, and Mialee could have sworn she heard him sigh. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you.

Fine, Mialee told her familiar. She saw the bard looking at her quizzically. Just keep quiet for a while, could you? I might have someone here who can help us find Favrid.

Is that a musician?

Shut up, Biksel.

Her familiar did not reply, which Mialee took as compliance with her request. Sometimes, you just had to know how to think at the bird.

Still, she knew Biksel would be using their connection to keep tabs on this conversation. He was getting impatient.

“All right,” Mialee said, “Maybe you can do something for me.” She swiveled in conspiratorially. “I’m looking for a thousand year-old elf named Favrid. About five and a half feet tall, mostly bald. Talks to himself a lot. Terrible short-term memory. Likes garish robes. Probably has a raven on his shoulder.”

Devis bit his lip in a show of concentration, but Mialee could see he didn’t recognize the name.

“Sorry,” he explained, “doesn’t ring a bell. Do you think your friend might be in trouble?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Mialee said, and frustration overcame the pleasant effect of the tea. “It’s ridiculous! I received a message to meet him at this tavern. And it had to be this week.”

“Is he a scholar?” asked Devis.

“A wizard like me,” Mialee replied, the calming tea and charming bard making her abandon her usual reticence. “He was one of my teachers. But I haven’t seen him for ten years. Last I’d heard he was researching some tomb he discovered in the southern desert.”

“Maybe he was simply delayed,” Devis suggested.

“He was only specific about one thing—the date I was to meet him here,” Mialee said, shaking her head. She took another sip of tea. “That part seemed important.”

“So what will you do now?” the bard asked.

“Keep waiting. I guess I can give him another day, then I’ll begin looking for him.” Mialee assessed the bard. “You know, you might be some help there, too. If I have to find Favrid…there’s a name he mentioned. I don’t know whether it’s a person or a place.”

“You don’t know where to start looking,” Devis said. “I would be honored to help.”

“I am certain you will be,” Mialee said. “There were two names, actually. They sounded familiar, but I can’t seem to find anyone who wants to talk to me about them. The words seem to spook a lot of people.”

“Morkeryth?”

“It’s Mork—” Mialee blinked. “How did you know that?”

“It’s a ruin, not far from here. Maybe a couple of days’ foot travel on the road, then a day or so to get through the forest of Silath. I know a few trails,” Devis said.

“Silath?The other place was called “Silatham.”

“Silatham!” the bard exclaimed. “Heard of it, but it’s a myth. Ancient elf village, supposed to be loaded with treasure and weapons. Every few weeks someone comes into Tent City—that’s a halfling camp on the Morkeryth ruins—and announces they’re going to find, or have just found, Silatham, ‘lost outpost of the elves’.”