Before leaving, Aile took the satchel of centaur piss water and dumped it on the ground, shattering a fair few of the stoppered pots. The horse took to it immediately and began to lap at it. She moved away from her mount, such as it was, and it did not try to follow, nor did it seem to wander on its own for the short time she could see it on her trek over the hill. The walk to Rinnbeag itself was an uneventful one.
The city was bright at every turn, painted colors rarely seen among the other elf towns. Vibrant blues, greens, and pinks on the buildings with music in the air even in the cool Bais afternoon. The stares were expected but tended not to linger so long on her as they did in the more populous cities. It was a curiosity, she thought, but perhaps folk from the Blackwood made their way down more often than she’d thought. The buildings were marked only occasionally though many of them seemed to be shops of some sort or another and it was quickly becoming clear that quiet roaming of the streets was not apt to find her the drink she needed.
An old man was moving toward her, a hodload of clams in each hand. He looked down at Aile and smiled as he came near. He would do as well as any she figured.
“Is there a winery or brewery in the city?”
The man seemed surprised she’d spoke to him. “Well met, Drow. There is. A brewery. Over n’ more’n two streets that way.” He motioned to his right. “Not much wine outside the fancy inn down near the water.”
“My thanks.”
“A pleasure.” He beamed a smile and carried on his way.
She turned and made her way over a pair of streets, being nodded at by elves as they passed. They were too friendly almost and the deeper into the city she went, the more they seemed pleased to see her there.
She found the brewery quickly enough. It was a small building for a brewing operation, and it did not instill much hope in her. The walls were painted a bright blue-green and there was a deep red curtain hanging over the doorway. She pushed it aside and moved inside.
A middle-aged elf man stood behind the counter and greeted her with a bright smile full of white teeth.
“Welcome! I heard there might well be a Drow paying a visit.”
Heard? She had hardly been in the city for a half hour. How had word traveled so quickly? And by whom? The man she’d asked would not have made such good time, not without her seeing, least ways. It was best if she did her business and left. Aile moved to the counter but did not say anything. The elf looked down at her, still smiling.
“No wine, I’m afraid. Though we got something you might well enjoy. Barley wine. Not sure if they serve it in the Blackwood.”
The brewer turned and pulled a small bowl from the shelf above a row of casks. He turned the wooden handle on one of the barrels and it gave a meaty squeak as a short stream of opaque black liquid fell down into the tasting bowl. He spun and handed it to Aile.
“Go on, taste.”
She tilted the bowl back and the flavors of earthy fruit rolled across her tongue and down her throat. Had the city not off put her so, she may have even allowed herself a satisfied sigh. The awful drink that the horsefolk thought was worth putting in their bellies was no longer something she would have to worry over.
“What do you think? We age it properly. Can’t have a poor product making the rounds in the world, you know?”
Aile did not answer him, only threw the satchel onto the counter.
“Fill it.”
He nodded, took her bag, and went to gather his wares. Aile pulled four of the gold cubes from a pouch and put them on the counter. She had coins, but this would prove an interesting test for the gold. These people had smiled at her enough and she was getting sick of the sight of teeth. Perhaps this would sour some attitudes at the very least.
The brewer returned with a rattling bag full of bottles. They were clear glass, dipped in red wax and pressed with the seal of the brewery. He looked at the cubes on the table and picked them up.
“Oh, ho. These are new. They from the Blackwood?” He turned the gold over in his hands. He noticed the markings. “These aren’t Drow, are they?”
“Is it a problem?”
He shrugged. “Gold is gold. Weight’s more than enough. I’ll need to weigh it to get your change though.”
“Keep it.”
She pulled the bag from the counter and put the strap over her shoulder. It was a week’s worth of drink, maybe two but it was hard to say in the desert. She did not look again at the grinning face of the man as she left the brewery and came back onto the bright street. There was a brisk rush of air up from the direction of the water. The wind brought delicious smells that made her consider delaying her reunion with the satyr. There had been no pleasant smells from the moment the wind had shifted near the satyr gathering near Scáthloch.
She took her time leaving the city, none the less. The smiles and nods had turned to outright greetings and beckonings from shop owners for her to stop in and give their food a taste. There were no real armor merchants that she could see and only a few swords hung on hips at all. The ones that she could see were
