Veronica laughed. “A temple? You might say that.”
Amelia looked at her, puzzled. “What’s the joke? In whose honor was it built?”
“In honor of what, not whom,” Veronica said. “The local population here had no deities that they worshipped when Brightwater was established. There still aren’t any universally worshipped deities. But every town they knew had a temple at its heart. So they dedicated this temple to what they considered most precious.”
“Which was?” I asked.
“Beer,” Veronica said. “That’s the Sticks and Stones Tavern.”
Amelia looked slightly shocked. I laughed.
“Well,” I said, “I’m getting pretty hungry, and we need to find a place to sleep before the sun goes down. Shall we head to the tavern and see about getting a couple of rooms for the night? I would kill for a beer.”
Veronica beamed. “If there’s one thing they excel at in Brightwater, it’s beer. Come on, let’s head inside.”
Chapter Twelve
We were all hungry and thirsty, and ready for some refreshment, and visiting the inn sounded like a very good idea to me. Perhaps here I could get news of my old friend Jacques.
I pushed the inn door open and took a deep breath of the welcoming smells of beer and roasting meat. Cutlery rattled on plates, and the friendly murmur of conversation rolled out to greet us. I stepped inside, followed by Amelia and Veronica.
The cramped but cozy interior of the tavern was warmed by a roaring hearth which dominated the left wall. Fat candles burned in sconces on the walls and on the rough wooden tables. For the most part, the walls of the room were of solid oak, a wood I recognized from back home but hadn’t seen much of, since it took so long to grow. I hadn’t seen any oaks on the northward journey from my home to Brightwater, so I figured they must have been imported. Trade from Brightwater certainly reached far out to the south. The owner of the tavern evidently had fine taste, an eye for quality, and must have also had an almost bottomless coin-purse.
The deep brown of the oak paneling of the walls reflected the warm light from the candles and the fire. It contrasted with the dark shadows in the corners and behind the beams that held up the low ceiling.
In those shadows, the candlelight glinted off the points of antlers far too large to have come from ordinary deer, and with far too many tines. The heads of great Beasts hung from the walls above the booths around the sides. Some were scaled, others wrapped in short or long fur, while a handful had almost human-like skin. Long ears, short ears, or no ears at all. Crooked teeth, curved fangs, or blunt tusks. Eye sockets held yellow spheres with vertical pupils, bulging orbs like polished gemstones, or dozens of tiny peepers that gathered together like a roe of fish eggs.
Although they were all long dead, the sight of so many dismembered monsters made my spine tickle. I could sense the latent Elemental power in their body parts, even though the monsters they’d come from had ceased to draw breath long ago. I turned to Amelia, and she gave me a look that suggested she also felt the strange sensation. It was as Veronica had said when we were approaching the town: the Elemental essence of magical Beasts remained strong in their bones.
Tables filled the interior, with benches on either side of them. In the middle of the wall opposite the entrance door was a long bar. The bar itself consisted of a high bench, polished smooth by generations of sliding glasses and sweaty elbows. At the ends sat several medium size barrels, tightly bound by freshly forged steel bands. The wood itself forming the sides of the barrels was dark brown. It looked old. These barrels must have been in use for decades, aging batch after batch of beer. It gave me hope that the beer they served here would have sat for more than a few weeks.
The brewers in Aranor could sometimes be pretty cheap, serving the beer when it was barely ready. If it sat for a couple of months, none of us needed to be brewers to taste the difference.
Hanging from the ceiling above the bar was a large, wide board with a design carved into it. A giant dragon was devouring its own tail, which snaked around its body, filling the space. The scales were all individually carved, and while the paint was now chipped and faded, it looked like they’d once been a bright green. Now, age and candle smoke had turned the whole design a rich brown.
Herbs hung from the ceiling over the bar, along with garlic and onions. The aroma was glorious, making my stomach rumble. The smell of stale beer was far weaker here than in the taverns I’d frequented in Aranor. The owner of this tavern obviously took more pride in its upkeep.
Behind the bar stood a beautiful woman. She was perhaps a little older than I was, but she was a woman who wore her years well. Her face and her body glowed with health. Her long, inky black hair poured like silk over her shoulders. Her perfect skin, her huge, almond-shaped eyes, and the obvious intelligence and humor that flashed in her quick smile immediately made me feel that she was a woman I would like to get to know better.
It was immediately obvious to me that she was no barmaid, and certainly not a beer wench. Some people thought those terms were interchangeable, but I’d learned from Katlyn, who had some experience working in a tavern, that there was a vast divide between them. The women who got promoted from beer wench to barmaid held significant prestige among their coworkers. For a start, they wouldn’t have to walk between tables and put up with attentions from overly affectionate customers.
This woman gave off a confidence that
