“Alright,” a voice said, “time to go.”
Challadius—or Chall, as his friends called him, which, to be fair, were few and far between these days—blinked up at the woman standing over him. At first, he had no idea where he was or how he’d come to be there, but a quick survey of his surroundings showed that he was in a tavern—or at least what passed for one in the poorest quarter of Laydia—specifically, that he had passed out at one of its tables. He seemed to vaguely remember a crowd, but now the tables around him were empty, the entire common room was empty, in fact, save for himself and the innkeeper. “Uh…hi.”
“Save your ‘hi,’” the woman said, planting her hands on her rail-thin hips, her hard face scowling and making her sharp, unfeminine features even less appealing. “It’s time for you to go. Past time. Now, are you goin’ to leave, or am I gonna have to wake one of my lads, get them to see you out?”
Chall winced, working his tongue around in a mouth which felt incredibly dry. “How about one drink? For the road?”
“How about you hit the road before you get hit?” the woman asked. Gods, but she was an unattractive specimen of the mortal species, that much was certain. It was enough to make a man swear off the fairer sex forever. Or at least until he got a few ales in him. Ale was good. It helped a man forget his past—at least for a time—and helped the present look far more appealing, softening the worst of its hard edges.
“Oh come on…” He hesitated, groping for the name, a task made more difficult by a stuffy cloudiness that the ale had left in his mind. “Shelly,” he said finally, trying his best smile which, it had to be said given his headache, wasn’t as good as it might have been.
The woman scowled. “It’s Palla. And you have something in your teeth.”
“Of course it’s Palla,” he said, pausing to dig at his teeth with a finger. “I was just…well, I was testing you, wasn’t I? A test which I am pleased to say you passed admirably.”
“You were testing me,” she said flatly. “As if I could forget my own name.”
He finished picking at his teeth and tried another smile. This one, he thought, certainly better than the first. “You’d be surprised—why, I guess it has been at least a dozen blessed times when I’ve forgotten my own.”
“Blessed indeed,” she said. “Now, there’s no drink for you here—get out.”
“Oh come now, Falla—”
“Palla,” she growled.
“Right, that’s what I said. Anyway, this is an inn, isn’t it? Why should I leave when I can rent a room, save myself a trip and you can make some coin in the process, how’d that be?”
“What coin?” she said, scowling.
He coughed, clearing his throat. “Well, admittedly, I’m a bit short up right now, but if you’ll take my stay on credit, I’m sure that soon something will turn—”
“No.”
“No?” he asked, blinking.
“You heard me. I’ve extended you as much credit as I’ve a mind to, far more than I normally do. Now, if you’ve got coin—real honest coin, for I find that spends far better than promises or excuses—then we can talk. Otherwise, it’s time for you to leave.”
Chall didn’t like the idea of walking out of the inn just then, of trying to see past the fog of his drink-addled thoughts to find the back alley he called home. In fact, given how numb and uncertain his legs felt even sitting as he now was, he wasn’t sure if he was capable of it. So, figuring that the third time’s a charm, he gave her one more winning smile and leaned forward. “Palla, have I ever told you that I’m a bit of a magician?”
She sighed. “I’ve heard this tale, more than once. And you’re right—I’m pretty well convinced you’ve got some magic. Otherwise, I figure you would have been knifed in some back alley by now and the world better for it.”
He clapped a hand to his heart—or meant to, but due to lack of coordination from the drink, it instead landed on his, it had to be said, ample stomach—and sat back. “Oh, but you wound me, Palla. Truly.”
“Not as much as Herb will, I have to wake him,” she said, then raised an eyebrow. “So tell me, magician, do I have to wake him?”
“Herb…” he said, trying to remember. “Ah, right. Big fella, scowls a lot? Got a chin like a battle axe?”
She flashed him a smile without humor. “That’s the one.”
“Ah,” he said, clearing his throat again. “Well, I’m sure that’s not necessary. A big man like that, I have to assume he needs his sleep. Still,” he went on, glancing around and leaning in confidentially as if preparing to tell her some great secret. “I wasn’t lying before. About being a magician.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m losing my patience. That line stopped being cute months ago, right about the time your tab started getting outrageous. Now, if you’re finished—”
“Watch,” he interrupted, holding his hands up and to the sides in a grand gesture of presentation like some performer in a traveling troupe. Which, of course, he was. Or, at least, had been, many years ago before the world had gone to shit and he right along with it. He focused, turning his mind inward to that space in him from which the magic had always come, reached for it mentally, like a hand questing out. He smiled in satisfaction as he felt it beneath his grip then frowned as it seemed to pour out of his grasp like water from a sieve. “Damn ale,” he muttered. “Just a minute more,” he said, giving her a shaky laugh, “I’ll get it, just…well, just a bit out of
