Lund poured more mead into Flanor’s mug and then his own. “Cheers,” he toasted Flanor and downed his drink.

“To warriors everywhere!” Flanor raised his mug and then drank deeply. His eyes seemed unfocused as if lost in memory, and then he seemed to come back to himself. “For true, a goddess gave you a quest?”

He’d directed his question to Lund, but Mery answered. “Wouldn’t have believed it myself, but these two,” she gestured at Isa and Alice, “first name basis with Her.”

“But you’re not elves, any of you.”

“Does that matter?” asked Alice. “Sure, we’re outsiders, but Ysel picked us, so….” Alice shrugged.

“See? First name basis.” Mery shook her head and grinned. “A party should always have room for another fighter, Flan. What’s your weapon? Looking for more adventure?”

“I use a longsword. Handaxes for real up close.” He pointed a finger at Isa. “You’re a fighter, too, is that right? What do you have for close in?”

Isa felt like a professor had just called on her in class. She looked at Lund. “I have a quarterstaff. And I guess that’s it. I used to use a rapier, before. Before I became-- before Ysel made me a cleric.”

“She used it well, I can tell you,” said Mery.

“That’s all well and fine,” said Flanor, “but that’s not today, is it? And besides, that’s no weapon for close in! Not unless you bash ‘em in the face with the pommel. What you need,” he paused. “What you need is a long,” he held his two forefingers about 10 inches apart, “blade, not too thin, not too delicate. It’s got to be able to punch--” With that he curled his fist and jabbed forward. “--through the seams of his armor, right?”

“Thanks for the advice.” The idea made Isa a little squeamish, even though she’d been in plenty of fights by now.

“Some people,” Flanor continued talking, “will tell you to get a war pick. They’re wrong. If I had a gold coin for every soldier I’ve seen cut down--” He shut his eyes tight as if in pain, and he tilted as if falling from his seat.

“Mister Flanor, are you OK?” Alice began to rise from her seat. “Isa, do something!”

“I’m alright. I’m alright,” he said. “Just an old wound. Flares up from time to time.” He took a long drink from his mug, set it down, and ran his thumb back and forth across the rim.

“To old wounds,” Lund lifted his mug and nodded at the halfling. “They remind us of who we used to be.”

Flanor lifted his mug. “Truer words, my friend, were never spoken.”

“We’ve been sharing tales of our adventures,” Mery said to Flanor. “Have you a mind to share one of your own?”

“Only in the interest of keeping these young ones,” he gestured at Isa and Alice, “from making a grave mistake. Old wounds indeed.” He rubbed the scar along his jaw. “Have you fought with dwarves? Alongside them, I mean. They fight tough, and they fight dirty, and they hold a thing in their teeth until well past time you or me’d be letting it go.” He took a sip of mead. “Friend or foe, it matters not if they’ve a mind to be aggrieved.”

“You’re saying a dwarf gave you that scar?” Lund sounded surprised.

“I shouldn’t even tell the story for fear a dwarf will overhear and get offended.”

“Thin skinned bunch, huh?” Isa smiled and lifted her mug.

“I’ll take a wagon of dwarves over elves,” said Mery. “But I’d rather leave ‘em all on the side of the road. I like regular folks. Halflings, humans, half-orcs. Simple folk with simple needs.”

“I didn’t know you felt so strongly about this,” said Isa. Mery shrugged in answer.

Silence settled on the table. Finally Mery put her mug on the table and said, “I’ve heard tales that there’s a trade route through the White Desert, but perhaps you and the cartographer found a better way?”

“The Eckonner--”

“It’s Yechor-nur, actually,” said Mery. “It’s been bastardized over the years--”

“No, it’s not,” said Flanor.

Mery stopped, her mouth agape. “What?”

“What? I’m just correcting you,” said Flanor.

“But I’m correcting you, man. I think I know, I think the College of Bards knows--”

“OK, great.” Isa spread her hands on the table. “The indigenous peoples of the White Desert, they have a path through the desert? Why did I just buy a map?” To Alice she said, “Why didn’t Ysel talk to us about this? Did she talk to you about this? Give you any special guidance?”

Alice shrugged. “No, but I trust Her.”

“I trust Her too,” Isa said quickly. “But this is a practical matter. A mortal matter. Not sure She’s really all that….” Isa waved her hand in a circular motion. “....in tune to mundane things like directions.”

“We have 3 days to figure it out,” Alice said. “It’s 3 days to the edge of the desert. Lund said so.”

Isa realized that other conversation at the table had halted as everyone listened to her exchange with Alice. “I just want to get there in one piece and get back,” she said.

“The Eckonner--” Flanor glared at Mery, who remained silent. “They have their secret ways, that’s true enough. And they are secret. How they get their tin and salt and silver from the mountains through the desert, no one can say, not even Dockma.” He drained his mug and stood. “But we found a way, our own way. We’re looking for places to mine, access to the rock salt, of course. Not trying to reach up to the Northern Lights, but you can bet that Dockma’s map will get you through. You might have to fight every step, but she won’t steer you wrong. Guarantee.” With that he turned away.

“Wait!” Alice stood, too. “Fight? All the way? I don’t…..” She looked at the rest of the table. “Did you hear that? What’s he mean?”

The halfling turned back to the group. “This is a harsh land. Wild animals, people, weather. None of it cares if you live or die. Well, no, not true. The weather doesn’t care. The animals, they want you to die. The people? Like as not they just want you gone, gone from their sight, gone from their land. Gone.”