Chapter Three Hundred and Sixty-Nine - Passing the Torch

Chairs were pulled up, cushions were fluffed, and the old dwarf shouted across the room to the barkeep who brought us all big mugs of frothing ale.

I held onto my mug politely while it fizzed and sat myself down across from what I imagined were some of Abraham’s old adventuring buddies.

“So!” the dwarf said. “We’re all sitted and we’ve got some talking juice. Introductions are in order.”

“Civilised as ever,” the elf said. He bowed a little from his seat. “I’m Willowbud Wintersdawn. Miss Bristlecone, I was one of your uncle’s companions on his many travels throughout the Snowlands and beyond. The dwarf here is Tharval Boltbinder.”

“I can introduce myself, Bud,” Tharval said. He took a long pull from his mug--or was it a pint?--then wiped the froth from his bristly moustache with the back of his sleeve. “But the elf’s not wrong. We were both good pals with Abe. Why, it feels like he ran off to another great adventure just yesterday.”

“Awa, when did you last see uncle?” Awen asked. She took a long pull from her mug, matching Tharval.

I looked at my own beer, then gave it a sniff. It smelled bitter and tangy. Not necessarily a bad smell, but a bit strange and spicy. Not in the ‘hot’ sense, but in the sense that there were a number of spices mixed into the beer.

Shoring up my bravery, I took a big gulp, then both coughed and spat at the same time. It was so bitter! I noticed Amaryllis hiding her smile behind a sip of her own mug. Calamity, meanwhile, was drinking along at a decent pace.

I think Caprica was the only one who agreed with my tastebuds about the beer’s flavour.

Tharval laughed, both at my reaction, and I think just out of sheer good humour. “Ah, the last time I saw Abe... was it two years back, Bud?”

“Already?” Willowbud asked. He leaned back, then nodded. “Yes, it would be the summer before last. He brought that ugly ship of his in for repairs.”

“The Shady Lady’s a fine vessel,” Tharval said.

“It was outdated before it left the shipyard that built it,” the elf retorted. “It’s a wonder it can fly at all, especially with Abraham at the helm.”

“She’s a beauty, a piece of aeronautical history,” Tharval argued.

Willowbud nodded. “Exactly. She belongs in a museum.”

“Ah, I got to fly on the Shady Lady a few times,” Awen said. “And I worked on her a little. There was always something broken.”

“That’s because Abe couldn’t keep his toenails fixed, nevermind an entire airship!” Tharval guffawed. He clapped a hand on his lap while tipping his tankard back. “Ahh, but those were the days. Back before we were stuck in this windy old tower, when we wandered the world looking for trouble.”

“And causing trouble when we couldn’t find it,” Willowbud said. He grinned, and something about the smile aged him a bit, gave him more of an edge. “We still have something of a reputation, even after a few years of sitting on our laurels and reaping the benefits of our... what were they calling it? Youthful indiscretions?”

“Bah! Don’t remind me,” Tharval said. “Besides, we’ve got these impressionable kids to impress, don’t we?” He reached over, swiped my mug, and took a swig of it. I didn’t complain.

Awen swallowed a mouthful of her own beer, then smiled. “Um, what sort of things did you do with uncle Abraham? He used to tell me stories, but I never knew which ones were, uh, real. I think he softened them a little because I was young.”

Willowbud hummed. “That sounds like Abe, yes. You could never tell if he was being truthful or not. He’d say the most farfetched things and then they’d turn out to be entirely true, even if they sounded wild. Why, I remember, he once approached me and Eustace about a colony of snow dryads in the western Tallwoods who needed help because of a cave-in.”

“Oh, I remember that,” Tharval said. “Ain’t that how we met?”

“It was, yes,” Willowbud said.

I moved to the very edge of my seat. “What happened?” I asked.

“Let me do the telling, Bud here could bore through a metre of stone with his voice alone,” Tharval said. “So, here Abe comes, with this strange frog man, a reedy little harpy boy and a runaway sylph knight--”

“No, Wesley joined us later,” Willowbud said. “And Raynold was busy with something else. That ... lizard cult incident.”

“Anyway,” Tharval ignored him. “He comes over to us deep in the Snowlands. Now, this was just after us elves and dwarves finally got our heads on straight and decided to stop murdering each other over dumb insults.”

“A regular occurance,” Willowbud said.

Tharval chuckled. “So Abe shows up and he starts asking around for help with these snow dryads. Mostly asking the elves since they’re the local experts when it comes to hugging trees.”

“Of course,” Willowbud interjected. “Snow dryads were a myth. Everyone knew they didn’t exist, so Abe sounded like a lunatic. But he managed to convince me to help him anyway.”

“Bud here was running away from a marriage,” Tharval said with a chuckle. He looked at his tankard and saw that it was empty, then he leaned over and took Caprica’s. “Oi! Someone get this sylph lady some of that sweet elven wine,” he called out to the bar. “And some fruit juice for the bun.”

Willowbud glanced to Tharval. “That’s awfully considerate. You’re not going to force them to drink your usual dwarven swill?”

“Bah, you remember how Eustace used to complain about everything us proper folk cooked up? If it isn’t slathered in honey the sylph won’t touch it.”

I held back a giggle at Caprica’s conflicted look. I think she couldn’t decide whether to agree or take insult. In the end she rolled her eyes slightly and didn’t comment at all, especially not when a younger elf came from the bar with a fine crystal goblet for Caprica and a big cup of what smelled like a strawberry-banana smoothie for me. It even had a straw!

“So, ah, what happened after Abraham asked you for help?” I asked.

“Ah, right. So he asks this mulch-for-brains for help,” Tharval said with a gesture to Willowbud. “And he had the first good idea of his entire life. That is, to find an expert. Now, that turned out to be me.”

“Tharval here had just been kicked out of his guild for accumulating too many misdemeanours and was hard-pressed and looking for work,” Willowbud said.

Tharval harrumphed. “They said that it would take a thousand years of development to make an airship. And I said that they were a bunch of rock-headed morons. Anyway, Abe comes over and hired me to go look for these snow dryads. To be honest, I thought he was crazy, but he was also mighty persuasive and, in any case, I needed the coin. I didn't much care if he thought the moon was made of cheese, so long as I got paid." Tharval laughed. "I was pretty shocked when I got out to the site, and there they were, a whole town of snow dryads living underground."

“I didn’t know dryads could live underground,” I said. I remembered Oak and a few of the other dryads I’d met, and they seemed pretty happy to live outside like trees usually did. Did they even eat anything?

“Snow dryads, as it turns out, are more based on fungal bodies than the dryads we’re all mostly familiar with,” Willowbud said. “They live in large caves beneath the Tallwoods, where they carefully tend pools of water to keep the humidity as high as possible, allowing them to cultivate lichen that they use for clothes and tools. They’re quite interesting, though they’re also very quiet and isolationist. So it’s no wonder we thought them a myth.”

“And uncle Abraham found them?” Awen asked.

“More like they found him,” Tharval said. “Or was it Eustace?”

“It was Eustace, yes. He and Abraham were exploring the edge of the Tallwoods when Eustace went off-course. He ran into some snow dryads, and eventually they managed to ask him for help. In any case, the dryads had a problem.”

“A cave-in,” Thorval said, quite seriously. “They weren’t keen on digging often, so most of their cave homes were all natural. But even a natural cave needs some proper reinforcement. One of their tunnels collapsed and a number of ‘em were stuck. Fortunately, they’re dryads, and standing still for a few days doesn’t bother them all that much.”

“So, how does the story end?” I asked.

“Bah. I went over and blew the hole open with some explosives. After we chopped up some trees and built trusses, of course. Didn’t want to worsen things. It all ended well. I think some folk are still keeping in touch with the snow dryads, aren’t they?”

Willowbud nodded. “A few. They make interesting fermented wines and are experts at growing certain mushrooms in their caverns. They’re difficult to trade with, since there’s little they want or need, but a few academics make a point to stay in touch and study their environment.”

“Ah, did you join uncle from then on?” Awen asked.

“Join? Bah, he hardly has a monopoly on anyone, does he? The madman just likes dragging like-minded folk into his schemes, but we dragged him into ours just as often.” Tharval grinned. “What about you lot? Dragging folk around into trouble just like your uncle, huh?”

Awen started to shake her head, then froze. “Um. No, we’re just trying to help people and that, ah, sometimes means we end up in strange places.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “We’re three-quarters of the way to circling the entire continent already! We made a heap of friends along the way, and we helped some people with things too. Plus we get to explore new places. It’s great!”

Thorval grinned. “Been on a few little adventures yourself, huh?”

My friends and I nodded. “Yup! Right now we’re tracking someone called Baron Vonowl. He helped a terrible person kidnap some nobles and used that as a way to try to free that terrible person after we got them arrested in Sylphfree. He tried to blow up a peace summit to start a war between the Trenten Flats, the Harpy Mountains, Deepmarsh and Sylphfree.”

Tharval and Willowbud both blinked as they parsed all of that, then Tharval took another swallow from his tankard. “Well, that’s something. This Baron Vonowl, any relation to Wesley Vonowl?”

We shrugged, but it was Amaryllis who answered. “We don’t know. But we suspect so. It might be a situation like Awen here being related to Abraham. A nephew or younger cousin, maybe?”

Willowbud rubbed at his chin. “That’s possible. Wesley passed away... about four years ago. He was... well, harpies age a lot faster than elves or dwarves.”

“Hmm, Eustace moved on too,” Tharval said, his voice rather grave. “We lose friends as we go. But most of us made sure to leave a legacy behind.” He gestured around. “This guild, the Storm Tower, so many new ideas and fresh ties and opportunities for the next generation. Bah. What’s it matter. You’re looking for this Vonowl fellow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I repeated.

“Might be that we can help you,” Tharval said. “We might be semi-retired, but that doesn’t mean we’re so old that we can’t jump onto an adventure or two.”

Willowbud smiled. “That’ll set some nerves alight, seeing the two of us looking for trouble again.”

“Good! We can even blame Abraham for it, like in the good old days!” Tharval said.

“Awa, you blamed uncle Abraham for stuff?” Awen asked.

“Oh yes, he’s a wanted man here,” Tharval said. He grinned. “He’s responsible for the greatest theft ever to occur in the Snowlands, something he somehow did while halfway across the continent.”

“We really ought to give those paintings back,” Willowbud said. I followed his gaze across the room to where a row of paintings in nice frames hung on the far wall. “No one will bother him for it,” Willowbud reassured Awen. “After all, he can easily prove that he wasn’t here when the crime happened.”

“Mhm,” Tharval said. “Now... I’m getting the sense that you want our help for your trouble, which means payment.” He smacked his knee. “And I only accept payment in stories. Now spill! What have Abraham’s niece and her friends been up to?”

***