The Glass Prison

Inside the tavern, the crowd thickened. The two finally procured some wine as well as a bit of roast pork and vegetables. The meal's flavor almost matched its exorbitant price. While they ate, after actually managing to find a table just then vacated, Mela

Whitlock rolled his eyes and motioned to the door. "We'd be better off on the road, I'm afraid."

Mela

"Pardon me," a man said, seating himself gingerly on the only empty chair at the small table, "but I couldn't help but overhear that you are in need of lodging." He was tall, with a high forehead and wide cheekbones. His voice carried a slightly a

Whitlock's glare in this newcomer's directions seemed to carry with it all the suspicion and distaste he could muster, which Mela

Mela

"Well," the man said, turning to Mela

Whitlock shook his head. "Thank you anyway, sir, but…"

"Maybe we should look at the place," Mela

"Yes, by all means, if you wish it. I'm not even going to ask for payment. I just thought someone should benefit from it. It's Midsummer festival, after all."

"You're very generous, sir," Mela

"Oh. Ah, my name is Ferd. Ferd… Northrip." He smiled broadly.

"Well then, Ferd, I shall thank Our Mother tonight in my prayers for bringing us to such a generous man."

He smiled nervously as he glanced down at Mela

"Well, we've little reason to trust or distrust him, but I suppose we could just make our camp out-side of town as we have been, at least for tonight." She sighed.

"I'm glad to hear that," Whitlock said, and Mela

When they finally left the Flagon Held High the singing had stopped, but that didn't reduce the overall commotion. The dark night was riven by i

Mela

A chilling, harsh wind blew in from the north, causing the torchlight to flicker, and tugged at the party clothes of the dancers and celebrants.

Whitlock looked at her and said, "We're going to need shelter."

"We've no choice, then," she replied, her mind more focused on the ominous, thundering harbinger roaring down from the north than on her brother's statement of the obvious.

"'You're right," Whitlock said. She knew he hated not having a choice.

The grain house sat just where Ferd said it would. The door bore a wooden sign with a crude scrawl on it: Northrip. Gray, bare boards made up the building, and there was a single window. Through the rain, which had started just a few minutes before they found the building, they could see dim light slipping through spaces between some of the boards. Mela

The door opened easily. Mela

"Who's there?" a rough voice called from beyond the door.

Whitlock shot a glance at Mela

"Wha-" the voice began, then the speaker paused. "Oh, Ferd sent you." Sudden sounds coming from beyond followed these last words.

The door opened and out stepped a man. He was at least six feet tall with a great girth. Hairy bare arms hung at his sides, his roughly woven clothes marking him as a man of little means. His broad face suggested more beast than man. His upturned nose showed too much nostril, and his eyes were small, like dark animal holes. He glared at the pair, looking each up and down.

"My name is Mela

The man just grunted, looking at them as though taking inventory.

Whitlock said, "And who are you, sir?" He grunted again. "Name's Orrag Grinmash," he said with a voice coarser than his clothing. He rubbed his unshaven face with a massive hand.

Whitlock's mind held little doubt that Orrag was some sort of thief or brigand. In fact, he thought, "Ferd" was probably his accomplice. Now Orrag prepared to attack them while they slept and take their belongings. The whole scheme was a well-rehearsed plot. Generosity indeed! Whitlock would show him that he wasn't so easily tricked and robbed. He knew that a circumspect eye is a Dalesman's greatest asset. "Orrag, Our Mother Chauntea has brought us here to this shelter. She is a great provider and takes care of her servants well," Mela

From outside, a howling cry grew in intensity, then whistled all around them. The light flickered in the wind, from which this old building offered only meager shelter. A steady drumming began against the roof and walls.

Orrag seemed a little surprised by her words. "Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

Orrag stepped into the small room with Mela