The waning moon hangs high over K?spar and W?n as they enter Kesel’s-in-the-Vale.

  The Krouwnae river splits the town in two, carrying the cool blue of the moon with it. Five bridges span across the Krouwnae, their heavy stone, stalwart against the rapids, is shaded by the night. Sigil streetlamps perched on iron posts, lining the streets and the bridges, burning with a warm orange glow, stubbornly fighting back against the chilly air of the autumn night. The windows of the array of brick and half-timbered houses lie dark, as the town sleeps with its people, all but the faint glow from the shuttered windows of the inn. The moon is trying—and succeeding—to bind the town beneath it in the quiet, peaceful night.

  As the sound of the water beneath him drowns out the clicking of horseshoes, K?spar leads W?n across one of the stone bridges to the Valerun Inn.

  The large, red, four-floor brick building stands on the north side of the town, the lights in its many guest rooms out, but the inn is far from silent as chatter seeps through the slats of the wooden shutters of the common area.

  Dismounting, K?spar walks W?n through the wooden gate and into the small fenced field around the back, large vines working their way up thick wooden lattices against the back wall. He is quickly greeted by a young ostler, no older than fifteen. The boy's narrow face and upturned nose are all K?spar can make out under the moonlight.

  “I can take your horse for you; we have oats and hay—one silver for five kilograms of oats; six coppers for five kilograms of hay. If you need a room, my moth... mera’L?y can help you inside.” says.

  K?spar chuckles and thanks the boy; he then requests the oats, hands the boy a full silver piece, and heads inside.

  The common area is half-full as groups sit scattered around on the benches of the long oak tables. Empty seats show the wear of a long, fruitful service. Lanterns swing from hooks on the dark wooden beams above them, providing a bright but homely light. The scent of meat pies wafts in from above the hinged gate leading to the kitchen before bending with beer and pipe smoke.

  A serving maid, who seems to him to be about the age of Floryana, approaches him, her visage displaying similar features to the young ostler from the stables; she looks up at him with large green eyes.

  “Feel free to take any seat; I’ll be right with you,” says.

  “I am actually interested in a room at the moment; where would I find mera’L?y?” The serving maid points over to a woman stoking the fireplace and scurries off, so K?spar looks to where she pointed and makes his way over to the woman; he stops across the fireplace from the innkeeper, and speaks: “Your sister told me you were the elusive mera’L?y I need to talk to about a room.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “The only thing elusive here is getting a free room with a flattery I’ve heard from six other men,” says as she stands up from the fire and presses her apron flat with her hands, smudging soot on the stained, red cotton fabric, then she looks the man before her up and down: he does not look like the usual person who stops her; he is to clean and to composed. “It’s one and a half silver for a private room and a meal.”

  K?spar digs into his coat pocket, handing her the coins.

  “Second floor, three doors down on the left side. Do you have a name?”

  “My name is Werner Rolan,” K?spar hears shifting from the table behind him, but chooses not to acknowledge it; if they do know of Rolan, it would be best to settle differences in private, “Do you have a key?”

  “Take a seat; my daughter will bring it with your food,” Winwella leaves, she will be needed in the kitchen.

  K?spar takes a seat at the table against the far wall, directly behind the men who seemed to have a reaction to the name, so he eats quickly when his food arrives—he stopped valuing food based on its taste many years prior— he pockets the key and begins to stand, but stops himself halfway; one of the men at the table before him grabs the arm of Winwella’s daughter, pulling her in close; he folds her fingers around a half gold piece.

  “Such a shame, truly,” 's words are slurred, “For a pretty young lass like you to be cooped up inside, working for your parents,” he places his hand on Edyl's waist—it is slim, and with a little bit of pressure he can feel a rib beneath the fabric, “I could show you a world you’ve never dreamed of. Merchants like us… we know ways—foreign ways—and I could pay you far more than they ever could, even in a Maiden.”

  The hinged gate to the kitchen swings open, and steps out. He is a large man, clearly more muscle than fat by the way he carries himself.

  Tonys storms over, cleaver in hand, and takes ?nor by the collar, “You think I don’t keep an eye on my ?nor around drunkards like you, Ywan?” He pulls his ?nor away, pushing her towards the nearest table, and slams the squared end closest to the leather-wrapped handle into the table, “What did I say last time you tried this?” the bastard opens his mouth attempting to defend himself but is cut short as Tonys slams his head, face first, against the table; Tonys feels catharsis fill him as the wooden plank vibrates as Ywan’s head bounces back up, blood flowing from his now broken nose.

  A smile forms on K?spar’s face; he likes it when things like this happen, he then looks to the girl, who seems to have a similar reaction to him as if desensitised to these advances and joyed when the drunkard is hurt; K?spar watches her slip the coin into the pocket of her apron.

  “Look, Tonys—” Ywan starts.

  Tonys pulls the cleaver from the table, pointing it at the two companions of Ywan. “You two can still stay the night; you've always paid, and I’ll honour that, but you tell your friend here—when you find him in the morning—that if he ever steps foot in Kesel’s again, we’ll lynch him.” He drags Ywan, who is pressing his bloodied hands against his face, whining, to the door by his collar and kicks him into the street. “You go to your rooms and don’t let anyone see you until morning!” He storms back into the kitchen, leaving the common area in silence.

  The room clears out shortly as everyone heads to their rooms; K?spar waits until ?nor disappears into the kitchen with her father before heading to his room.

  K?spar locks the door behind him and wedges a small piece of paper at the bottom, between the door and its frame. Placing his bag on the bed, he opens the window overlooking the small back paddock; he carefully climbs down.

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