Rouder’s Inn

Daria cracked her knuckles, a reverberation to the smoldering timbers, and threw a fresh log into the fire. Hissing, the campfire swallowed each splinter. “Inaea was the goddess that freed the humans of these lands and led them against the predominant rulers, do we agree?” She looked at Varion and the hoplites who nodded instantly. “Good. But why didn’t she prevent the intrusion of the Silver People in the first place? The devils landed on the eastern coast. The Ashlands are in the west, so she had enough time to prepare for their invasion. In other words, what got her involved?”

“She was raped,” finished Hemma. “Raped and defiled.”

“Hm. The gods eventually overthrew the devils but the rapist was not caught until years later when the youngest and fiercest goddess of love captured him. Sevara was not known as the lover of flesh nor of soul but as the grave protector of both. And as she presented the villain, a tribute most sacred to the people of the Ashlands, she cut off his penis and let him bleed to death on the exact hill our journey began. As her followers, we must do the same but we will not let years pass and we will not grant Persilaus any time of leisure.”

Hemma sheathed her sword most vigorously and frowned up to Daria. “He knows we’re coming?”

“Do not sound disappointed, dear, for a man in fear is a weakened spirit. He is aware of our reputation and nothing frightens a villain like that more than losing his tool of agony.”

#

The lake they trotted by luminesced in a sparkle of exchanging yellow to red, as if sun and evening were in the midst of a scuffle, taking it out on the smooth water surface. From two-wheeled wagons to wealthy envoys of higher import, the streets were busied ventures. Some carts looked like they were just coming here for trading, although no market place existed. Hence, they scattered about the lake, vending distant meals and exotic luxuries.

Camps and tents had been hoisted to house all those people who couldn’t afford to stay in a place like this or enjoyed watching a network of stars embellish the cloudless night.

The inn spanned across several acres, a small town in its own right. Even a garrison of soldiers was stationed here, hidden but not far off, while smaller units of patrols marched about the lake, protected the inn, and held watch on a rock in the north east that had been reshaped and carved out for the ancient masters to watch their slaves.

But Rouder’s Inn was no fortification. It rose its shade onto the lake in worldly radiance. Gradually aligned like palisades, walnut wood denoted Rouder as a wealthy owner. A broad plateau rooted the levelled lakeside on which a large estate added a maroon shade to the tussle of the evening sun. On top of the ground floor were two stories, each a little smaller but refurbished and freshly painted, Varion descried as he marched down a colonnade of cypresses, halting before the main entrance.