The Sleeping Inn

"The inn indicates vitality in any settlement. To rest and recover, to unwind, and to connect—the inn is a place of safety. It's a place where journeys begin."

—Dagus Adem, The Adventurer's Guide to the Continent 

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Ein and Alend reached Felhaven in the middle of the night, winding through the shops and houses to where the inn stood beside the village square. The streets were pitch-black and empty, so they moved by memory alone, with the occasional flickers of firelight from creaks and windows.

The inn acted as Felhaven's central news hub, so everything passed through the ears of Koth the innkeeper. If anyone knew what had happened at Evaine's homestead, it would be him.

"Take our things back to the forge," Alend instructed. "I'll meet you when I'm done."

The Thoren family forge was on the other side of town, a few minutes' walk down the street. Ein had no intention of doing what he was told.

"I'm coming in with you," he said, giving his father the most determined stare he could. A muscle twitched in Alend's cheek.

"Fine," Alend growled. "But don't do anything foolish. Let me do the talking."

The inn was two-floored and stretched the entire length of the square. Each time the wind swept across, the inn's shutters rattled and sent flakes of snow drifting into the ground. The title "The Sleeping Twin" swung on a sign above the doorway, its once dark lettering fading.

Noise spilled through the gap beneath the door—loud guffaws of men complaining about work, mugs slamming against the table, and the odd belch. Alend pushed the door open with his shoulder and they stepped through.

A blast of warm air hit Ein in the face, laced with the sweet smell of honeymead and a fire's red glow. The chatter subsided into silence as the regulars turned, staring at the two visitors. Master Koth Kinley stood behind the counter with a mug in one hand, cleaning with a stained dishcloth; he glanced across the room at Alend. The two were almost mirror images of each other: both broad and hardened with shaggy manes of hair and greying beards. Koth's bread was laced with dull red, while Alend's still showed patches of black in his.

"Alend," Koth greeted, and set his mug down on the benchtop. "Ein. Returned from your trip, I see." His eyes ran across the heavy baggage that the two carried. He raised an eyebrow. "Looks like you've brought back quite the haul."

"Koth," Alend dipped his head. "We bring some unsettling news, though that can wait for later. Do you know what happened to—"

"Evaine," Ein interrupted. "Where is she—Is she safe?"

There was an uneasy murmur as the patrons of the inn spoke amongst themselves. Alend flashed him a warning glance.

"You must have seen it, then." Koth lowered his gaze. A dark expression took over his face. "The poor Tamelyns…"

"We passed the farm on the way back," Alend said. "Tell me, what happened?"

"Let's go upstairs," Koth said. He looked earnestly at Ein. "They're all alive, son. I'll show you."

Ein eased, but the look on the innkeeper's face told him there was more to the story.

"Come," Alend gestured. "Koth, may we leave our packs here for now?"

"Of course."

The moment passed and the inn broke into chatter once more. Snippets of conversation floated past Ein; complaints of the weather, crops dying, animals giving birth, and more of the usual. Occasionally Ein heard mention of the attack on the Tamelyn homestead, but they'd reached the staircase before he could discern anything noteworthy.

Koth took them up a floor to the guest rooms, most empty. Not many people passed by Felhaven, let alone the Sleeping Twins. When visitors came, it was usually all at once—like a squad of soldiers returning to the capitol or a group of travelers passing by. At the end of the hallway, there was a closed door. Koth knocked softly before opening it.

The first thing Ein saw was Evaine sitting on the floor, her head laid across a bed. Her brunette hair converged into a single braid hanging down to her waist, a signifier of her coupled status. At the sound of the door, she jerked upwards and looked up, a sleepy lock falling into her face. Her skin was pale-white, and grey shadows lurked beneath deep, chestnut eyes.

"Evaine," Ein breathed.

Her eyes brightened and as Ein was about to rush to her side, he stopped himself. A frail body lay beside Evaine, tucked beneath a single woolen blanket: Evaine's father, Master Nath Tamelyn. He was chalk white, whiter than his daughter, and his chest rose and fell faintly with each breath.

"Evaine is well," Koth spoke. "But her parents weren't so lucky. Since morning, they've clung onto life by a single strand."

Ein's eyes travelled across the room to the other bed, where Evaine's mother lay. She was deathly pale, though in slightly better shape than her husband. Ein smelled stale sweat and dried blood.

"The attack," Alend said. "Tell me more about it."

"I wish I could," Koth sighed. "We don't know much more than you do. Evaine wasn't there when it happened. We have no idea what could've done it, let alone why. Doesn't seem to be human hands at least."

Ein and Alend exchanged a look.

"Are they going to be alright?" Alend asked. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Not at the moment, no." Koth wrung his hands uneasily. "All we can do is pray the gates of Vallaheim stay shut for them."

"They're going to be fine," Evaine said. Her eyes were hard, her jaw set with determination. "They've stabilised. Father's condition was worse this morning; he's stopped bleeding since then and he no longer tosses and turns in his sleep."

Alend nodded and gestured to the innkeeper. "Let's go back downstairs," he said. "There are things I wish to discuss with you, and the village council as well. We've brought back plenty of meat. I daresay Nath and Valeesha would enjoy a warm bowl of wolf stew when they wake up." He smiled warmly at Evaine.

"Wolf stew?" Koth raised an eyebrow. "I knew you were a capable man, but hunting wolves?"

"It's a long story. Come down, I'll tell you."

As the two men turned to leave, Koth looked over his shoulder at Ein.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink? You and your father look like you've walked through the nine circles of Hell."

Ein glanced at Evaine and shook his head. "I'll eat later," he said. "Save me a bowl of stew."

Koth nodded and followed Alend out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Their footsteps faded away.

As soon as they left, the air of defiance left Evaine and she sagged. Ein approached her and sat down on the floor. Now that he had the chance to look closely, he realized the shadows under her eyes were just as much from worrying as crying.

"Evaine," he said. "Tell me what exactly happened."

Evaine sat back and folded her legs beneath her. She pulled her braid to her chest, twisting and twirling it around her fingers. It was shocking—the brash and tomboyish Evaine reduced to a sullen wreck, and Ein wasn't quite sure what to think.

"I'm so glad you're back, Ein," she murmured. "So glad…" She rubbed her eyes. When she turned to face him, she was trembling.

"What happened?" Ein asked again, and this time she answered.

"They came this morning, shortly after dawn," she said. "I was at the village buying groceries, and when I came back… when I came back…" She swallowed. "The sheep were all dead, and the gate had been ripped apart. They were dead, Ein, and they were still bleeding… I could see their insides spilling onto the grass, their eyes—"

Ein squeezed her hand, which had begun to shake violently.

"I went up to the house," she continued. "Everything was…"

"I know," Ein said. "I saw it all. You don't have to describe it." The image of the ransacked house was fresh in his mind. It struck a painful chord within him: the Tamelyn homestead was like a second home.

Evaine nodded. She shifted, so her back was leaning against the bed, still holding his hand. A few moments later, he did the same.

"They were lying on the ground," she said. "Father was… he was the worst. His leg was broken, crushed beneath one of the shelves. I think he fought off the attacker; he had a scythe in his hand and there was blood on it. Mother must have taken a blow to the head. She was just lying against the wall, unmoving."

"What happened then?"

"Well I tended to them, of course. I did the best I could, and then I ran back to the village to call for help. The Mayor and a few of the other Masters came and we took them here, to the inn. Father was in a terrible shape. He was talking in his sleep, sweating, bleeding through his bandages. But he's alive. We worked non-stop with the medicine woman and cleaned his wound, stopped the bleeding. He's alive, and he's going to make it."

"Do you know what he was saying?" Ein asked.

Evaine shook her head and leaned into him. "I wasn't paying attention. I don't think I'd remember even if I knew." She looked at him with wide eyes. "What's happening, Ein? Nothing like this has ever occurred before. We've always been safe in Felhaven, in the Sleeping Twins. Not even the wolves or the bears come here. Why now? Is it the winter? The prophecy of the Three-winged Crow? What's going to happen to us?"

Ein felt like saying something, but he stayed silent; Evaine needed to rest. Now that he knew she was safe and that the rest of her family had survived, fatigue began to creep into his eyes.

"Ein," she started again. "Is Einar… did you find him? I didn't see his body... maybe he survived."

A lump grew in Ein's throat. Of course she hadn't seen the hound; its body had been buried underneath two of the sheep. She wouldn't have been able to move them by herself.

"...I'm not sure," Ein said, careful not to look her in the eye. "Father and I didn't get enough time to check. We'll go tomorrow morning and look for him. Maybe he ran away?"

He knew that wasn't true, and she probably did too. The wolfhound had been the most loyal of beasts. It would have fought to keep the herd safe, no matter the enemy. Ein would just have to leave before she did and make sure the hound was buried far away from the farm.

"He was getting old," she continued. "I think… he might have died anyway, maybe in a year or two. Hounds age faster than people, did you know? I think one year for us is seven years for them. That would mean Einar was almost a hundred years old."

"We don't know that he's dead," Ein repeated. "Come on, Evaine. There's no use worrying. Here's what we'll do. We'll rest well and fill ourselves with some warm wolf stew. Then, when our minds are clear and sharp, we'll head out to the farm and try to salvage as much as we can. Your mother and father will be up and walking in no time, and then we'll all go and watch the troupers and the sorcerer's fireworks come Founder's Eve. How's that sound?"

He waited for a reply, but it didn't come. When he finally looked towards her, her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply, her hair tickling his cheek with each breath. He tried to pull his hand away, but she tightened her grip, not letting him leave.

Ein eased himself into a more comfortable position as Evaine continued to sleep, leaning into the crook of his neck for support. He decided to wait for a while longer before heading back to the farm to bury Einar. He'd need a torch. It was approaching midnight, and it would only get darker.

Ein was still busying himself with those thoughts when his eyes closed and he too fell into a deep sleep.