I departed the Baron's estate and walked toward Everspring. Frostfire had vanished from the sky—hopefully she had found a spot to hunt prey and satisfy her bottomless pit of a stomach. Who could blame her after spending thousands of years in stasis?

  I took in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

  What madness had possessed me to buy the Wandering Boar? When I’d first arrived in Everspring, I had coveted that tavern with its polished counters and gourmet kitchen. Instead, I'd been forced to settle for the Shadow's Respite—a haunted wreck of a tavern that had needed a lot of TLC.

  Now, it was my home, and I loved it dearly. Before meeting with the baron, the last thing on my mind had been making an offer for the Wandering Boar, but the baron and his wife Melisant had moved me. Her frail form, wasting away in that cold mansion, had struck something deep within me. I had expected to confront Baron Swiftwood, perhaps even flash my lord commander insignia, and demand he order the tavern guild to cease their plans to shut down my establishment.

  Now Swiftwood could now start digging himself out of debt, and he wouldn't have the tavern hanging over him.

  "What's done is done," I muttered to myself and kicked a small stone along the path.

  Everspring appeared on the horizon, and a vast field of lavender stretched to my right. The sweet scent filled my nostrils. The fields were familiar and comforting. Crownforge had its grandeur and excitement, but this place was much more desirable with its simple charms and quiet daily life.

  I followed the path through the lavender toward town. A group of children played ahead, kicking a leather ball between them. A boy of perhaps ten years wore a rough-spun brown tunic cinched with a frayed rope belt, his leggings patched at both knees. Next to him, a girl with braided blonde hair dressed in a simple blue dress with a white apron chased after the ball. Three other children—two boys and another girl—were also dressed in similar humble garments of earth tones and faded colors.

  One of the boys kicked the ball too hard. It sailed over the blonde girl's head and headed straight for me. Without thinking, I turned sideways, extended my leg, and stopped the ball with the side of my foot. The muscle memory from my previous life and childhood soccer games returned to me. I kicked the ball gently back to the children, who continued their game without missing a beat.

  I entered Everspring proper and passed several small cottages with thatched roofs. Smoke curled from chimneys as families prepared their afternoon meals.

  How in the hell was I going to manage two taverns?

  At least the Boar came with staff. That pompous chef, Darius Goldenspoon, with his ridiculous hat and even more absurd name, would need guidance. The food at the Boar was known for being dry and flavorless despite its high prices. The first step would be to teach them how to cook my recipes, but more than that, I would need to come up with new ones exclusive to the new establishment. The people of Everspring would want variety. Perhaps something more upscale to match the current prices.

  I paused at the town square fountain and sat on its stone edge. Water trickled behind me as I contemplated my new reality. Two taverns. Double the responsibility. The familiar sights and sounds of Everspring eased my mind

  I contemplated the enormity of my foolishness for a few long minutes before I stood and continued toward the Shadow's Respite. I needed to tell my staff about our new sister establishment. Plus, I couldn't wait to check in and see how business was going with Lady Churl in charge.

  As I approached, the market square bustled with activity. Colorful awnings stretched over wooden stalls where merchants hawked their wares. A potter displayed rows of earthenware jugs and bowls, each glazed in earthy browns and deep blues. A woman next to him hung lengths of dyed fabric that fluttered in the breeze. The scent of fresh bread wafted from a baker's cart.

  "Jerky! Fresh out of the smokehouse!" called a burly man with weathered skin, his stall lined with strips of meat.

  Children darted between the stalls. Their laughter competed with the calls of sellers trying to reel in buyers. I spotted a spice vendor with glass jars of colorful powders arranged on a table. Cinnamon, cloves, and pepper mingled in the air around his stall.

  "Good day to you," I said as I approached.

  "And to you, sir," the man replied with a smile that froze halfway. His gaze dropped to my chest, where the lord commander insignia gleamed in the sunlight. His face paled. "Is that…?"

  I shook my head and quickly removed the badge to stuff it into my pocket. "Oops. Forgot about that. It's new."

  The man opened and closed his mouth several times, words failing him.

  "I'll take these," I said, selecting three bottles of spices I needed for the tavern. I counted out coins and placed them in his palm. "Thank you."

  I hurried away before he could recover his voice. The last thing I needed was for word to spread about my new title. Everspring valued me as Varix, the tavern keeper, not as some fancy lord commander.

  As I passed the Hammer & Hearth Blacksmith, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal echoed from within. Through the open doors, I spotted Doan. He pounded away on what looked like a kettle, wrapping a piece of hand-hammered iron into a cylinder that tapered at one end.

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  "Hello, Doan!" I called out.

  He looked up, his face breaking into a broad grin. "Varix, my friend. I haven't seen you in a few days." He set his hammer aside and walked out, shading his face against the sun with one big hand.

  "I was in Crownforge and just got back. I had to take care of some business with Baron Swiftwood."

  "The baron has scarcely been seen over the past few weeks," Doan said. His face and thick leather apron were both streamed with soot.

  We shook hands once, his grip firm and calloused.

  "The baron is going through something trying. He would like to keep it private for now."

  "You're talking to him now?"

  "We buried the hatchet, so to speak. We've come to an agreement regarding my taverns."

  Doan's eyebrows rose. "Your taverns?"He stressed the plural.

  "Tell you about it later. Promise."

  Doan knuckled his chin. "Alright. At least tell me about the capital. What was it like?" Doan asked. "I have always wanted to visit."

  "It's impressive," I said, happy to chat with my friend. "Huge buildings, massive walls, and locomotives that ferry people around the city and into the mountain. I met some nice folks there, or should I say, dwarves. Have you ever drunk with dwarves?"

  "Gods, no. Everyone knows that's a bad idea."

  "I didn't know."

  Doan laughed.

  I carefully avoided any mention of the king, Thalindra, the library, and forgepriests.

  "Have you been by the Shadow's Respite yet?" he asked.

  "Not yet. I left Lady Churl in charge while I was away."

  Doan frowned. "I stopped by last night, and the doors were locked. If you were going to close the place, why didn't Lady Churl put up a sign?"

  My stomach tightened. "There might be something wrong. I need to check on things." I turned and set off at a quick pace toward my tavern.

  "Wait for me!" Doan called after me. "I'll go with you in case there's any trouble."

  I paused, grateful for his offer. "Thanks, friend."

  Doan ducked back inside the forge. "Mother, I must step out with Varix!" he yelled.

  "I'll take over for now," a woman's voice called back from the attached house. "You boys have fun playing!" Her voice cackled.

  "Mother!"

  "I'll make sure he stays out of trouble, Ragna," I called back with a laugh.

  "You do that, and hurry back," she added.

  Doan and I hurried down the street toward the Shadow's Respite. The afternoon sun was warm on my back. We rounded a corner past the bakery.

  "There's Old Man Guslan." Doan pointed.

  Ahead of us, Guslan struggled with several large grain sacks beside a small wagon. His cottage stood a few paces away—a modest structure with a thatched roof that needed patching in spots. A wooden shed leaned slightly to one side behind the cottage. A neat stone pathway led from the road to his front door, bordered by a well-tended garden of vegetables and herbs arranged in neat rows.

  As we approached, Guslan looked up, his few wisps of white hair clinging to his forehead. His weathered face broke into a smile.

  "Good day to you both," he called, setting down a sack with a grunt. "Varix, will the Shadow's Respite open today? My throat needs a mug of Frosted Wheat Ale."

  "The tavern is open every day."

  "It wasn't open last night. The doors were locked, and the shutters closed."

  I glanced at Doan. Doan offered a shrug.

  I scratched my head. "Are you sure?"

  "I might be as old as a plow, but I ain't senile. Much."

  "I've been away for a few days," I replied to this troublesome news. "I'll make sure we're open tonight."

  I glanced at the heavy sacks, then at Doan, who nodded. "Sure. It'll only take us a few minutes."

  Doan and I grabbed a sack. Guslan grinned at us. "Much appreciated, lads. These old bones aren't what they used to be."

  "It's no problem, Guslan. I'm always happy to lend a hand and drag Doan into manual labor whenever I can," I told him.

  Doan threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  We quickly moved the grain sacks into the shed. Guslan, standing in the doorway, offered directions on where to stack them.

  "That's perfect," he said as Doan placed the last sack. "I'll drop by later and order a few extra drinks to show my thanks."

  He waved as we set off again toward my tavern.

  The Shadow's Respite came into view, its sign swinging gently in the breeze. The place looked too quiet for mid-afternoon.

  "That's odd," I muttered. "Urzan and Moktar are usually lounging outside by now."

  Doan scratched his head. "Maybe they found somewhere else to play their weird punching game."

  "Let's check the back door."

  We walked around to the rear of the tavern. The door remained closed, but faint sounds drifted through the walls.

  "Is that... singing?" Doan asked.

  I pressed my ear to the door. "Maybe the bard is entertaining the troops." I pushed open the back door and stepped inside. I was not prepared for the sight that greeted me.

  Kieran Darkrune lounged in a chair, his feet propped on a table. Frostfire perched on his lap, her hands clasped under her chin as she listened to him croon. The bard wore a deep burgundy doublet with gold embroidery at the cuffs and collar. A matching cap sat at a jaunty angle on his head. His lute rested against the table beside him.

  When he noticed us, Kieran set his feet back on the ground. Frostfire hopped off his lap and rushed toward me.

  "Isn't he the most magnificent singer?" she gushed.

  "You're not wrong about that," I conceded. "But where is everyone?"

  Kieran picked up a mug of ale and took a long sip. He looked around the empty tavern and shrugged. "I don't know. I also don't know why you would leave me in charge of this place without warning. I can't run a tavern. Milo and Jessara did their best, but we had to close up early last night."

  "What?" I sputtered. "Where is Lady Churl?"

  Kieran shrugged again. "I have no idea, boss."