The Trotting Pony Inn was a large three-storeyed stone establishment in the center of Silver Peak, bordering the western edge of the town square. With its unplastered stone walls and hay thatched roof, it was by no means the grandest building in town. That honor was held by the Lord Mayor’s mansion across the street. But it was a clean and respectful establishment that had been a landmark of Silver Peak for over five generations. It had been owned and managed by a D’Owry ever since the time of Balgrid D’Owry, who built it back when Silver Peak was little more than a wayside rest stop for travellers journeying south from the Noigiri mountains and Darfin in the north. Now the legacy of the D’Owrys was under threat due to the lack of a male heir. However, Mara D’Owry, the current nineteen year old caretaker of the inn was determined not to lose her inheritance, just because she was born on the wrong side of the gender wall. Sometimes that meant having to deal with greedy old sleaze-bags like Regin Haggins, who would as quickly cheat her off her hard-earned money as try to push his hands up her skirt.
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From behind the bar, Mara narrowed her eyes at the portly ale merchant in front of her. She had ordered fifty barrels of Mordenion ale, but only thirty made it to her stores. The balding middle-aged man was in the process of explaining exactly how this difference in the order had come about and why he deserved to be paid in full in spite of it. She was aware he was trying to swindle her and it made her blood boil.
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“Ah, mistress! The vessel was torn to picks, I tell ya. Before it even reached the shore. Such a storm it was!” The man said mournfully, shaking his head so that his jowls flapped like a rooster’s wattle. “The whole shipment from Alpy sinkin’ to the bottom, it did. Such a disaster! Such a disaster!”
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Behind him, Mara could see the dim-witted grins on her male patrons’ faces as they listened to the ale merchant spin his tale. She had no doubt bets were already placed on whether Regin will succeed in swindling her this time. She ignored them and turned to Regin, painting her face with an expression of shock and disbelief.
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“That is terrible, Master Haggins.”
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“Aye mistress. Terrible indeed. Many a good folk lost good money that night. I say to Verbidge, they better be compensatin’ us with a new batch. But he laughs! Laughs, I say, right at my face! An’ tells me to go fetch ‘em from the bottom of the stinkin’ sea meself!”
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“How did you ever manage to salvage these thirty barrels?” Mara asked with feigned incredulity.
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The man, assuming Mara was hooked, continued his yarn. “Ah, Mistress! That batch is lost, nothing can do ‘bout that now. But, Haggins is nothin’ if not prepared.” He tapped his forehead and wiggled his eyebrows. “Been storing barrels that did not sell from the last shipment. Knew it would come in handy. Barely had some thirty of ‘em left. Missus says to sell it for higher price, make a profit. But I say, a man’s nothing if not true to his word. I promised Mistress D’Owry fifty, at least I can give ‘er thirty, even if I suffer the loss.”
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It was a dramatic finish, full of flourish and self-exaltation. Mara resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
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“Oh, Master Haggins! That is so kind of you.” She simpered, painting her face in a look of gratitude. “Without your thoughtfulness, the inn would have to run dry this month. Here is a token for all your help and goodwill.”
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She dropped a bag of coins into his outstretched hands. Haggins greedily emptied the purse on the bar top and started counting. She watched with suppressed amusement as his expression changed from glee to confusion and to a red-faced scowl.
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“Ah! Mistress.” He said still struggling with the effort to keep his voice cordial. “There be some mistake ‘ere. Some coins be missing, I think. Only payment worth thirty barrels, ‘ere.”
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“Oh no, Master Haggins.” Mara’s face was a mask of innocent confusion. “Exact payment for thirty barrels of ale. It should be all there. I counted it twice myself.”
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“Ah, but this ale be from my own stock mistress.” Mr. Haggins argued through a forced toothy smile. His mask of pleasant pretense was starting to crack as he realized Mara was not buying into his ridiculous story of self-sacrifice. “I could’ve sold it at higher price. But I thought ye be needing it more. I be working at loss ‘ere. Surely, the mistress can shore up some more.”
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“I do appreciate the trouble you have gone through on our behalf Master Haggins.” Mara raised her voice enough for her words to carry through the whole tavern. “It is so hard for us you know, just me and my poor ma, bless her heart she is not getting any younger, trying to run this inn all by ourselves. And then the shipment is lost. So unfortunate really. Who would’ve thought a freak summer storm would hit so close to winter. But you know, without the kindness of people like you, where would we be?”
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Mara watched as the man’s face turned a shade of purple. She could practically hear him grit his teeth as he tried to decide whether to accept the money and keep his pride or try to haggle and lose it in front of all the other men.
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“Ah, of course, mistress. Of course”, said Master Haggins finally, in a resigned tone. “How’s Madam D’Owry? Haven’t seen her in long.”
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“She is well, by Joha’s grace. But old age is catching up to her.”, Mara sighed. “She is not as springy as she used to be, poor soul. Can’t manage the day to day, so I have to take care of everything by myself now.”
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“Of course, mistress. Of course. Joha’s grace be with you both. Well, I’ll be off then.”
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Master Haggins gathered the coins back into his purse and headed out, muttering to himself. The inn, which had become very quiet, erupted in howls of laughter as the door closed behind him. Mara spied coins exchanging hands at several tables but did not smile. The interaction had left her feeling sick and slimy and she desperately wished for a bath.
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The nerve of the man, trying to cheat me out of my money! Again!
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She hated dealing with men like Regin. They believed her an easy target for their cons just because she was a woman. They couldn’t imagine that she would know about the seasonal conditions along the coast of Darfin where it was too late in the year for hurricanes. Or she would think to check under the barrels for the date stamp which clearly indicated the ale had been packed only a month prior. Or she would have the nerve to stand up to their hogheap. No, they never considered that she was capable of knowing or doing any of those things, just because she was a woman. It infuriated her. She gripped the edge of the wooden bar top with both her fists, seething. A calloused hand patted her slim shoulder and Mara sighed, allowing her anger to slip away.
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“Do they all have ale in them and not palm rot?” she asked Horath, the bartender of Trotting Pony, turning around to look at him. She barely reached up to his neck and her gaze lingered for a moment at the thin white scar circling his tanned throat before she looked away to match his brown eyes. Not for the first time she wondered how the man had managed to survive from such an injury.
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She had sent Horath to check and make sure the wares were what Regin had claimed them to be. Horhath nodded his head with a sympathetic smile on his broad handsome face.
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“Thanks, Horath .” She yawned. “Can you handle things here for now? I think I will go check on ma.”
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It was barely noon and she was already tired. Her ma had one of her coughing attacks and she was awake ministering to her all night.
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Horath nodded, then frowned.
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Dress fitting, he signed to remind her.
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Mara groaned. Dress fitting. Of course! How could she have forgotten? For her engagement. Which was in two days! And then she wished she could have left it forgotten a while longer for the flurry of nervous butterflies that erupted in her stomach and not in a good way.
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“Yeah. I remember. I will make it in time.”
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Horath grinned and nodded, then grabbed the dirty towel from his shoulder and started wiping down the bar. Mara gave a cursory look around the tavern. The ruckus had quieted down, though some of the men still gave her a smirk when they met her eyes. Mara disregarded them and headed into the kitchen, behind the bar.
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Horath’s wife, Aalia, was at the large stone island at the center of the kitchen peeling potatoes with her older daughter Noria. The younger one, Mali, stood at the stove keeping watch over a pot of boiling water. The smell of sweet cenna, sour heldchi, spicy corniac and other spices were wafting up from the pot. Mara sniffed at the air appreciatively.
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“Goat stew?” She asked as she strolled over to peer into the pot over Mali’s shoulders. The nut-brown liquid gurgled with bubbles which popped now and again to release a fresh waft of the delicious smell of the spices into the air.
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“Aye!” Aalia replied. “Heard mistress coughing all night. Thought a fresh warm bowl of barkani dah with a dash of corniac would do her just right.”
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“Thank you!” Mara smiled at her gratefully.
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If not for Horath and his family, she did not know how she would’ve managed to run the inn while also taking care of her ailing mother. They were Nogar, people of the Noigiri mountains, though very few Nogar settlements existed now. Nearly three years ago, a plague had run rampant through the Nogar community, killing hundreds. Though if you asked Aalia, it had been the demons. Mara did not believe in demons anymore than she believed in the Paadhi or the undersea floating cities. But it did seem suspicious to her that a plague would cause people to walk out of their homes naked in the middle of the night and fling themselves off of cliffs or simply never return. The priests had declared the ‘disease’ the wrath of Joha towards Nogar’s blasphemous beliefs and practices. Like many of his kin, Horath fled the mountains with his wife and two girls. They wandered door to door looking for shelter, food and occupation. Old prejudices still ran high in these parts and not everyone wanted to employ or shelter a family of mountain savages. Until one freezing winter night when they came begging for food at The Trotting Pony Inn. Mara’s mother, Hera, took pity at their plight and offered them a warm place for the night. Next morning, Horath insisted on paying her back by repairing the roof and cleaning out the stables. Hera was impressed by his skills and industriousness and took the family in permanently. Somewhere in that journey, Horath had lost his voice and acquired the scar. The family never discussed it, and Mara did not have the heart to ask, lest it bring up painful memories. Mara ruffled Mali's hair affectionately, who beamed at her. She then headed up the stairs to check on her mother.
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The middle two floors of the inn had rooms for overnight guests while Mara and her ma occupied the third floor. The wooden planks creaked and groaned under her weight as she ascended; she made a mental note to ask Horath to take a look at them again. Last thing she needed right now was for the stairs to give way. The inn was old and in dire need of repairs. From the constant leaks in the ceiling to the cracks in the walls, it seemed to be falling apart from every corner. But, between the expense of her mother’s illness, the wages of the workers and keeping the larder stocked, there never seemed to be enough money for anything else. Business had also decreased in the last few months. The more rowdy crowd now preferred to go to the bawdy new tavern at the end of the main street. That is why when men like Rigen tried to cheat her, it made her want to throttle them.
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Arriving at her Ma’s bedroom door, she schooled her face into a calm expression, before knocking. It would not do her ma any good to see her irate.
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“Ma! It’s me. I’m coming in.”
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She pushed the door open and found her mother sitting in her rocking chair staring vacantly out an open window. Hera D’Owry had never been what you would call a traditional beauty, with a large bulbous nose and eyes that were slightly skewed. But she had been a proud, strong and stout woman once who had single handedly kept the Tottering Pony inn running for a decade after the untimely death of her husband. It had not been easy. Women running business and earning their own living was unheard of in those times. And many had urged her to sell the inn, sometimes a little too forcefully. But neither the mockery of men, nor the scorn of other women or the exhortation of the priests would make her surrender her rightful inheritance. She persisted and the inn had remained in the family. But those days were gone now. Dark bands circled her tired brown eyes, wrinkles creased her skin far too early for her age and once voluminous and luxuriously red, her hair now hung grey and limp across her head and shoulders. Two years of disease had done more to ravage Hera’s body and mind than decades of loneliness, hard work and scorn ever could.
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Hera looked up, her thin gaunt face creasing into a smile at the sight of her daughter.
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“Ma, what are you doing out of bed? You know Healer Maven said you need a week of complete bed rest.” Mara frowned with her hands on her hips. “And you opened the windows? You’ll catch the chill again!”
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“Pah!” Hera said irritably, her smile slipping at her daughter's admonishment. “It’s a bright sunny day. The sun does me more good than that bed you want to keep me strapped in.”
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“You are not the one who has to hear you cough your life out all night.” Mara muttered under her breath as she moved to close the windows.
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“At least, leave one of them open. I feel suffocated.”
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Mara rolled her eyes but acquiesced. The room did smell heavily of sweat, salves and old musty clothes.
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“Come here.” Hera gestured, patting to the other chair next to her. “Sit with me a while.”
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“Ma!” Mara protested. “I don’t have too much time. I’ve to go back and check on …”
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“All of that can wait. Sit!”
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Mara reluctantly sat down next to her. Recently, Hera had taken to telling her long stories of her life. And as much as Mara appreciated the life lessons, Hera had repeated some of them so many times, Mara could repeat them herself word for word.
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“I wanted to give you this.” Hera picked up a small stringed leather pouch that Mara hadn’t noticed was lying in her lap and extended it towards her daughter.
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“What is it?” Mara asked, gingerly examining the pouch in her hand. It was heavy and she felt the contrasting textures of something small, smooth, round and metallic with sharp edges dig into her palm.
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“Go on. Open it.”
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Mara unstringed the bag and pulled out a necklace. The pendant was a solid gold medallion shaped like a sunburst. It was engraved with small vines and leaves around the edges and had a thin delicate gold chain. The center of the pendant was inlaid with small pearls the color of cream, arranged in the shape of a blooming feniere. Gold filigree bordered the pearls which flitted as Mara turned the pendant around in her palm.
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“Ma!” Mara exclaimed. “This is beautiful!”
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“It is for you, my darling. It will look beautiful with your engagement dress.” Mara looked up to find a rare look of clarity on her mother’s face. “I know I’m not all there these days. But you didn’t think I’d forget my only child’s engagement?”
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Mara frowned. The pearls were sinarian, found only in the southern seas of Airaat. And with the trade with the league almost non-existent these days, they were extremely rare and valuable in Meyrin. She had never known such a treasure existed in her house.
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“How did you come by it?” Mara asked without thinking, flipping the pendant around in her hand. “If we sold this, we would have enough money to finally replace the roof”
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Her mother’s expression immediately turned sour.
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“You will not!” Hera snapped. “That necklace has been in my family for generations. My ma gave it to me for my engagement. If you don’t want it, give it back.”
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“Ma, I’m sorry. I was just joking.” Mara tried to cover her mistake with a fatuous smile. She had not meant to say it out loud, though she most definitely had not been joking. The roof was in dire need of repairs. Otherwise come winter they would have to evacuate the top floor for the one below, which meant less rooms for guests and even less revenue.
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Hera gave her daughter a glare and then promptly burst into tears. Mara suppressed a groan and reached out a hand to gently pet the bony wrinkled back of her ma’s hand. Unpredictable mood swings were another sign of her mother’s affliction, one Mara was finding exceptionally challenging to deal with.
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“Ma!” Mara said gently. “I am really sorry! I really was just joking. I love the necklace and I will be proud to wear it.”
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Hera sniffed and looked at her daughter from behind tear-filled eyes. “The only heirloom that I can give you for your wedding and here you are, planning to sell it, so you can keep this crumbling old ruin standing for just a few more years. Sometimes I wonder if it was right for me not to sell this place when I had the chance.”
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Mara shook her head, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.
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“Ma! It was not the wrong decision. We will make it work. I will make it work. And besides, what would we have done if you had sold the place? Where would we go?”
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“And what about Eren? Have you talked to him? How does he feel about keeping the inn? It will be up to him in the end.”
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“He has agreed to it.” Mara lied. She had not talked to Eren in weeks, not since their engagement was announced. She simply hadn’t had the time.
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“He is a good lad, Mara. He will keep you happy. He may not be my first choice, a little on the darker side but … .”
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“Ma!” Mara said hurriedly. “You know I don’t care about such things. And I know he is a good man.” She was about to say boy, never quite gotten used to seeing her future husband as more than the skinny little lad who used to follow her and Tam around like a puppy. “I know he will make a good husband.”
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She lied, of course, because she did not know whether Eren would make a good husband or not. She had known Eren since when they were children, running around town in soiled clothes and bare feet. They had been inseparable friends, Tam, Eren and her. But over the years she drifted apart from the boys, too busy at the inn and too much of a girl to hang out with the boys anymore. She’d tried to bridge the gap once or twice and while Tam was kind and willing to rekindle their friendship, Eren was cold and elusive. Things had changed somewhat since Tam left. Surprisingly it was Eren who made the attempt to reconnect, coming often to hang out at the tavern with the other boys and even approaching her by himself to chat once in a while. Still, this older Eren was a stranger to her and if not for the fear of losing the inn, she would not have acquiesced to marrying him.
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Hera suddenly gripped Mara’s hand tightly, a mad blaze in her eyes. “Maybe this is not the life you wanted my girl, but we all have to make sacrifices. Joha does not give us anything more than that we can handle.”
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Her mother had no clue what life Mara truly wanted. If she had her way, Mara would have left Silver Peak long ago.
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“I know ma! I know!” She replied tiredly but Hera did not seem to hear. She had already gone back to staring out the window.
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“I’ve to go Ma! ”
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Hera did not respond. Mara got up and walked to the door. She looked back once more at her mother hoping to see some semblance of that old strength and pride that was a source of comfort for her in the years after her father’s death. But all she could see was a frail and possibly senile women too old for her age and too lost in her own past to be a comfort to anyone. She left, closing the door behind her gently. She did not have time to mope around about the good old days. She had too much work to do
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