Page 8 of Ale Storm

“Didn’t you say your landlord decided not to cave to your brother’s coercion?” Sylin asked.

“For now, yes,” Rylana said. “I’m not sure how badly he wants the rare bottles of wine that Frodin tried to bribe him with. I could just give the horn to Frodin. I like it when he owes me favors. But I’d like to figure out if it’s safe first. With the troll-god curse in recent memory, I’m leery about glowing things.”

“Understandable.”

Rylana shrugged a shoulder and took a bite of her scone. Oh, that was delicious. Was the frosting also flavored with alpine strawberries? There was a tartness to the sweetness that immediately prompted Rylana to take second and third bites.

“We could go up to your terrace and rub the horn on that tree or pot or whatever you think might have prompted a reaction,” Sylin suggested. “Your whole rooftop is magical now. A byproduct of having a powerful elven plant master design the dining area.”

“Chalora is powerful?”

“A simple elven gardener with little inherent magic wouldn’t have gotten the trees to grow into a pergola in two days. Were Chalora to get cranky, she could probably level buildings and cause volcanos to erupt.”

“Maybe I should send her more of Jildarin’s bacon to ensure we stay in her good graces.”

“I would. Anyway, why not go up there and see if it was the specific tree that caused the glow?”

“With my luck with magical items, I might get zapped.”

“Do you want me to do it?”

“Yes.” Rylana smiled at her.

Sylin snorted, finished her scone, and picked up the horn.

Rylana took the second half of her scone with her and followed Sylin across the street and up the stairs to the diner’s terrace. The sun was out, and a few patrons who’d come for lunch lingered at the tables under the branch-based pergola, foliage stirring in a gentle breeze. The diners’ plates were empty, but they were chatting amiably over chilled tea and a red juice that had to be a new offering. Maybe Jildarin had also gotten ahold of some alpine strawberries.

“That’s the spot.” Rylana, who couldn’t bring herself to stand back while someone else was zapped, took the horn from Sylin.

A tree grew cheerfully from a pot higher than Rylana’s waist and wider than a nearby table. It was near the pergola but not one of the four whose trunks created the posts and leaves that provided its shade. With a more compact, bushy nature, the tree’s branches were densely covered in many-pointed glossy leaves that reminded Rylana of holly. It smelled slightly of citrus and had trumpet-shaped flowers and orange berries. The night of the attack, those flowers had spat thorns, aiding the rooftop defenders against the treacherous elves. With no threats nearby today, they hung quietly, not alertly skyward as they’d been that night.

“The tree emanates as much magic as the horn,” Sylin remarked.

As a sense-dead human, Rylana had to take her word for it, but the thorn-flinging flowers would have informed her of its enchanted nature anyway.

“As I was saying, your whole rooftop emanates magic these days,” Sylin added.

“Is it overwhelming or pleasant?” Rylana stopped beside a table adjacent to the pot. A pair of gnomes were seated there, sipping pink drinks, and watched her curiously.

“The rooftop terrace is wonderful,” one said. “I don’t even like elfy nature stuff, but it’s so relaxing.”

His buddy nodded in agreement.

“It is relaxing up here,” Sylin said.

“That’s good.” Not relaxed in the least and bracing herself for something unpleasant to happen, Rylana dropped the horn into the soil of the pot. She watched warily for several long seconds. Nothing happened.

Rylana crouched and peered at the carvings. Was it possible the ale mugs were illuminated, and it was hard to tell with the sun out? When she’d seen the horn glow before, it had been early in the morning.

“I don’t sense anything to indicate its magic has increased in intensity,” Sylin offered.

Rylana risked poking the horn with her finger. Nothing happened.

“Is that supposed to fertilize the tree?” one of the gnomes asked.

“No, I was hoping the tree would fertilize the horn,” Rylana said.

“I… don’t think nature works like that. Even weird elf nature.”