Page 95 of Ale Storm

Jildarin spread his arms and stood protectively in front of Rolf. “There will not be a battle in my diner. My employees have not knowingly poisoned anyone.”

“Knowingly!” A dwarf who’d gotten his axe free growled, shaking his hand, probably having been zapped. Would the peacekeepers arrive soon?

Rylana looked toward the booth where the king had been seated. Lady Wikla, who’d continued to examine the horn, didn’t have a mug in front of her. Rolf must not have made it to that table with drinks yet. Wikla was gaping around the room, the horn in one hand and a buttered chunk of the stonebread in the other.

“I drank the ale too,” another dwarf said. “It tasted wonderful, but now I don’t feel good. Dag? Are you dying?”

Rylana strode to the king’s booth.

“I need this back for a moment.” She plucked the horn from the female dwarf’s grip.

Wikla reached for it but paused. “Oh, yes. Test the mugs with it.” As another dwarf groaned, she said, “Why didn’t I think of that when the drink first came out?”

Probably because, as attested by the disappearing bread and plates at the table that had been licked clean, she’d been enjoying the meal. And with the king across the street, she might not have been as vigilant.

Rylana took the horn to the table next to the groaning dwarf. As a mercenary, she’d had basic medical training, but it had focused on stopping bleeding and bandaging wounds, not curing someone who’d been poisoned.

“Zalani,” she said, spotting the half-elf holding a water pitcher and looking uncertainly about, “will you find a healer?”

“Yes, of course.” Zalani set down the pitcher and ran out the front door.

In the meantime, Rylana took ale from one of the mugs on the table, used her thumb to plug the bottom of the horn, and poured the amber liquid in. The artifact warmed, indicating it was testing the substance, but the mugs didn’t glow. She poured the ale back into the mug, then grabbed an empty one. Had that been Dag’s?

“Sorry, friend,” Rylana muttered to the dwarf and dumped the last drops from his mug into the horn.

Two of his comrades were kneeling beside him now, but the rest of his seat mates had grown pale, placing their hands over their stomachs. Other dwarves, probably having drunk from different kegs, appeared unaffected but were still glowering at Rolf, who remained behind Jildarin. Thus far, nobody had charged at him. Wisely. Jildarin looked peeved. Probably more because his meal service was being ruined than because he was annoyed on Rolf’s behalf, but he was staying in front of the goblin instead of leaving him to fend for himself.

Not only did the horn warm as it sampled the handful of droplets, but the mugs in the carving glowed blue, and storm clouds appeared over them.

“This ale was poisoned,” Rylana said.

“Somebody check on the king!” the priest called.

Several guards ran past Jildarin and toward the door.

Dag groaned again, more softly this time. Damn, was the poor guy going to fall unconscious? Rylana hoped it wouldn’t be worse than that. What if the poison was something lethal?

The door opened before the guards reached it, and they halted. King Ekton walked in with a half-eaten scone in hand, Mya and his other set of guards following him.

“Ah, Your Majesty?” Rylana dumped out the ale and walked toward him and pointed at the scone. Mya had said she hadn’t used alcohol in the stonebread, but she’d mentioned using it in the desserts she’d made to go along with the meal. Was that scone one of them? “May I test that? Mya, did you use ale in that?”

“No, it’s in the cookies and pastries I made for tonight.” Mya looked back and pointed at one of the guards. “He’s trying one of the cookies now.”

“Er?” The guard held up a treat smeared with ale-buttercream frosting.

Rylana took it, tore off a chunk, and stuffed it into the horn.

Wikla’s mouth dropped open in horror.

The horn warmed in Rylana’s hand, apparently understanding that she wanted the cookie tested. This time, the mugs did not glow blue.

“Thank the gods,” Mya said, understanding the significance right away.

“Probably only some of the ale was poisoned,” Rylana said.

“The ale in my storeroom?” Now, Jildarin was the one aghast. “That someone dared. Should I find the culprit, I will incinerate him.”

“It might be a her,” Rylana said, but she didn’t know. Had the poisoning occurred at the same time as the earlier ransacking? Or just now? “Rolf, which dwarf was it who you saw in the storeroom?”