A Solstice Celebration: A Legends of Lasniniar Holiday Collection

A Solstice Tale-3

“No, sir. The hallway was empty.”

“And you are sure you locked the door again after you left.” Iarion gave her a pointed look.

“Yes, sir!” She nodded fervently. “And it was locked before I came in.”

“We’re dealing with a professional then,” Barlo said. “Someone who can pick locks. They would have had lots of time while we were bathing.”

“May I go now?” the girl asked with a pleading expression.

“Yes,” Iarion said. “Thank you for your help.”

She bolted from the room, nearly running into the innkeeper just outside the door.

“So your things have gone missing too?” he asked by way of greeting.

“What do you mean ‘too’?” Barlo asked with a frown.

The innkeeper sighed. “Almost every guest has come to me in the past hour or so to report their possessions stolen. The only ones who haven’t are too drunk to move from the common room.”

“Everyone’s things have been taken?” Barlo asked, his brown eyes widening. The innkeeper nodded glumly.

“Either one of your guests is a very good actor,” Iarion said, “or this was an outside job.”

“The second scenario seems more likely,” Barlo said, stroking his beard. “The boy mentioned thefts at other inns.”

“Either way, the situation is under control; never fear,” the innkeeper said. “I’ve contacted the City Watch. They’ve sent over some lads to keep an eye on the front and rear exits until the captain can get here to investigate. He’s busy with the Lord of the City right now, discussing the warring tribesmen, but he should be here in the morning. Whoever the thief is, he won’t be able to leave. Now if you don’t mind, I’d better get back downstairs and see to things. A fine Solstice this is turning out to be...” He shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Well, what now?” Barlo asked. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to sit around and wait for the captain. Besides, the thief could have gotten away already! Who knows how much time passed before the first robbery was noticed and reported?”

“I agree,” Iarion said, starting to pace. “But we can hardly question the other guests. “We are strangers here, and it would only upset the innkeeper, in addition to stirring up trouble. The last thing we want is the entire inn at odds with one another. Barlo, you left the room before me. Was there anyone lurking in the hallway? It was empty when I left.”

Barlo shook his head. “No... Wait. Yes, there was a man in the hallway. He was just going into his room. I didn’t stop to talk to him. I was a little awkward about my attire.” He gestured to his robe.

Iarion stopped moving. “Can you remember what he looked like?”

“He was a Lesser Man... Blond hair, gray eyes, wiry sort of fellow.”

Iarion frowned. “That sounds like a man I noticed at the market today while the tribes were arguing. It seemed strange to me he wasn’t taking sides.”

“Do you think there’s a connection?” Barlo asked.

Iarion shrugged. “Who knows? But it seems like a strange coincidence. Either way, I doubt he’s still here. If he’s the same man, he doesn’t strike me as the type to stick around until the Captain of the Watch gets here.”

Barlo cursed. “We could nose around and try to pick up his trail if we had something to wear other than these blasted robes.” He gestured to the thin cotton fabric, which would be no protection against the cold.

Iarion flushed. “Actually, we might have something else.”

Barlo’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Iarion hesitated for a moment. “The thief didn’t take everything. He left behind two Solstice gifts from my mother: one for me and one for you.”

“Why would he leave those behind?”

Iarion sighed, reaching into the trunk at the foot of his bed. “You’ll see...”

He pulled out a package from the bottom of his pack and dumped the contents onto the bed. A pile of velvety fabric spilled out. Iarion sorted the fabric into two piles of clothing, laying them out for Barlo to see. They were two matching sets of long-sleeved tunics and breeches. The first set—clearly designed for someone of dwarven stature—was a violent shade of red, while the other was dyed a deep, forest green. Both sets had a wide, golden-buckled belt. The outfits were trimmed with white fur around the cuffs and tunic hem, and each one was accompanied by a matching hat. The hats were long and stocking-like, tapering to a point. They were also trimmed with fur, and each one had a fur pompom on the end.

Barlo shook his head in disbelief. “What in the First Father’s name are those supposed to be?”

“My mother made them,” Iarion said with a helpless shrug. “The red one is for you, obviously. She knew I would be wandering outside Melaquenya with you at some point this winter. I suppose this is her way of making sure we stay warm. She’s never been outside the forest, so she has no idea what winter fashion looks like.”

“I should say not...” Barlo couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. “Galrin’s beard, those are the most ridiculous outfits I’ve ever seen! No wonder the thief didn’t take them...”

“They are warm though,” Iarion said, fingering the heavy fabric.

“Surely you’re not suggesting we actually wear those things!”

Iarion gave Barlo a wry smile. “Do you really want to go traipsing after a thief in these robes? I doubt he will find us very intimidating, and that’s assuming we don’t end up with frostbite in any interesting places.”

Barlo shuddered. “Couldn’t we make something out of our blankets?”

“And waste even more time?” Iarion asked, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I’m no master tailor, are you?”

“All right, bad idea. But surely we can find something else to wear...”

“Barlo, the market is closed for the day, and we have no money. We’re the only elf and dwarf staying here. I doubt any of the other guests have anything that will fit, even if we convinced them to part with it. Besides, we can’t let anyone know what we need the clothes for. The inn has been sealed, remember?”

“What about our own clothes?” Barlo asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Maybe we can get them back.”

Iarion sighed. “They’re probably soaking wet by now.”

“I suppose we have no choice then,” Barlo said as he glared at the offending outfits. “But I’m not going anywhere without my ax.”

Barlo followed Iarion down the stairs as quietly as he could manage. The elf made no sound. Both of them had changed into the outfits Iarion’s mother had made. Even though he felt absolutely ridiculous, Barlo had to admit, they fit well and were warm. He was already starting to sweat.

He reached the bottom stair and looked around. The fire had been banked for the night. Most of the guests had begun their drinking early, and the inn had been sealed, so there were no new patrons wandering in, which meant Iarion and Barlo didn’t have long to wait before everyone sought their beds for the night.

The glowing embers were the only light in the darkened common room, which was empty. Iarion was already halfway to the front counter. Barlo rushed to catch up, nearly tripping over a stool in the shadows. Iarion shot a disapproving glare over his shoulder, his elven ears somehow hearing the barely audible scrape of the stool legs against the wooden floor. Barlo gave a helpless shrug of apology and chose his next steps with more care. Iarion reached the counter and dropped to a crouch, beckoning Barlo to join him.

The innkeeper’s strongbox was still in its customary place. Barlo pulled out a pin he had managed to scrounge up from their meager supplies, bending it into a hook with his teeth before thrusting it into the lock. Lock picking was a skill every dwarf learned growing up. Iarion watched him with a tense expression as Barlo probed, working by feel. It took a few tries, but the pin eventually caught, and the tumblers fell into place with a satisfying click.

He and Iarion carefully rummaged through the assorted contents to find their own weapons, which were close to the top of the pile. Barlo slipped his ax into his belt with a sigh of relief. Even though he knew he must look even sillier now—assuming such a thing was possible—he felt better being armed. He closed and locked the strongbox, and he and Iarion crept back up to their room.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Barlo asked in a low voice once their door was closed. After retrieving their packs, he and Iarion would jump out their window to the street below.

“Both the front and back entrances are being watched,” Iarion said. “The last thing we need is to alert the City Watch. This is the only way. It’s not a long drop... You’re not afraid, are you?” He gave the dwarf a mocking grin as he pulled back the curtains and opened the window.

Barlo groaned. “You had to say that, didn’t you? That question has led me into more trouble than I can conveniently remember.”

“The coast is clear,” Iarion said, hopping up onto the window frame in a crouch. “I’ll go first to give you a chance to find your nerve.”

He slipped out the window with fluid grace, balancing for a moment on the narrow frame before jumping. Barlo poked his head out to see Iarion land on the street below in a controlled tumble, rolling to his feet. He looked up and gestured to Barlo to follow suit after brushing the snow from his clothing. His fur-trimmed hat was still in place.

Barlo clambered up onto the windowsill with a resigned sigh and squirmed out onto the ledge. “Why does he have to make it look so blasted easy?” he muttered to himself.

He teetered, taking a deep breath of cold air in an effort to steady himself. A sudden gust of wind slammed into him. His boots skittered, but he remained upright until a small avalanche of snow hissed down from the roof, knocking him from his perch. He plummeted toward the street below, stifling a shout. He kicked his legs and flailed his arms in a futile effort to slow his descent. One of his feet connected with the wall of the inn, launching him away from the building at the last moment. Iarion looked up at him with wide eyes from where he stood, which was now directly below him. He landed on the surprised elf, knocking the wind out of both of them, and sending them into a snowbank.

For a moment, Barlo lay completely still, waiting for signs of life from his flattened friend.

“Iarion?” he said in a tentative whisper. “Are you all right?”

Iarion groaned. “I will be if you get off me.” Barlo rolled to the side and Iarion took several deep breaths before speaking again. “At least you weren’t wearing your chain mail. You’re more squishy without it.”

“Squishy?” Barlo demanded, climbing to his feet. “I am most certainly not squishy. He thumped his chest. I’m solid muscle!”

“If you say so.” Iarion took his time standing. “At least nothing’s broken. Here, don’t forget this.” He handed Barlo his hat.

Barlo crammed the foolish hat back onto his head with a dark look. “Thanks.”

The arrival of a familiar-looking shadow cut any further arguments short as Sinstari padded toward them, inspecting their new attire with interest.

“Well, look who it is,” Barlo said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Nice of you to finally join us. We could have used you a little while ago. If you had been around to watch our things in the first place, we wouldn’t even be out here in these daft getups.”

“You can hardly blame Sinstari,” Iarion said, stroking the wildcat’s head. “He must have come back from hunting after the inn had been sealed.”

Barlo tried to find fault with his friend’s logic, but came up empty. “Well at least now he can help us track the thief,” he said, still feeling a bit surly.

“I’ll go have a quick look around the back door to see if I can find anything to get us started,” Iarion said. “The thief would have been carrying a fairly large pack. He couldn’t have gone through the front door without attracting notice.”

“What about the City Watch?” Barlo asked.

“I won’t let them see me.”

“Even in that outfit?” Barlo asked, raising an eyebrow.

Iarion rolled his eyes. “Just wait here.”

He disappeared around the side of the building, leaving Barlo and Sinstari on their own. Barlo scowled at the wildcat, who was now circling him to sniff the white fur trim of his tunic.

“That’s right,” Barlo grumbled. “Take it all in. You’re lucky Iarion’s mother didn’t make you one of these things.”

Sinstari finished his inspection and settled on his haunches, green eyes glimmering. Iarion returned a few moments later.

“I think I found something,” he said in a low voice. “A trail of bootprints leads away from the back door of the inn. They look like they could be a match for the man I saw at the market earlier. They’re the right size and depth.”