The tavern Triss led them to was a modest establishment tucked away on a side street, its sign creaking gently in the evening breeze. The painted letters had faded with age, but the image of a golden tankard still gleamed in the warm light spilling from the windows. The sounds of laughter and music drifted from within, a welcome contrast to the cold formality of the palace. Sebastian pushed open the door, and the noise of the tavern washed over him like a wave, the clink of tankards, the conversations, the occasional burst of laughter, the strains of a lute from somewhere near the hearth, the smell of roasting meat, fresh bread, and the unmistakable scent of good booze. It was chaos.
The tavern was full, the evening crowd having descended upon the establishment in search of warmth and good company. The patrons were a motley collection of merchants, laborers, a few off-duty guards in the blue and gold of Temeria, a pair of traveling scholars arguing animatedly over a game of dice, and a group of young women who seemed to be celebrating something, their laughter rising above everyone else.
A barmaid with a round face and a cheerful disposition was weaving between the tables, her tray laden with tankards of ale and glasses of wine. A bard sat on a small stage, his lute in hand, his voice carrying a tune that was passable but uninspired.
They found a table near the back, tucked away from the main crowd but with a clear view of the room. It was a position that Sebastian had chosen instinctively, the table was scarred with the marks of countless meals, its surface worn smooth by the passage of time. Sebastian settled into his seat, his yellow eyes scanning the patrons with vigilance. Dandelion and Zoltan dropped into their chairs while Triss sat beside Sebastian.
A serving girl appeared, her face flushed with the heat of the kitchen. "What can I get for ye, good folk? We've got a fine roast tonight, and the ale is fresh from the barrel."
Zoltan's voice was immediate and decisive, his fingers drumming against the table. "Mahakam spirit. A full bottle. None of that watered-down swill ye serve to the common folk. I can taste the difference from across the room."
The serving girl's eyebrows rose, but she nodded, "We've got a bottle of the good stuff, but it'll cost ye. The master keeps it locked away for special occasions."
Zoltan's grin was wide, "I'm a special occasion. Bring it."
Sebastian ordered a simple beer, Dandelion requested a fine wine with the fussiness of a man who had developed expensive tastes, and Triss asked for a cup of herbal tea. The serving girl departed with their orders, weaving through the crowd.
As they waited, Sebastian allowed himself to observe the room. A group of merchants at the next table were arguing over the price of grain. A pair of guards, their halberds propped against the wall, were laughing at a joke that Sebastian had fully heard. The young women at the corner table had pulled out a deck of cards, their laughter, carefree. At the hearth, the bard continued his performance, his voice carrying a tune that was pleasant but not to a certain someone. Dandelion listened for a few moments, his expression shifting from interest to barely concealed irritation. His fingers tapped against the table, his eyes narrowing as the bard's voice hit a particularly flat note.
"By the gods," Dandelion muttered. "That man is butchering the ballad of the White Wolf. He's missing the entire second verse, and he's singing the chorus in the wrong key. It's a travesty! A complete and utter travesty!"
Zoltan snorted. "Oh, here we go. I knew it was only a matter of time before the great Master Dandelion took offense. Can't let another bard steal yer thunder, can ye?"
Dandelion's expression spoke of wounded dignity. "It's not about stealing thunder, Zoltan! It's about preserving the integrity of the art. That man is spreading misinformation, and I will not stand for it!"
Without another word, Dandelion rose from his seat. He strode toward the hearth, cutting the bard off mid-verse with a raised hand.
"My good man," Dandelion said, his tone polite, "I mean no offense, truly. But I believe the patrons of this establishment deserve better. That song.. the ballad of the White Wolf, it is not meant to be performed in such a... lackluster manner."
The bard blinked, confusion written all over his face. "I beg your pardon?"
Dandelion's smile was wide. "I said, let the expert take the stage." Without waiting for a response, he gently but firmly took the lute from the bard's hands, his fingers already finding the familiar chords.
The tavern fell silent, the patrons turning to watch this new development. Dandelion strummed a few chords, testing the instrument, then launched into a ballad that had the room captivated from the very first note.
It was the ballad of the White Wolf, the legendary witcher who had saved kingdoms and slain monsters, accompanied by a bard who had immortalized his deeds in verse. But Dandelion's version was different. It was alive, vibrant, a man who had actually lived the stories he told. His voice soared.
The patrons cheered, their glasses raised in salute. Even the displaced bard seemed to forget his offense, his face alight with the recognition of genuine talent, it took moments for him to realize that this was Master Dandelion himself. The young women at the corner table had stopped their card game, their eyes fixed on Dandelion with the kind of rapt attention that only a true performer could command.
"That's the version I remember!" someone called out from the back. "That's the real one!"
Another voice, rougher and more insistent, added, "Tell us about the dragon, Master Bard! The golden dragon!"
Dandelion grinned, his eyes sparkling with the joy of performance. "Ah, the dragon! A tale for another time, my friends. But rest assured, it involves a river, a very angry and mean sorceress, and a witcher who should have known better."
The tavern erupted into laughter, the patrons raising their glasses in salute. Dandelion took a bow, his chest puffed with pride.
Sebastian watched, a genuine smile spreading across his face. It was the first time in days that he had allowed himself to relax. Dandelion's antics were a reminder of the simple joys that made life worth living, friendship, the power of a good story, the laughter that could chase away even the deepest shadows.
Zoltan leaned back in his chair, his glass of Mahakam spirit in hand, "Well, I'll be damned. The fool actually knows what he's doing. I've seen him stumble through taverns and trip over his own feet more times than I can count, but when he gets on that stage, he's a different man entirely.."
Sebastian laughed, "He's always had a gift for it. It's why he's survived this long.. he can talk his way out of anything."
Dandelion returned to the table, his face flushed with triumph. He settled into his seat, his fingers still strumming the lute idly. "You see? That is how it is done. That man had potential, but he lacked passion. A performer must feel the story in his very bones, must live it with every breath. That's what separates the masters from the amateurs."
Zoltan snorted, raising his glass. "Aye, we're all masters of something. You, of talking. Me, of drinking. Seb, of killing things that most people don't believe exist. And Triss, of keeping the rest of us from getting ourselves killed.. She kind of did that at the gate of the palace too."
Triss laughed. "Someone has to do it."
Sebastian's smile remained, but as the noise of the tavern swelled around them, Triss leaned closer to him, her voice low. "So, what did you wish to tell me?"
Sebastian glanced around the room, his senses reaching out to ensure that no one was paying them undue attention. The patrons were absorbed in their own conversations, the noise of the tavern providing the perfect cover for their discussion.
Triss noticed his caution. "You are very secretive about this. Don't worry, no one is paying attention to us. Our dear bard's performance has captured the room."
Sebastian nodded slowly. Then he reached into his belt and pulled out the mask. He placed it on the table between them, its Elder speech runes seeming to pulse faintly with a life of their own.
"This," Sebastian said.
/-\
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