Free Blackstaff by Steven E. Schend

proprietress or vice versa. Since Khelben brooked no argument on the matter, she crossed the threshold and found herself, despite all warnings, feeling strangely at home. They doffed theirhoods as they entered, revealing their identities to those inside the tavern.
    The back entrance they used off Traslim’s Cut led directly into the central taproom. The only thing between floor and the roof thirty feet overhead were living branches and a few floating tables with elves among them. To Tsarra’s amazement, the nondescript but well-kept building allowed living trees to thrive inside, a few dotting the floor in various places. Four large oak trees dominated the great room at its corners, growing up from beneath the floor, their canopies spreading across the space. On either side of the greatroom, ceilings lowered and boxed in both ends of the building to provide upper-story rooms for either privacy or a night’s lodgings. Despite the usual smells of tavern cooking and many people in close quarters, the tavern reminded Tsarra of the light woods northeast of the city. Torches on the walls and among the chandeliers glowed with silver-white flames to complement the moonlight streaming through the skylights in the roof.
    A small bar directly across from their entrance served many of the guests in the greatroom, but Khelben’s grip on her elbow moved her to the right side of the room with its main taps. Khelben seemed not to notice or care that all conversation stopped when he entered. Tsarra still found it unnerving—the only people not stymied by his entrance were the elf harpist in the room’s center and the staff. The Blackstaff moved them to the far side of that bar, away from the main entrance to the tavern, and he stood without explanation or apology. Scanning the crowd, he either nodded silently to various elves who met his gaze or dipped the top of his staff to them in salute. After a moment, they were joined by an elf woman with a blue-green faerie dragon as comfortable on her shoulders as Nameless was on Tsarra’s. Her skin shone pale copper, as did her hair that reached nearly to the floor, and her color was offset by a simple dress dyed red. Her eyes widened when they fell on Tsarra, but she offered no explanation as she turned to Khelben.
    “You have a great deal of nerve, Khelben Arunsun, arriving here unheralded.” The woman’s address was no less sharp than her stare.

CHAPTER SIX
28 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms

 
(1374 DR)
    “T
he time between your visits is long, even as we measure it, Lord Blackstaff,”
she said in Elvish.
“Seeking a return to a measure of your youth, perhaps? Or are you showing this young one what facets of her heritage she neglects? I could show her how to wear her hair in elven style to accentuate her features.”
She smiled warmly at Tsarra, who remained unsure if she’d been insulted or praised.
    “That is hardly our pressing concern at present, milady Ilbaereth. We must speak in private, Yaereene.” Khelben said in the common tongue, his tone allowing no disagreement.
    “Pyrith,” the elf woman said to the faerie dragon on her shoulder, “watch the room for us. We shall return anon.”
    The blue-green dragon, only slightly larger than Nameless, hopped off her perch and flapped overto settle onto a large bough in the center of the taproom, whistling a reply only Yaereene understood. As she motioned them to a door behind the bar, she spoke to a nearby maid.
“Nuovis, bring us a bottle of maerlathen, three glasses, and some of the spiced silverfin on fresh biscuits, please.”
    Yaereene smiled as she led them back through a service corridor to her private rooms.
“Pyrith doesn’t like the smell of the pipe smoke hanging about you, milord Blackstaff. She insists you should not smoke pipeweed grown from a midden.”
    “Indeed.” Khelben said blankly. A few days earlier, Tsarra would not have recognized the slight tone shift that revealed Khelben’s amusement,