A newly lacquered counter.

    Thomas Lainsfont carefully tapped the surface, first with his palm, then with his cup of mead.

    No stains. No stickiness. No scratches. Like a bed of untarnished snow in the tundras where only the northern clans dared to tread. And also a band of misfits who needed to heal a pet mammoth.

    He remembered the feeling well. Both of the snow and the mammoth’s gratitude when it almost crushed them. Both were smooth to the touch, but neither quite compared to a wooden counter without a single flaw. It was so polished he could have bowled a glass of wine across it without spilling.

    But perhaps he shouldn’t expect anything else.

    This bar was admittedly nicer than his.

    The Royal Mermaid.

    Thomas didn’t see any mermaids, royal or otherwise.

    But if there was anywhere in this kingdom they were likely to visit, it’d probably be here.

    There was enough alcohol to refill the Emerald Sea. And all of it the type of stuff he only kept for display purposes. Particularly since his best bottles were long emptied.

    That wasn’t the case here.

    Blackberry wine from Witschblume. Golden stout from the Kingdom Under The Mountain. Chartreuse from the White Citadel’s reserves. Even white rum from the Principalities, their casks scratched with the names of every ship to have plundered them.

    Each sip was worth a king’s ransom. And given the clientele, there was enough coin to pay.

    No farmhands traded the soil upon their knuckles here.

    Instead, all of Wirtzhaven’s finest was present.

    Aristocracy with their boots up. Captains clutching at their spoils. Squires masquerading as knights.

    Each took turns seeking to impress the smiling barmaids with their bluster. And perhaps on another day, they would have pretended to be impressed.

    Because of all the finely dressed troublemakers here, the greatest was by far the one who Thomas officially didn’t know … despite the fact they’d walked in together.

    “A hydra with four heads,” declared Cedric Halls in his own corner, a tankard of the least expensive drink in one hand and his lute held like a bloody sword in the other. “A terrible monster even with three. But give it another set of teeth and suddenly it’s an entire flock. But the more ears they have, the easier it is to listen. All it takes is the right song and they’re sleeping like lambs.”

    A smattering of applause met Cedric’s latest drunken recount … all the while he was served progressively stronger, but not more expensive drinks.

    That he had the ability to accept more potent alcohol while declining the ones he knew as expensive was a feat which would make the Golden Hogs proud.

    The man was in his element. Rehashing tales in a bar he couldn’t afford while surrounded by those too polite to question him. Which was just as well.

    They’d never believe the truth that the hydra had five heads, not four.

    Thomas idly sipped his mead as he listened.

    However, he wasn’t here to enjoy the fare of his rivals, fine as they were.

    He was a barkeeper. And he knew more than anyone else that the three truths regarding his profession were all true.

    A smile meant a frown. A frown meant a smile. And when it came to hearing news whispered beside a hearth, not even the ears of elves were keener.

    In fact, he could count all those who were better suited for gathering information with a single hand.

    It was easy.

    All his fingers and thumb would point towards the nearest troll.

    “Haaaaaaaaaaah …”

    A great sigh steeped in melancholy sounded beside him.

    The most common sound in every bar in the world.

    Except that it didn’t usually come from the world’s foremost merchants.

    The troll cut an impressive figure. He was a battering ram in black iron. Not that the armour was needed. His hide alone would break the lance of a charging knight as easily as a boulder stopped the rain. Even leaning despondently against the counter, the top of his helmet threatened to brush against the ceiling.

    An unusual sight.

    Trolls didn’t often peruse bars. Or at least not The Singing Mule.

    Thomas often saw their carriages trundling through the village on their way to the doorstep of the Royal Villa. But while he had few dealings with trolls even when he was lugging chests caked in soil and jewel spiders from holes in the ground, he knew enough to expect an entrepreneur’s candour at all times.

    Not today.

    The towering figure sighed as he stared down at a tiny glass of wine pinched between his gauntlets. Only a hint of a glum expression could be seen within that thick helmet.

    Thomas subtly raised his palm towards the barkeeper and indicated towards the troll. A nod came in answer, followed by a second glass of wine being silently offered. The troll turned inquisitively towards his patron.

    “It’s on me,” said Thomas, not wishing to ask what he’d just purchased.

    The troll blinked, clearly more used to working harder for his drinks.

    “Thank you,” he said, downing his existing drink in a single sip so he could begin staring forlornly down at his new one. “The monsieur’s generous gesture is unnecessary, but appreciated.”

    Thomas nodded.

    The practical side of him saw an opportunity to glean information which few else could offer.

    While a barkeeper could know every scandal which occurred in the corners and sewers of their town, a troll whose wares included artifacts more fabled than a princess’s sword would know of news before it even occurred.

    However … that wasn’t truly what the drink was for.

    This wasn’t Thomas’s bar. But he was still a barkeeper.

    And that meant offering an ear to the woes of others, no matter how large they were.

    “The world would be a kinder place if we all had an extra drink,” he said, raising his mead in solidarity. “Although maybe a few more for trolls. You seem like you know your wine.”

    The troll gave half a half-hearted smile.

    “Perhaps I would be better as a sommelier than a merchant. A pity I did not choose wiser.”

    “Oh? And why would that be?”

    A pause. sea??h thё N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    Caution and hesitation doused the troll as he ceased to stare into his glass. But not for long. This was a bar. And Thomas was a stranger who’d just bought him a drink.

    Troll or not, he was more or less obliged to speak his deepest thoughts.

    “I have come to realise my shortcomings as a merchant,” said the troll, the heavy shoulders drooping. “It is not often that I have cause to doubt my own competence. But I have been forced to doubt it on two occasions now.”

    Thomas nodded, slipping naturally into his barkeeper’s shoes. His hand even reached over for a wet rag.

    “Then you should be selling your wisdom. To doubt yourself only twice is a thing I’d like to learn. Most do that every minute.”

    “Most are not me,” said the troll earnestly. “I do not abide by mistakes. Each is a plunge towards the red when every step should leave footprints as black as ink.”

    “I wasn’t aware that mistakes were so discouraged in Troll Country.”

    “They are not. On the contrary, my peers are highly understanding. Yet such kindness only deepens the weight upon my shoulders. Trolls are rarely undone by their customers. And even fewer are undone by the same customer twice.”

    “You’ve met your equal, then. Consider it a blessing. Few things will allow you to broaden the length of your strides than a worthy adversary.”

    “Perhaps normally, I would agree. But such was the level of my defeat that I can no longer see the path ahead of me. All I see is a shadow cast by my failure.”

    The troll paused.

    He stared down at his free wine, lips quivering as he considered how best to word his confession.

    “... It was a cat,” he said at last.

    “Excuse me?”

    “A cat wearing a pearl necklace, which it stole from one of our carriages. I requested an adventurer to retrieve the item in exchange for a reward. The madame in question returned with the feline still wearing the jewellery. Outwardly, it was an act of professional thoroughness. To provide me the opportunity to handle the necklace’s removal would help ensure no damage was incurred. In truth, it was only to seal my defeat.”

    The troll’s shoulders fully slumped.

    “The necklace was the least of our wares, not suitable for sale. But I did not disclose the true extent of this fact. It is a mummer’s trinket. Once worn and removed, it will instantly shatter. If returned to us in such a state, it would have invalidated the reward while still removing it from the thief’s possession. The adventurer had seen through this. I had no choice but to accept the cat or risk being publicly outed. Furthermore, to bargain for her silence, I had to provide an additional artifact, for she knew as well that the existing reward was worth far less than what I had suggested. In the end, I parted with two artifacts and received nothing but my humbling in response.”

    “Then you received a fair trade. Two artifacts for a lesson you shall never need to learn again is fair.”

    “I am afraid that all I learned was the folly of my own hubris. This is a lesson I learned once already. That I needed it taught again is only an indication I am unfit to continue this role.”

    “Two lessons is still less than three.”

    “And yet I fear there is still more to come. The adventurer has a high standing in this kingdom. There is a strong likelihood we shall meet again. Her competence, negotiation ability and highly unorthodox interpretation of basic mathematics is beyond what I am accustomed to. I am not confident. And a merchant who lacks confidence cannot be considered an asset, but a liability.”

    Thomas hummed.

    It was a unique problem to have. A very troll problem to have.

    But in the end, it also wasn’t anything worse than when Harlan got into a fight with Elsa down by the river because neither wanted to admit they liked each other. That one still held the record for sighs drawn.

    “In that case, you should seek a third lesson,” he said, sipping at his mead. “And a fourth. And a fifth.”

    The troll wore a look of shock.

    “Does the monsieur suggest I should wilfully allow myself to be parted with more of our wares?”

    “No. I’m saying you should seek this adventurer out and ask for lessons in tradecraft without the use of your wares to pay for it. Maybe a much lower fee can be negotiated this way. To me, this seems to be a fine opportunity. Or would your peers look poorly on you for seeking to improve yourself?”

    A blink came in response.

    “I … do not believe they would, no. We take a long-term view on our investments. Including ourselves.”

    “Well, then it seems like something worth thinking over. At least in my shoes.”

    The troll did indeed think.

    He thought for several moments, his hands twiddling with his glass.

    “The monsieur’s advice is not what any troll would suggest,” he said, his tone not impolite. “Yet it is worthy of consideration. I am aware of where this adventurer resides. Perhaps … it would be worth inquiring what the cost of tuition is in matters of commerce.”

    Thomas nodded.

    He didn’t need to say anything else from here. Once the road of epiphany had opened up, any further words would only distract from it.

    Besides, when his modest advice ceased to be, the order for the most expensive ale would usually follow, such was the strength of gratitude. Or lacking that, whatever a troll could offer instead.

    “My apologies, monsieur. I have not introduced myself. I am Tazroth Rocksmiter.”

    “Thomas Lainsfont.”

    The troll nodded.

    As was expected, the pause which often followed his introduction was entirely absent, as was the squint as his face and demeanour didn’t match what had never been accurately described in The Reitzlake Times.

    “It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Monsieur Lainsfont. And what, may I ask, brings the gentleman to Wirtzhaven?”

    “To seek my daughter.” Thomas looked up, the calmness clear in his voice despite the stranglehold which faint hope now had upon him. “Marina is her name. Marina Lainsfont. A young woman with brown eyes and mostly brown hair. The ends have become brightly illuminated with differing colours. The same as what can be seen sported by the women around this port. She is a …”

    Witch.

    The Witch of Calamity.

    “... a mage. A powerful mage. I believe she was here. And recently at that. But none can say where she is now.”

    The troll took a long moment to consider.

    Whether he actually knew or was merely feigning politeness, Thomas couldn’t say.

    “I am afraid that a woman of this description does not match any that I know. That is not to say she is not present, of course. But regrettably, our caravan only arrived in Wirtzhaven this afternoon.”

    “Of course … then, would your carriages hold anything which might be able to find her?”

    “My apologies, but such an item does not exist in our current inventory.”

    Thomas’s lips parted at once, yet the words of doubt never materialised.

    The troll was grateful. But gratitude couldn’t force him to offer a magical item which he clearly had no means to pay.

    Or so he thought.

    “There is, however, something else I may provide,” said the troll, as something more unusual than glumness appeared on his face. Sympathy. “It is the Seeing Stone. An artifact said to be able to lead you towards your destination, wherever this might be.”

    Thomas’s response was immediately silenced by a palm.

    “... But I should more accurately say that this is the 1,627th Seeing Stone, purchased in bulk from an apprentice artificer in the Summer Kingdoms. It possesses minor properties of farseeing, but is highly inaccurate and prone to outlandish interpretations. It is in truth nothing more than a weak curio, little better than a pearl necklace deliberately made to shatter. But perhaps it is better than nothing.”

    The troll spun his hand in the air.

    There was no magic that Thomas could see. But where there was a palmful of air before, a small orb appeared instead, pulled from whatever storage the troll merchants maintained in the rare instances that their carriages were not near.

    “Of course, it would be quite inappropriate for me to part with this without excellent reason,” said the troll, lowering the orb onto the counter. “However, should a passing gentleman accidentally glean a vision within the Seeing Stone while I am busy inspecting it for dust, then I would fail to notice.”

    Thomas nodded in appreciation.

    He leaned in, the frown that he usually wore becoming even more pronounced as he imagined Marina. Both as she is and as she was.

    A pale haze of darkness was all he saw. And yet after a few moments, it began to part.

    Just not to any answer.

    Anticipation turned into disappointment. It simply reflected back Thomas’s face. As well as the rest of the bar behind him.

    Even so … it wasn’t towards the troll that he offered the look of confusion to follow.

    It was Cedric, whose boasts had fallen silent alongside the occasional strumming of his lute.

    Thomas turned to look at him. He saw the mouth agape. The eyes wide with surprise. And then he followed the guildmaster’s stunned gaze towards where the Seeing Stone had just shown.

    A familiar pair now stood in the doorway of the bar.

    “Well, well,” said Bodkins Tangleleaf with a gleeful smile. “I do believe that’s my 5 gold crowns.”

    Liriane, still as willing to wrinkle her fair elven features as Thomas remembered, clicked her tongue and dropped a single copper crown into the halfling’s waiting palm. And also some litter.

    Whatever their bet, it was the cheapest price any of them could pay.

    At long last, the Golden Hogs had come together once again.