The Grocer’s Hall of Sandpoint was just down the street from the Rusty Dragon, and Talashia went straight there, barely even looking at the rest of the town on the way. There were a few people inside she didn’t immediately recognize, but farther in the back, instructing some porters as they brought in a barrel of something, was Vera Edwidge, the owner’s wife and the one who really kept everything running.
“No, set it over there, by the others. And leave room, we should be getting at least two more before the Festival…”
Talashia hurried up to her and cleared her throat. As the porters set the barrel down with a heavy THUNK, Vera turned around to peer at her severely through her spectacles. Her hair had greyed significantly since Talashia had seen her last, nearly five years ago…but her face was still relatively unlined.
“Can I help you with…” Vera frowned for a moment, then suddenly brightened. “Talashia? Little Talashia? I didn’t know you were back in town!” Almost immediately though she picked up on Talashia’s expression and tension. “What’s the matter?”
“My parents,” she said, while dread nearly choked her from inside her throat. “I…heard about the troubles in town after I left. I just got in. Can you tell me if…if they…?”
Vera was friendly in a polite, distant sort of way most of the time. She kept a strict wall of propriety between herself, her workers, and her customers. But now she went to Talashia and gathered her into a hug…the Late Unpleasantness was a tragedy all Sandpointers shared, even if they hadn’t been there to see it.
“They’re fine,” Vera said softly. “It all happened before the harvests were in, so they were out on the farm. They didn’t even know anything was wrong until your father saw the smoke from the church and came into town to see if he could help.”
Talashia sagged in relief and gasped in a single hitching breath that would have been a sob had it lasted any longer. Then she gently disengaged from Vera’s embrace and gave the proprietoress a grateful, relieved smile. “Thank you.”
Vera returned the smile, then gestured to the large collection of inventory that was still being unloaded in the grounds behind her. “You know, I’m expecting them to bring some goods in sometime today, if you want to stay here and meet them. I’m afraid if you head out to the farm, you might crisscross on the road and miss each other.”
“They’ll be here for the Festival, right?” asked Talashia after a moment of consideration. Now that she knew they were all right, the urge to run to their door and burst in was greatly reduced.
Now Vera was grinning, and that was a rare sight indeed. “Oh, I expect everyone will be here for that. Even folks from Seaver’s Crest and Wayside are coming out for it. Have you seen the new cathedral yet?”
Talashia shook her head. “I came straight here. I had to know. The, uh, the town seems like it’s done well for itself. I mean, overall.”
“Well,” replied Vera with a little hometown pride shining in her cheeks, “It’s not Magnimar, but it’s good enough for us country folk.”
A new voice barked out from behind Talashia, “Not good enough for you though, eh, girl?”
She turned to see a large, barrel-chested man. Dark haired and swarthy, with a thick mustache but no beard. He glared at her and folded his arms. “Murder any dogs while you were on vacation?”
"Regrettably,” Talashia returned in an icy tone, “I didn’t have occasion to. But if you have any more ill-tempered, badly trained curs who feel like trying to attack me unprovoked in a field, I’d be happy to relieve you of them.”
The man’s fists clenched. “Those wizards taught you to talk fancy, but they can’t change what you are. You should go back to Magnimar. You’re nothing but trouble, and we’ve had more’n enough of that.”
“Rogar!” Vera said sharply, cutting her way into the confrontation. “That is more than enough. I don’t care what kind of bad blood is between you, but this is my store, and I won’t have you two quarreling and driving business away. Now what can I do for you?”
The thick-armed rancher maintained his glare and Talashia returned it, neither willing to back down for a moment. Then Rogar looked at Vera. “Feed. Got word my feed was in.”
Talashia gave Vera a nod and started out, but Rogar turned to follow her as she passed and said, “My eyes’ on you, girl. Your fancy talk and city clothes don’t fool me. I know what you are, and I am watching you.”
She paused, and her own fists clenched as she groped at her exercises…the little mental cantrips to control the rage that constantly battered her within. Unable to think of a good comeback, she finally just stalked out, hoping that he HAD brought a dog and tethered it outside.
Alas.
After a moment’s inner debate, she decided to head to the Dragon. The Festival was so soon, and the farm a ways off…she would see them at the big event, when she was rested and fed and in a good mood. It would be better that way.
So it was that at the Rusty Dragon the door opened, and the striking, white-haired sorceress entered and looked around for her roadside companions to see if they were still in the common room.
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