Shadowkeep by Alan Dean Foster - (ebook by Undead)

Author:Alan Dean Foster - (ebook by Undead) [Foster, Alan Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-11-04T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter VII

True to his word, the most wonderful smells began to reach them from the vicinity of Norell’s kitchen. They were salivating by the time he finally emerged, pushing a heavily laden cart in front of him.

Praetor viewed the forthcoming meal with suspicion. To his great surprise, the innkeeper’s cooking demonstrated a light touch. There were puff pastries stuffed with some kind of sautéed, shredded meat, several kinds of vegetables, and lightly spiced potatoes and other tubers. Long strips of fried fowl were encrusted with pepper and coriander, and there were enormous loaves of some yellow bread that had been sweetened with honey.

The famished travelers dug into the unexpected feast with gusto. Even the usually taciturn Hargrod was moved to compliment grudgingly, “I am impresssed, innkeeper.”

“Me too,” Sranul’s words were blurred because his mouth was full of steaming vegetables. “Never expected anything like this. Sure is a change after weeks of scrounging for fronds and berries.”

Norell looked embarrassed. “To tell you the truth, my friends, I don’t usually lay on this kind of banquet for my customers. My regular dinner fare is not nearly so elaborate. In fact, I don’t usually have time to cook at all. But you all looked hungry, and you’re going to need your strength, and besides, all my help has run away.”

“This is most considerate of you.” Maryld had distanced herself somewhat from her three male companions. She ate slowly and precisely, watching distastefully as they assaulted their plates. To see them you would’ve thought that the food on their dishes was still alive.

Norell stood nearby, attending them with a jug that rested on his right shoulder. It had a long, flexible spout attached to one end. By keeping a firm grip on it with one hand he was able to regulate the flow precisely.

“My best golden ale,” he told Praetor as he refilled his tankard.

“I’m not sure we can afford—” he began, but Maryld shushed him.

“I have resources of my own to draw upon, and who knows when we may again have the opportunity to enjoy so fine and nourishing a meal. Eat your fill.” Her gaze shifted to roo and Zhis’ta. “All of you eat your fill. Once we enter Shadowkeep the only food we will have is that which we carry in with us.”

“Tut,” said Norell as he moved over to fill her tankard, “I know that you can pay. A thaladar’s word is good enough for me. And what good is ale that lies moldering in its cask? Better it should repose in thirsty bellies.”

“Norell,” she murmured, “I do believe that you are something of a poet.”

He grinned at her. “Little thaladar, all innkeepers are poets. Most tend to the needs of the soul. I tend to the needs of the body.”

Praetor smiled as he chewed something stringy and flavorful. “This is my kind of poetry, friend.”

“Ah, then you must save room for the concluding stanza. Dessert!”

Praetor was already full to bursting by the time Norell rolled out the cart laden with pastries, but their appearance seduced him.

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