Weis, Margaret - Dragonlance - Anth 03 by Dragons of Chaos

Author:Dragons of Chaos [Chaos, Dragons of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Dragonfear

Teri McLaren

"Here, put this key back around your neck! Quit lolling around and fetch me a clean cloth, Carlana," Frenzill grumbled in a barely audible voice as he closed his recipe book, locked the door, and ascended from his ale cellar. "And look happy, girl. How many times today have you tripped over that face, hmm?"

"But, Father," Carlana protested, hurrying to thread her way through barrels and glasses to reach for the cloth that was only inches away from Frenzill's own hand. She wearily put down her crowded tray and blew a strand of copper hair away from her pale face. "I've been working all day without a moment's rest."

"Look happy, I said," Frenzill whispered harshly. "Now serve that tray and get back to the floor."

Carlana stared long and hard at her father and wiped away the unshed tears of frustration that brimmed at her wide blue eyes. She dropped the heavy ale cellar key and its even heavier chain around her neck and wearily took up her tray, but she refused to smile.

Frenzill frowned at her back, then began to polish the same mug for the fifth time since lunch, this time energetically pursuing a speck of dust that had smeared into a greasy streak when he wiped it. Another cinder? More soot? He sighed as he stared at the black smudge that had transferred to his white bar cloth.

"Yer gonna wear 'em both out," smiled Gisrib from his well-shined barstool. "Someday that girl is gonna leave you so fast that all you'll hear is the sound of a slamming door."

"Not my Carlana. She wouldn't dare. Some day all this will be hers," mumbled Frenzill, snapping the cloth at a drowsy fly over Gisrib's head. His aim was better than he had expected, and the doomed insect buzzed straight into the foamy head of the lanky farmer's ale. Gisrib shook his head, cast a bleary, soot-rimmed eye on his preoccupied host, and motioned for another. Frenzill pushed the nearly full tankard aside and grudgingly drew Gisrib a fresh one. His last ale barrel was nearly empty and the Midyear Festival began tomorrow. Plenty of ale was always needed for the festival, but this year the brew had taken longer to age properly. Frenzill knew it would be ready by tomorrow. He held out his hand for Gisrib's payment.

"Didn't come to eat, too, Frenzill. This 'un is free, by my reckon," Gisrib protested, eyeing Frenzill's soft palm. "Say, will the new summer ale be ready by tomorrow? Tradition-"

"By tomorrow, Gis. For the celebration, of course, and tradition," replied Frenzill, annoyed at the question.

Gisrib shook his head, knowing Frenzill too well to believe him. "When I lived in Doriett, our brewers always brought 'er in early for the tasting."

"Yes, so you tell me every year," replied Frenzill coolly. Gisrib was continually harping about his birthplace. But then, old Gisrib, even after seventeen years, was still considered a newcomer in Hiddenhaven. "Gotta go now. Enjoy your ale." Frenzill restored the over-polished mug to its place on the mantle and signaled to Carlana to take his place behind the bar.

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