Hi All,
When I was rummaging through my French texts, I stumbled on an old project which I loved, but couldn’t get a publisher interested in.
What? A fantasy novel without great quests and great battles? A fantasy with hardly any magic? A fantasy novel whose main character is a middle-aged, female innkeeper with arthritis? How glamourous! And aren’t innkeepers supposed to stay behind their counter and wipe beer mugs?
Well, that was clearly before cozy fantasy.
So, I have dusted my book and translated it into English. Now, I am looking for a dozen betareaders.
A little chapter to give you a taste:
For the last fifteen years, Leonor has been running the inn in a small isolated mountain village and she loves it that way. But when an avalanche cuts off the main road to the capital, many travellers take a détour through the village and her inn becomes crowded with all sort of characters, bringing plenty of money to the small place. Unfortunately, Leonor is a former mercenary with a bounty on her head and would rather stay away from the crowd...
Full House
In the morning, most travellers crossed Bearstone without stopping. They would sleep in Highwood, half a day from Pillar Bridge. Some bought provisions. A couple stopped at Mahal’s forge to shoe their mules and then were on their way. Others went to see Mathilda, the healer, for colds and blisters. Those seeking lodgings came at the end of the afternoon. Then, the flood of people started.
As darkness fell outside the fog-shrouded windows, the inn was packed tighter than Praxia's sausage rolls. Every table overflowed with damp, road-weary people. Cloaks steamed by the great stone fireplace above skis and snowshoes. There were broad-shouldered laborers rubbing their calloused hands over the flames, wandering peddlers with their packs full of wares, devout pilgrims with grime coating their felt boots, and chattering students clad in their scholars' robes. There were even a couple of minor officials on some bureaucratic errand, and a pinch-faced tax collector taking notes and looking displeased at everything he saw.
Enas and Dustin hauled in piles of ragged pallets and old blankets to cram more poor souls into every corner of the already bursting common room. My usual crop of regular customers gamely vied for precious space along the benches. Curious villagers also turned up in good number, eager to gawk, gossip, and peddle their humble wares.
The back corner filled up with Nora and her entire flock of ruddy-cheeked daughters, their wicker baskets overflowing with freshly baked loaves of bread, burlap sacks bulging with nuts and dried fruits, jars of golden clover honey, and deep red jam made from last year’s strawberries. Warris, Mahal’s apprentice, came to deliver some spare horseshoes and stayed, following Ella with dreamy eyes.
I kept hearing the same snippets of conversation: “…How long do you think before the road is cleared? …Two more days and they can cross off this year’s Winter Fair… the Festival would have to be canceled…”. My own mind churned with calculations of how much ale remained in the taps and how soon Jax would have the next batch ready. We were holding our own for now, but if this tide went on through the next day, I'd have to start watering the spirits. We hadn't been this busy in years. Mercilessly, I saw no one I could recognize. Anyway, all those I had worked with in my prime must have been dead or retired, like me, nursing aching joints and broken teeth.
In between hauling drinks and food, I kept a watchful eye on the table next to the door. There, a shifty-eyed traveler and a couple of farmers had settled with tankards of ale and a deck of cards. This stranger reeked of trouble. The way he handled the cards, a little too deftly, the way he baited the players — I had seen it all too often in my youth.
As the game progressed, the stakes grew higher. The locals, initially amused, now looked tense, sweat beading on their foreheads as they watched their coin dwindle. I soon spotted the man palming a card, switching it with a practiced flick of his wrist.
I left the bar and strode to the players, but Dustin was faster. He approached the table, his face as hard as oak. "Game's over," he announced.
The card sharp looked up. "Is there a problem?"
Dustin reached over, swiftly pulling out the palmed card from the man’s sleeve. "Only that you're cheating."
The table fell silent, the locals staring in shock. The man tried to stammer a response, but Dustin simply grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him up. "We don't take kindly to swindlers here," he growled. “Empty your pockets.”
The card sharp didn’t see fit to discuss. The next minute, his newly won money, a couple of aces, and an old watch were lying on the table. Not waiting any further, Dustin dragged him from the table and propelled him towards the door. There, with a firm push, he sent him out into the night.
I grinned at Dustin but didn’t have time to rest, as the door flew open again, admitting a gush of wind and two snow-covered peddlers weighed down with sodden packs. I repressed a sigh, plastering a welcoming smile on my face. “Come in, come in, good sirs, and find warmth by the fire,” I called, waving them toward the hearth where patrons crowded on the long benches. I caught Bran as he passed by with another load of blankets. Bless him, he’d not stopped moving all afternoon, focused as a mule with its blinders on. “Bran, bring our newest guests some hot wine.”
“Right away, mistress!” he nodded, cheerfully shifting his load to one shoulder so he could scoop up a couple of mugs on the counter. The peddlers took them gratefully, holding their numb fingers over the steaming liquid.
Yes, hiring Bran last fall had been a right smart move. It had started when his family’s crops suffered not one but two lean years back-to-back. His father had swallowed his pride and come to me, seeking work for the boy to offset the lack of coin. I needed a hand then, with Goshu getting too old and Enas growing big enough to help but still too small in his head to be of much use. So, I’d hired Bran on. The lad had proven his worth ten times over.
A frigid gust of wind swept through the hall, making the fires gutter. I turned, ready to greet the next poor soul driven to my doorstep. But I blinked in surprise at the man standing there.
This was no shivering peddler. The stranger wore a fine wool cloak dyed a deep blue, though covered in melting snow. His angular face had the hollow look of a man who regularly forgot meals over books. But his piercing eyes held a shrewdness that set my teeth on edge. I felt some vague recognition, as if I had met him in a previous life. One look at that knot on his cloak and I knew exactly what he was.
A mage. Wonderful.
"Good sir, so pleased you could join us," I said brightly, as if wizards popped into my inn every other day. “Please, allow me to bring you some hot mulled wine to take the chill from your bones… Or would you rather have tea?”
Alcohol supposedly dulled their freaky powers, whatever they were.
The mage turned his piercing blue eyes on me, assessing. I smiled right back, refusing to flinch. Mages always think they can see straight into your darkest secrets. Well, not this time, dear, even if I've got more skeletons than a royal crypt.
"Do you have Diomande wine, perchance?" he said finally. His voice was cultured, marked by years in places I’d forsaken long ago. “We have, for discerning guests. Would a Moonlit Meadow from the Year of the Reed be agreeable?”
“Really? That’s impressive.” He allowed me to take his sodden cloak. "I confess I had expected little in a village so far off the beaten track."
I curtsied slightly. "You are kind to say so. I am Leonor, and this is my inn. Please be welcome here. Magister… Magister…"
“Aritus.”
“We are most honored by your presence, Magister Aritus,” I said, matching his curt tone. His eyes searched mine a moment longer, hunting for secrets. Tough luck, Your Wizardliness.
"Thank you, Leonor," he finally said. “I want your best room, clean sheets, and a dinner. Anything will do, as long as it doesn’t contain garlic or cabbage.”
“Of course, good sir.”
With a brisk nod, he swept past me into the common room, limping slightly.
“Ella, fetch our esteemed guest some mulled wine,” I whispered, brushing the girl’s elbow as she passed. Ella nodded, her honest face assuming an expression of due servitude. I fought the urge to grin. Bless her, she might have been born in a gutter, but she learned fast.
The mage ensconced himself at a table near the hearth, then produced a sheaf of papers from his travel bag, his brow creasing as he inspected them for water damage. Then he appeared engrossed in their contents. A fleeting spark of recognition went through my mind. I had met that guy at Snake Pass, at the business end of my musket. He hadn’t seen me, of course. He was too far and yelling with pain as my bullet had gone through his leg. My hand slid to my side again, searching for my long-lost sword.
I drifted casually in front of Aritus toward the ale barrels, pretending to check our stock. Yes, it was the same man, fifteen years older. I noticed the broken seals on the man's papers, seals of the Royal Academy in Cyrdon, where my daughter studied. So, a professor now? Poor kids.
Another blast of cold announced a new arrival. I turned, expecting some sodden traveler, but no, it was only Jax, our brewer, with melting snow streaming from his dark hair to his rotund belly. He'd clearly been sampling his wares tonight.
"Evenin', Leo!" he bellowed from five paces away. "Got some soft city folks taking shelter, I see!”
He guffawed loudly at his own joke, thumping Enas as he passed. Ah, Jax, great brewer, but useless when drunk, and drunk he was often. He had the misfortune to enlist in the army in his youth and also took part in the battle of Snake Pass, on the mage’s side, not mine.
By the ruddy tint of his face, Jax was well into his cups already. I'd have to keep an eye on him. He wove his unsteady way to the bar, trading friendly insults with my regulars. I watched him plop down and chug an overflowing tankard before the next crisis claimed my attention. Some oaf had spilled stew across two tables. Lovely. Innkeeper. What a glamorous life.
By the time I'd mopped up the worst of the mess, Jax had migrated from the bar to stand chatting with a group of young laborers near the hearth. He was regaling them with tales of his past battlefield glory, sloshing ale to underscore his points. Their wide eyes reflected the firelight as they hung on Jax's every grandiose word.
"... and when their cavalry charged, us foot soldiers stood firm and bashed their teeth in!" he roared. "Real men don't flinch when the blood starts flowing, and the screaming rises! Isn't that right, mage?"
This last bit was directed at Magister Aritus's table. I tensed, sensing trouble brewing as the mage raised his hooded eyes to meet Jax's challenging stare. Here we go.
"I wouldn't know about men," Aritus said softly, danger coiled beneath his mild tone. "My concern was preventing needless massacre through well-placed spellcraft. But do go on recounting your glories, friend. I'm certain your butcher's work deserves such poetic tribute."
Jax's face darkened. The laborers quietly slipped away. He took one step toward the mage, fists clenched. "You'd do well to mind that velvet tongue of yours, Arin," he growled. Around them, conversations died away abruptly. "Men like me won your battles while you hid in silk tents and waved your fancy hands about!"
The mage uncoiled from his seat with lazy grace, power barely leashed. I was already moving to intervene when his soft, cutting voice cracked across the silent room like a lash.
"And where would your courage have led, if not checked by my barriers and spells?" he purred dangerously. "I could have slain an entire company from my tent. Only mercy stayed my hand."
"You pompous, puffed-up son of a..." Jax lurched forward, murder written plain across his red face.
I darted between them and gave him a firm shove toward the bar. For an instant, the mage glanced at me with something like amusement flickering through his icy mask.
"Gentlemen, I'll thank you for keeping civil tongues while under my roof," I snapped, glaring at each in turn. "If you must rehash old battles, do so without the insults, lest I bar you both from the premises." I turned to Jax: "Jax, have a drink on the house and chill out." I whirled on Aritus. "And you, remember, you're a guest here."
“She’s right, Jax, old dog.” Mahal appeared behind the brewer. The smith’s fiery mane blazed like a beacon over the crowd. His craggy face wore an unflappable grin beneath the bushy red beard. “Come here. I have a few things to tell you about the hammer you ordered.”
Jax scowled but allowed me to shove a tankard of ale into his hands, and Mahal to steer him away. I trusted him to keep his cups full and his temper cooled.
I pinned the mage with a warning look. "My apologies for the disruption. Please let me know if you require anything further."
His angular features twitched with what might have been amusement. "You needn't trouble yourself," he said, lifting his papers from the table. "Provided your... patrons... refrain from accosting me further, I shall manage adequately. I think I need quiet. Can you lead me to my room and bring my dinner there?"
I inclined my head and called Ella to guide him to his quarters before I gave in to the urge to throttle the man.
My head suddenly full of bloody memories from Snake Pass, I swept up empty tankards with more force than necessary, ale sloshing over my hand. These men, boasting of past violence, were idiots, the lot of them.
A touch at my elbow made me jump. Dustin stood there, his homely face softened in sympathy. "Here, mistress, let me take that," he said, lifting the ale-sloshed tray from my wet hands. "Those two are just puffed-up roosters having a spat. No need to ruffle your feathers over their nonsense."
I smiled ruefully. Dustin might have been built like an ox, but his mind was as sharp as they come. I'd have to remember to slip him some extra coins on top of his pay.
"Too right," I sighed, wiping spilled ale with my apron. "Men like that just peck and posture."
Those interested in betareading can email me at admin@romansdefantasy.com
Till next time.
Alex
This is a fun read. I hope it's turned into a series...