throat. A dog snarled at him and he looked down to see a large, hairy animal crouched on the floor, eating what looked like a pile of vomit. It certainly smelled like it.
Revolted, he blinked and looked around. This was not what he expected to find. How far had these humans regressed? Back home, a place like this would have a series of low couches, as well as statues and other artwork, beautiful rugs on the tiled floor and either tapestries or gorgeous murals on the plastered walls. A handful of elves would be talking politely, perhaps one would be playing a musical instrument or singing.
Here, humans filled most of the room, jostled each other around a long table that was stacked high with barrels, crude mugs and horns, as well as a strange assortment of goods, from chickens to clothes to a small goat in a cage.
The floor was filthy rushes, the walls bare yet stained with things he did not want to think about. The noise, the smells, were overwhelming. If not for Mai and Cheijun and, admittedly, the rain, he would have walked away.
The closest humans stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and animosity. All wore crude tunics and trews, some of thembright in colour but uniformly stained with mud and worse. They had long, dark hair and matching beards, although several of the older ones were going bald.
‘Welcome to my hall,’ a voice boomed, the same voice that had invited him in. This man, who had a huge beard, stood behind the table, from where he and a young woman handed out mugs of strange-looking drink and plates of stranger-looking food to other humans.
He pushed his way across to them. Time was wasting. ‘Where am I?’ he asked.
‘Why, you’re in Pontypridd, the most easterly village in the whole of Vales, the most southerly in Gwent — and one of the finest!’ The man grinned, showing blackened teeth through his thick beard. ‘I am Vernin, headman of the village.’
The words washed over him, meaning nothing. Instead he found himself staring at Vernin’s face, fascinated by the man’s long nose and large eyes, as well as his reddened ears that stuck out proudly either side of his beard.
Vernin carefully wiped out one of the wooden tankards with a grubby cloth then filled it with a brown liquid from a large barrel.
‘Try this. My finest ale. It’ll drive out the cold,’ Vernin offered.
He inspected the filthy tankard doubtfully. ‘Thank you. I am not thirsty,’ he said carefully. ‘Instead, I have questions for you …’
Vernin chuckled. ‘Questions? I don’t have time for questions! I have two performers, all the way from the court of King Ward of Forland himself, and a huge crowd wanting food and drink! How about that, eh? No wonder people from all over have come here, wearing their best clothes.’
Sendatsu looked around at the humans. Most had long tunics and some sort of woollen leggings. Everything seemed ill-fitting and baggy. There were colours but they were patchy and faded, while mud seemed to have stained everything. He hoped it was mud. He pulled the cloak around him a little tighter, to hide the fine dark blue cotton hakama trousers and kimono top he was wearing.
‘But I need to talk to anyone around here who knows about elves and magic …’
‘Listen to the show — I reckon you’ll hear all you need to then,’ Vernin promised.
Relief flooded through Sendatsu. This was perfect! With any luck, he could be back home before he even knew it.
‘Where are they?’
‘Oh, they’ll be out soon,’ Vernin said. ‘Show me the colour of your coin and you can eat and drink while you wait.’
Sendatsu would normally have refused — he could not imagine anything cooked in this place would give him anything other than the need to vomit. But the thought of finishing his quest so quickly made him want to indulge this strange human. He felt in his belt pouch — below the toys was a handful of coins and he slapped one on the table.
‘Gold!’ Vernin whispered
Revolted, he blinked and looked around. This was not what he expected to find. How far had these humans regressed? Back home, a place like this would have a series of low couches, as well as statues and other artwork, beautiful rugs on the tiled floor and either tapestries or gorgeous murals on the plastered walls. A handful of elves would be talking politely, perhaps one would be playing a musical instrument or singing.
Here, humans filled most of the room, jostled each other around a long table that was stacked high with barrels, crude mugs and horns, as well as a strange assortment of goods, from chickens to clothes to a small goat in a cage.
The floor was filthy rushes, the walls bare yet stained with things he did not want to think about. The noise, the smells, were overwhelming. If not for Mai and Cheijun and, admittedly, the rain, he would have walked away.
The closest humans stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and animosity. All wore crude tunics and trews, some of thembright in colour but uniformly stained with mud and worse. They had long, dark hair and matching beards, although several of the older ones were going bald.
‘Welcome to my hall,’ a voice boomed, the same voice that had invited him in. This man, who had a huge beard, stood behind the table, from where he and a young woman handed out mugs of strange-looking drink and plates of stranger-looking food to other humans.
He pushed his way across to them. Time was wasting. ‘Where am I?’ he asked.
‘Why, you’re in Pontypridd, the most easterly village in the whole of Vales, the most southerly in Gwent — and one of the finest!’ The man grinned, showing blackened teeth through his thick beard. ‘I am Vernin, headman of the village.’
The words washed over him, meaning nothing. Instead he found himself staring at Vernin’s face, fascinated by the man’s long nose and large eyes, as well as his reddened ears that stuck out proudly either side of his beard.
Vernin carefully wiped out one of the wooden tankards with a grubby cloth then filled it with a brown liquid from a large barrel.
‘Try this. My finest ale. It’ll drive out the cold,’ Vernin offered.
He inspected the filthy tankard doubtfully. ‘Thank you. I am not thirsty,’ he said carefully. ‘Instead, I have questions for you …’
Vernin chuckled. ‘Questions? I don’t have time for questions! I have two performers, all the way from the court of King Ward of Forland himself, and a huge crowd wanting food and drink! How about that, eh? No wonder people from all over have come here, wearing their best clothes.’
Sendatsu looked around at the humans. Most had long tunics and some sort of woollen leggings. Everything seemed ill-fitting and baggy. There were colours but they were patchy and faded, while mud seemed to have stained everything. He hoped it was mud. He pulled the cloak around him a little tighter, to hide the fine dark blue cotton hakama trousers and kimono top he was wearing.
‘But I need to talk to anyone around here who knows about elves and magic …’
‘Listen to the show — I reckon you’ll hear all you need to then,’ Vernin promised.
Relief flooded through Sendatsu. This was perfect! With any luck, he could be back home before he even knew it.
‘Where are they?’
‘Oh, they’ll be out soon,’ Vernin said. ‘Show me the colour of your coin and you can eat and drink while you wait.’
Sendatsu would normally have refused — he could not imagine anything cooked in this place would give him anything other than the need to vomit. But the thought of finishing his quest so quickly made him want to indulge this strange human. He felt in his belt pouch — below the toys was a handful of coins and he slapped one on the table.
‘Gold!’ Vernin whispered
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