The Ballad of Carlia Havannah 5

Carlia Havannah woke to the sound of rain pelting against the windowpanes of her small room at The Silver Chalice Tavern. The storm outside had raged through the night, its fury unabated. The wind howled, rattling the shutters, but the hearth in her room had kept her warm, and the thick quilt over her had felt like a protective shield against the elements. Now, as she stirred in bed, the warmth still clinging to her, she realized that her mind was anything but at ease. The previous night’s events replayed in her thoughts like echoes in a cavern.

Alden.

The name lingered in her mind like a haunting refrain, though she had no idea who he was. His face, however, was as clear as the memory of the firelight dancing in his eyes. He had appeared so suddenly, so mysteriously, and there had been something about him—something unsettling yet magnetic. He had been brave, she couldn't deny that. And then there were the hooded men, a shadowed threat whose purpose she had yet to understand. Danger seemed to trail behind them like a dark cloud. She could still feel the weight of their gaze, even as she lay here in the relative safety of her room.

Carlia sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and planting her feet on the wooden floor, which was cold despite the hearth’s glow. She dressed swiftly, pulling on her well-worn leathers and a cloak to guard against the tavern’s morning chill, then strapped on the belt where her dagger rested. She was no stranger to danger, and last night had only reaffirmed her need to be vigilant.

The common room of The Silver Chalice was already stirring when she descended the stairs. The smell of sizzling meats and strong coffee filled the air, mingling with the scent of rain and wet earth carried in by the gusts of wind that swept through the tavern’s entrance each time a patron arrived. The storm outside was relentless, its presence a constant backdrop to the warmth within.

Carlia made her way to the bar, her eyes scanning the room with the practiced gaze of someone accustomed to noticing details others might miss. Most of the patrons seemed to be regulars or travelers seeking refuge from the storm. No hooded cloaks. No suspicious glances. For now, at least, the danger seemed to have receded.

She took a seat at the bar, the wooden stool creaking softly beneath her. The barkeep, a burly man with a grizzled beard, nodded at her and wordlessly placed a plate of steaming breakfast meats and a mug of piping hot coffee in front of her. She muttered her thanks, grateful for the sustenance after a restless night.

As she picked at her food, her thoughts drifted once again to Alden. She had felt something strange last night—an undeniable connection—but it was absurd, really. She didn’t know the man, not even his true name. What if he was dangerous? What if he was somehow connected to the men in cloaks?

Her musings were interrupted by the arrival of Arlena, one of the younger barmaids, who slid onto the stool next to her with an easy grace. Arlena was off duty, dressed in a simple but flattering gown that highlighted her youth and vibrancy. She had always been friendly with Carlia, and today was no exception.

“Morning, Carlia,” Arlena greeted with a warm smile. “That storm's still wild, huh?”

Carlia nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. “Seems like it has no intention of letting up anytime soon.”

“Good thing we’re inside, then,” Arlena said, casting a glance at the window where rain continued to lash against the glass. She turned back to Carlia, her eyes shining with curiosity. “But, forget the weather. Tell me about last night. That man, Alden—” she said his name with a dramatic flair, her voice lowering into a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The way he looked at you—oh, it was like something out of a ballad! Love at first sight!”

Carlia chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t even know him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Arlena insisted, her eyes wide with excitement. “You can’t deny there was something there. Everyone saw it! The way he stepped in to help you with those hooded men. He was so... well, you have to admit he’s handsome. And you’re lucky he showed up when he did.”

Handsome. That was a word Carlia hadn’t dwelled on, but now that Arlena had mentioned it, she had to admit it was true. There was a ruggedness to Alden that spoke of strength and mystery, but also something guarded, something hidden.

“I don’t know about luck,” Carlia said, poking at her food with her fork. “For all I know, he could be just as dangerous as those men he helped me fend off.”

Arlena frowned, her brow furrowing. “You really think so? I thought he seemed more like... well, a hero.”

Carlia shrugged. “I don’t know what to think, honestly. He appeared out of nowhere, and then just as quickly, he was gone. I didn’t even have a chance to ask him who he was.”

Arlena leaned closer, her voice dropping to a hushed tone. “I’ve heard stories, you know. About men like that. Wandering warriors, bound by some old vow or secret, traveling from town to town, never staying in one place for too long. Maybe he’s one of them.”

“Maybe,” Carlia said, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. “But I’ve learned to be careful around strangers. Especially ones who show up just when danger does.”

Arlena studied her for a moment, then smiled softly. “You’re always so careful, Carlia. That’s why we all respect you. But sometimes, you have to trust your instincts, even when they’re telling you something you don’t understand yet.”

Carlia met her gaze, the warmth of Arlena’s words sinking in. Maybe she was right. Maybe there was something more to Alden than the mystery surrounding him. But until she had answers, she couldn’t let herself get swept away by the romantic notion of a wandering hero.

As they sat in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their coffee and listening to the storm rage outside, the barkeep wandered over, wiping his hands on a rag. His grizzled features were drawn into a thoughtful expression, and Carlia noticed the way his eyes flicked between her and Arlena with an almost knowing look.

“Been hearing a bit of your conversation,” the barkeep said in a low, rumbling voice. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Carlia raised an eyebrow. “Eavesdropping, were you?”

He shrugged. “Can’t help it. Small tavern, sound travels.”

Arlena giggled softly, while Carlia waited for the barkeep to continue. He leaned against the bar, his voice dropping even lower.

“You’re talkin’ about Alden, yeah? Well, I happen to know a little somethin’ about him. He’s been stayin’ at the Black Horse Guild Tavern, just across the way. One of our kitchen hands works there part-time, saw him come and go the last few days.”

Carlia’s eyes widened slightly. “The Black Horse Guild?”

“Aye,” the barkeep confirmed, nodding. “He’s been keepin’ to himself mostly, but from what I’ve heard, he’s been spendin’ his evenings there, same as he did last night before he showed up here.”

Carlia felt a surge of curiosity, her mind racing with possibilities. Alden was close, perhaps only a short walk away, if she dared to venture into the storm. But should she? There was still so much she didn’t know. Yet, something within her tugged at the idea, drawing her toward the unknown, urging her to seek out the man who had come to her aid so unexpectedly.

She glanced at Arlena, who was watching her with a knowing smile. “Seems like fate, doesn’t it?” Arlena said softly. “He’s just across the way.”

Fate. The word seemed almost laughable, yet Carlia couldn’t deny the pull she felt. Alden was nearby, and now that she knew where to find him, the temptation to seek him out was overwhelming.

“I don’t believe in fate,” Carlia said, though the words lacked conviction.

But even as she said it, she knew her curiosity was getting the better of her.

The Black Horse Guild Tavern. Just across the way.

Just across the way...

Carlia swiftly slid her lute into its worn leather case, the weight of it a familiar comfort on her back as she slung it over her shoulder. Her fingers trembled slightly—not from the cold of the storm, but from the uncertainty gnawing at her. Alden. His name and the mystery that surrounded him wouldn’t leave her mind. The Black Horse Guild Tavern was close, and if there were any answers to be found, they would be there.

She threw her travel cloak over her shoulders, wrapping its thick woolen folds tightly around herself, bracing against the storm. The front door of The Silver Chalice groaned as she pushed it open, the wind immediately grabbing at her with ferocity. The storm had intensified, the rain now coming down in torrents, driven by a wind that roared like an enraged beast. It was almost like a hurricane, the streets slick with water and the sky a swirl of dark gray clouds. She had to fight the wind with each step as she made her way down the cobbled street, head bent low, her cloak whipping behind her like the wings of a struggling bird.

The Black Horse Guild Tavern was only a short walk from The Silver Chalice, but in this storm, it felt like a journey through a battlefield. As she trudged onward, nearly blown sideways by the gusts, her mind raced. Alden. Who was he? Why had he appeared so suddenly, and why had he left just as quickly? Carlia had met many strange men on her travels, but none had unsettled her thoughts quite like Alden.

Finally, the outline of the Black Horse Guild Tavern came into view, its elegant facade rising out of the storm like a bastion of civility against the wild forces of nature. The building was grander than The Silver Chalice, its exterior boasting dark wooden beams and tall windows that flickered with the warm glow of firelight from within. A carved sign hung above the entrance, emblazoned with the silhouette of a proud, rearing black stallion—a symbol of power and prestige.

As Carlia approached, she couldn’t help but study the details. The windows were lined with fine mullions, and ivy curled around the stone columns that framed the doorway. It was the sort of place frequented by the wealthy or those who wished to appear so. For a moment, she hesitated, rain pouring down her face, her boots sinking into the muddy street. Would someone like Alden really stay in such a place? Perhaps the Black Horse Guild wasn’t just an inn but something more exclusive.

Carlia pushed through the heavy wooden door, the storm instantly muted as it closed behind her. The warmth of the tavern’s interior hit her like a wave, and she took a deep breath, shrugging off the wet and cold. The scent of fine ales and roasting meats filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation from the patrons scattered throughout the large common room.

Her entrance did not go unnoticed. Several pairs of eyes turned toward her, and she could feel their gazes lingering. She knew how she looked—rain-soaked, with her travel cloak clinging to her form, her golden hair wet and wild around her shoulders. It was not the first time Carlia’s presence had drawn attention, but today, her mind was far from the usual games of charm and flirtation.

She moved to the bar, her boots leaving wet footprints behind her on the polished wooden floor. The man behind the bar was unlike the typical tavern keep. Tall and slender, his clothing immaculate and his hair slicked back with precision, he looked more like a nobleman than a barkeep. His sharp, discerning eyes met hers as she approached.

"Ah, the Bard of Shallizar graces my humble establishment,” he said with a smooth, honeyed voice, his lips curving into a practiced smile. “I must say, I’ve heard tales of your beauty and talent, but seeing you in person exceeds even the loftiest of those rumors."

Carlia’s brow raised slightly. His charm was polished, almost too polished, but there was something about him—an air of competence and sharpness—that told her he wasn’t to be underestimated.

“You’re Isaiah, I presume?” she asked knowingly, while taking a seat at the bar, her voice steady despite her racing thoughts.

Isaiah inclined his head in a gracious nod. “Isaiah of Jugathon, at your service. Barkeep, manager, and host of this fine establishment. And if I may be so bold, I would be honored to have you perform here. A woman of your talents... well, let’s just say I could offer you a generous cut of the evening’s take if you were to entertain my patrons. The beautiful Bard of Shallizar, center stage... it would be an event worth every coin.”

Carlia gave him a small, polite smile, though her mind was already elsewhere. She couldn’t deny the flattery warmed her, but her heart was set on a different matter. “I’m flattered by the offer, truly,” she began, leaning in slightly, “but I’m not here for a performance tonight. I’m looking for someone.”

Isaiah’s expression remained unreadable, though his eyes sharpened. “And who, might I ask, has captured the attention of such a lovely woman?”

“Alden,” she said, watching him carefully for any reaction. “I was told he’s staying here.”

There it was—a flicker of something in his eyes, just for a moment. But when he spoke, his voice was smooth as ever. “Ah, Alden. Yes, I’m afraid you’ve just missed him. He checked out yesterday.”

Carlia’s chest tightened slightly at the news. She had been so sure she would find him here. “Did he say where he was going?”

Isaiah shook his head regretfully. “No, I’m afraid he left without much explanation. He’s a man of few words, you see. But then, men like Alden rarely stay in one place for long.”

“Men like Alden?” Carlia pressed, her curiosity burning. “What do you know about him?”

Isaiah studied her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Alden is a member of the Black Horse Guild, though he’s not from this Tavern House. He’s... shall we say, a man of certain talents, like many who pass through these doors.”

Carlia leaned in, intrigued. “What is the Black Horse Guild?”

Isaiah smiled, as if he were about to unveil a secret. “The Black Horse Guild is an exclusive group—enthusiasts and heroes, all bound by their love for magnificent black steeds. But it’s more than that. It’s backed by the League of Extraordinary Explorers.”

Carlia’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the League. She had heard of them, of course—an elite huge group of active and retired adventurers known throughout the kingdoms for their legendary deeds. The League had a large private guild hall in the capital city of Shallizar, and stories of their exploits had been sung in taverns across the land. But she had never met a member of the Black Horse Guild before, let alone someone connected to the League.

“Alden is part of the League?” she asked, her voice hushed with awe.

Isaiah nodded. “He’s a rider, though I couldn’t tell you much more. The members of the Black Horse Guild are a secretive bunch. They come and go, bound by their own codes and missions. It’s rare for one to linger long in any one place.”

Carlia’s mind raced with the implications. Alden wasn’t just some wandering swordsman. He was connected to one of the most powerful organizations in the world. And yet, despite the danger and mystery that surrounded him, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to find him.

“Do you know where he went?” she asked again, though she already knew what Isaiah would say.

The barkeep shook his head. “I wish I could tell you. He didn’t leave word with me.”

Carlia’s shoulders sagged slightly, disappointment weighing on her. She had come all this way, braving the storm, only to find that Alden had slipped through her fingers once again.

Isaiah’s sharp gaze softened for a moment. “If you’re truly intent on finding him,” he said slowly, “there is someone who might be able to help. Grog, our house master and guild taskmaster, tends to know more than he lets on. Alden might have spoken to him before he left.”

Carlia perked up at that, hope flickering in her chest. “Where can I find him?”

Isaiah gestured toward a set of stairs at the far end of the room. “Grog’s office is right through that door. He’s... well, let’s just say he’s a man with a particular set of interests. If you want to get on his good side, a tip: Grog has a fondness for the arenas.”

Carlia glanced toward the door, her pulse quickening. Grog, the tavern house master, was a figure she had heard mentioned in passing—an ex-gladiator champion, a giant of a man who had seen more battles than most. The thought of meeting him made her stomach churn with nervous anticipation, but if he knew something about Alden’s whereabouts, then she had to try.

“Thank you, Isaiah,” she said, rising from her seat. “You’ve been more helpful than you know.”

Isaiah flashed her another charming smile, though his eyes held a glint of something more serious. “I do what I can. Good luck, Carlia, And if you ever want to take me up on that performance offer, the stage is yours.”

Carlia nodded, offering a grateful smile before turning and making her way toward the door by the stairs...

Chapter 5

The Black Horse Guild Tavern

The Ballad of Carlia Havannah