The Ballad of Carlia Havannah 6

Chapter 6

Carlia stood before the heavy oak door, her breath shallow but controlled. The howling wind outside the Black Horse Guild Tavern rattled the walls, but here, in this narrow corridor, the world felt stiflingly still. Her fingers curled into the edges of her travel cloak, steadying herself. She had faced worse than this—a room full of drunken louts was nothing to a Bard—but something about this moment felt weightier. The door before her loomed, not just as an entry to a conversation but perhaps a crossroads in her life.

The sound of metal sliding against metal echoed from behind the door. A slot in the door opened, and a pair of sharp eyes peered out from the darkness. The man behind the door had a gaunt, angular face, his long black beard flowing like a river down his chest, contrasting sharply with his bald head. He examined her, his expression unreadable.

"Who are you?" His voice was as thin and pointed as he was.

Carlia stood taller, adjusting her lute case and cloak. "Carlia Havannah. I have an appointment with Grog."

The man scrutinized her for a moment longer before giving a slight nod. "Master Grog," he corrected as the slot clanged shut. A few tense moments later, the door creaked open.

The man, Sticklefoot as she would soon learn, motioned for her to enter. He stood tall and wiry, a stark contrast to the image she had formed of him behind the door, yet every inch of him radiated an aura of danger. A sword hung at his side, his fingers occasionally brushing its hilt as though it were second nature to him. His gaze, too, was sharp, but his movements were measured, as if always prepared for an attack.

Carlia stepped into Grog’s office, immediately overwhelmed by the grandeur of it. The room was dark and filled with a thick, intoxicating scent of lavender, making her head swim momentarily. The office was as lavish as it was intimidating—trophies of past conquests hung from the walls, and paintings of Grog as a younger, fiercely muscled gladiator adorned the space. A massive bear rug, no doubt a trophy from one of Grog’s campaigns, lay beneath his grand mahogany desk, its gleaming eyes a silent warning to all who entered.

And then there was Grog.

He sat behind the desk, a behemoth of a man, easily twice her size. His rugged features bore the scars of countless battles, each one telling a different tale. His broad shoulders and barrel chest strained against the confines of his tailored tunic, making it clear that age had done little to diminish his imposing physicality. His hair, a mix of gray and black, was pulled back into a tight knot, accentuating his ruggedly handsome face. His eyes, a piercing blue, bore into her with an intensity that could cut through stone. And yet, despite his intimidating presence, there was a boyish charm about him—a glint in his eye that softened the edges of his gruff exterior.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her with a mixture of amusement and interest, his lips pulling into a smirk as Sticklefoot stepped aside.

“Sticklefoot!” Grog barked, his voice booming. “I didn’t order any wenches.”

“No, Master Grog,” Sticklefoot replied quickly. “This is Carlia. The Bard of Shallizar.”

Grog’s smile widened, his eyes taking in Carlia with an unabashed gaze that made her skin prickle. She felt his eyes move from her face, down the curves of her body, lingering just a moment too long before meeting her eyes again.

“Well, well,” Grog said, standing up. As he rose, the full scope of his size became apparent. He was a titan of a man, towering over Carlia by a good foot. “The Bard of Shallizar. I’ve heard of you.” He gestured toward a plush chair in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”

Carlia hesitated, but she forced herself to remain calm, to act as though she hadn’t noticed his wandering gaze. She had dealt with men like Grog before—men who thought they could get away with anything because of their power. She was here for information, not to pick a fight.

As she sat down, she felt Grog’s eyes on her again, watching every movement, every shift of her body. It was unnerving, but she met his gaze head-on, her chin raised slightly in defiance.

“What brings a beautiful bard to my office?” Grog asked, his voice gruff but laced with amusement. “If you wanted to sing here, Isaiah would’ve handled that.”

Carlia smiled, though the tension in the air was thick. “I’m not here to perform, Master Grog. I’m looking for someone. One of your men.”

Grog raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And who might that be?”

“Alden.”

The name seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment, Grog said nothing. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. The amusement in his expression faded, replaced by something far more dangerous.

“Alden, you say?” Grog’s voice was low, thoughtful. “Now, why would a woman like you be looking for a man like him?”

Carlia kept her voice steady. “He’s important to me. I need to find him.”

Grog let out a laugh, the sound filling the room like a roll of thunder. “Danger, Alden lives in danger. But you…” His eyes roamed over her again, more slowly this time, as if weighing her. “You’d give Alden strong, handsome children.”

The comment landed like a slap, but Carlia didn’t flinch. She had dealt with worse. She kept her gaze steady, her smile unwavering. Inside, however, she could feel the heat of her anger rising.

“I’m not here for your opinions on that,” she said coolly. “I just need to know where he is.”

Grog chuckled again, clearly enjoying himself. “Feisty. I like that. But you should know something, Carlia.” His tone shifted, becoming more serious, more threatening. “Alden… He’s not a man you should be chasing. He’s in a dangerous line of work.”

Carlia’s heart quickened. This was the information she needed, but it wasn’t enough. She leaned forward slightly, keeping her expression neutral. “What kind of work?”

Grog shrugged, his massive shoulders lifting and falling like a mountain shifting in the wind. “The kind that keeps him out of sight and out of mind. He does jobs for me from time to time. But if you’re expecting some grand reunion, I’m afraid you’re chasing a ghost.”

Carlia held his gaze, refusing to back down. “I’m not afraid of danger.”

Grog grinned again, that same boyish charm breaking through the roughness. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’ve got spirit, Carlia. I can see why Isaiah speaks so highly of you.” He paused, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “But Alden’s a hard man to pin down. If you’re set on finding him, you’d better be prepared for what comes with it.”

Carlia’s voice softened, her sincerity shining through. “I just need to know where he is.”

Grog studied her for a long moment, the silence in the room stretching out. Carlia rose out of the chair and sat on the edge of the desk, closer to Grog who studied her. Finally, he sighed and put his massive hands down on the desk on the desk.

“He’s not here,” Grog said, his voice quieter now. “Last I heard, he was heading north. Aboard a ship bound for the Bubastis Lake Federation.”

Carlia’s heart skipped a beat. “North?”

Grog nodded. “It’s a two-week journey, rough waters. And whatever he’s up to, it’s nothing good. Trust me on that.”

She felt a mix of relief and dread. Relief that she finally had a lead, dread at what awaited her in the north. But this was what she had come for. She could sense there was more Grog wasn’t telling her, but she knew pushing him too hard could backfire.

“Thank you,” Carlia said, her voice firm. “I appreciate your help.”

Grog chuckled softly. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. Most people don’t come knocking on my door looking for favors.”

Carlia stood, her eyes never leaving Grog’s. She knew she had to be careful in how she ended this conversation. Men like Grog respected strength, and she wasn’t about to leave this room as anything less than his equal.

“One more thing,” Grog said with more warmth. “Alden and Archi—the dwarven blacksmith over in the Merchant’s District—they used to do jobs together, they are close. You might find some answers there.”

Carlia nodded, filing the information away. “Thank you, Master Grog.”

He smirked, clearly amused by the formality. “Just remember, Master Bard..." The pause was long as his eyes softened. "Be very careful, I need you to come back and perform." He said brightening.

Carlia had kept her composure and unless her intuition was off, she felt like she just made a friend.

She smiled warmly at Grog, "Sincerely, thank you."

Grog nodded knowingly as she timed her exit in perfectly. Sliding away from the desk she strode across the room feeling Grog’s warm gaze on her back the entire time. Sticklefoot was waiting by the door, and with a simple nod, he opened it for her.

Her mind raced as she processed what Grog had told her. Alden was on a ship heading north, to a place she had never been. The Bubastis Lake Federation was a distant land, a thriving port of shipwrights, on the shores of a large mountain lake. It would be a long journey. But... She would go. She had to.

And Archi—the dwarven blacksmith—was her next stop.

Carlia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and stepped out into the night. The journey ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in what already seemed like days, she had a clear path forward.

And she wouldn’t stop until she found Alden.

Chapter 6

Grog!

The Ballad of Carlia Havannah