"We won't be needing any company tonight," Sylven said. He sipped his mead as the woman frowned.
"Sweetie, you do realize what type of place you're in, right? If you didn't come here for pleasure, then why are you staying here?"
"We simply needed a place to sleep," Sylven said. "We've been on the road for a few days, and we were under the impression this place was a decent spot."
"Oh… In that case, the two of you can have the room at the end of the hall, on the left. It's a spare that we haven't touched in a while." The woman bowed her head. "I'll let the owner know, and you just let me know if you change your mind."
The brunette left with a wink, and the soft sway of her hips. Cyrus felt his cheeks redden once more, and quickly took a swig of his mead to wash away the feeling. As he thumped the mug back down, a couple of men barged through the archway, to the excitement of the ladies.
The two were muscular, with thick brows, and heavy brown hair. A bit of dirt and sweat stained their tunics, while their palms were clearly covered in calluses. They didn't appear much older than Cyrus and Sylven, though their presence captivated the women's attention
"Eli! A round for the people! On us!" The younger of the two shouted, grinning from ear to ear. "We've finally finished the pass, and we're here to celebrate!"
The brothel erupted into cheers, and the bartender arched his brow. "Did you now? That's good news. My business was growing a bit slow these days."
Cyrus glanced at Sylven as the two young men found their way to a table near the back. Several of the women flocked in their direction, their blouses already loosened, and lowered.
"This is slow? How busy do you think this place normally is?" Cyrus asked.
Sylven shook his head. "Who knows? I don't usually find myself in such establishments. I'm more curious about what they meant regarding the pass."
"Hmm…" Cyrus glanced around, then tapped a drunken man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, but do you know what those two meant when they said they cleared the pass?"
The man blinked his eyes, his head rolling to the side as he tried to study Cyrus. "What's that? You haven't heard of it?"
"Heard what?"
"Why, the entire pass has been blocked for the past four weeks because of an avalanche!" The man said, grabbing his drink. "A right blasted one, too. The sheer noise from it was enough to wake the entire village, and it brought a complete stop to all travel. Supposedly, a few caravans were trapped beneath, but I don't know if they survived or not."
The man downed his drink in a single gulp, and stumbled to his feet, wobbling as he tried to remain standing. "I'm going to grab myself another drink. Do you want one?"
"Ah, no, that's alright," Cyrus said. He excused himself as the man staggered away, humming a tune beneath his breath.
"An avalanche, huh?" Sylven said, cutting into his roast beef.
"Do you think we'll be able to make it through the pass?" Cyrus asked.
"If they've cleared it, we should be fine. We'll rest for tomorrow, and spend the day purchasing supplies while we figure out if it's traversable or not," Sylven said. He waved his hand, summoning one of the maidens. "For now, why don't we enjoy the free drinks, and our supper."
…
Hours later, as the last calls for mead were made, Cyrus and Sylven slipped through the door leading to the rooms, and down the dimly lit hall. A cacophony of moans and grunts echoed from behind the half closed doors, while flashes of skin appeared through the cracks.
Cyrus lowered his eyes, staring at the tiled floor, until a particularly giddy squeal spurred him quickly down the rest of the hall. Sylven remained right behind him, curling his lip in disgust. When they reached their room, they hurriedly stumbled inside, and slammed the door shut behind them, cutting off the noise.
"Gods above. I doubt I'll ever be able to forget this," Cyrus said, slumping against the door. Letting out a sigh, he scanned the room.
There were two rickety cots inside, separated by a clutter of crates and barrels, stacked to the ceiling. Several worn tapestries were rolled up and thrown in the corner, while rusted cookware, and cracked mug were tossed in a pile against the far wall. A dim lantern illuminated the carpet of dust which coated the storage, which appeared thicker than it should have.
Cyrus rubbed his face. "You know, I'm starting to think I would have preferred sleeping in the forest again."
"It could be worse," Sylven said. He dropped his pack beside the door, and threw open the shutters. "At least all we have to worry about in here is a bit of dust. No need to worry when we have magic."
"Wait, what are you doing?" Cyrus asked. He hurried to bar the door, then whirled back to Sylven. "Won't the owner be suspicious if he checks the room tomorrow, only to find it clean?"
"Don't worry, I'm only fixing the cots, and just enough that we could have cleaned them by hand if we wanted to," Sylven said. The air rippled before his palms. "Eraveil, Denete."
Cyrus stepped back as a gust of wind swirled through the room, buffeting the blankets and sheets. He shuddered as a cloud of dust and dirt rose from the covers, heavy enough to darken the room, before it funneled through the shutters, and disappeared into the shadows behind the brothel.
Sylven rubbed his hands off on his trousers, and examined the cots. "There. Now we can sleep without worry."
"Perhaps you can. I think I'm going to have nightmares," Cyrus said. He tossed his pack on the stack of crates, and climbed onto one of the cots. Choosing to ignore the array of stains, he leaned against the wall. "Perhaps while we're searching for supplies tomorrow, we can also look for a different place to sleep?"
"I think that's a good idea," Sylven asked. He unhooked his sword, and dagger, and lined them neatly on the dresser, before settling on the opposite cot, and retrieving a whetstone from his pack. Unsheathing his dagger first, he ran his finger down the clean blade. "Perhaps we can find something on the other side of the village."
"Anywhere would beat sleeping in a hole like this," Cyrus said. He watched in fascination as Sylven flipped the dagger around, and nimbly worked the whetstone along the edge. "Say, you're quite skilled at that. Did Myrel also teach you swordsmanship?"
"No, I learned this from someone else, long before Master Myrel and I moved to Galeden," Sylven said. He eyed the blade, then resheathed his dagger and drew out his sword. The silver metal gleamed in the lantern's light. "This was a gift from the one who taught me, and I've done my best to keep it in good shape."
"I can tell. I'll need to find a weapon once we reach Phislock," Cyrus said. He kicked his boots off, and stretched out on the cot. The prickly wool itched at the back of his neck so he raised his hood.
"Indeed. We'll need to see what type of sword fits you," Sylven said. After a few quick swipes, he slipped his sword back into its sheath, and set it on the nightstand. "Do you mind if I blow out the lantern?"
"Go ahead."
Sylven unpopped the lid, and blew out the flame, sinking the room into darkness. Outside, the chirp of crickets filled the night, while the hoot of owls, as they searched for mice. A wave of exhaustion washed over Cyrus as he stared up at the rafters, and he soon found his eyes falling shut.