Chapter 15 - Part 7

Vestiol did some juggling, a little singing, and even a dance step. He slowly drifted across the town, talking with everyone, making sure to spend some small coin at every merchant, and admiring the various animal companions. He played the fop well, mooched where he could, flattered where he couldn’t, and made sure everyone knew his pointed ears were alert for tidbits.

He stepped into a wide tavern with no walls. The interior was the circular bar and a firepit, but the ceiling was supported on poles, extending out over the forest floor. Greenheart had no permanent taverns, but Leafrest was one of the oldest temporary structures in Greenheart, established by Ghallanda to be open at every conclave. Its ‘walls’ were only shut in the coldest of weather, when large canvas sheets were taken out and tied to the outer poles.

Vestiol pulled his shirt more tightly around him, savoring one of the equidistantly placed coal braziers for its warmth. This would be a hard winter, judging by the mid-autumn bite. He sat down at a table near one of the braziers, and took out a series of dominos. Apparently playing himself a game, he hummed tunelessly, only interrupting his ‘game’ long enough to order a little brandy.

Two tables over, nursing an ale and going through some very mundane cargo manifests, was an elf from Cyre who was purchasing laskin horns and cathier spleens. The elf glanced over his expensive gloves at the pattern emerging in the dominos, and then smiled.

Both elves were gone ten minutes later, but Vestiol had delivered his message without saying a word. Cyran intelligence had long known of Greoche’s odd religious leanings, and they would be pleased to learn that the Tharashk woman had been manipulated into thwarting the very true and real Brelish scheme that Vestiol had informed her of. That Delegado d’Tharashk had shown up at the same time was nothing else but proof that Dol Dorn favored the Jewel of Galifar.