How to Trick a Demon: Black Friar Quest, #1

Prologue

LYRA STEELCLAW TOOK her time opening the Inn. Something was going to happen. What, she didn’t know, but something that was going to kick-off a whole series of other events.

But those others wouldn’t concern her. Not really, or at least, not yet, and Lyra was fine with that. She’d had her adventures. She’d beaten the champions, she’d slayed the monsters, and she’d collected the treasure. After a while, it had been enough. She didn’t want it anymore. Now, she was perfectly happy to just run the Inn.

The Gray Friar Inn, known to one and all as the place to go.

Lyra knew there were other inns, of course, but she went to great pains to make the Gray Friar an experience to be had. One and all were welcome: to drink, to eat, to stay, and to. . . well, drink some more. To that end, her beer was almost as famous as the Inn itself.

The day began as usual. Farmers from the nearby villages came in for lunch and a mug of beer before returning to their fields, travelers stopped for a few moments of relief, and a few regulars who worked jobs that required them to be out and about after the sun went down stayed for more than one mug.

Nothing unusual happened, but Lyra listened to the tingle in her gut and the itch on her palms. She checked her crossbow, which was carefully stored under the bar, made sure her belt-knife was at hand, and continued to serve beer.

The Inn began to fill up. A group of orcs came in, fresh from their shift in the deep woods, followed soon by a smaller party of dwarves from one of the mines. Farmers, woodsmen, and hunters greeted one another in the manner of men tired from a long day of labor.

Still, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Lyra sighed. That feeling was getting distracting and there were a few already here that needed to be watched.

She glanced at the door and wished that he would make up his mind and come inside.

Chapter 1

THE INN SHOWED SIGNS of age. Not that it was in disrepair, Shane realized. More like it had been there for a very long time. The trees surrounding it were full and towering, having grown since the ground had been cleared for the Inn’s construction. The sign that swung from above the door was faded, showing a gray cowled figure, hands folded piously inside the voluminous sleeves.

The Gray Friar Inn, he said out loud, more to himself than to anyone else.

It is that, a new voice said.

Shane looked behind him, from where he sat on a fallen log that was across the dirt road from the Inn.

Dwarves.  A whole bunch of them, at least nine at first glance. They’d approached through the deeper forest apparently, and he’d never heard them. He wasn’t sure if that was due to his being lost in thought about what might await him inside the Inn or the skill of the dwarves in walking silently through the woods. He thought probably the former. Dwarves weren’t known for being subtle, or at least, that was what he’d always been told. There weren’t many in Farmingham.

The lead dwarf, the one who’d first spoken, smiled at him, showing large, yellowed slab-like teeth, barely visible through the thick beard that spread from beneath the dwarf’s nose and down over his barrel-like chest. He wore rough, sturdy clothing, as did the others, all in various shades of dirt. His hands and face were still dusty from his day’s labor in the mines, located somewhere in the forest, hidden from all but the dwarves themselves.

Going in, then? the dwarf asked him.

Shane shifted on his perch. I am, he declared, as if this was a monumental moment in the life of the young man. When he shifted, his sword caught on a dead branch that protruded from the log and he needed to take a minute to untangle it.

The dwarf watched him politely. Well?

Well, what? Shane asked.

Well, are you coming?

Oh! You want me to go in with you?

Shane didn’t quite understand. The Gray Friar Inn had a reputation for being the finest drinking establishment between the towns of Farmingham— three days to the east of here— and Mossberg— an equal three days to the west. There were other inns, taverns, and hostels along the route, but none with the notoriety of the Gray Friar. Perhaps there was a reason these dwarves wanted a human’s accompaniment? Maybe it was the wrong time of day for them or something?

I’d be glad to escort you, Shane said, standing and giving the lead dwarf a slight bow.

"You’ll escort us? The dwarf looked back at his companions, many of whom hid their mouths with their hands. He turned back to Shane with a grin. Well, we’ll be happy for your company, lad. Lead the way, why don’t you?"

He stepped back and swept his thick arm out in a flourish, indicating that Shane should go first. Shane nodded, stepped into the road... and hesitated.

Once inside, there was no going back. He wasn’t just there for a mug of beer or to see the famous Inn, (infamous inn, he amended). He was there to seek help. And everyone knew, for the kind of help that Shane needed, the Gray Friar Inn was the place to go.

Everything okay? the dwarf asked.

Yes. Yes, of course. Shane smiled down at his companion. I’m Shane, by the way. Shane Rebaron.

Pleasure to meet you. My name is Thorgold Deepminer.

Shane shook his hand, a little disturbed at the hint of massive strength in the smaller man, who only came up to Shane’s chest, and Shane wasn’t a large man himself. Thorgold was the tallest of the group. Yet, that quick handshake had been enough to tell Shane that, if he wanted to, Thorgold could crush his fingers like a bunch of dried twigs. He turned and started across the road, trying to hide his sudden discomfort.

His stomach let out a loud gurgle as he approached the door. Thorgold patted him on the back. Don’t believe everything you’ve heard, lad.

With that, he reached out and opened the door, waving Shane through first.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped into... an inn.

It was nice; cast in a dim light with a long wooden bar along one side. There were tables and chairs. A fire burned merrily in the large stone hearth, even though the day was warm. The floor consisted of well-worn planks, gleaming golden in the light of the fire and lanterns hung from the rafters. In short, it was... an inn.

The patrons, however, were decidedly more eye-opening. At least to someone from the small town of Farmingham, where almost everyone was human and the richest man in town owned two horses and a brace of oxen.

The dwarves didn’t need him to accompany them, he saw immediately. There were already several present, gathered together near the back of the large room, where the ceiling was lower. Shane wasn’t sure if that was the natural design of the building or if it was done purposely to put those who lived underground more at ease.

In addition to the dwarves, Shane saw a table of orcs, drinking from massive stone goblets. They glanced up at the newly-entered party before turning back to their own conversation. Over in the corner sat a troll, brooding over a bowl of something green. When he picked it up to slurp at it, something moved beneath the surface. Shane looked away before he could see what it was.

Humans of every type sat at their ease among the other creatures. Farmers, woodsmen, a few merchants and their guards, and even two wearing the long robes that spoke of full-time magic users were seated in various-sized groups throughout the room.

Shane’s eyes ran over all of them before coming to rest on the bar, or, more specifically, the woman who tended that bar. The famous Lyra Steelclaw, a pseudonym if ever there was one, but nonetheless famous for it. Word was that she was once a notorious thief, a righter of wrongs, a taker of vengeance, a master swordswoman, breaker of hearts, and vicious assassin. There were more stories about Lyra than one person could possibly account for in a single lifetime.

She was captivating, and Shane couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Careful now, lad, Thorgold chuckled. She’s too much for the likes of you. Or any man, really. He patted Shane’s shoulder, almost driving him to his knees, before moving on to join the other dwarves at the back of the room.

Shane slowly approached the bar, barely acknowledging Thorgold’s departure. Lyra was... stunning.

She had long, dark hair, with a few strands of gray beginning to show, but she moved like a young woman. Her every motion was fluid, filled with a grace that Shane had never seen in anyone before. She exuded confidence in her very posture. And while she wore a simple pair of black pants and a white shirt, she made them look like the gown of the finest lady, or the uniform of a seasoned adventurer.

Before Shane could reach his destination, though, the troll rose from his seat in the corner and stomped toward him. The sound of his huge, flat feet pounding the floorboards took Shane’s attention from Lyra, just in time for him to end up sprawled on the floor as the troll accidentally bumped into him. The sheer size of the nearly ten-foot tall giant with the rock-hard skin sent Shane reeling.

The troll’s grunting laughter was cut short by a strong, slightly raspy feminine voice that floated to Shane like a choir from heaven.

No, Crag! How many times have I told you?

The troll’s voice was like boulders being pulverized in an avalanche. Sorry.

Help him up.

But—

Help him up, or no more frogmead.

The troll sighed, turned back to Shane and extended a shovel like hand. Shane took it, and the troll lifted him to his feet like he weighed less than a baby.

Say you’re sorry, Lyra said.

I did, the troll protested.

Not to me. To him.

The troll turned back to Shane, his brow furrowed and eyes downcast. Sorry, he muttered.

No harm done, Shane replied, rubbing his backside almost unconsciously. I shouldn’t have stepped in your way.

The troll smiled, which was a little like watching a mountain side split in two. He took the bowl of green goo Lyra placed on the bar in front of him, raised it in a quiet salute and stomped back to his table.

You’ll have to forgive Crag, Lyra said, speaking for the first time to Shane. He gets a little... protective, at times.

Shane knew she had said something but was completely captivated by the small scar on Lyra’s cheek. Where had it come from? Who had dared to mar such beauty? How could he exact a pound of flesh for their effrontery?

Hello? Lyra knocked on the counter. You in there, kid?

What? Shane blinked and realized that Lyra was looking at him like he was Dorfmund from home. The same Dorfmund who got kicked in the head by a mule when young and now sat on the street day after day, gazing about him with wide eyes as if everything was new to him.

I said, what do you need?

Oh...beer? I guess?

You guess? Have you ever had a beer before?

Oh, sure. Many times. Several of them, in fact.

He swaggered to the bar, only briefly tripping over his sword before reaching the dark expanse of wood. Lyra shook her head and turned to a barrel resting on trestles. She grabbed a clay mug, looked inside it briefly, wrinkled her nose, and then poured a thick, brown beer into it. The foam slid down the sides as she pushed it over to him.

Here you go. First time here?

Shane nodded as he picked up the mug. It is.

That one’s on the house, then. After that, they’re two silvers each. I can run a tab or you can pay as you go. If you get too drunk to walk, I’ll have Crag carry you outside. Where you sleep then depends on how you’ve acted until that point. She nodded and started away to draw another beer for one of the woodsmen waiting nearby. Oh, and if I see so much as an inch of that blade showing, Crag will push you out a window. Whether it’s open or shut will be up to him.

Shane waited to see her smile, to tell him it was a joke, but she did no such thing. Instead, she took the woodsmen’s mug, exchanged a couple of words with him and filled it. Shane glanced over at Crag, who was watching him back. The troll smiled again, lifted his bowl, and took a big quaff. When he lowered it, he was chewing. Shane shuddered and turned his attention elsewhere.

Chapter 2

LYRA SHOWED NO INDICATION that she wanted to speak to him further, and Shane didn’t want to sit with the troll and watch him chew his frogmead— whatever that might include— so he took his mug of beer to an unoccupied table, pulled out a chair, sat, and took a sip.

Moments later, a friendly pat on the back helped to calm his coughing fit.

Easy there, boy, a friendly voice said. The beer here is good, but a little strong if you’re not used to it.

Shane hadn’t been lying to Lyra, but he might have exaggerated a little. At home, Mistress Soldier brewed beer and Shane’s father, as well as several of the other men, bought it from her. A few times, when his father had been deep into his third or fourth mug, he’d allowed Shane a small measure. Shane had always found it earthy, slightly bitter, and grainy. It wasn’t his favorite, but it seemed that the men of Farmingham liked it well enough.

This, though...

The stranger who now sat down uninvited was telling the truth. This beer had that same slight bitterness to it, but also an explosion of deep, dark flavors, along with something that bit slightly at the back of his throat when he swallowed. It had taken him by surprise and went down wrong, causing his sudden coughing fit.

To his shame, he saw Lyra smile slightly as she turned her eyes away from him.

Try another sip, the man told him. This time, take a smaller one. There’s no sense in rushing Lyra’s beer. It’d be a waste.

As if to prove his words a lie, the man tipped his own mug to his lips and seemed to make a good attempt at draining it in one long swig. Shane took a hesitant sip of his own. Better this time, he decided, now that he was ready for it.

I didn’t get your name, he said to the newcomer.

That’s because I didn’t offer it. The man turned to him with a smile. Gramlin. My friends, which usually include those I drink with, call me Gram.

Shane, Shane replied. He took another sip of his beer. Can I do something for you?

Shane didn’t know who Gram was or what he really wanted. He knew that one had to be on their guard when in a strange place, however. That was one of the things Othor had impressed on him before he set out.

Not a thing, Gram grinned. I just thought I’d welcome you to the Gray Friar Inn.

How do you know I’ve never been here before?

Gram waved his mug in the direction of the bar. Saw you up there with our sweet Lyra. She gave you a beer, but no money changed hands. First one’s on the house, right?

Oh, that makes sense. Shane sipped his beer again. He hadn’t been aware that anyone else had been watching his interactions with Lyra that closely. He felt his neck begin to burn as he realized that everyone had probably seen him mooning over her.

Gram leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. Don’t be so sensitive, kid. She does that to all of us. How old are you, anyway?

I’m twenty. Which was nearly the truth. He would be twenty in a little less than five months, which was close enough.

Twenty? Gods. Gram heaved a heavy sigh. Ah, to be twenty again and see the likes of Lyra. Not that I’d know what to do with such a woman at that age. No wonder you fell off a cliff at the sight of her.

It wasn’t that, Shane protested. "It was just... being here. You know, the Inn. I’ve heard about it." He drank more of his beer.

Of course you have! Everyone in the area— and it’s a big area, mind you— has heard of the Gray Friar Inn. But don’t be so quick to say you weren’t smitten by Lyra. I’d think less of you if I thought that had an ounce of truth to it.

Shane looked over his mug as he took a drink. He could certainly see Gram’s point. And, now that he thought about it, an awful lot of the stares in the inn were directed toward the bar. Lyra continued with her work as if she were unaware of any of them, although Shane had the feeling she knew everything that went on in the place.

I guess I was a little overwhelmed, he said.

There you go. No harm in admitting it. Now, what say you take another crack at her? Go ahead and get another beer. Oh, and while you’re at it, grab one for me.

He pushed his empty mug across the table but made no sign of giving Shane any money. Shane was no fool. He regarded the stranger with a raised brow.

I’ll get the next round, Gram assured him. Trust me. It will look better to Lyra if the money is coming from your pocket. He winked at Shane and urged him forward.

Shane sauntered up to the bar, hoping that he projected the casualness that he was trying for. When he got there, Lyra was busy talking to a farmer who was ordering drinks for several of his friends. While she tended to that, Shane took the opportunity to study his new drinking companion a little closer. He turned and leaned his back against the bar, so that he could study the room at large, but made sure his gaze passed over Gram several times.

Gram’s short hair and neat goatee were shot through with gray and there were wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and mouth. He had the complexion of a man who’d spent considerable time outdoors, but, judging by his dress, by choice, not obligation. Green must have been Gram’s favorite color, since his shirt was the hue of a pine bough and his pants only a shade lighter. Even the scabbard at his side was green, the color of lily pads in the duck pond near home.

But as Shane looked closer, he began to see the wear on Gram’s fine clothes. The shirt was stained with the signs of meals eaten long ago, the pants threadbare at the knees, and the heavy boots sticking out from beneath the table were well-worn.

He was lean and weathered, with the look of a man who’d lived a hard life, at least until you looked into his eyes.

Gram must have felt Shane’s gaze on him, because he looked back with a smile playing about his lips. He may have lived a hard life, but if so, it hadn’t broken the man’s spirit. His bright, green eyes were lively and full of mischief. They were the eyes of someone who was perfectly at home in his surroundings. 

Shane began to suspect that Gram might not have the money for another round of beer, after all. He narrowed his eyes, ready to march Gram’s empty mug back to him. Then, his mother’s words about charity and the gift of giving came to him. He could afford one beer for a down-on-his-luck traveler.

What do you need, kid?

Lyra’s voice brought him out of his reflections and he whirled around, knocking both of the empty mugs he’d set on the bar spinning. Lyra caught them expertly before they could crash to the floor and shatter, and it took Shane a moment to realize how fast her hands had moved.

He looked at her with something an awful lot like wonder, while she in turn stared back at him as if nothing unusual had occurred.

Are you ordering? she asked. Or are you just trying to break my crockery?

No! No. I’m sorry. Shane felt himself blush all over again. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do something as simple as order a beer from Lyra without making a fool of himself. Beer. Please. Um, two of them, actually.

Four silvers. You got that much?

Shane nodded and started to pull out his purse, but Lyra put a restraining hand on his arm.

Stop, she said quietly. You open that down there, where no one can see, and you pull out the four silvers. Not a copper penny more. Understand?

Shane didn’t, not at first. Instead, his eyes couldn’t leave her hand which was touching him. Lyra was touching him! She was touching him!

Lyra pulled her hand away, and the noise of the inn, which Shane now realized had been drowned out by the sound of his own heart thudding in his ears, resumed. He glanced around and saw a few of the other patrons watching him. A little too closely, as a matter of fact.

Thanks he muttered, and did as Lyra directed.

Good, Lyra approved. You’ll learn. Hopefully not the hard way.

As she turned away with the two empty mugs, she called out over her shoulder. Next round on you, right Gram?

Indeed, the man shouted back. Please put them on my tab.

Oh, he had a tab, Shane thought. Lyra had mentioned that option to him, but he’d thought it better to pay as he went. Less chance of losing track that way.

What if your young friend decides two is his limit? Lyra asked Gram.

Why then, I’ll drink them both myself! Gram’s remark brought laughter from the other tables and a chuckle from Lyra herself.

Shane thought furiously. He’d give anything to make Lyra laugh. But he didn’t have Gram’s easy manner or his apparent familiarity with Lyra.

If he won’t, I will! he proclaimed, a little too loudly.

His remark made no sense, he realized. If Gram was going to drink both beers because Shane didn’t want one of them, then how was Shane going to...

But his remark did bring laughter from the others. Just not the type he’d hoped for.

Lyra handed him the mugs. Don’t try so hard, kid. You’ll fit in eventually.

Shane wasn’t so sure. You really think so?

Sure, she shrugged. Everyone does.

Chapter 3

SHANE RETURNED TO HIS table and set the mugs down before plopping dejectedly into his chair. The laughter had died down as quickly as it had come to life, but Shane still thought he saw sidelong, amused glances in his direction. He heaved a heavy sigh.

Like I said, Gram said, picking up his mug. Don’t be so sensitive. So you said something foolish. So what? Should have seen me when I first came here. Whoo-boy.

Why, what happened?

Weeeelll... Gram drew the word out as he stretched his arms overhead. Let’s just say that I had earned myself a bit of a reputation up and down the road out there. Had a beauty waiting for me in every inn and hostel between here and the coast. And in the mountains, I had a bevy of lasses just waiting for my return.

He smiled at the memory and took a drink.

Anyway, I walked through that very door, the same one you did, and had pretty much the same reaction. I looked around and took notice of the inn, then the customers, and finally, I noticed our dear Lyra. I was even more thunderstruck than you were, but, of course, I was too worldly to show such a thing. So, I fell back on a behavior that had treated me well in my travels.

What did you do? Shane had his mug in his hand, sipping steadily at it while listening to Gram speak. The older man had a pleasant voice with an easy storytelling style that had Shane hanging on his every word.

I waited until Lyra had turned around to pour a mug of beer, marched right behind that bar, and got myself a pinch of her spectacular rear-end.

You didn’t! Shane breathed.

I did, indeed. Gram chuckled and took a good-sized swig from his mug.

As fascinated as he was, Shane wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest of Gram’s story. If he and Lyra really had... well, he just didn’t want to think about it.

He stuck his nose in his mug and leaned back for a big swallow. When he came up for air, almost against his will, he said. What happened then?

Gram turned and looked at the wall behind them. He ran his finger down the boards.

What are you doing? Shane asked.

Looking for the dent my head made when she threw me here.

Shane snorted beer through his nose, which set him coughing all over again, while Gram pounded him on the back. When he recovered, Shane stared at Gram, who was grinning back at him.

Is that true? he asked.

Every word of it, Lyra called from the bar, affirming Shane’s suspicion that not much went on there without her knowledge.

He gazed at her in adoration again, but she had already turned back to the barrel of beer and the business at hand.

What a dolt, Shane said, then regretted his choice of words. Sorry.

No need to be sorry, Gram said. "I was a dolt. A total blunder-head and a cad, to boot. But I was a