After it was established that it was a local Spineshard wolf answering Nom’s burp of satiety, and not some creature that would hunt and kill them, they all retired and slept for the remainder of the night.

A quick breakfast of leftover soup and a few pulls of silverleaf, Nay, Nom, Alric and Karka set off down the mountain path.

They traveled a winding path of switchbacks, the gray sky above them and Frostbite gorge to their east, a winding chasm of arctic blue water full of ice floes. The water was slush for the most part, but it cut a ribbon of blue through the mountain pass. There was a gentle snowfall and the slight whisper of wind, but it was a nice reprieve from the battering blizzard Nay and Nom had first encountered here.

Karka carried their packs and gear, the silver bells jangling on his harness. Alric walked by his side, using his staff as a walking stick. Nay had found a stick of her own and followed close behind the pair, and Nom was behind her, using his protuberances and traveling close to the ground like a lizard.

By mid-day he had decided to coil around Nay’s waist and rest his head on her shoulder, and she didn’t complain. He didn’t weight that much and carrying him like this wasn’t much different than using a backpack.

As the alpine trees became more sparse, the world opened up below them. Alric and Karka stopped so Nay and Nom could take in the view.

“Stitchdale, my friends,” Alric said.

The snow-scoured land below them was tundra-like and parts of it were covered in ice. The Frostbite Gorge branched into two rivers, one flowing east, the other flowing west. And they each found their way into separate valleys. There were herds of elk-like creatures and what looked like reindeer near both of the lakes that were in the valleys.

There was a settlement on the border of the Eastern lake which was Lucerna’s End, their destination. It seemed to be a large frontier town that bordered the lake, and part of it followed along the eastern river in sporadic dots of civilization. They could see smoke rising from chimneys and lights coming from the wood and stone buildings. There were fishing boats in the lake and Nay wondered if fish was this place’s main export.

Overall, there was little sunlight and this looked like a harsh landscape to live in. Nay suspected that the people eking out lives here were hardened frontiersmen and perhaps even barbarians. No wonder Alric referred to Stitchdale as the end of the world.

“If we keep the pace, we should make Lucerna’s End before nightfall,” Alric said.

///

As they entered the outskirts of Lucerna’s End, Alric suggested that Nom should tuck in underneath Nay’s blanket which she was huddled in like a cloak. There was no telling how civilization might react to a talking tentacle, and being both outsiders and Marrow Eaters, it was best to keep a low profile as is. Alric was mounted on Karka, letting the animal carry him now that they were on flat ground.

Nay got her first look at the inhabitants of the town, as there were gaggles of people on the muddy roads, tending to their trades or working outside the buildings. They looked human, but also like something else. They were shorter than most humans, just around five feet, and their bodies were more stout, more muscular. They were a sturdy stock. A few of the men were unloading timber from a wagon hitched to a pack of fauglir, and the beasts regarded Karka with knowing looks as they passed.

Nay whispered to Alric, “Why is everyone so short?”

“They’re stitchmen, the descendents of the maugrim that used to live inside of the Spineshard mountains and the clans of men who lived along the shores of Lac Coineascar. The maugrim were a stout folk of the mountains, short in stature. But both races were hardy, rough and tumble folk. It takes a certain kind of toughness to live off the land here, and there’s not much tougher than the Spineshard clans here and the maugrim. Combine them and you have the stitchmen.”

The vibe here reminded Nay of a frontier Western town during the gold rush in California, except more fantastic and strange. And cold. She couldn’t shake the cold. They passed warehouses and a sawmill, a fishery, stables for fauglir and reindeer, a blacksmith working his forge outside, a general goods store and various shops for different trades and goods, tailors and furriers and carpenters and tanners.

Nay saw some human men coming out of an establishment in good spirits. They wore sword scabbards and were dressed in a mixture of furs and leathers. There were female stitchgirls on the wide wrap-around porch, wearing hardly anything at all. One of them spotted Alric and smirked at him, “Why, hello again, Alric.”

Alric muttered something under his breath and touched the talisman at his neck. He tried to tuck his head into his cloak and he looked straight ahead.

“You can only run from Rosina for so long, monk boy!” She blew a kiss at him and all the other women on the porch laughed, their painted faces and lips expressing mirth and pleasure.

“Is that your girlfriend, Alric?” Nay asked.

He stammered. “Absolutely not! She’s a stitchgal of the Lucerna House of Saccharine Delights! I would never be seen with the likes of her.”

“Oh come on,” Nay teased, “she seems like fun.”

“She just wants my coin.”

“I think she wants more than that.”

Alric turned red with embarrassment. “I have nothing to offer her except Veritax’s ear.”

“Relax, lover boy,” Nay said. “I’m just messing with you.”

They walked on with the giggles of the stitchgals behind them.

“In my world,” Nay said, “monks and priests are usually celibate. Is it the same here?”

“It is the same here,” Alric said. “In the eyes of the Veritax, there’s nothing inherently wrong with carnality but it can be a distraction for Men and Women of the Veritable Truth.”

“Hey, that’s good! In my world, people have all sorts of funny issues and hang-ups about sex because how strict religion can be on the matter. They’ll shame even non-clergy men for thinking about it or being tempted by it outside of marriage. What happens if you have a slip-up? Say you have too much Frostbite Ale one night and accidentally fall for Rosina’s charms? Would the Veritax kick you out of the church or something?”

“No, if it got out I would get a stern talking to make sure it didn’t become a regular occurrence. In that case, they might replace me and demote me to some other assignment where I would not be subject to carnal temptations. Mostly I would just have to live with my own shame.”

“Hey, that’s not so bad. That’s why you brew Frostbite Ale, huh? Nothing like drowning shame in drink, I say.”

“Remind me not to take any kind of spiritual advice from you.”

“Aww, come on, Alric,” Nay said. “I think you might find yourself pleasantly surprised.”

“I want to visit this House of Saccharine Delights,” Nom whispered. “Perhaps we should look into lodging there.”

“He raises a good point,” Nay said. “Maybe the stitchgals need a pair of chefs to oversee their kitchen. Should we inquire, Alric?”

“That’s a staunch ‘no’ from me,” Alric said. “I will deliver you to Quincy’s Lodge as we discussed, but where you choose to go after that is up to you.”

“You’re not going to stay with us?” Nay asked.

“I have to report to the church after we eat together at Quincy’s.”

“That’s kind of a bummer.”

“Don’t worry, when I’m not at the church, I have a room at Quincy’s. I’ll be in town for a bit until I have to return to the abbey.”

“Fair enough.”

The main street ended at a large, three-storied tavern sitting on a cliff above the waters of Lac Coineascar. Quincy’s Lodge was where most travelers in Lucerna’s End were staying. “The original structure was the mead hall for the clan that lived here,” Alric said. “It’s using the original foundation.”

Smoke puffed out of the two huge stone chimneys and they could hear music, laughter and chatter coming from inside. A huge sign hung above the porch with the logo carved into the wood. It was of a barrel-chested man who looked like he should be holding a war axe in his hands. Instead he was holding a huge meat pie in one hand, and a drinking horn in the other. And the runic letters translated to, ‘Quincy’s Lodge’.

Alric led Karka to the stable master, a gray-haired stitchman with a gob of something pressed between his gums and lower lip. He wore a short-sleeve tunic and although he was older, he still moved with a muscular spryness. Karka nuzzled his forehead against the stitchman’s chest. “Lo there, Karka. That’s a good, lad. I’ve got some fish bites for you.”

He took Karka’s reins from Alric and nodded, “Alric.” He looked Nay up and down and winked at the monk. “Finally find some company on the edge of the world, did ya?”

“A humble servant of Verity is always willing to lend an ear to those who are lost, Bruennig.” Alric said and handed the stablemaster a coin.

Nay caught a glimpse of the silver but didn’t get a good enough look to see the image embossed on the currency.

They walked up the stairs and opened the doors of Quincy’s Lodge.

/////////

They entered a lantern lit common room where a pair of saloon doors marked the way into the tavern. Alric nodded at the young stitchgal who was stationed here, who was refilling the lanterns with oil.

Then they were through the saloon doors and Nay was blasted in the face with pipe smoke, the aromas of baked fish and the music of a troupe of stitchmen and gals who were performing on a small stage. There was a fiddle and a flute and what she thought was a lyre and lots of stomping, dancing and singing.

There was a giant hearth on one end and massive skulls and heads of creatures on the walls, the like of which she couldn’t identify. It looked like the trophy wall of some strange and barbaric beastiary. There were wooden staircases on each side of the tavern leading up to the second and third floors, which had open balconies so lodgers could see down into the tavern. Lanterns hung from the walls and candelabras hung from the ceilings and there was a bar where the likeness of the huge barrel-chested man on the sign was pouring beer into horns and flagons while barking orders at one of the stitchgal servers, who was loading up a wooden tray with drinks.

Another stitchgal server passed them and said, “Coming through. Watch ye backs,” as she weaved in-between the tables, carrying a tray that had plates full of baked whole fish and roasted potatoes. Nay looked at the steaming food as it passed by her and she thought it smelled alright and that the presentation was average. It looked a bit like bland bar food, to be honest.

Alric led them to a table near the hearth and they sat down. Nay looked around and although the current diners were raucous, more than half the tables were still empty. The chairs were filled with mostly stitchmen but she noticed a few humans in the crowd.

“Most of these lot are miners, fishermen and lumberjacks,” Alric said. “Iron ore veins run thick in the rock here, and the best lumber is harvested off the side of the Spineshard mountains. Most of the Peninsula’s iron and winterwood comes from Stitchdale. As for fish? Lac Coineascar and Maer Scathan have plentiful slivermoon trout.”

“Does this place ever fill to capacity?” Nay asked. “It’s only half full in here.”

“Ever since the Two-Headed Trout Inn opened up on the other side of town, Quincy lost half his business there,” Alric said. “Don’t mention it to Quincy or you’ll sour his mood. But the Inn is closer to some people’s day-to-day business. Staying there on that side of town saves them some travel. There’s always been talk of someone setting up shop there for just that reason, but no one’s gone and done it till now.”

A stitchgal server approached them. “Lo, Alric.”

She nodded at Nay, not recognizing her but acknowledging her as a new customer. “Welcome to Quincy’s Lodge. What will ye be having today? Can I start ye off with some pints of Quincy’s Icemarrow Ale?”