The Smiling Bard was intact and Holsley could barely believe his eyes. He took a few cautious steps towards it, scared that it might be some apparition, that the tavern might disappear at any moment.

'How?' It was all Holsley could mutter after moments of choked silence. Roland followed closely behind, also drinking in the old place. 'Just…how?'

It was the same sign hanging above the door. The same stained-glass diamonds in the windows, the same reddish brickwork and rooftiles, the same weeds climbing the walls, the same varnished wood that made up the mounts and the ridges.

It was all the same.

He spied his bedroom window on the second floor. Its window led out onto the roof. He'd fallen the first time he'd tried, landing on top of an old rain barrel — the rain barrow that was still, all these years later, precariously placed beneath the gutters.

'It's not the same tavern,' Roland told him, and pointed to a few things.

Originally blinded by seeing the tavern whole, Holsley slowly started to notice the simple differences. The windows had changed; some were a different size altogether. The door was on the wrong side; it now sat in the wall rather than on the corner. None of the cracks, dents, or fractures he'd come to love over the years were there anymore.

This wasn't the Smiling Bard, not the one he had come to love. This was a startling imitation. Someone had rebuilt the tavern in the last three years.

It was closed. That much was obvious from the dark interior, but the door sign also gave them a clue. The pair snuck up to the front door and peered inside. It was hard to ignore the differences then. Chairs and tables had been moved and were now in dissimilar locations. The bar was in the same place, thankfully, but the stairs to the upper landings was now closer to the door. Holsley spied a tankard — even that looked like it was made of a darker wood.

Being different, though, didn't make it better. They could each tell from the dusty tables, old cobwebs, and unwashed floors that the tavern had seen better days. Whoever was running the place was running it into the ground.

'How do you want to do this?' Roland asked.

'Do what?' Holsley turned an eye to him. 'Is there any point in going inside, this isn't even the right tavern?'

'It might still be holding some clues.' Roland pulled out his dagger and fed the tip into the lock. 'If you don't want to come in, I understand.'

'Well, I have to now, don't I?' Holsley remarked. 'I need to know who runs the Smiling Bard, or, uh, Smiling Bard the Second.'

Click. The lock came undone. Roland rattled the door open. Together, they crept inside, creeping as quietly as church mice. Aside from the odd creak of the floorboards, they were mostly successful even when Tiacat jumped from his shoulder and prowled on one of the tables. Dan's spot was still there, off to the side. The slight platform he used to play on. It even looked the same. A barstool waited patiently upon it.

They reached the bar and Holsley snuck around to the other side. 'The drinks are different too.'

He spotted the book out of the corner of his eye. It was sitting on a shelf behind the bar, squashed between several bottles of spirits. He reached up and tried to grab it. His arms were too short. Failing that, he got a stool and managed to wrap his fingers around its spine. Holsley pulled it free and resisted the urge to stumble back and meet the ground.

It didn't have a title on the spine or the cover, but it didn't need one. This was Dan's book of songs. The ones he had collected over years of travelling through Further Kingdoms. It contained notes, poems, observations, and songs from the old minstrel. Holsley had been a little obsessed with it as a kid.

Without thinking, he shoved it into his satchel.

They ducked when a sudden whistle rang out above them. It was whistling a jaunty tune. Roland instinctively slunk into the shadows, but Holsley had to know who it was. He hopped out from behind the bar and crossed to the centre of the tavern. His eyes went wide.

Of course, he thought.

Standing there, of diminutive height, was a broad-shouldered dwarf in a raggedly barmaid's uniform. It would be easy to mistake her for a wild boar, and most had in the past. She had bristly arms, an upturned nose, and beady eyes that went wild with fire at the sight of Holsley. In one hand, she held a quarter-full bottle of rum. In the other hand, she held another quarter-full bottle of rum.

It was Daldorra.

'You!' she barked across the tavern, instinctively throwing one of the rum bottles. It smashed against the ground near Holsley's feet. He jumped back. 'What in the name of the mountains are you doin' 'ere, boy!?'

Holsley wasn't given much time to respond. She disappeared shortly after positing the question. He watched her storm into the closest room. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Roland ducking near one of the tables. The rogue gave him a shrug. Well, thought Holsley, at least Roland doesn't get what's happening either.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

He stood there, dumbfound, for at least a minute.

When Daldorra did return, he wasn't entirely thrilled to see the dwarf for a second time. She was now holding an axe. Not a hatchet or a wood axe. A battle axe. The kind of weapon you drove clean through an opponent's torso, or the kind you brought down on top of their head. Without a moment of hesitation, Daldorra hopped over the balcony and brought the world to a tilt when she landed on the ground floor.

'I told you what would 'appen if I saw your ugly mug again,' she spat, hefting the oversized axe.

Holsley genuinely had no idea what she was talking about.

The last time he had seen this woman, he was running off into the night. The tavern was blazing behind him, and he remembered that she made no efforts to follow him. He could recall looking back. Her face had been sincere, and she had given him a nod. Holsley had always taken that to mean that she wished him luck and knew that she wouldn't be seeing him again.

She leapt at him.

For an older dwarf, clearly past her prime, she still had a spring in her step. Holsley was suddenly forced to back away as she brought the axe around towards him. It shaved past him once, then twice, forcing him towards the corner. If it went there, he'd be trapped. He didn't know what was more dangerous in that scenario, her axe or being so close to her rotgut-filled breath.

Roland cut in at the second swipe, stepping between her and Holsley, and nimbly redirecting her blow into the ground. The axe left a gash in the floorboards. Daldorra growled. It didn't take much effort for her to pry it loose again. Roland brought the rapier up. She brought the axe down. He dodged effortlessly. Another gash in the floor.

'Stop destroyin' ma floors!' she slurred. Daldorra stomped her foot onto one of the boards. It came loose, shooting straight up and in between Roland's legs. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it coming. Roland let out a whimper and fell, clutching a hold of his family jewels. The rogue supposed this might be karma for striking a guard in a similar way earlier.

The axe came round again for a killing blow on the rogue. This time it caught Holsley's lute, but the force was too great for it to simply stop. The young bard was sent careening into a nearby table. It went over, him with it, and he let out a disgruntled groan as his face met with the floor.

Daldorra stepped through the destruction, her eyes fierce.

Holsley backed away from her on his hands and knees. 'Why are you attacking me?'

'Three years,' she spat. 'Three years and this is the first time you decide to visit!? Where have you been? I thought you were dead!'

Holsley choked. He stopped as she came in closer. The young bard had expected her to change then, now that her motives were revealed. He imagined them drinking tea and discussing old times. Instead, one of her bare feet came down and drove all the air out from his lungs with a single blow.

He tried very hard to breath then, but all he seemed able to do was breath out with ghastly chokes.

Roland re-emerged as she lifted the axe up, going for, what appeared to be, the killing blow. He met the axe with his rapier and once again used its grace to swivel the axe into the ground. The dwarf lost her footing for a second. He kicked her in the ribs. Hard. She practically bounced off the floor, her axe going flying across the floor.

The world seemed to still. Roland took a breath, Holsley tried to take a breath, and Daldorra lay in a pile of her own beaten form.

Slowly, she came to a seating position, but she didn't seem as bloodthirsty as before. Her face was beet red and puffy, and she was clutching her heart and taking slow methodical breaths. Perhaps, it made sense. After all, she wasn't the youngest dwarf in the world.

Daldorra crawled to one of the chairs and made herself comfortable on it, her breathing still erratic. Roland and Holsley, who had each fought their share of challenging opponents in the last few days, looked to one another with faces that asked what they should be doing now.

Neither wanted to hurt her, not really, but she certainly seemed to want to hurt them.

This was Daldorra, Holsley reminded himself. She had been working for the Smiling Bard almost as long as he had been living there. By trade, she was a barmaid, but that had been an unfair title. She was more like a bouncer. There were still marks made in chalk on the road outside of how far she had thrown drunks through the windows. As far as he was aware, twelve feet was still the record.

Tentatively, he approached but made sure to keep his distance and braced himself to dodge out of the way.

'Are you okay?' he asked.

'I ain't got it in me anymore,' she replied with a wheeze. 'I was past my prime three years ago. Now I'm just waiting on death's call.'

Holsley looked to Roland for help, but all the rogue could do was shrug.

'The tavern, it's—'

'Rebuilt,' Daldorra finished the sentence. She smiled. 'Couldn't get it all right, but I did me best. It's not what it used to be, though. Never can be without Dan.'

'It burned down?'

'And I spent me life savings bringin' it back,' she snarled. 'You ran off, Holsley. You stole his lute and left.'

'I didn't—' he swallowed his pride. 'I'm sorry.'

'What you doin' back 'ere?' she asked, coughing into her hand. 'No sight or sound for three years, then suddenly you're knockin' at the door.'

Where to begin with this one.

'Have you heard about Roland?' Holsley pointed over to his friend in the corner, who gave her a simple nod. 'Do you know they're trying to hang him?'

'No.'

'Nothing at all?' Holsley replied, confused. 'The Hangman of Tressa is after Roland. We were told that the only person that had ever avoided their noose was Dan. To save Roland, we need to know how Dan did it. That's why we came here. We're searching for clues. Do you know anything, Daldorra?'

She let out a rather uncouth burp.

'That's better,' she said, thumping her chest. 'Three years of thinkin' you were dead, and you come back here for nothin' and less.'

'I don't—'

'You boys want a drink?' Daldorra rose from her seat and moved towards the bar. 'I warn ya now, we ain't got much.'

'I'm sorry I didn't come back. I couldn't.' Holsley stood up and followed her. She was pouring ale into tankards. 'I didn't know what I would find here. I certainly wasn't expecting this.'

'Dan gave me a 'ome, so I rebuilt it. Seemed a fittin' way to 'onour him.' Daldorra placed the foaming mugs on the counter. 'I'm sorry for comin' at you back there. We dwarves aren't exactly known for keepin' a tight knot on our emotions.'

'That's okay.'

She pushed the mugs forward and sighed. 'As it 'appens, I do know a little somethin' about Dan's dealings with the Hangman. Not sure what good it'd do ya, but I suppose you're welcome to it.'

'Oh!' Holsley looked back at Roland and smiled.

'What's the catch?' Roland crossed his arms.

'Smart man.' Daldorra sniffed first and drained her mug second. 'In return for the information,' she said seriously, 'I'll be takin' the redrose lute back.'

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