FELITA FLEETFOOT ENTERED the swinging doors of Tinker’s Tavern and spotted Brigborg, shouting to the barman and swilling a tankard. She cringed. He didn’t look at all suited to smuggling. Still, his size was impressive. She needed muscle on this job. Her buyer was a rough customer.
She found a dark corner, climbed onto a chair, and motioned to Brigborg to join her.
“Brigborg, you’re a smuggler now,” she said in low tones. “We gnomes have a Golden Rule in our Smugglers Guild.”
“Yeah, what?”
“‘Stealth Is Wealth.’ Keep quiet.”
“Right. You thirsty?”
“A little.”
“Two tankards of ale for the dark corner,” he boomed.
Felita shook her knobbly head. “Brigborg, did you not understand?”
“You mean be quiet now?”
text © 2023 by Laila Miller, art © 2023 by Chad Lewis
“Always.” After their tankards came, Felita explained the plan. “We’re to smuggle dragon dust across the Brannbein border south of Loftshay, on the other side of Elvenfair Forest and the Ripplefresh River.”
Brigborg leaned forward, his red beard brushing the map Felita had unfurled. “Why do we have to smuggle it?”
“Dragon dust is illegal in Brannbein.”
“Who do we deliver to?”
“We look for a yellow candle in a
