“It was no trouble.”
“A gift, then,” he said. “In thanks.” The half-full bottle of gorza thudded quietly beside the cup.
The traveler’s arresting eyes flicked to the gorza. Back to Tomasz. “A gift?” he asked, voice muffled beneath his scarf and the hand still pinching the wool. “I have not had a gift in a long while.”
“No better night than a cold one to share a drink with a friend.” Tomasz added a second cup and poured them both to the rim. He nudged the traveler’s cup to the edge of the bar and waited, swallowing a sigh of relief when the man strode forward. He tugged his scarf entirely free and shoved it into a coat pocket. The gloves followed, disappearing along with the scarf.
He raised the offered cup to Tomasz. “My thanks.”
The traveler downed the gorza, set it down, and turned to leave, stopping as Tomasz poured again.
“As I said, a friend,” Tomasz said. He took up his own cup and raised it to the traveler. “Tomasz.”
At his name, the traveler startled back. Those bright eyes darted to the doorway and the raging storm beyond.
“Friends have each other’s names,” Tomasz prompted.
“You should not give it so freely.”
Tomasz shrugged and sipped his gorza. The sharp liquor burned on his tongue and slid smoothly down his throat,warming him along the way. “You spared me from a night beneath the snow; the least I can do is thank you by name.”
“It is not wise.”
“Neither is running a tavern beyond the village gates, but—” He gestured to the empty bar, the detritus crowding the threshold. “Here I am.”
The traveler’s gaze lingered on the doorway. “There you are.”
Achingly slow, he took up his refreshed cup and raised it to Tomasz. “Garek.”
“Well met, Garek.” Tomasz savored his name, sharp like his flinted eyes, broad like his shoulders. “Now you have my name, and I have yours.”
“I suppose that makes us even.” A smile flitted, gone so quickly that Tomasz half thought he imagined it. Then, Garek set an arm on the bar and sipped his gorza.
“I suppose it does.”
They drank in silence, cups emptying all too quickly. Garek set his cup on the bar and withdrew his scarf.
“Thank you for the gorza.”
“Thank you for pulling me free.”
Garek stilled, scarf half-wound around his face. He held Tomasz’s eyes, the intensity of his gaze drawing heat into his cheeks.
“I must go, for tonight,” Garek said quietly, voice half stolen by the wind howling beyond the door. “I will return.”
“I will be here,” Tomasz answered.
A sadness clouded Garek’s face. He nodded tersely, tugged the scarf over his mouth and nose, and left.
Two
Despite working through the day, by nightfall, Tomasz was no closer to clearing the threshold than he had been at dawn. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, the temperatures dropping low enough to encase the mass beneath a solid thickness of ice no amount of boiling water or weak winter sun could melt.
With a pick and chisel in hand, he chipped away, tossing chunks aside as soft snow fell over his shoulders and the wreckage.
Afternoon bells tolled from the village, and Tomasz set his tools aside. He straightened where he knelt, back barking with pain. His knees ached from the hard floor, and an entire day had passed without villagers or travelers stopping in for a measure or gorza or a meal.
Dismayed and lonely, he headed to the kitchen to start a fire. The sun would not set for a handful of hours. Perhaps smoke from the chimney and the smell of roasting fowl could entice Oj Pavel or Fenra in for a drink and some company.