Shattered Dreams

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Shattered Dreams Page 3

by Ulff Lehmann


  “Oh no!” moaned the lad. “I’ll hear about this for the next month!”

  Ean smirked. “She couldn’t stay quiet for days after the shepherd came here the last time?”

  “You can't imagine,” Pudgy grumbled.

  It was business as usual for the shepherd. He sold his wool and mutton, and the two boys were only slightly distracted when the smell of fresh rolls wafted their way. Ean went off to gather lunch. When he reached the baker, his nose led him straight to the cooling bread and from there onward to the cheese-maker whose wares lured with their own smell. A quick detour past Farmer Melainh’s pigsty to shake off the cheese-maker’s dog, and Ean stood next to Pudgy again.

  “That was close,” he said between deep breaths.

  “You wouldn’t believe what I just saw,” Pudgy almost shouted. The food Ean had brought was still untouched. This was more than unusual for his friend.

  “What was it?” Ean broke off a chunk of bread and one of cheese and began to eat.

  “The shepherd.”

  “Yes? We both saw him, remember?”

  “No, no. This was different.”

  Ean hated the way his friend spoke whenever he got too excited. “And what was different about it?”

  “He… there… you know, this man from Harail who buys most of the stuff around here.”

  “Maddagh, the trader?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “What about him?”

  “Well, the shepherd came to him and they talked.” Now Pudgy realized food was near and he gathered his lunch before he continued.

  “Well, they did talk for a long while and the shepherd pointed at various things he wanted. Maddagh nodded and the shepherd nodded and handed him a gold-piece.”

  “A gold-piece?” Ean hissed. He was stunned, how could Pudgy forget he had told his mother the same thing months before? How could his best friend forget the lashing he got for telling what ma saw as a blatant lie?

  Pudgy must have seen his expression. “What?”

  “You bastard!” the older boy snapped.

  “What did I do?”

  He glared at Pudgy. “You forgot already?”

  “Forgot what?”

  Ean forced the words out, “Four months ago I told you, my ma, and da that the shepherd had paid with gold! You didn’t believe me. Ma and da didn’t believe me, and I couldn’t sit for a week or so after the thrashing she gave me.”

  Pudgy had stopped chewing. Pale, he looked at him. “Gods, mate, I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Ah, stow it!” He tore off another piece of bread. After a few bites he frowned at Pudgy. “So? What else?”

  “Nothing. He paid with a gold piece.”

  “At least now you believe me,” Ean snapped. “Damn, two gold pieces.” He screwed up his face in concentration. “Think he got more?”

  His friend shrugged. “I dunno. Why?”

  “Because most folks are lucky if they own a couple silver leaves, my da said so.”

  “Aye,” Pudgy halted his chewing, swallowed and added, “Think he’s a robber? Or a thief?”

  “I dunno. Could be. He sure ain’t a noble; don’t walk with a stick-in-his-ass.”

  “What’re we gonna do?”

  “Ask Jasper?” Ean shook his head as he spoke. “Éiran?”

  “Yea, let’s ask him.”

  Lliania’s Lawspeaker would know about thieves, and nobles. Maybe he’d know whether the gaunt, brooding man was a robber.

  “Where did the shepherd go? The Boar?” Ean asked as they headed to Éiran’s house, located next to the Home of Law, Lliania’s temple.

  “Where else?” replied Pudgy. “He’s gone there every time he’s been here. And he always drinks the same.”

  “Warm milk,” the boys said in unison, imitating their fathers’ voices of disdain.

  Ean liked milk, it made him feel calm, and warm milk was always the thing his mother gave him when he had trouble sleeping. “Maybe he has nightmares, you know,” he said when this thought crossed his mind. “My ma gives me milk when I can’t sleep ‘cause I had a bad dream.”

  “What d’you dream of? The miller’s daughter?”

  Both of them shared the laughter of children who knew the place of others in their world, and the miller’s daughter. “Aiden just looks strong, like a bull,” Pudgy chuckled. “And his sister has the same looks, cowish my da always says.”

  Ean doubled over with laughter. “Cowish she is, aye!”

  “Cows give milk,” Pudgy reflected, his voice hinting at the mischievous humor hidden behind gentle brown eyes.

  Ean glared at his friend. “You bastard! Now I can’t drink another mug of milk without thinking of her! Cowish my ass.”

  Éiran wasn’t at home, and soon the pair lost interest in chasing him from one peddler to the next where he was settling one dispute or another.

  “He’ll be near the well when the ceremony begins,” Ean concluded.

  The ceremony was custom, much like a prayer of thanks to Eanaigh after a thwarted illness. Every year the gods judged those who tread upon the world, and ruled whom the winter would treat harshest. Offerings were made, but it was more important to have a Lawspeaker of Lliania pass judgment on each individual. Generally, Éiran’s rulings were mild, unlike other Lawspeakers’, but about two winters ago Éiran had called upon old Mioroc, a man known for his cruelty. It was said Mioroc had beaten his wife until she was dead, and after Éiran had passed judgment, Mioroc had just laughed and gone back to his house, saying nothing could be proven. A few weeks later Mioroc’s corpse was found frozen stiff in his barn. Ean had heard his father say it was Lliania’s will, but old Jasper had chuckled and said it was the wife’s family having their revenge, and justly so. Between Jasper and his da, Ean believed Jasper any day of the week.

  “Think he’ll pass judgment on that bastard Pol Haggrainh?” Pudgy asked as they trudged toward the market square, after filching a couple of sweet cakes from the baker.

  Ean shook his head. “Father says that won’t happen. He ain’t the lord o’ these lands, but a Lawspeaker won’t rule over a noble nonetheless.”

  “But what he did to Brendan was wrong!”

  “Aye, but what shall Éiran do? Pass judgment on the lord’s nephew?”

  “Sure, like he did with Mioroc,” Pudgy grumbled. “He accused Brendan of the crime he himself committed, and had Brendan whipped bloody for it.” Brendan was Pudgy’s hero since they had been little, and Ean couldn’t deny that he looked up to the big man himself. Brendan had a temper, yes, but he’d never treat a woman the way Pol Haggrainh claimed he had. It had been the woman’s trembling finger that had accused Brendan, but only after looking fearfully at Haggrainh. Ean had seen the look between them, and Haggrainh had had the same glint in his eyes that Mioroc had always given them when he caught him and Pudgy stealing apples.

  “No, he won’t. Jasper said so, too.” That settled the argument. Jasper was always right.

  It was early afternoon when two men rode into town. Ean and Pudgy attended the ceremony on the market square and saw Lawspeaker Éiran and Eanaigh’s Caretaker Bandh stop their sermons to look at the riders. Ean thought he saw a hint of resentment in Éiran’s eyes. Prompted by the priest’s reaction he took a closer look at the two men. They were clad in chain armor, half-helms protecting heads, swords belted at their sides, and shields on their backs. One of them cast a look of disdain upon the villagers, while the taller one scrutinized the people as if searching for someone. Both wore tabards with the royal colors, marking them King’s warriors. “Warleaders,” muttered Pudgy. “Only warleaders ride horses. And knights, knights also. Jasper said so.”

  “You forgot couriers,” Ean added. “Could be couriers.”

  The taller of the two didn’t wear any personal coat of arms on his shield or added to his surcoat, proof he was no knight. The second rider, however, had the banner of Carlgh’s lord painted upon his shield and embroidered on his horse’s blanket, marking him a r
elative of and therefore the voice of Lord Haggrainh.

  Ean recognized the nobleman. “That’s Pol Haggrainh,” he whispered, poking his friend in the side. “Where’s Brendan?”

  “Probably in the Boar,” his friend replied, still watching the pair of riders.

  The warriors threaded their horses through the milling marketplace and headed for the tavern.

  “We’ve gotta warn him,” Pudgy said. “If he’s there when Lord Pol is in a mood, he’ll get flogged again.”

  Ean nodded, and the two rushed after the horsemen, and skipped into the Boar and Bustard through the backdoor. The cook, Suain, briefly looked up from chopping meat, recognized the two, and nodded before returning to his work. Pudgy rushed past Leese, the serving girl, into the taproom. Ean knew he was so familiar with the house he grew up in he could find the way blindfolded, like any other place in the tall building. The two boys arrived in the main room before the two riders entered. Pudgy inched his way toward Brendan who stood near the long bar, nursing a mug of ale. Ean followed.

  “Brendan,” Pudgy whispered. “Pol Haggrainh is here.”

  Normally the big man would have ignored his admirer, but at the mention of the name he stiffened, and glanced over his shoulder. Ean followed the man’s glance and saw Leese, Brendan’s sister, leaving the kitchen with a bowl of stew. He realized the big man was worried for her. “Get her out of here,” Brendan said then tried to move into the shadows.

  Pudgy didn’t have to be asked twice, and hurried to Leese, took the bowl from her, and set it onto a nearby table. Ean took the girl’s hand and pulled her back into the kitchen. He knew the house almost as well as any member of the family, and led the way up to the hideout Pudgy and he had discovered ages ago. Like nearly every building in Carlgh, the Boar was timber-frame, only a few buildings were of the brick and mortar variety. Higher stories were supported by beams of wood with a layer of boards making up the floor.

  In the Boar’s case the taproom’s ceiling was an additional layer of planks; and with the beams as thick as trees, the space in-between was the ideal place to hide from annoyed parents. Also, it was the preferred nesting place for the mice that plagued Pudgy’s ma and Suain to no end. Ean let go of Leese’s hand, pulled away the loose part of wall, and crept into the hideout. He extended his hand and whispered, “Come on. Brendan said we should keep you away.”

  Further in he went until he reached a spot from which he could overlook almost the entire taproom. “Ean,” Pudgy whispered. “I don’t fit anymore.”

  He was about to tell his friend to shut up, when Pol Haggrainh strutted into the room, proud like a rooster. The other man looked about the room before following the noble. Haggrainh headed for an occupied table, gave one challenging look, and waved his hand in a shooing motion. The occupants didn’t wait for a spoken order and left. The men sat down, removed their half-helms, and dropped them on the table.

  A few patrons were still engrossed in a heated discussion, but now everyone looked up, even, Ean noticed, the shepherd who sat next to the fireplace, holding a mug in both his hands, his boots drying near the flames. He thought he saw a glint of recognition flash across the man’s eyes. Then the shepherd shook his head and quickly averted his gaze, staring again into the hearth.

  Everyone’s attention was on the Lord and the warrior, but Ean’s eyes were on the shepherd, whose demeanor seemed to have changed again. It was as if he was trying to avoid attention.

  “Publican! Mead!” the tall warrior yelled, despite the attentive silence. He glared at the bar, brushing his hands over the blond stubble on his scalp. The shepherd smirked, shaking his head.

  Ean heard the familiar cough Pudgy’s father made whenever he was nervous. He glanced to his right and saw the innkeeper cast a frightened look at his new guests. He then hurried to comply, yelling for Leese.

  “Please, you mustn’t go!” Pudgy pleaded.

  “Let go of me!” Leese snapped. “What do you two want to do with me up here anyway?”

  “Brendan said to get you away,” Pudgy whined.

  “Leese!” Pudgy’s father shouted again.

  “Let me go!” Following the girl’s feral growl was a resounding slap and a moment later the disheveled serving girl stood before her employer.

  “Hurry up, wench, the noblemen want ale!”

  “Mead, you oaf!” the warrior barked.

  Some patrons chuckled.

  “Dubhan, them lords want mead, not ale,” several of his regulars shouted in unison.

  “Leese!” the publican pleaded, harvesting more laughter.

  This was the first time Ean had seen the big man so nervous. “Probably because of Brendan,” he muttered, glancing at the man who stood in the shadows, hands in his pockets and trembling with… was that fear in his eyes?

  The girl hurried out of the taproom.

  Again, Ean heard Pudgy’s plea, he couldn’t make out any words, only that his friend was truly distressed. Leese’s reply sounded as fierce as before. A few moments later, she returned to the bar, carrying a bottle of honey wine. “Sorry, had to go to the cellar. I came back as fast as I could,” she panted.

  “Thanks, girl,” Dubhan said, fumbling with two tankards that the young woman took from him.

  Her employer’s nervousness reflected on Leese as she walked to the newcomers’ table. As she closed the distance, Pol Haggrainh looked up and inspected her much like the merchants who appraised horses. Ean couldn’t hear what passed between noble and warrior, but he saw the warrior shake his head energetically. Whatever advice he’d been given, Lord Pol ignored it and leered at Leese. “What a lovely lass you have working for you, Dubhan!” he shouted. “How much?”

  Ean saw how fear replaced Brendan’s rage.

  “She’s not for sale, milord.”

  Haggrainh shook his head. “I was merely being polite.” He took the mugs and bottle and placed them on the table. Before Leese had half turned away, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into his lap. “A nice fit, I daresay.”

  “Please, Milord, no!” Now she sounded almost like Pudgy had done only a little while earlier.

  “You want my uncle to think kindly of you and yours, eh?”

  “Young Lord Haggrainh,” the warrior said in a soothing but determined voice. “May I suggest you don’t offend the villagers; we do need them.”

  The noble turned to look at the warrior while he worked his left hand into Leese’s bodice. “General Kerral, you need my uncle’s good will, the villeins will do as they’re told!” The young woman began to cry. To her, Haggrainh said, “Stop your whining girl, you’ll enjoy it.”

  Ean saw Kellen the butcher standing next to Brendan; hand on the young man’s shoulder, talking intently. How Brendan felt, he could barely imagine, but he knew what he’d do if someone would touch his sister or ma. He also knew what would happen to anyone raising a hand against a noble. Brendan had already felt the whip. The man was trembling with rage, and fear.

  “I told you to stop whining!”

  General Kerral shook his head. Ean figured the warrior also knew that nobles couldn’t be denied their desires.

  “You give lecherous nobles a bad name,” someone said into the ensuing silence. Ean tried to identify the speaker but the patrons were as shocked as he.

  “Who said that?” Pol Haggrainh snarled. “I am nephew to the Lord Haggrainh; I’ll do as I please!”

  “You should be gelded and fed your testicles.” The shepherd had turned his head and spoke over his shoulder!

  The noble shoved Leese off his lap and stood. At the same moment Ean saw General Kerral’s eyes grow wide. The warlord placed a hand on Lord Pol’s arm, saying, “Careful now.”

  Haggrainh shook the warrior’s hand off. “Don’t ever presume to tell me what to do, upstart!”

  The general raised both his hands in defense. “As you wish,” he replied with a courteous bow, but Ean could hear both mocking and pity in the man’s voice.

  “Who are you
, vermin?” Haggrainh snapped. “No villein speaks to his lord this way!”

  The shepherd had turned his head and was staring into the flames once more. “I am no villein, and you are no lord,” he said, pulling some straw away from the fireplace with his feet. Ean’s eyes were fixed on the man; no one defied a noble this way. He didn’t see what Lord Pol was doing, but the hiss of steel on leather told him enough.

  He had never before seen a man drawing a sword, a dagger certainly, usually to gut a pig or cow, but never a blade that was as long as the back of a chair was high. “You’ll pay for this insult, swine!”

  As Lord Pol approached him, the shepherd stood and turned to face the noble. Ean couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but those who did took a step back, even Pol Haggrainh. The only man who barely moved was General Kerral who looked straight at the man. “Behave,” the shepherd said, then dug into his pouch, and retrieved a coin. Haggrainh’s sword clattered to the ground.

  “Inhuman,” one patron whispered, his voice shaking with fear.

  “Impossible,” said another.

  “A Chosen,” Brendan muttered, his shaky hands clutching his tunic while he knelt down, still shivering all over.

  “Drangar? Drangar Ralgon?” General Kerral looked at the shepherd, his voice full of astonishment and wonder. “I didn’t recognize you with the beard. What in Lesganagh’s name are you doing here?”

  The confusion was complete. Ean gawked at the scene unfolding below him. As the shepherd, Drangar, turned back to the nobleman, the tavern’s guests avoided looking into his eyes as they came to rest on Kerral.

  “Too much,” he muttered as he pulled on his boots. Then the shepherd tossed Dubhan the coin. “Thanks.” Without uttering another word, he quit the place, slamming the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 4

  Drangar left Carlgh, provisions on his back. As expected, word of his challenging the idiot noble had traveled fast, and now even the children looked at him through wondering eyes. No longer was he the quiet, unassuming shepherd. He growled, shook his head, and ran a hand through his long hair. Lesganagh's blessing was his curse. Now, as always, he was treated as a pack leader no one dared to challenge. What people didn’t know frightened them; the same game in a different place. “They’ll learn, same as I have,” he said, shrugged, and headed north.

 

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