The Horsk Dragon

by A. R. Wilson

  Jurren nodded then turned to see Arkose rubbing the back of his neck and Ellam taking several deep breaths. It was over. Sort of. Now they had to dodge every question asking them why they drove straight to the Great Hall and had their wagon taken around to the back of the building. And why half their load disappeared.

  At least they had the freedom to do the business they came here to do. Falling in step behind his two companions, Jurren wondered if he should cut his trading mission short. Were his wife and daughter in danger from the youths who had gotten away? None of the stories included details of the youths breaking into homes, but since none of the stories were told until a few days ago there might be several missing details. With his home residing on the outskirts of Hess Bren, any attack might leave Heluska defenseless to get help.

  By the time they were out the front door, Jurren decided it was okay to stay. It was only for tonight. Shevenor said he would handle the situation. That had to mean dispatching runners.

  Thankfully, someone in the Great Hall had taken pity on Jurren’s wine-stained clothes and offered him a fresh set. Though the man charged him slightly higher than a fair price for pants and boots, it was worth not having to parade through Kovarilos looking like a battered drunk. Heluska wouldn’t mind the loss once he told her the story.

  Ellam’s wagon sat a short distance down the road from the main entrance into the Great Hall. Jurren slowed his pace to keep in step behind Ellam. It was Ellam’s cart, and if he needed a few extra moments before approaching the place where six bodies had lain, then he was going to give him that courtesy.

  The wad of brown at the nape of the man’s neck bunched up as Ellam looked the cart over. A quiver of the shoulders gripped him, and he turned his attention to the horses.

  Once Ellam started busying himself, Jurren climbed up to get his things. After lowering the two cages down, then signaling Zemarick to perch atop one of them, Jurren gave each of his friends a nod of comfort before setting out. First thing in the morning they were heading home. They had to.

  The streets of Kovarilos increased in their usual volume for the early evening. Last minute details had to be finished before people stopped work for the day. He passed people haggling over sales, confirming travels plans for some future date, bringing in carts piled high with grain, and the occasional weary traveler making his way into town.

  With every curious glance he met, Jurren bobbed a nod of greeting then looked away. Twice someone slowed and took a few steps closer as though intending to ask him something. Had word already spread? Both times he made a conscious effort to seem a little distressed and distracted. He was not going to let Kase ruin what he spent twenty years building. The remorse he felt for the fallen youths was genuine. He meant what he said when he expressed his desire to offer condolences to the families. But why should he feel guilty about defending himself?

  Jurren found Kayleem back at his shop in the southern end of town. The shopkeeper was adding water to the steam treatment of a long, thick piece of wood under the sheltered work area in the rear. Pausing to admire his skill, Jurren watched the man crank the handle of a vice to increase pressure on a three-inch wide beam of wood to form a curve.

  Smells from a variety of woods filled the air, and Jurren closed his eyes to take them all in, enjoying a brief moment free from the day’s worries. He opened them when one of the falcons screeched in its cage. Kayleem turned at the sound.

  “Welcome back.” His tone sounded much less jovial than his earlier greeting.

  “I have come to make a trade with you.”

  Kayleem cocked his head back until only his ear faced Jurren. “You come into town with that… unusual load, and then stroll in to give me five birds?”

  “No, just four. Don’t you remember Zemarick?”

  The falcon gave a chirp at the sound of his name. Kayleem nodded then emptied the last of his bucket into the steam treatment. Zemarick screeched and flew to perch several feet away from the hissing vapors. The other falcons flapped in protest.

  “I need a new wagon, a little larger than my last one. Here is a drawing.” Jurren set down the two cages then dug into his pockets. “Lost my other one in a fire, and I can’t have a successful hunting season without a replacement.”

  Another nod as Kayleem came to look over his sketch. “That would make your travels difficult.”

  “I hear your wife is doing better.”

  “Yes, she is, Jurren. Thank you.”

  “And I see you extended the porch out another five feet. I think that was a good idea.”

  “It was overdue, really.”

  The two men continued back and forth for over an hour. The custom of skirting around issues of money with friendly chitchat took more effort than usual for Jurren. His thoughts kept falling back to his own wife, the disagreements over his daughter, and the events from the night before. Could Tascana be a part of the robberies? Was that why she kept disappearing? No, he taught her better than that.

  Running with a gang of thieves would definitely be something to worry about. Wouldn’t his instinct warn him of such a thing? Besides, she left during the day. But then again…

  Stop! Focus on Kayleem.

  This wagon would determine the length of hunting excursions Jurren could take before winter. He had to keep his focus on the task at hand.

  “Well, Jurren, I’m more than happy to build this for you. Those birds will cover the price fair enough. But I won’t be able to start for at least two weeks. Seems several folks have had wagons come up missing the past few months. My stock of pre-mades is fully depleted, and people keep coming. I just took another order right before you came into town. This is the most work I’ve had back up in almost ten years.”

  “Looks like it will be a plentiful winter for you.”

  “Yes, but I’d like a day off even more. Seems everyone’s order is an emergency.”

  Although this was the time of year when Jurren focused on repairing traps, consulting migration patterns, and taking orders for pelts, this summer would now also include an extra trip beyond his normal route. Unless he could make arrangements with one of the farmers in Kovarilos to use the wagon to bring their load to Hess Bren. That would save Jurren the trip.

  Yeah, that might work.

  They finished discussing the wagon, including finding someone to deliver the wagon, then gave their goodbyes. Jurren gathered Zemarick onto the leather guard of his forearm until they were out on the road, then gave his pet a series of whistles telling him to hunt for his dinner. Evening had passed, and the streets were thinning out. Time to find Ellam and Arkose. They had agreed to meet at the inn after finishing their trades so Jurren started in that direction.

  The main door of the Kovarilos Inn opened into a restaurant with an adjacent tavern. Many of the restaurant’s patrons looked up when the door opened and waved a hand or raised a glass to him as he entered. Jurren returned the smiles as he made his way through to the back of the room.

  A set of doors led into the kitchen along the far wall on the right side. On the left, another door led to the lobby of the inn. He turned left and brushed aside the partial curtain used to segregate the top portion of the doorway. On the other side, an L-shaped counter ran eight feet along one wall then turned to run fifteen feet along the other. The lobby was more of a formality than anything, since one could order a room from the restaurant or tavern. Jurren preferred to talk to the person in charge whenever he came to stay out of respect for his old friend who owned the place.

  A curly-haired redhead with green eyes looked up from behind the counter. “Well, look what the old dog dragged home.”

  “Hello, Rosamie.”

  “I saw Ellam walking through town earlier. I wondered when you would stop by. Heard about the inspection of his wagon and that fire so how about you cut to the chase and tell me about that wine stain on your nose?”

  “I felt it was a little too straight, so I had some help moving it to the left. What do you think?”

>   “Hmm, not a fan. It might look better on the right side, though. I could help if you like.”

  They both laughed and he walked to where she sat on the opposite side of the counter. “How much for a room tonight?”

  Rosamie rolled her almond-shaped eyes at him. “Since when have I ever charged you for a stay at my father’s inn? Every animal on these walls was tracked and captured by you, Golden Boy.”

  He grinned. Her father was a good friend, but money was still money. Best never to expect a free ride and risk insulting your host.

  “Where is your father? I didn’t see him greeting people at the door.”

  “He took a trip north. Won’t be back for a couple weeks, so it’s just me, Keep, and the barmaids. I saved you the regular room, at the end of the third row. Here’s the key.” She thrust a piece of cold metal into his hand with its familiar leather strap.

  “Will you be joining us for a meal tonight?”

  She gave a passive refusal of his offer, and Jurren nearly coughed in surprise. The routine had always been he asked, she accepted, and he picked up the tab plus a tip for the cook. What was different about today?

  Rosamie gave a fleeting glance in the direction of the restaurant then turned to busy herself with a stack of papers.

  “Maybe we can have an ale tonight before the tavern closes. Talk about what your father might want me to find for him this autumn.”

  She paused the shuffling. Her shoulders were tense, but when she turned to face him, she gave one of her full smiles. “Why not? I’ll come find you when I’m finished here.”

  “Rosamie, if this is about what happened when I arrived in town —”

  She cut him off with a curt tone. “I will come find you before the night is over.”

  Jurren nodded. She was entitled to whatever battled inside her head.

  As he put the key in his pocket, he pulled out a few coins. “Take these, in case someone needs a room tonight and cannot afford it.”

  The coins he put on the counter were a gesture he had made many times before. Hopefully, it would remind her he was a man worthy of her trust.

  She nodded and set the money next to the lock-box.

  What more could he do? He walked back under the curtain. Instead of finding a table in the restaurant, he pushed through the swinging door to his left. Inside the tavern he saw Ellam and Arkose sitting at a corner table with two women he had not seen before. The group gestured Jurren over. He motioned he wanted to get a drink first, then moved toward the bar. It was a delicate walk to keep from stumbling into the clusters of people either engaging in conversations or shouldering up to others.

  A portly fellow behind the bar, who was not quite five feet tall, looked up from the ale he poured and boomed a greeting. “Jurren of Hess Bren, my favorite customer! What’ll it be?”

  “Hello, Keep. I think today I’ll have an ale and a first name.”

  “Young man, how many times must I tell you?” Keep slid an ale across the counter to a patron five seats away. “When you’ve worked a job as long as I have, you don’t have a first name. You have a title.”

  “It’s hard to imagine a man so versed in the people of Bondurant to not have a name of his own. But don’t worry, Keep, one day I’ll catch you off your guard.”

  A barmaid knocked on the counter three times then brushed past Jurren toward the door.

  “Three ales, coming up little lady.” Keep started another glass. “So, how is that lovely wife of yours, Heluska? Still making the best stew this side of the Xanz Mountains?”

  “Yep, I’m a lucky man when it comes to dinnertime.”

  “You’re a lucky man for having a daughter intelligent enough to hold onto her virtue for so long. Is she still taking those long walks by herself?”

  “Yes. The morning I left to come here she was up and gone before the sun had even thought to rise.”

  Keep whistled to the barmaid as she came back in the tavern and pointed to the three ales on the counter. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Now, if she were leaving with a young man for that long…” Keep set a glass of ale in front of Jurren and gave a roll of the eyes and a long, low whistle.

  “That’s what I keep telling my wife. She doesn’t think it natural for a girl to spend so much time by herself.”

  “There are many things which are natural that people find unpleasant.” Keep winked. “The young miss will be with you in a jiff to bring you some meat and potatoes, if you like.”

  “I would, thank you.” Jurren lifted his glass and flipped a coin on the bar.

  Keep waved his arm in a wide sweeping gesture of gratitude then turned his attention to a couple approaching from Jurren’s left. “Good evening, my friends!”

  The charismatic tone of the barkeep was soon drowned out by the other voices in the tavern as Jurren made his way to his friends’ table.

  Ellam introduced the two women as visitors from up north in Srien. Jurren didn’t recognize them. Then again, he made it a point not to travel due north if he could help it. Srien was the village nearest the Fortress of Erudition, where wizards trained, and Jurren avoided them on principle. He chanced upon the place during his first wandering through this land. When he saw those tall spires arching in the background, a sinking feeling inched through him. Anyone who put that much effort into having their building seen from that far away probably had an ego to match.

  “So, I guess you’re the one who sells birds?” The blonder of the two women on either side of Ellam leaned toward Jurren, twirling a lock of her hair.

  “I trade white-cliff falcons when it suits it me.” Jurren took a drink.

  “Wine, swords, and falcons. Sounds like a wild ride.” The other woman pushed her shoulder against Ellam.

  The blonder woman laughed. “Or the emblems of a family crest.”

  It was hard to tell if their words flattered or embarrassed Ellam.

  Arkose looked distracted and kept running his hand along the back of his head, politely ignoring the display.

  A barmaid with a tight bun on top of her head reached past Jurren to grab the empty glass in front of Arkose. “What’ll ya have, Hon’? Ale or food?” She whisked a rag over the trickles of liquid on the table, giving Jurren an expectant look.

  “Food, please. Anyone else?”

  “Ale for me!” The two women spoke in unison then peeled into giggles.

  Ellam shook his head, snorting out a chuckle, then made a circle gesture around the table to indicate a full round. Jurren pointed to his full glass then shook his hand, palm facing down.

  “Right ‘way. Back in a bit.”

  The barmaid shuffled to the next table, gathered a few more empty glasses, then disappeared through a group of patrons getting up to leave. A short time later, she reappeared with four ales and a plate.

  Arkose tossed a few coins on the table. “I got this round.”

  “Thanks, Love. Check on you again in a jiff.” The barmaid picked up the empty glasses in front of Ellam and scooted the fresh ones closer to him. She gave a quick smile and a wink to Arkose as she picked up the money, then moved on to another table.

  “So…” The blonder woman held onto that single syllable for so long, Jurren almost asked her what was on her mind. Then she opened her mouth. “So, how long have you been selling birds?”

  Within an hour, Jurren finished his food and most of his patience in trying to respond to the women in a civil manner. It wasn’t quite the end of the night, and Rosamie had yet to poke her head in the tavern, but a man had his limits. He pushed his chair away from the table and felt it thump.

  Someone shouted, “Watch it, buddy!”

  Jurren turned toward the source of the thump. A man who looked in dire need of a bath and a fresh set of clothes stood behind him, pulling out a chair to sit at the next table over.

  “My apologies, I did not look first. The fault is mine.” Jurren put a hand to his chest.

  “And to whom am I to take these apologies from?” The stranger
sneered.

  “The name is Jurren, from Hess Bren.”

  “I’ve heard of you.” The man ran a hand across his unshaven face. “You’re the tracker. The one who can find anything.”

  “Given enough time, I can find most things.”

  The man continued to stare at Jurren as though trying to make a decision. “My name is Trebor. Me and my friends here are from Corrinor.” He gestured to three men who looked as worn and weary as he.

  Jurren made eye contact with each one of them. Corrinor was only a two day journey from Kovarilos to the southeast. He had been there often and was certain he recognized each of them, at least in passing.

  “Have you been to Primmitt or Evolni in the past few years?” Trebor asked.

  “No, I haven’t. Most people in Hess Bren rarely travel that way. You have to go through Southam to get to either village. There isn’t much point venturing through Tutelage Pass since you can trade the same things for the same amount in Southam.”

  Trebor clenched his hands into fists and sat in his chair hard enough to return the bump Jurren had previously given him.

  “Does this bother you?” Jurren leaned over to regain eye contact.

  “Yes.” Trebor turned toward him, giving only the right side of his face as he spoke. “It would bother you too if you had any sense about you.”

  “You watch your tongue, Corrinian!” Arkose clenched a fist on the table.

  Jurren held up his hand to gesture Arkose back. Apparently, the five ales in his belly were doing more harm than good for his mood.

  “I doubt you are on the visiting committee for Tutelage Pass, so would you grant me an explanation?” Jurren scooted his chair to face Trebor. “Please, tell me why I should care who travels to and from there?”

  Trebor’s face fell slack. As if all the anger and frustration from a moment before were washed away at the sound of that simple question. The three other men at the table kept their eyes on their companion.