by Wilson Harp
“Here he comes, maybe I will ask him,” Lendin said as he pulled the table over to where Croft had indicated.
Croft could hear Cassie’s giggling as the door to the inn opened. In she walked with Calaran right behind her. The elf was carrying her bundled package and was smiling broadly as he held the door open for her. Lendin leaned on the table and then straightened quickly trying to not breathe hard as she came in.
“Hi Lendin,” she said as she took the package from Calaran and headed into the kitchen. “Stay around and I’ll show you the new hat I bought.”
“Sit down, lad, no use in passing out when you just got her to speak to you,” said Croft as he pushed a chair behind Lendin.
Calaran came over to Lendin and extended his hand. He had every bit the dashing and daring look that Lendin had feared he would have. Lendin shook his hand.
“My name is Calaran, and you must be Lendin. Cassie told me about you, but she doesn’t know what she said yet. I’ll give you some pointers in the next couple of days if you want. In the meantime, don’t go near her unless you have something specific to say.” Calaran patted him on the back and gave him a friendly wink. “You’ll do fine lad. Now I understand that Donal is your uncle. Is he around?”
“No, I think he is out in the Tebrian Reach guiding a merchant’s train. Or at least that’s what he set off to do about a month ago,” Lendin responded.
“The next time you speak with him, let him know that Calaran wants to see him.”
“I will. How do you know him?”
“I used to perform here a lot, and I hired him as a guide a couple of times. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to go make some tea for myself to get ready for tonight’s performance.” Calaran turned and went up the stairs to his room.
“How long has he been coming around?” Lendin asked Croft after the elf had left the room.
“Before I was born at least,” Croft answered. “My father had moved to Black Oak to find work after a drought hit his father’s farms. He told me that his first week in town Calaran had been performing here at the Silver Sword, and he had come to see a real bard. He met my mother that night in this very room.”
The door to the kitchen swung open, and both men looked back to see Cassie in a new straw hat with a blue ribbon that matched the fabric of her beautiful blue dress.
“Isn’t it great? I’m hoping to wear it to the festival next week,” Cassie said as she beamed.
“Who are you going with, Cassie?” Croft asked.
“I don’t know yet, no one has asked me. But I’m hoping to get an invitation before too long.”
Croft looked at Lendin, who was frozen in his seat. “Go on boy, ask her.”
Just then Magda came out of the kitchen and pulled Cassie back to work.
Lendin stood up and walked out the front door of the inn.
“What a wasted chance,” sighed Calaran watching from the stairs before heading back up. Croft nodded in agreement.
The evening crowd started gathering earlier than normal, and Croft could tell even before the first dinners went out that it would easily be the busiest night since he had opened. It had been well over a year since the last minstrel team had been to Black Oak and a good three years since a real bard had been in the area. Calaran’s last visit had been when old Mancorl lay dying of some wasting disease, and he had only performed a single story, somber and touching enough to make grown men weep.
But tonight the crowd was lively and was expecting to laugh and be amazed at his stories. He did not disappoint. Just after the final meals were eaten and the pipes and pints took precedence, Calaran simply strode to the space empty of tables and chairs near the fireplace and started softly playing his harp. All talk stopped and all voices quieted as he began the evening’s entertainment.
He told of the great ocean voyage of King Assum, and of the mighty barbarian Krestik. He told the story of the Pirate Captain Larimat and his magical talking cat. He was nearing the end of the tale of the Battle of Diver’s Peak when suddenly the door to the inn crashed open.
“Greetings one and all!” a boisterous voice boomed into the common room. Dead silence answered his call, and everyone turned to look at who had interrupted the bard as he was reaching the end of his story.
Horas was stunned to see so many people crowded into the inn and looked more than a little uncomfortable that everyone was staring at him without returning his greeting. He spotted Lendin and Karl over at the bar and started to quickly make his way over to his friends.
Calaran had remained completely immobile in the middle of the sentence he had been speaking when the door swung open. Once Horas took his seat at the bar, Calaran continued the story as if nothing had occurred.
“Quite an entrance,” snickered Lendin to his friend. “Where have you been?”
“I just got back from Gen, delivering some horseshoes for my father. Why is there a bard here?” whispered Horas.
“Not sure. Dad says that he used to come here all the time,” Karl said softly. “He’s really good.”
Croft set a mug of beer in front of Horas and gave him a dirty look. Horas had the good sense to stay quiet until the bard finished.
After the final flourishes of the story, Calaran bowed and some people threw some copper coins up to the bard. He gratefully collected them and then started wishing people a good night while heading back towards the kitchen.
Cassie had been enthralled with the performance just like all of the guests, but when the door to the inn opened with farmers and townsmen going home for the night, she started clearing the tables. As she got close to the bar, Horas called out to her. When she turned her head towards him she smiled, and Horas reached out to pull her to him.
Croft couldn’t believe that anyone, even an elf, could move that fast. Before Horas could touch Cassie, Calaran had jumped clear over a table, pulled a dagger from his belt, tackled Horas, and was sitting on the young man with the blade at his throat.
“Wait!” Croft shouted at the bard “Stop! Wait!”
The common room of the inn was frozen; no one else could be sure of what had just happened. Cassie sat down hard on the floor and started sobbing hysterically.
“Croft, he must be killed,” Calaran said with cold precision.
“No, wait, he’s a local boy. I know him,” Croft begged the elf.
Calaran looked around at the stunned crowd. “Will any swear blood for this man?”
More than a few men swore that he was of their blood, and Calaran’s dagger found its place on his belt. He stood up and helped the shaken and stunned young man to his feet.
“Sit,” he ordered as he pointed at a chair and stood beside him. Croft came around the bar to sit beside Horas as Lendin and Karl helped Cassie up and into the kitchen.
The rest of the room, sensing that any chance of violence had passed, headed out the door or back to their drinks.
Calaran stood staring at Horas. He sized him up several times, and obviously was considering what to do if Horas decided to run or fight.
When Lendin and Karl came back out of the kitchen, they looked worried and angry.
“What was that?” Croft asked. “Why would you go after Horas that way?”
Calaran looked at Horas’ left hand. “Where did you get that bracelet?”
Horas held up his left hand and looked at the intricately woven leather strips that he wore on his wrist. The bracelet had a single copper coin embedded in the weavings.
“I found it on the body of a man near an orc camp. Lendin was there, he can tell you.”
Calaran looked up at Lendin.
Lendin swallowed and nodded. “We had killed some orcs in the Shadowmist Wood, and there were bodies of two men nearby. They were both wearing those bracelets.”
“Two? Where is the other one?” Calaran held out his hand.
“It’s back in my room at my dad’s house,” Horas replied. “If they were friends of yours, we didn’t kill them, I swear.”
&n
bsp; Calaran laughed. “Do not worry, they were not friends of mine, and I have no illusions that you killed them.”
“The orcs killed them, that’s what happened,” said Lendin.
Calaran gave him a very curious look. “No, the orcs did not kill them either. But something in those woods did. Something they were hunting.”
“What do you mean, what could they have been hunting that could do that?” asked Horas. ‘They were hewn and chopped, their clothing ripped and shredded.”
“The orcs probably did disfigure them, but if they had met them alive, there would have been no orcs for you to kill. Those men are part of a bandit group that works beyond Loramund. When I saw you wearing it, I was afraid you were one of them. I apologize, good man Horas, for treating you so roughly, but I had no way of knowing. I would like you to give me that bracelet and the one you have at your father’s house. It is too dangerous for you if certain other people were to find them in your possession.”
Horas quickly took the leather bracelet off and gave it to Calaran. “I will be back tomorrow with the other bracelet, I swear.”
“I believe you Horas. Tomorrow you can tell me of your orcs as well, it might make an interesting tale.”
Horas smiled at that and looked over at Lendin and Karl and nodded. The three young men stood and took their leave of Croft and Calaran and started down the road to their beds in Black Oak.
After they left, Croft motioned for Calaran to sit down. “What a cock and bull story. Those bracelets weren’t on any bandits from beyond Loramund. What was that?”
Calaran didn’t smile at getting caught in his lie. “You know what kinds of things are out there, Croft. A bandit group is enough of a scare to get the bracelets out of his hands. I was so scared when I saw that on his wrist, but even knowing that they were as close as the Shadowmist Wood has me concerned. I need to talk to Donal soon, and even if I can’t, I think I will have Lendin take me to where he found the bodies.”
“You know what is in the woods?”
“No. Not at all, but they had to be hunting something. They wouldn’t risk coming this close to Black Oak unless they knew where their quarry was.” Calaran sat back in his chair. “I should have been by more often. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Is Brother Cassil still in charge of the Shrine of the Divine in Black Oak?”
“No, he retired a couple of years ago and moved in with his order’s hostel in Gen. I fear his mind is slipping.”
Calaran sighed. “Then it is just me and Donal. Maybe Orias can help. He was never one to think beyond himself, but maybe years have given him some more perspective. I’ll go to him tomorrow and see what I can do.”
“You seem to be suggesting that you are protecting someone… or some place.” Croft looked around the inn.
Calaran smiled and stood up. “Just keeping a promise.”
“We all have promises to keep. Does yours have to do with the apple tree?”
Calaran dropped his head. “That debt has already been paid. The one I have left is owed to the one who hung the silver sword over that bar.”
Croft watched as the bard walked up the stairs into the dark.
He looked around at the now sparsely occupied common room and started clearing the tables. He checked with Magda and made sure Cassie was okay after her scare and then sent her to bed.
The night was moving on, and after one last round of drinks even the adventurers who had taken rooms were feeling the pull of sleep. Croft wished the last of the farmers and craftsmen goodnight and latched the front door and shuttered the windows. He then gathered the day’s coins and went down into the cellar to count his money and place it in the strongbox. Calaran was good for business, there was no mistaking that. His ledger showed him numbers that made him smile. He would be able to get the new roof with a couple of more days like today. But he also knew that Calaran was good for the inn. He hadn’t realized how much the inn needed the bard, but it seemed to come alive and prosper when Calaran was there.
Croft went back up to the common room and blew out all of the candles on the tables and mantle. He took his little tin candle holder and went back into the darkness of his bedroom behind the bar. The flickering light showed him his bed, washbasin, and thick, sturdily locked sea chest. It caught the reflection of his small mirror and a golden glint from the far corner.
Calaran had said that he owed a debt to the man who’d hung the silver sword above the bar. Croft sat down on his bed and pulled off his shoes. He looked at the bronze shield that Mancorl had carried as an adventurer and then placed above the bar for as long as he had known the old man. Indeed, as long as his father had known the old innkeeper the bronze shield had hung there. If Mancorl had hung his bronze shield there, what had he taken down? Could it have been this Garric from whom Mancorl had inherited the inn? Maybe it was some owner before him who had hung a silver sword. Would Calaran ever consider the debt paid?
The Kidnapped Child
“Did he say why he wanted to speak with me?” Donal took a sip from his mug as he rested after his morning meal. Croft had joined him at the table and had told him of Calaran’s visit the week before over a couple of mugs of beer.
“No, he just said he needed to speak with you, and when he found out you were not in the area, he said he would speak to Orias.”
Donal furrowed his brow at that. He wasn’t big on smiling, and no one would ever describe the rough woodsman as jovial, but a scowl on his face generally meant trouble. “It must be more than wanting to go hunting if he spoke to Orias. They parted on bad terms many years ago.”
Croft leaned in close and spoke low. “He learned some information about some men in the Shadowmist Wood. I think it might be something you and he, and maybe even Orias, would know about. Something from when you all traveled together.”
Donal took another sip and nodded. Orias had not left his tower and gone out into the wilds in almost thirty years. The group of friends he and Donal had back then was large and diverse, but either due to violence or advancing age they had all stopped their adventures and settled down into less exciting lives.
The sound of a couple of horses riding up to the inn caused both men to turn and look out the windows. A few seconds later the door opened, and a guardsman from Black Oak came into the common room.
“Croft, I need… Donal!” the guardsman exclaimed. “The Divine smiles on us today. I was going to ask Croft to tell anyone who came in that we need help, but I never hoped that you would be in here.”
“Well met, Bartimus. What is it that has you looking for help in the common room of my inn?” Croft asked.
“The Reighart’s youngest boy was taken this morning while tending his father’s sheep. He was at the edge of the Willow Bog, and it looks like he was taken by some of the lizardmen who dwell in deep parts of the swamp.”
Donal swore and finished off his mug of beer. “Who do you have with you?”
“Brother Hemal is with me. Other guardsmen are gathering anyone we can find.”
“You’re looking a little fuller than the last time I saw you out of the town, Bartimus. Can you still use that sword?”
“Of course, Donal.”
“Then let’s take the good Brother and get going. I just need to saddle my horse, and we can be at their farm in less than an hour. Croft, if anyone else wants to join in, send them to the farm. But I want to see if we can get the boy back alive, and that means getting him back before dark.”
“You think it’s to be a sacrifice?” Bartimus asked.
“You brought the priest, so you think the same,” Donal answered as he dropped some coins on the table and hurried out the front door.
Croft knew what Donal and Bartimus were thinking. The lizardmen in the swamps kept mostly to themselves, and as they did not deal in silver and gold very often, adventurers tended to leave them alone as well. But occasionally a lizardman chieftain or shaman would get it in his head that he needed more power and would kidnap humans to sacrifice to their bloo
dthirsty gods. When this happened, the people in the area would rise up and go into the swamps and wipe out as many lizardman villages as they could find. The purges would generally keep the lizardmen from doing anything so foolish for many years. It had been over eight years since the town of Black Oak had gone into the swamps to quell the lizardmen, but it appeared that it was time for another purge. Croft shook his head and went back to tending his inn. If there was anyone who could rescue that boy, it would be Donal.
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Hemal watched Donal work quickly and silently as he saddled his horse. He checked his quiver to make sure it was full of arrows, and pulled back the cloth on a large bundle wrapped up in his saddlebag. He carried a sword as was his practice, but bore no shield. When Hemal asked, Bartimus told him that Donal was frequently in brush or heavy wood and the woodsman felt shields got in the way more than helped.
“Where is the Reighart’s farm?” Donal asked as he led his roan mare out from the stable.
“South of town, out past the cemetery,” Hemal replied. “We can take the south rise; it will be quicker than going through the town.”
Hemal was very different from the last priest who had tended the Shrine of the Divine in Black Oak. While Brother Cassil was aged and wise, Hemal was fairly young and a sportsman. He hunted and rode with the nobles and rich merchants and was a steady hand with the bow.
Guardsman Bartimus had been in the loyal pay of the council of Black Oak for well over twenty years. He had been a merchant guard when he had fallen in love with a local girl and settled down to marry her. The town of Black Oak had a long standing tradition of not hiring guardsmen who had deep roots in the local area as it tended to suppress long feuds and keep those who enforced the law from becoming blind to the habits of their kith and kin. An outsider upheld the law for gold, and he didn’t give up that gold because a cousin couldn’t keep himself away from a locked warehouse.
Bartimus was friendly and loyal, and his sons were well liked and thought of. He also knew how to deal with real trouble makers and had helped defend Black Oak on several occasions. His sword hung casually at his side, and his small round shield was slung over his back. A light coat of mail was underneath his tabard, and a well-worn helmet fit over his thinning hair.