The Innkeeper's Son

by Jeremy Brooks

  The blades swirled back and forth in a lethal dance as Sim spun and slashed at his imaginary foes. Stepping and thrusting to bury his hilt into the chest of one man, then spinning to slash a flanking opponent, Sim was barely aware of the world around him. Finally, beginning to feel the exertion of his effort, Sim jumped and flipped landing gracefully in a crouch with one blade held defensively in front and the other trailing to his side, ready to strike.

  It was in that crouched position of battle readiness, ensconced in warm sunlight shining down from the window on the wall before him, that the true form of his earlier vision came to bear. He only looked up through the window at the sun for a moment but became suddenly and inextricably overcome with pain and nausea. The sun was crested by a crimson ring that seemed to dull the sunlight in its malevolent glow. For no reason that Sim could comprehend, the air around him became hard to breathe as though someone had punched him in the abdomen, and the implacable smell of death and decay overwhelmed all of his senses. Sim fell forward to the earthen floor of the stable convulsing in pain and gasping at the rancid air, fighting to regain his composure. He struggled to raise his head and looked up once again at the vile image. Unsure of its true meaning, he was certain that it was a foretelling of some catastrophic event. Then just as suddenly as it had appeared, the crimson corona was gone and the sky had returned to its normal state. The wrenching pain that had forced him to the ground passed as though he had never felt a thing.

  Sim slowly sat back and looked around in confusion. The animals in the stable seemed flustered and shaken as though they too had witnessed the awful vision. Again, he looked up through the window at the sun shining hotly in the afternoon sky.

  It was almost as if the whole episode had been nothing more than some horrible daydream, yet Sim knew better. In his life, he had experienced many visions, though none had been as grueling. There had been a few occasions where he had felt something beyond the normal level of simple foretelling, and in all of those scenarios, something terrible had indeed occurred. He could easily remember the time that Dower Thruefell had walked by him one afternoon as he was working in the garden. He saw the coppersmith engulfed in flames so real that the heat had actually singed the hairs on Sim's arms. Two days later Sim heard the news that Dower had fallen while walking out to his stables late at night. The poor man had fallen onto the lantern he was holding and was burned alive when the lamp oil caused his nightshirt to ignite. Sim had mentioned his vision to Sevin, but his father dismissed it as nothing more than a hallucination from being out in the sun. Since that day, Sevin had always looked at Sim a little differently. Sim had to wonder if his father blamed him for the accident, as though simply dreaming of something so horrible had caused it to happen. Now as Sim sat there on the hard dirt floor, shaken and afraid of what it could all mean, he wondered if he should tell his father. He had already mentioned his earlier premonition and Sevin had said nothing to him. Perhaps he would just keep this one to himself for now.

  Chapter Two: Enaya Relador

  Later that day, after Sim had finished his work in the stable and filled all of the washbasins, he was heading down to the kitchen when he heard Farrus enter the common room. "Farrus my old friend," he heard his father call out, "what brings you to my tavern today?"

  "Are we alone Sevin?"

  "Uh, yes Farrus," he heard Sevin say, his voice more serious now. "There's no-one here now but me. Bella's in the kitchen with Maehril, and Sim's in the basement filling the wash-basins."

  The linen closet was just two doors down from the door that led to the common room. As a boy, Sim had always used the linen closet as a hiding place for spying. Hidden among the white linens, he could always hear everything that went on in the tavern. Perhaps this was a good time to check out the inside of that closet again.

  Sim slid in among the sheets and blankets, realizing sadly, that he was no longer the little boy playing imaginary games. He managed to uncomfortably wedge his body in between two shelves and positioned his ear close to the back wall of the closet. The door was open just a crack, giving him a view of hallway.

  He was about to dig in and start concentrating on the conversation taking place in the common room when he noticed Maehril, the mute serving girl creeping down the hall toward the taverns entrance. Maehril was small even for a sixteen year old. She had a mousy brown mop of hair that she always wore pulled back. Luckily, she didn't seem to notice Sim. It would be one thing to be discovered by Sevin and get a tongue-lashing for snooping, but to be caught in such a precarious position by Maehril would be just plain embarrassing. Sim had always done his best to avoid her in general, as it seemed to him, that the poor girl had developed a crush on him. At random moments throughout the day, Sim could swear he felt that she was watching him from afar, and he constantly caught her staring at him when they worked together during the dinner hour.

  "After all this time? Why now Farrus? What reason did he give?" Sim put his thoughts about Maehril aside for the moment to focus on the task at hand. He could hear Sevin clearly through the wall, and his father sounded upset.

  "He said its Desirmor," Farrus answered with his customary gruff monotone. "Said he was docked up in Parinale and one of his people tipped him off. He said Desirmor is searching again. Sent spies out to all corners of the world. The Princess must have told him something to get his dander good and fired up."

  "Five hundred years, my old friend," Sevin said. "Five hundred years since he last searched the world. Why now?"

  "I couldn't say for sure, Sevin. No-one has ever understood the master…uh sorry about that, Sevin," Farrus paused and sounded embarrassed, "I guess some habits don't let up, even twenty-five years later."

  "No need to apologize for that," Sevin responded, though Sim could have sworn to a hint of irritation behind those words. "What does he propose we do about this? Surely we can't just up and move Sim now. And what about Maehril? Do you think he can sense her after all this time?"

  At the mention of his name Sim unconsciously edged closer to the wall straining to get as close to the hole as he could. The corner of one of the shelves was digging into his hip, making his position uncomfortable to the point of being totally unbearable. Then he heard them mention Maehril's name and suddenly the pain seemed to disappear. Apparently, his parents had been harboring a few secrets over the years and his excitement to uncover them was reaching a fever pitch.

  "Well Sevin," Farrus began slowly, his words falling on Sim's ears like bursts of thunder with the anticipation of what he might say. "Desirmor is worried about something, has to be. This isn't something he decided out of boredom. I'd be surprised if this had anything to do with Maehril. Since the start of this whole thing, he's never once showed any sign that he believed in the prophecies. Most of us that know anything about the prophecy anyway, wouldn't know right off if Maehril was the real thing. I mean we do, but we got lucky with that one.

  "Truth is…all Desirmor ever seemed to care about was the Legacy. It tormented him. For some reason, he knows the Princess was speaking the truth when she foretold that part. He spent the first two hundred years of his reign hunting them all down until he was sure he got them all. My thinking is that he heard something and he's hunting again to be cautious. Immortality is the one thing that drives him beyond even his obsession with the Princess. "

  "You're probably right," Sevin said with resignation. "We must be extra cautious with Sim, now more than ever. The poor boy told me he was leaving after the festival. I'm running out of excuses to keep him at the inn. Have you still been working with him on his swordforms?"

  The last words hit Sim like a punch in the stomach. Sevin knew about his secret lessons with Farrus? Sim suddenly felt as though he'd been living his whole life with a blindfold on. It seemed to him now that he knew almost nothing about the people he'd called his friends and family.

  "Haven't for a few months now, Sevin. The damn kid's too good. I'm not sure there's anything else I could teach him. I'll tell you thi
s, if Navan Priahne, Desirmor's monomach himself, strolled in here right now, I think Sim could give him a match like he never had in his life."

  "Yes, Farrus," Sevin could be heard laughing. "It runs in his blood. The sword comes naturally to his kind."

  "Well then Sevin," Farrus asked. "Suppose you'll ever tell him the truth?"

  Sim waited to hear his father's answer, which came after a long thoughtful pause. "He came to me today, Farrus, this strong, good-hearted, confident young man I've raised and loved since his birth. He came to me today, talking of adventure and excitement, of a sense of divine purpose, some calling he senses within himself of a greater destiny than the life of an innkeeper. Right then I resolved to tell him, that after this festival, it would be the right time; the time to set him free upon the world that needs him so dearly. Then he turned to me and confessed to having another vision. In this one, he told me, there was something wrong with the sun. Something horrible is about to happen, he told me. I knew then that I don't need to tell him the truth. He has the gift, as we were told he would. Eventually Farrus, he'll figure it out on his own. If I tell him, he'll just end up hating me for raising him in a world of lies. Somehow, I'm certain, this is the choice I was destined to make."

  "Good enough, Sevin. You know as always that I'll be there when he needs me. So will you meet with Sarimus tonight?" Farrus asked.

  "Tell him to come by after the dinner rush. We'll close down the common room and we three will hatch a plan."

  "Until tonight then," Farrus said leaving through the main entrance, as Sevin sat alone behind the bar.

  For some time Sim sat paralyzed in the middle of the linen closet, looking blankly at the crack of light coming through the slightly opened door. He needed time to think about everything he'd just heard. His initial reaction when Farrus had finally left was to barge into the common room and confront his father with everything he'd just learned and get the truth that Sevin was hiding from him. His head was spinning with questions he wanted answered, but after settling down and thinking things through, he chose to wait a while and keep his ears open. His father was planning another secret meeting that night and Sim would make sure he was back here in the linen closet gathering more information.

  Despite all of the shocking things he had just learned, the strangest of all was that Sarimus was coming to the inn later that night. Sarimus was a merchant sailor, who was a close friend of both Sevin and Farrus. Sim could remember clearly as a child that Sarimus would sail into Dell several times a year, bringing with him a gift of some kind every time he came. Sim used to love every minute of Sarimus' visits to the inn as not only would he get his gift, but Sarimus would also entertain him for hours on end with tales of his adventures at sea. Strangely the last time Sim had seen or heard from Sarimus was on his thirteenth birthday. He had overheard Sevin and Sarimus arguing over whether or not he was ready to claim his birthright. Sim hadn't understood what that had meant at the time, but in lieu of his recent foray into eavesdropping, things might be starting to make some sense. He had always assumed that Sarimus was staying away all these years because of his quarrel with Sevin, but perhaps he had wanted Sim to know the secret his father was keeping, and that had initiated a falling out of sorts. If this held even a grain of truth then tonight was to be a very important night indeed.

  All of these thoughts were playing out in Sim's mind when he suddenly noticed Maehril sneaking back down the hallway, apparently believing she wasn't discovered. What did she have to do with any of this, Sim thought to himself? Maehril was nothing more than a silly girl. When she was little, she would follow him around incessantly like a lovesick pet. It drove him mad at times. To think that she was part of some prophecy bordered on levels of absurdity. Still, there was much yet that he didn't know, and at this point it would be wise to keep aware of everything he saw and heard and not leave anything, not even a silly mute serving girl, to chance.

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  By twilight the common room was a madhouse. Every table was occupied by road-weary wagoneers who had come to trade their harvests at the Othoran Festival. Since the Kelmor Inn lay on the outskirts of Dell, none of the rowdy roughnecks who sailed the seas on merchant vessels came to dine on Bella's fare. Those who sat within the common room were all farmers of Caramour, and in most cases, men whom Sevin considered friends. The kinsmanship within the tavern created a camaraderie that led to a spirited atmosphere, leaving out any of the concerns that inns toward the inner city might have with brawling.

  Sim was technically in charge of keeping the peace should there have been a need, since he was easily one of the largest men in the room. Despite his size though, most of the wagoneers had watched him grow over the years from a little boy into the sturdy young man he now was, so he held no advantage of intimidation over this lot. He had spent most of his night clearing tables for the three serving girls who presided over the dinner service. Every once and again one of the girls would need him to run a pitcher of ale or some plates from the kitchen. Mostly though, Sim kept to himself pausing only to acknowledge the occasional greeting from a farmer that recognized him.

  He was actually grateful to Sevin for assigning him to this particular task, because it kept him away from the kitchen. He had run into Maehril a few times since spying her eavesdropping on Sevin and Farrus' private conversation that afternoon, and each meeting had been terribly awkward. Sim was certain that Maehril didn't know she had been seen, but she still seemed to gaze at him in her adoring way, making him squirm more and more with each occasion. Maehril was working in the kitchen all night, learning the art of Bella's culinary craft. On the two instances when he had gone into the kitchen, Maehril seemed to stop whatever she was doing to stare intently at Sim until he awkwardly smiled at her and rushed back to the tavern.

  What was it with her, Sim asked himself over and over as he cleared glasses and gravy stained plates, all the while dodging the occasional drunkard stumbling to the latrine. It was strange enough to him the way she always looked at him and her suspicious behavior earlier that day, but the things he had overheard Sevin and Farrus saying about her were a complete mystery to him as well. Farrus had mentioned something about a prophecy that she was a part of and this man named Desirmor who might be searching for her. It all seemed too farfetched to him that such an insipid girl could be the center of a century’s old prophecy. Just thinking about it was making his excitement grow, and Sim was finding himself constantly looking toward the timepiece that adorned the wall behind the bar.

  A group of three slightly inebriated farmers were making their way out the front entrance with a little help from Sim, when two women entered the Kelmor inn. The first was a slender woman, nearly as tall as Sim, with silver hair cut close to her head like a man. Also strange for so feminine a creature, she wore black pants and boots, and a long black cloak fastened at the neck with a crystal broach shaped like a leaf. It was clear from the bulge on her left hip that she was carrying a sword, and Sim wondered, nearly aloud, who this strange woman could be.

  The second woman was easily the most beautiful lady Sim had ever laid his eyes upon. She was dressed in the style of a noble woman with a green riding dress cut from a silky fabric which Sim had never seen before. She pulled the hood of her forest green cloak away from her head, revealing lustrous thick locks of flaxen hair, and eyes the color of sapphires, not quite purple but not blue either. Sim had to catch his breath as she tossed her hair about, manipulating the golden tresses until they seemed to fall in perfect order around her delicate shoulders. She scanned the outskirts of the common room before looking directly into Sim's eyes, almost causing his heart to stop beating altogether. Sim had become so enamored that he neither noticed the impatient glare he was receiving from both women, and the similarly awestruck wagoneers leering from the doorway. In a moment he snapped back to attention, seemingly waking up from some fantastic dream, and shot the three men a vicious glare before slammin
g the door closed in their faces. What had come over him, he wondered? She's just a girl.

  "Are you planning on gawking all night or will you help us make arrangements for a nights lodgings, boy?" the tall one asked Sim in a dangerous tone.

  He noticed that her right hand had slid under her cloak, no doubt grasping the hilt of her weapon. He regretfully peeled his eyes away from the flaxen-haired goddess long enough to notice that the tall one had eyes as green as any emerald he had ever seen. Her eyes shone with the fire of a soldier who had seen the field of battle and knew that only the alert survive.

  "My apologies, kind mistress," Sim responded, deciding to treat these women with a mixture of caution and respect. "We have only one room still available. I'll be happy to carry your things if you'll follow me upstairs."

  "I'll see to our things boy, just tell me the price and where to find our room."

  Sim couldn't help but look the tall one up and down, subconsciously determining if he could match her in skill should the situation arise. "Second floor, fifth door on the left," he said pointing to the nearby staircase. He had made his decision that the tall one wouldn't intimidate him with her threatening tones. "The room will cost you two silvers, no bargaining." He cut her off before she could object to the price, and held out his hand, matching her stare with confidence in his own abilities with a sword. "The Othoran Festival is the busiest time of year here in Dell. I would wish you luck in finding a more reasonable rate than I've offered."

  She glared at him for a few moments, perhaps sizing him up as well, before pulling from beneath her cloak a leather money pouch and counting out two silvers. There was a lockbox with room keys beside the taverns entrance. Sim got their key and handed it to her.