The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep

by Scott D. Muller

  Dra’kor leaned in close to Men’ak and lowered his voice. “That was too close. We barely made it to the town. I think if we had another half-league or so to go, we would have been in serious trouble with the wolven.”

  “I hear that! And if there were more?” said Men’ak, rubbing his sore head. “By the Ten, at least we didn’t end up having to use magic and having that awkward moment when we’d have to be explaining ourselves.”

  Dra’kor nodded in agreement.

  “It looked like that last beast really walloped you.”

  Dra’kor shook his head, “Knocked the wind right out of me. I saw stars and after that, I don’t remember a damn thing until I saw your face.”

  “That was a slick move you did with the blade.”

  “I can’t take credit for that. Ja’tar showed us that in one of the practices.”

  “I’ll be,” Men’ak whistled. “I don’t recall it at all.”

  Dra’kor shifted his weight on the stool and groaned softly.

  Men’ak frowned, “Any cuts or broken bones?”

  “A few, but I had time to half-heal the wounds. I’ll do more later on, when we bathe.”

  “A warm bath, I can hardly wait! I smell a bit ripe, like a skunk in heat!” Men’ak said, pulling his shirt out and flapping it softly.

  “You do — like a wet goat,” Dra’kor said, with a wide grin.

  “— I wouldn’t talk.”

  Dra’kor smirked, “I should smell more. I did more — of the hard work!”

  “The halla!” Men’ak roared indignantly, although he knew that it was Dra’kor who had fought off the beasts. It was always Dra’kor. He was the smartest, the quickest learner, and a born leader. He admired the man, but at times —

  “Ooh! We’re sensitive …,” Dra’kor teased, knocking his friend in the arm.

  Men’ak turned quickly and slugged him back. Dra’kor’s eyes shot open. He had not expected the punch. Men’ak saw his expression so he grinned like a fool. Let him think it was all in good fun.

  “You know what I’ve been thinking?”

  Dra’kor rubbed his arm, “What?”

  “Well, I was thinking about earlier and I’m just bit surprised the townspeople didn’t come out to help us,” said Men’ak, as he shifted his weight on the small stool. Try as he might he just couldn’t seem to get comfortable.

  “I’m not. I think they’re too afraid,” Dra’kor whispered as he leaned close to his friend. “I saw the looks on their faces. They thought we were already dead.”

  “I still think they should have helped or something, at least they could have thrown some rocks from the battlement,” Men’ak said.

  “They did shoot the crossbow bolts and arrows,” said Dra’kor, in their defense.

  “I guess they did — now that I think about it.”

  “Well, we’re safe for now. I don’t think we should hold it against them not helping. It sounds like circumstances are harsh,” Dra’kor said, showing unusual compassion. “Besides, I don’t think the beasts are interested in getting into the town, just keeping everyone away from here …”

  “You think? They seemed very interested in making us into their mid-day meal,” said Men’ak flatly.

  “Seems to be —” Dra’kor sighed, looking up from the table. “—Think about it. The wolven didn’t attack until we got to the far side of the river and headed toward town.”

  “Maybe there aren’t any beasts on the other side of the river.”

  “Dra’kor shook his head, “The tinker ran into them, remember?”

  Men’ak nodded, remembering the conversation, “So you think —?”

  “I think they were trying to turn us back.”

  Men’ak scratched his head, “But why did they attack the tinker? He wasn’t in Three Rivers.”

  “I don’t know, but the tinker never said where he was when he was attacked. It could have been anywhere —”

  “But why would beasts do that?” They’re just dumb beasts.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Beasts just don’t do that. It would make them a lot smarter than any beast I ever encountered,” Men’ak conceded as he grumbled.

  “Or controlled somehow …,” Dra’kor corrected.

  “Great!” Men’ak spat sarcastically, yanking on his beard. “Who do you suppose could do that?”

  “Don’t know. I suppose I could be wrong …,” said Dra’kor quietly.

  Men’ak didn’t think so. He was quite certain that Dra’kor had his suspicions but wasn’t saying. But, he was tired and he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

  They sat in silence for a while, each deep in thought, examining the day’s events. Trying to forget, or maybe remember. They sat on the stools and stared at the fire, listening to it snap and pop.

  Men’ak looked around the room, “Inn seems to be in good shape, clean.”

  “I agree, it’s comfortable,” Dra’kor said.

  “Comfortable,” Men’ak echoed while nodding slowly.

  Dra’kor sighed as he took a good look around, “So, at least we should be able to get a good night’s sleep without having to worry about being attacked.”

  “We should probably still set our wards, just to be safe,” Men’ak said. “We don’t know what else is out there creeping about.”

  “Agreed, best to take precautions just in case. We can’t be too careful given what we’ve experienced so far,” Dra’kor reasoned. “Let’s hope nothing else surprises us. I think I’ve had about enough surprises this trip!”

  D’Arron came out of the kitchen with two big wooden bowls filled with piping hot stew and set them down in front of the two starving mages. Without saying a word, she sped off back to the kitchen.

  Men’ak grabbed a wooden spoon, stirred the bowl once, took a big mouthful of stew, and almost spit it out. He huffed and blew as best he could while trying to cool off the hot liquid. “Aegis, that’s hot … burnt my damn tongue!”

  Dra’kor laughed. He placed the spoon near his lips and blew across the hot liquid before taking a bite. “Mmmm, good stew,” he mumbled with his mouth full. “— be careful, it’s hot!”

  “Shut up!” Men’ak spat back accepting the dig.

  D’Arron rushed back in with a big basket of fresh maslin bread, a slab of fresh churned butter and two glazed clay mugs of mead. She set them down on the table and turned to leave. “If you need anything else, I’ll be in the back getting your baths ready! Enjoy your meal.” She nodded and with her dress swirling, she turned and left.

  “There she goes again!” Men’ak muttered.

  The two friends ate in silence for a while. Using the bread to wipe down the bowls and soak up the thick gravy.

  “She was right. The bread is the best I’ve tasted in a long while,” Men’ak said. “Better than Gretta’s —”

  “Don’t let Grit hear you say that,” Dra’kor grunted with a smile.

  Men’ak nodded sadly, thinking of his friend and took another big bite of bread that he slathered with butter. He shoved nearly the whole small loaf into his mouth and chewed contently.

  “She’s a good looking woman …,” he muttered incoherently, spitting out a small chunk of bread.

  Dra’kor gave him a look of disgust.

  “She is —!”

  “She is,” Dra’kor agreed, looking over toward the side door of the inn. “Seems a bit strange she’s not married. She’d make a fine wife …”

  “She isn’t?” Men’ak acted surprised.

  “No ring,” Dra’kor said, pointing at his finger.

  “Well, there’s probably a reason …,” Men’ak followed up.

  “Always is.” Dra’kor grinned ear to ear.

  “You really think you’ll be able to figure out what’s wrong with the crops?”

  Dra’kor shook his spoon at Men’ak, “Don’t know for sure, but seeds just don’t stop growing unless something is preventing them —.so I reckon …”

  “— You think it�
��s magic?” Men’ak said in a hushed voice, as he leaned closer to Dra’kor.

  “Likely, but I won’t know for sure until I check out the fields. If crops grew there last year, they should grow there this year. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Soil looked good,” said Men’ak.

  “Did to me too!”

  Dra’kor pushed his empty bowl back from the edge of the table and took another long drink of mead, “I’m stuffed.”

  “I’m not,” Men’ak said, eying the last mini loaf. “Mind if I take that last piece of bread?”

  Dra’kor motioned for him to go ahead and watched as he slathered on the creamy butter. Dra’kor chortled to himself. He had never met someone who could eat as much as Men’ak eats and still stay thin as a bean pole. Men’ak wolfed down the last slab of bread while Dra’kor was lost in thought.

  D’Arron walked back into the room. She had a couple rough cotton towels and a bar of soap in her arms. She walked over to the table and set them alongside Dra’kor. “Did you have plenty to eat,” she asked, looking at the empty bowls and plates, all wiped clean of the gravy with the bread.

  “Plenty!” said Dra’kor cheerfully. “The food was very good, especially the bread.”

  D’Arron smiled at the compliment. “Thank you! I told you it was the best bread you’ll ever taste.”

  Men’ak pushed his empty mug across the table in front of D’Arron.

  “More mead?” she asked.

  Dra’kor looked to Men’ak and they both nodded. D’Arron held out her hand.

  Dra’kor apologized, “Oh, that’s right. Here!” he said, fidgeting with his coin purse and handed her another pence.

  D’Arron dropped the coin in her pocket and refilled their mugs from the pitcher she was carrying.

  “By the way, I have your baths ready. You’ll find the tubs out back. Just leave the water when you’re done. I’ll clean up later.”

  “Thanks. We’ll do that,” Men’ak replied.

  “You have a nice little inn here. How long have you owned it?” Dra’kor asked before she could leave.

  He was trying to follow Ja’tar’s orders by making small talk. He got up from the table and moved over to the oversized chairs by the fire. He sat down and took another sip from his mug. The mead warmed him and he was beginning to feel a little relaxed from the effects.

  “I’ve been running it for over a year now — my husband was killed last spring …,” she said, her voice trailing off as she gathered the dishes. “He was coming down into the valley; the wagon lost a wheel and flipped. He was crushed. Guess the horses got spooked and he lost control.”

  “I’m sorry —!” said Men’ak, expressing his condolences, picking the chair across from Dra’kor. “It’s hard losing a husband.”

  Dra’kor nodded. “Pardon my asking, but were you married long?”

  “Just shy of four years,” she replied. “It’s okay talking about it, it’s been a while.”

  “Just the same,” said Men’ak softly.

  “It’s okay … he didn’t suffer none. The Doc said it was quick, broke his back,” said D’Arron reflectively, pulling herself together. “He was a good husband, but our marriage was arranged — we never really — bonded.”

  Dra’kor nodded, understanding how it was. Most of the marriages of the day were arranged by the parents. Few were privileged enough to marry for love. Marriage was always about property or status, sometimes both.

  Men’ak took a big gulp of mead, wiping his chin with his sleeve.“Have you always been in Three Rivers?”

  “Wasn’t born here if that’s what you mean,” D’Arron replied, sitting down on a small bench. She neatly straightened her apron and tucked it under. “My older sister lived here, so we moved here to start the inn after we got married. I’m from down south in the Lowlands, so was my husband. We were both tired of country life and yearned for being around more folks. We heard that Three Rivers was growing because of the Lord’s gift, you know, the land was free.”

  “We’re from upstream in the mountains,” Dra’kor added, giving her a little view into their lives, a truth, but not the whole truth.

  “I was born in the Lowlands!” said Men’ak excitedly.

  D’Arron smiled, “Where abouts?”

  “Big Rock, near the Forks. You?”

  “Not far from there, near Rolling Hill.”

  “Imagine that. We were practically neighbors,” Men’ak said, with a grin.

  D’Arron nodded, “You said you’ve been traveling?”

  “For four days now —” Dra’kor lied. “We’re a long way from home. We’ve never been this way before. It’s been an experience.”

  “Thought you might be mercenaries, you fight well …,” she said, eying them up and down.

  Men’ak asked raising a brow. “Mercenaries? Hardly. We just got lucky with the wolves I’m guessing.”

  “Didn’t sound like luck from what I heard,” she prodded.

  “I can’t say we’ve never had to fight off wild animals before. But these are much larger than we are used to and didn’t seem to be afraid of people,” said Dra’kor seriously, as he set his mug on the small table. “We really didn’t do that well. The men on the walls killed as many with their quarrels as we did with our blades.”

  “Right! Those wolves seemed to be set on having us for lunch,” said Men’ak quietly, as he finished the last of his drink.

  “So you’re a long way from home, are you looking for work?” she asked, still trying to figure out what they were doing out on the road with no cart, horse or weapons.

  “No, not really,” Men’ak replied. “We have some business in Five Peaks setting up contracts and delivery of food stocks. The high passes are too snowy this year for us to go directly over the top, so we ended up here. We heard that the road was passable from a tinker we met named Barack?”

  “I know Barack. He hasn’t visited this year —” she said, immediately recognizing the name. The fact that they knew the peddler made her feel much more at ease.

  “We didn’t really think it was this far. We always go the other way and the journey is only a day’s walk more or less. I guess we were a bit foolish, but Barack said Three Rivers was only a short trip. I guess he forgot to mention that it was a day by horse and not by foot!” Dra’kor chuckled, picking up his mug and draining the remaining honey goodness.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t stop in on his way up into the mountains. That’s not like him, he likes it here,” D’Arron said, missing the company of the jovial tinker. He always had great stories to tell and brought news from around the realms. Besides, he always brought her spices that were rare in these parts. She had no idea where he got them.

  “I’m sure he would have visited, but he can’t get across the river. Ferry’s down. We lost a member of our party at the falls. He got washed over when we tried to get the stranded raft,” Dra’kor replied, the sorrow in his voice showing. “We don’t know if our friend survived the falls or not, we couldn’t find him, but I think that Haagen is dead. We found a body on the deserted raft. We’re pretty sure whoever it was had a go around with the wolves.”

  Dra’kor reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace he had removed from the dead man’s neck and handed it to D’Arron.

  “It’s John’s alright,” she said as she rolled it over in her hand. “I’d recognize it anywhere. These are bear teeth. Bethany said he killed the grizzly with his bare hands, if you can believe it!”

  “He must have been strong. He took at least two of the wolves with him,” said Dra’kor solemnly. “I think he actually survived the attack, but I think he bled out.”

  “Well, that makes eight …,” she said as her voice faltered.

  “Eight?”

  She nodded, “Eight people we’ve lost this year.”

  “That’s a lot for a town this size.”

  “Sorry for your own loss, but I should let his wife know, Bethany will be worried sick about him if he’s bee
n gone more than a few days. They have a small child —” she continued in a very weak voice.

  “We don’t know it was him for sure, but we grabbed his spear and sword. We weren’t armed with any decent weapons, only a couple knives between us. We figured he wouldn’t mind,” Dra’kor said, embarrassed. “We’d gladly pay Bethany what they’re worth.”

  “Hmm, traveling out on the open road without suitable weapons is a might unusual,” she pointed out. “Plenty of highwaymen out there waiting to rob folks ….”

  “We’ve never had much issue. Lucky I guess,” Dra’kor said. “Then again, we don’t travel these parts … things might be a bit different with mountain folk. They’re close knit and take care of their own. From now on, we’ll be prepared.”

  “I’d say! Well, it’s too bad you can’t see the town when things are better,” D’Arron said, sighing. “This is a nice little town. Good people.”

  “Better?” Dra’kor asked, raising his brow.

  “Well, as you found out, you’re the first travelers to visit us this year. Town is dead quiet. Those wolves are out on the loose, crops are failing …,” she said as her voice trailed off, “— Now I know the ferry is down. News just isn’t getting any better.” D’Arron straightened her apron nervously as she sat.

  “Sounds like it’s been pretty bad as of late, but I’m sure things will turn around,” Men’ak mumbled half heartedly hoping to sound profound as he tried to cheer her up. “They always do.”

  “Will be a whole lot worse if we can’t get the crops growing,” she continued. “Most of the folk here are farmers. We were lucky that last year was a good one. We have decent stores, but come fall and next winter — and if we cannot get supplies across the river …”

  “I hear you,” said Dra’kor. “All it takes is a bad year. Cropping is a hard life no matter what.”

  D’Arron nodded her agreement. “We’ll have meat, just no flour for bread, no sugar or potatoes. We’re lucky that the wolves don’t seem to bother the animals. Strangest thing don’t ye know, they only seem interested in people.”

  “Just people you say —?” Men’ak repeated, thinking about what Dra’kor had said earlier.