The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path

by Douglas Van Dyke

  The humble young smith, feeling poor indeed in his patched trousers and dirty shirt, hitched up his rope-belt a bit higher and led the well-ornamented horse out to the smithy.

  CHAPTER 2

  Twilight descended over the land. The warmth lingering from the sunny day dispersed to the mild chill of a Florum night. The lights lit up in quite a few houses as families shared an evening meal or talked around comfortable hearth fires. On the main street a few of the village lanterns began their all-night duty. Lights burned throughout the evening in front of the pub, the inn, and the church, as well as a couple down by the bridge over the water. Only the pub and the inn drew a crowd at this hour. The rest of the merchant shops were closed up and locked. The open-air markets were packed up and dismantled for the night. The appointed time arrived to unwind and relax from a hard day of work, or in some cases an easy day of fishing.

  Trestan readied himself for the night’s entertainment. He bathed in a metal tub located in the small yard between his house and the smithy. Heated rocks from the forge warmed the water and fended off chills. He loved taking a long bath out under the open sky. The shops on either side had no windows into this yard, and the smithy had a back wall blocking the view from the street. The young smith scrubbed his best to remove the soot and sweat from his body. He even had a cracked mirror and smithy-made scissors to trim his mustache a bit. There was a decent cake of soap handy, supplied by Mikhael and the dry goods store. As much as possible, he scrubbed off every layer of black soot.

  By the time he finished, he was dressed in his good tunic. He had worked hard to keep soot and dirt off of it during the years he had worn it around the yard. The shirt was a light green color, made with good quality dyes, and excellent stitching compared to his other two shirts. He wore a spare pair of trousers, which didn’t fit his father anymore. These trousers also looked better due to less patches. The simple length of rope still did the job of a belt well enough. He didn’t have a spare set of shoes, so he’d tried to clean his off as best as he could. He admired himself in the mirror, satisfied that a clean face finally showed instead of a dirty one. His outer appearance hadn’t changed that much, but he looked clean. Some of his nails were still stained dark, but a good shade of pink returned to them again. Working over forge and iron was dirty work.

  He finished his preparations and headed toward the inn. Trestan and Petrow tried to enjoy several nights out a week, though the location differed depending on the mood. Although the pub was known to be more of a drinking atmosphere, sometimes the inn was preferred for the food or the chance to meet out-of-towners. He and Petrow looked forward to a possible meeting with that mysterious rider. There had been other rumors to suggest the inn might be a little livelier this night. Trestan learned from his father that a small group of adventurers had ridden into town after the smithy closed. His father had gotten the spooks from one of them: very large, and seemed to wear a horned helmet…or possibly had horns. Trestan discounted the horns as being anything but a helmet decoration. Adventurers always proved to be interesting. They often brought tales with them, many hard to believe, and sometimes paid extravagantly for their meals and drinks. Sometimes a minstrel accompanied such bands, and would provide extra entertainment for the locals. The evening promised to be an engaging one however it ended.

  When the young smith crossed the street, his eye caught sight of three riders down to the south by the bridge. A glance told him Lady Shauntay and her escorts were enjoying an evening ride, which was certainly not something that her mother would have approved. They laughed and talked, giggling voices of the younger two carrying slightly through the darkened end of the main street. Sahbin rode composed and quiet. The three women wheeled their horses to the south and galloped over the bridge into the woods on the other side of the river. Sounds of merriment came from inside the inn, so the young man didn’t stay outside for long.

  The Fishing Hole Inn was the only inn located in Troutbrook, and it prospered. The road the village sat on ran from the large capital city of Kashmer on the north coast down to Dunker Keep on the southern border. Travelers headed north or south along the main road stopped at this inn. Travelers included merchant caravans or messengers, and occasionally adventurers would pass by for a variety of reasons. Soldiers used the road as well, patrolling the land or replacing guards at Dunker Keep. When unoccupied by travelers, the inn still did business as a place where you could buy a good meal at a reasonable price without having to cook it yourself. People came to drink at night and smoke pipes. Not a very different atmosphere than the local pub, except much quieter due to possible sleeping guests upstairs. The village was small and social enough that just about everyone recognized everyone else. A grand hearth marked a part of the common room where storytellers or the rare performer could entertain. A bar ran along the opposite wall. Along each of the walls were boards etched with the records of the biggest fish caught in the nearby brook. Even though many residents of the town weren’t very literate, anyone seemed able to read the length and weight of the prize fish catches.

  Trestan entered and scanned the common room. As he looked around all he could really make out was the familiar faces of the village. More than a few waved or greeted him with words. Even as Trestan walked in, however, a few comments came from some of the men old enough to see him grow from a baby.

  “Hey Trestan! A few coppers for your thoughts! Maybe three loopy ones?”

  “Were you trying to impress the woman lad, or impress her horse?”

  “He was after the horse. After the wedding they can ride into the sunset together!”

  “You forgot to give that horse some copper shoes to match the hair decorations!”

  “Boy, I always imagined you wanted to get below a woman’s beltline…but I didn’t figure you were aiming low enough to hit the horse she rode.”

  Trestan rolled his eyes. Much as he wanted entertainment, it seemed he was the choice of amusement for the night. Part of him tried figuring how much had been passed along by his father, and how much spread by his best friend. In either case, he hoped the merriment would die down sooner rather than later.

  After exchanging polite salutations of his own he finally saw his friend Petrow at the far side of the bar. The place the handyman stood in was significant, as anyone coming down the stairs from the rooms would have to squeeze by that spot. Petrow even made sure he had a seat open on both sides of him. One was obviously for Trestan, and the young smith guessed the other was in the hopes of one of the strangers stopping there for a drink. The bar was crowded. The odds favored someone looking for a drink stepping up to the bar next to them, especially after coming downstairs from a room. Many times a female guest would brush against the young men while ordering a drink and a pleasant conversation would start.

  The young smith sat down next to the village handyman, noting his blue-eyed friend wore a big smile and tried hard to contain laughter. Trestan ordered a drink, whispering to Petrow, “Oh, one day I’ll get you back somehow. Don’t doubt it for one minute. Now wipe that smile off your face and let me in on anything you’ve seen or heard already.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen the dark lady we saw riding in, but this is what I heard so far,” Petrow stated, finally getting control of a straight face. “The lady rider has ventured down to the common room a few times, glanced around for a bit, and then went back up to her room. Her room faces the street out front, and she’s been seen looking out the window quite often. She hasn’t been down since the other three arrived, all of whom look to be adventurers as well from what I’ve seen. The men around the bar here were also quite taken in by her good looks, but I’m hoping she finds this empty chair next to me. It’s been a good spot in the past.”

  Petrow continued after taking a swig. “I saw the other three nonetheless, and one of them must have been hit with the ugly stick. They weren’t a pretty spectacle, however; you’ve been the only thing worth a good laugh so far.” Trestan rolled his eyes again, noting the occasio
nal comments regarding him were still being whispered in parts of the room. Petrow continued, “Those three weren’t kind at all, though one spoke eloquently enough. I guess I’ll describe him first. He must be a magic user. He had a decorated staff, several pouches attached to his belt, a bandolier and a simple dagger. No armor either, just robes. Full-blooded elf, I think. Wiry fellow, but his eyes…looking into his eyes for a short period is like looking into something forbidden. We had brief eye contact, and I found myself quickly averting my eyes. Oh, and silver-colored hair too, long and braided like a girl.”

  Trestan interrupted, “That doesn’t sound like the one hit by the ugly stick.”

  “Nay, I’m saving that one for last,” the smith grunted as his friend continued. “The one I could tell was human also didn’t wear any armor. In fact, his silk shirt opened wide at the chest. Yellowish skin, slanted eyes, maybe Tariykan or such. Held a strange weapon, a handle and bent blade, with a length of chain wrapped around the handle. He sort of glided across the floor, more like some kind of graceful dance than a walk.”

  “Ok, ok…tell me about the ugly one! Father said one wore horns or something, was that him?”

  Petrow took another drink before he talked again. “Aye, that odd one, most likely to scare you to death in a dark alley. A cloak covered most of his face and body. There was a lot of him that needed covering as well! Probably stood over eight feet tall and bent over to walk through the door. Biggest axe you ever saw on his back! I couldn’t tell you whether his bull-like horns are from a helmet or if he really has horns on his head, the cloak partly covered them. He gave me the shivers.”

  The smith also took a drink and confronted his friend, “Wait a moment, you are talking about this being an ugly one, and you didn’t even see his face?”

  “I didn’t need to see it! Even when they walked by me to go upstairs I got the impression I better not take a peek either. I kept my eyes on the bar and pretended I wasn’t even noticing them. But that one was tall, and he reeked. He had a musky smell, if nothing else he needed a proper bath. Why was he all covered up? If you ask me he’s probably an ugly sight to behold. I could see one set of fingers as he held his cloak. Dark skin color, thicker fingers than a human. By the way, those fellers didn’t stay upstairs for long before coming back down. Both times that they walked through this common room the conversation took a dive only to liven up afterwards. So, despite the late hour they are back out on the streets for some reason.”

  Trestan got few more details from Petrow, but only guesses about where the adventurers were going or why they here. The two parties had stayed separate, and none of the outsiders had talked any more than necessary. Noting the two sets of adventurers both came from the south caused rumors. Then again, there really were only two directions anyone came from in order to arrive in the village, unless they stumbled out of the wilds. As the two young friends socialized over drinks, Trestan noticed a figure creeping down the stairs.

  * * * * *

  The lady rider stood on the lower steps of the stairs, only a few steps away from their spot at the bar. The two young friends usually heard creaking stairs when someone came down to the commons area, despite the other distracting noises from the other patrons. The lone adventuress had snuck down to the very bottom without making a sound and was surveying the common room. The seriousness of her gaze betrayed strong determination to find someone…or something? Trestan gave Petrow a slight nudge. The young jack-of-all-trades took up the hint and turned to view the stairs.

  She wore no helmet now, thus offering the first good view of her head and face. The two young men sat transfixed in order to drink in her image: raven black tresses, searching green eyes, and the slightly angular face and ears betraying elvish blood. She wore the same dark leather, form-fitting armor. It could do more than just protect her, possibly tempt or distract men by hinting at a very fine feminine anatomy underneath. The silver-tinged rapier hung at her side, and the polished basket of the hilt reflected a dance of candle lights. In Troutbrook, no restrictions were placed on personal arms or armor, for one was expected the right to defend themselves. The weapon drew more attention from Trestan than it did from Petrow, as the smith studied the work and care that had gone into it. Some creatures of myth could only be slain by weapons of silver; few people but nobles and adventurers actually had the money and reason to buy such a weapon. Now that the men had a closer look, Trestan also noticed the pommel of her sword was shaped as the head of a hunting cat baring its teeth. The rapier displayed grace and danger, a trait it shared with its eye-catching wielder. For a long breath the young men sat entranced at her face and figure. The beauty of the prettiest local girls seemed rather homely in the face of this unknown, dangerous and exotic woman of adventure. At some point as they studied her, they realized she studied them as well. Her eyes fixed on them, without any visible offense at their stares. Instead, she unexpectedly turned her lips into a smile and approached. The dark lady took the open seat next to Petrow for herself, but said nothing. It played like a game. The adventuress sat there smiling quietly, waiting for them to initiate the first words. Trestan wouldn’t have been surprised if she planned to sit there in silence for some time waiting for them to open their mouths.

  Petrow bravely seized his chance to impress her. His hands gestured openly in friendship, putting his best charm into his voice. “Greetings fair maiden, you must have traveled far. Let the dust of the road be washed away by the fine vintages we might offer you here. As two of the members of the village’s appointed welcoming group, I invite you to have fun and share tales whilst you visit our town.”

  Her smile widened as she responded. Her voice proved teasingly pleasant, though this was no maiden tittering with girlish laughter. Trestan heard something in her tone that suggested she could sweet talk one minute and give iron commands in the next breath. She spoke with a warm and confidant nature, “Pleasant evening to you, good sirs. It is a delight indeed to dwell with some cheery company after riding the miles to get here. You are the welcoming group you say? Are you here to tend to my needs and make me feel at home?”

  Petrow nodded, “Aye fine lady, we are yours to serve.”

  Her expression changed to amusement. “Well, good sirs, I’m surprised this small village can afford the eighteen of them that have greeted me so far.”

  The sound of Trestan actually snorting in laughter quickly deflated Petrow’s smile. Petrow tried his best to humbly nod defeat to the traveler, then tried to keep the conversation flowing. “Nevertheless, we are at your disposal. Indulge us with a tale or two and we shall share some tales of our own. May we get you a drink and hear what brings you through our quiet town?”

  “I’m wondering if you saw the other travelers in the village. They might have entered here earlier by the sound of it. Allow me to buy you the drinks in appreciation for being my eyes and ears.”

  Petrow and Trestan preferred the gentlemanly role, but the strange lady favored some of the finer vintages and actually had the silver to pay for it. The bartender had a few dusty bottles of renowned wines aging on his shelf, having seen many a night without a traveler having the taste or money to spend on them. The two young men knew of them and had wondered what their taste might be like, and before they realized it the lady specifically called for one of those rare bottles. Trestan savored his first taste of really good wine, and he didn’t even know the name of this traveler who so freely gave to a couple of young strangers. It was past time that proper introductions should be made.

  “My thanks, milady. My name is Trestan Karok and this is my friend, Petrow. Both born and raised here, yet never have we enjoyed such a sweet drink and generous company. May we have the pleasure of knowing who to thank for the fine drink?”

  She brushed her hair back from her alluring green eyes, nestling the strands behind her slightly pointed ears. “My name is Katressa Bilil, though many call me Cat.” Trestan self-consciously glanced at the rapier’s pommel as she answered. The growling
lion stared back at him. She caught his glance. “Aye, I do admire wild hunting cats. The sword was custom made for me.”

  Trestan was leaning against Petrow to hear their guest over the other noises in the common room. Petrow was actually a little jealous, but Trestan and he always competed for the attractive ladies. Petrow decided to steal the conversation to a different topic, one that would put him back in the spotlight with this lady adventuress. “You wanted to know about any strangers? Well, it just so happens that three others entered the village this day and are staying here. They checked in and went up to their rooms, but then came back down and went back into the street. I haven’t seen them coming or going for some time now.”

  A puzzled look came over her expression. “Only three? I seek four: two males, a woman, and a…an ‘It’?”

  Petrow and Trestan almost felt the room get colder when she described one as ‘It’. They looked at Cat in their own puzzled expressions, but she waited patiently for them to respond. The village handyman ventured a better description of the group, “We saw an elf male, a human male, and…a horned ‘It’, but nay woman. Other than you that is, though lovely swordmaidens as fine as you seldom graces these parts.”

  Katressa laughed again. The young men certainly enjoyed her company. She smiled easily, presented a fine sight to the eyes, and seemed more social than they would have guessed earlier. “You never quit, do you Petrow? The woman I speak off wears armor much darker than mine.” Cat’s visage turned serious as she continued, “You’ll know her when you see her cold eyes and dismally decorated armor. But you’ve told me what I needed to know already. So, as the latest welcoming committee to have an interest in my welfare here, tell me a bit about the village and the area.”

  The young men looked at each other with a smile. Certainly this would be an entertaining night! They didn’t know why she shadowed this group, and from what little they knew it sounded dangerous to mess in anyone’s business. Nevertheless, they lost themselves in the fun of the moment. Katressa stayed and chatted for a decent part of the evening. She even favored that they call her Cat. She warmed up to them, and they stayed glued to her every word. They found out she was indeed a half-elf, and from her stories of far-off places it was obvious she traveled a lot. She told them more than they had ever known about the city of Kashmer to the north. Although it was considered the ruling capital of their lands neither young man had ever been there. The port city of Kashmer had its own king and government; it also exercised some rule over the nearby towns and villages in an agreement that satisfied mutual protection and strengthened trade. Troutbrook generally earned much from caravans, while the military arm of the city protected the borders of the civilized areas from less friendly inhabitants. The two young men heard about other kingdoms and cities as well, including elvish lands they didn’t know existed. Sometimes the conversation blended with jokes, disagreements on whether the drinks they had went better with crackers or bread, and sometimes they seemed to laugh over nothing. The two young men didn’t find out much more about why she traveled or what kind of life she lived. Trestan and Petrow enjoyed simply talking with her.