by Alex Aguilar
John couldn’t help but smirk. He had a certain liking towards Hudson, despite his own bad decisions, for he always seemed to have a good point or at least make a solid argument for one. But the baffled look on the thief’s face was laughable. He looked like a nervous child all of a sudden, a rascal being lectured by his mother. And John found it amusing to see that side of him, to see that the man was not always faultless.
“Well I’m not some old wench, sonny. I am Miss Rayna and this is my tavern,” Miss Rayna said boldly. “First of all, one of those raiders happens to be my son Grum. And yes, he does love gold and sex. And someday either one of those will probably be the death of ‘im. But he ‘n’ his friends are no threat to me. And the orc sitting over in that corner does want to kill the elf. You would too if the elf owed you fifty coppers and you saw him here drinking ‘n’ pissing his money away.” Spit.
Hudson cleared his throat embarrassingly, removed his elbow from the bar, and changed his stance, realizing his leverage in the situation was gone.
“Anythin’ you say to me, I can probably tell you a story that can match it,” Miss Rayna said. “Seems ‘bout an average night ‘round these parts. I’m here to sell them drinks, I’m no threat to them… They can do to each other as they damn well please so long as they don’t cross me.”
“What makes you think they won’t?” Hudson tried to challenge her. “Having one raider son isn’t much protection.”
“I’ve two sons. You passed my son Edmund on your way in.” Spit.
At that moment, the music stopped. The twitching goblin by the door hopped over the wooden table and began attacking a blue-skinned elf across from him. The mumbling throughout the place lowered down to soft hums as many turned their heads at the commotion. The goblin’s eyes were dark and bloodshot, the red spindle inadequately taking its toll on him in a way that it didn’t do with humans. He was vicious, angry, raging mad, biting at the air as the elf held him by the neck.
The chair suddenly slid and they both fell back.
Miss Rayna then rolled her eyes and exhaled sharply. “Edmund!!” she shouted, with a demeanor so calm that it made John wonder if fights like these were more common than they seemed.
Upon hearing the name, the tavern door swung open.
A massive arm reached in and pulled the goblin off the elf.
John’s mouth dropped… Edmund, the ogre, dragged the goblin out of the tavern and then closed the wooden door. For a moment, everyone in the tavern could hear the goblin shrieking outside, followed by the snapping of a neck, the squelching of flesh, and the ogre’s grunts as he began chewing.
The sounds were haunting…
But Miss Rayna cleared her throat casually and then the bard started singing again, picking up exactly where she’d left off in the song. And the rest of the guests carried on drinking and laughing as if nothing had just happened.
“I’m sorry,” Hudson said, somewhat nervously. “Your other son is… an ogre?”
“One doesn’t have to be related to an infant to be its mother,” Miss Rayna grinned. “And, by the way… Good news for you and your friends, sonny. It seems a room’s just opened up.” She held up an old key made of copper, before spitting into her vase once again.
Hudson took the key hesitantly. “Don’t do that. That’s disgusting, y’know,” he said, referring to the spitting, knowing very well that Syrena was certainly grinning behind him.
John handed the woman the 10 coppers, and then the elf girl Kiira guided them towards the rickety spiraling stairs. The room itself was rather small, but Kiira moved a few things around and made enough room for all three bedspreads. John sunk into one of them, rested his back against the cloth, but could feel the cold hard wood beneath it. There was a lit candle on a sole wooden stand that only had room to hold one tankard of ale at a time.
After about ten seconds in the room, Hudson felt confined and crowded.
“Don’t know about the two of you but I’m heading down for a drink.”
“Please don’t go looking for trouble,” Syrena said, sitting in one of the bedspreads.
“No trouble,” Hudson replied with a smirk. “Don’t mind me, love… I’ve had a rather rough couple of days, what with the dungeon escape, the attacks, and a stupid farmer guilting me into staying on this deemed-to-fail journey.”
John was standing just feet from the thief, but he may as well have been on the other side of Gravenstone. For the last couple of days he’d done that, talked as if John wasn’t there. But rather than be insulted, the farmer was starting to find his banter somewhat amusing.
“Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t feel the need to wind down, darling.”
“Not now,” Syrena said. “Maybe later.”
“Suit yourself,” the thief said. “If I don’t come back up within the hour, I’m either dead or drunk. Either way, don’t disturb me.” He took a step towards the outside.
“Hudson?”
The thief stopped in his tracks.
John sat up, reached into his pocket, and tossed a silver coin into the air.
Hudson caught it just in time and then froze, his brow raised with confusion.
“For your drinks,” John gave him a nod. “As a ‘thank you’…”
Hudson didn’t know what to say. He waited a few seconds before the discomfort overtook him and he left the room without speaking a word. And then John and Syrena gave each other a glance during that moment of silence.
“He’ll warm up,” the witch said with a friendly grin. “Give ‘im time.”
John smiled and rested his back against the bedspread again. Downstairs, they could hear the orc girl playing and singing a fast-paced rendition of The Tale of Jonah ‘Peg-leg’ Roderick. After what seemed like an hour inside of the tavern, John began to enjoy the music and the ambiance of the place. As odd as it was, he felt less out of place than he did when he first stepped in. He began to see the appeal that Miss Rayna must have felt upon deciding to stay and live there.
“Is this always what it’s like out here?” John asked, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
“Always,” Syrena replied softly. “The names ‘n’ faces change, but the life is all the same.”
John smiled. The witch was at home, he knew, and for a moment he almost envied her for the amount of freedom that seemed to exist out here.
“Well… Almost the same,” Syrena added. “It’s not every day you meet a woman who names her birth son Grum and her adopted ogre son Edmund.”
They laughed together. And John felt a sudden warmth in his chest. He didn’t have many friends in Vallenghard, outside of his family and his casual acquaintances in Elbon.
Is this what it’s like? He wondered. To have friends?
He kept smiling. It gave him joy to know there existed a place like this, so vastly different. A place where humans and elves and orcs and gnomes could all share a drink and a laugh, so affably and neighborly. It was different and refreshing. It was thrilling.
“John?” Syrena called for him.
“Hmm?”
“Have you any more coin?”
“Sure…”
“D’you, uh,” she cleared her throat. “D’you want to go join Hudson for a round?”
John sighed, his lips still locked in a grin. “Hell, I’ll join him for two.”
* * *
Sir Darryk Clark of Roquefort sat uncomfortably in the king’s chair, feeling more overwhelmed and unprepared than he did upon accepting such responsibility from the king himself.
He was the Lord Regent of Val Havyn now… Yet he had no support, no guidance, and he hardly knew anyone in the city that he could rely on. He’d sent a raven to his father in Roquefort but assumed he was far too busy making preparations for his fleet to make sail.
He was alone… And the thought of it was unnerving…
The velvet patterns on the assembly room walls, the silver crown on his head, even the cushion on his chair felt unfamiliar to him, and the map of Val Havyn on
the table even more so… he may as well have been looking at a map of some distant city in Ahari or Qamroth.
“How many sets of gates?” he asked.
“Three, my lord,” said the sweaty guard to his left, pointing to the map with his finger. “The central gates are located in the south, in front of Merchants’ Square. The eastern and western gates are much smaller, and they remain closed unless otherwise requested.”
“And in the north?”
“The guard barracks, my lord. There are gates there but no roads, only the creek surrounding it.”
“Very well,” Darryk said. “Post three men at every gate, except for the barracks.”
“Three, my lord?” asked the husky guard to his right.
Darryk cringed, though he wasn’t entirely sure if it was due to the guard’s breath or if it was due to hearing them address him as ‘Lord’. It was certainly a title he dreamed of having one day, though not quite yet and definitely not in a city unknown to him.
“We’ve only 25 men at our disposal, gentlemen,” Darryk said sternly. “And this city is far too grand for only 25 men, we all know it. Post three men at every city gate and three on every palace gate. The rest will be placed on patrol duty, covering different sectors of the city.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“As for you two… I need one of you to draft a notice for hire. We need more soldiers and we need them now, while the peace remains.”
“We’re to hire… peasants, my lord?” asked the husky guard.
“W-What my companion means to say,” added the sweaty one, “Is that inexperienced men won’t make for suitable members of the royal guard.”
“Then you’ll train them.”
“Yes… with all due respect, my lord… with what?”
Darryk gave him a perplexed glance.
“I’m afraid we are rather short of weaponry and equipment, what with the impending battle and all. The king’s troops stripped the barracks nearly clean. There’s hardly anything left.”
“Then we purchase more.”
“The king’s trusted blacksmith was Mister Thaddeus Rexx, my lord… But I’m afraid he’s recently ventured out of the city. No one has seen or heard from him. His shop’s being looked after by his apprentices. But, if I may be honest, they’re both rubbish.”
Darryk took a moment to think it through. Already, he could feel the tension in the back of his neck growing, aching at him, wearing him down. The two guards that had been assigned to him looked just as out of place as he did, if not more. And it somewhat eased his nerves a bit to know he wasn’t the only one that felt unprepared.
“Very well,” he said to the husky guard, trying his best to appear confident and lord-like. “You draft the notice for hire.”
“Yes, my lord,” the guard replied and left the room.
“And you,” Darryk turned to the sweatier guard. “I have a special task for you… What did you say your name was?”
“Hektor, my lord,” the guard answered tensely. “Pardon me. If I may I ask… Who is to be appointed knight commander, now that Sir… Um… Now that Viktor Crowley is no longer with us?”
Darryk raised a brow. “I thought you were commanding the troop…”
“Well I am, my lord,” Hektor said. “But only because I was the highest-ranking soldier left behind. Normally the position is held by… well, a knight.”
Darryk sighed and gave him a nod. “Well… You’ve been doing a fair job so far. We’ll have to make do for now. Desperate times and all that.”
Hektor closed his eyes and nodded affably, as if honored to be trusted with such a task, even if indirectly. “I will serve you to the death, my lord…”
“Thank you, Hektor,” Darryk said, and then his expression shifted to a more honest and concerned one. “Now… Please tell me you know of at least one decent blacksmith in this damned city…”
* * *
The hammer struck down on the anvil, sending pulsating rings into the air as Evellyn Amberhill held up the sizzling steel and examined it closely, feeling the warmth radiating from it.
She smiled… It was one of her best works, that sword…
So many hours of labor, it felt almost a shame to have to sell it. The problem was you couldn’t survive off steel. If you could, the Amberhill family wouldn’t be going hungry the way they so often did.
Little Alycia stepped out of the house, a stained apron wrapped neatly around her waist. “Supper’s ready,” she said.
Evellyn shot her sister a smile. “I’ll be in soon.” She wiped the sweat from her face and untied the lace holding her messy bun in place. A tumbling wave of red fell down to her shoulders and back; under the afternoon sun, it glistened like fire. She set the hammer down and hauled a bucket of water towards the sizzling sword.
She was laboriously focused, as she always was with any of her work.
Too focused to notice the two men standing just outside the old wooden fence surrounding her wielding yard. One of them was dressed in tarnished guard’s armor. The other was wearing a silver crown, small but sophisticated, and dressed in a rich blue tunic embroidered with a gold design on the sleeves and edges. His pants and boots however, were not nearly as elegant.
The man wasn’t from Val Havyn, it was obvious… His skin was brown like cinnamon, his black hair short and curly, his hands and face rough and scarred and callused. Such was the image of a warrior, not a nobleman. And the expression on his face certainly made it clear that he preferred to be in a field instead of lounging about in a palace.
“Pardon our intrusion, miss?” the man said.
Evellyn turned to them suddenly, confused and thrown aback.
“Good day,” she said with a forced bow. “May I help you?”
“Yes, miss. May I speak with your master?”
Evellyn fought back the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she picked up the hammer and began slamming it onto the sword again. Not that the sword needed more work, but speaking to nobles always made her uncomfortable and so she often found the first thing to keep her occupied to avoid looking into their patronizing eyes.
“I’ve no master,” she spoke over the sound of ringing steel. “Only my father.”
“May we speak with him, then?”
She paused, hammer in midair, and turned back to them with a mild scowl.
“He’s resting… If you wish to purchase something, you can speak to me.”
“Very well,” the man cleared his throat somewhat tautly. “Have you any armor at your disposal? We’re looking to purchase.”
“And who’re you?” she asked.
The man cleared his throat again.
“Sir Darryk Clark of Roquefort,” he said. “Appointed Lord Regent of Val Havyn.”
“Sir Darryk Clark?” she asked. “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of you, m’lord.”
“Nor should I expect you to have heard of me,” he smiled, a warm smile, like an outsider looking to make a friend. “I hear your father is among the best blacksmiths in the city.”
“He is,” she nodded. “Or was, rather… For now, it’s only me.”
“Very well. How many pieces of armor have you for sale?”
She hesitated for a moment. Nobles made her uncomfortable, all right. But Sir Darryk’s demeanor was far more amiable than she would have expected. It became clear to her that the man was not the average noble. In fact, had he not been wearing the crown and the tunic, he could almost pass for a peasant. Almost... If peasants could only speak as elegantly as he did…
She set the hammer down again and sunk the tip of the sword into the bucket of water to cool it down. Then she approached the wooden fence, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Overall?” she said. “Twelve pieces of chest armor, fourteen sets of gauntlets and boot plates, and nine helmets, all of it the finest steel in Val Havyn.”
“Not better than Kahrran steel, I’m sure,” Hektor remarked.
“We don’t live in Kahrr, sir.”
&nb
sp; Hektor shut right back up and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Sir Darryk gave her a head nod and a friendly grin. “How about weapons?”
“Plenty,” she smiled. “Nineteen sets of swords and shields. Working on a twentieth now.”
“Good,” he replied. “What was your name?”
“Evellyn Amberhill, sir.”
“We’ll take it all, Miss Amberhill…”
Her eyes widened. Her heart began racing. “I’m sorry… all?”
Sir Darryk Clark examined the wielding yard. Most of the equipment was old and worn down, but it seemed reasonably durable. And the equipment had little to do with anything, it was the craft of the blacksmith that mattered. He gave Hektor a head nod, and the guard reached into his heavy satchel and pulled out an overflowing sack made of neat leather.
“1,000 yuhn in silver and copper for all of it,” Darryk said. “I can have a few men come and gather the equipment within the hour. Do we have an accord?”
“Y-Yes… yes!” Evellyn said, still unsure if the man was playing some sort of trick on her.
But there was no trick… The guard handed her the heavy sack, and it nearly fell off her hands from the weight. Darryk gave her a smile.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now… Should we require more, can we count on you to continue providing us with the necessary gear?”
“You can count on me, m’lord!” she smiled.
“A pleasure doing business with you…”
And that was that. The two men walked away, leaving Evellyn alone in her wielding yard with more coin than she had earned in the past two seasons combined. In a matter of minutes, the Amberhill family had enough to feed themselves for a month and still have plenty left over.
“Evellyn?” a soft voice called.
“What?” she turned around, still staggered and overjoyed.
“Soup’s getting cold,” her sister said.
Evellyn smiled. “You have it,” she said as she approached the house. “I’m going to head to the bakery and fetch us some fresh bread.”
Alycia’s jaw dropped at the sight of the coin.