by Sam Sea
“He is my friend. And I once trusted him with my life. He was a different man while your mother was alive.”
The squire nodded his head. “When do you think we should head home?”
“Tonight, right after the fight…”
“I do not think we should not stay overnight, not even stop in the tavern.”
“Yes, you are right. Straight after the fight, we ride home, and we do not stop until we get there. I do not like those people…”
“I neither…”
“In the meantime, the gold should go inside the bags. Keep your legs on them at all times.”
“Don’t worry about that. They’ll have to kill me to get to it.”
That same evening he was lead to a farm house a few miles outside the city. The oversized barn seemed to have been converted to a fighting arena, with three floors covered in stands and crowded with people whispering and betting.
He seized it all in a single glance as he walked inside the pit. Three men, one taller than him while other two were a head smaller but cunning, were already there waiting for him. One of them had a net and a spear, the giant had an oversized axe which could chop a mature tree with a single stroke, and the third one two short swords which he made dance in his hands to the cheering crowds.
Ronnich did not mind fighting without the protection of the armor. Most of his life he spent without them, and their constrains would not slow him down anymore.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Carti called on to him from behind. “We can still return the gold and ride now…”
“Don’t worry… They do not look that tough.”
He saw everything inside his head even before the drum beat it single time. As they started to circle him, he threw his sword into the giant’s belly, and as two of his comrades watched him fall down, he flew few steps toward the man with the spear, jumped over him, and then wrapping him inside his own net, throwing him to the feet of the third fighter. The taken spear was then thrown at the third fighter, and if he was not fast enough, he would had been gutted as well. But he jumped to a side, and Ronnich ran forward, picking his sword out of the giant’s belly and using it to slice a fierce blow across the man’s chest, sending him to dirt. As the other man fought his way out of the nest his back met Ronnich’s boot, and he went face down to the ground again.
It was all over so fast that those people who had to turn around and take their eyes away from the pit for a few seconds would have not seen it happen at all.
The crowd was still frozenly quiet as Ronnich walked over to foxy eyed man and asked for his bag of gold.
The man, open-mouthed, had nothing to say but extend his hand with the gold purse. He made for the gate, and the crowd suddenly circled him. Only one of them was brave enough to come close enough to rub his shoulder as he leaned to whisper something into his ear.
“Don’t let them suck you into these games of theirs… You are worth so much more.” The hooded man had hard presence and could not be pushed away. Ronnich looked under his hood and saw it was none other than the man he defeated in the arena that same day, the Crown Prince Bartolomizus. “If you need more gold, I will be glad to give it to you. And offer you service in the King’s Guards. Man of your skill deserves nothing less.”
“I appreciate that, my Lord,” Ronnich answered him with a thankful voice, “But you see, I am here only for a day, and have to return to my forest and the wife I left behind. But thank you sincerely for your concern and your offer.”
The Crown Prince nodded his head. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me,” he told him as he pulled away and got lost in the crowd.
“We have another proposal for you…”
“No, I am not interested in your proposals anymore… Our business dealings have ended.” He interrupted the small man.
“But we can offer you so much more, women… gold, fame, anything you want…” the man said.
“Not interested.” Ronnich was already hugging the horse and the rains his quire had guarded them for him.
“But you have not even heard our proposal…” the man protested.
“Not interested,” he answered as he lead his horse forward.
Somewhere in the back of the crowd, the crown prince smiled in approval.
Later when the last of the spectators had left the farm, two men stood face to each other.
“He turned us down… very unusual…”
“Yes, now, I want him more than ever before. He would be perfect for us…”
“You really think so?”
“Yes.. Everyone would admire him; they would fear him and follow him to death itself… He is perfect.”
“But how do we get him to work for us?”
“That’s not that hard. We need to find out what he loves… there must be a thing he loves above everything else. Certainly it is not gold or treasure…Then we threaten to take it away from him. We’ll see if he comes to us then or not. He’ll be ours, I’m sure…”
C
hapter 8 – The Sick Boy
"That is just not fair!" Lott’s raised voice was met by a very loud approval of five others who shared his wooden tavern table.
"You damn right it isn't!" The oldest of them, the one with half of his face covered by a long white beard, stood up and raised an oversized clay mug in such a violent notion as to spill foaming ale all over his thick woolen coat. "It is not fair they take half of what we owe! How are we to make a living of it? And I say ‘enough’! We need to do something about that!"
But the approval and the encouragement to continue on he found none. Almost all of the men sitting with him suddenly started to anxiously turn around as if their seats suddenly included nails.
The tavern of The Two Horses was almost completely deserted. Even the table where a few minutes ago two clergymen were having their breakfast was vacant of everything other than their dirty plates left behind.
The inn keeper seemed to have disappeared somewhere to the kitchen whose door had not been opened since the last time they were served ale.
The fire that still burned hot an hour ago in the grey-stoned fireplace big enough to hide a grown man had lost most of it coziness, and only tiny dying flames remained
The mood outside was not any better. The late fall sky depressing gray veil has not been lifted and drops of chilling rain had started to sprinkle naked branches of an old oak tree outside tavern’s dirty windows. It seemed capable to continue drizzling all day long.
"You are right, but..." one of the man started to talk but in a voice loud enough only to surpass a whisper. "…We don't want any trouble. So we pay whatever we have to."
“It’s all because we are all from Wier Woods. That is why they treat us like this. Pay for this and pay for that, wait here for this permit, and wait here for that one. It isn’t fair!”
"Oh, it's getting late." Ronnich stood up, ducking his head inside the coat that he started to button up. "If I am to meet the river ferry before the sundown, I better put the road below the wheels of my cart."
"Yes, without a horse and with all the mud on the road, you'll be lucky to get there before dark. And with all the talk about robbers…"
"Ahhh... He has plenty of time. Days are still long now. Besides, taking our money to pay for guarding the road, I think it is all just about taking our money. I haven’t been robbed in over five years now!" The old man was not ready to give up on his company, although he set down with most of the rebellious vigor gone from his words.
"It's easy for you to say, Ortak, you've already sold your leather, and have stashed your gold somewhere safe. I still have to go to Vasili and see what awaits for me there. The way you are all talking, it seems I cannot expect anything good. I will be lucky to get the same price for my fur as I did last year," Ronnich explained.
“Yeah, your luck seemed to have never been worse. We all know how bad you had it during the last five years, ever since you came from Three Rivers…”
“Please don’t remind me…”
“First you lose your heard to wolves, then…”
“Those were not wolves, I’m telling you people…”
“Yes, we believe you, but there is nobody there that listens.”
"And now with the king being sick, he doesn't see anybody. All the power over taxes has been given to his finance minister...He can do to us all he wants. That is not fair."
"What, I didn't know the king was sick?" Ronnich inquired.
"Really? Everyone has been talking about it for the last ten days. Something very strange, nobody knows what it is…"
“It almost sounds like what your boy has…”
"But at least he can afford a good medicine man, not like me…"
“Poor Ronnich…” somebody utter from behind.
Those were bad news. If the king was sick, everyone would be scared in anticipation of what will happen next. And scared people certainly don’t spend much money on fancy furs. Ronnich hoped it was not so bad as he hurried out of the Inn.
"That is all making me very nervous...” he said as he turned around toward them again. “I better make haste. Besides, an hour to the town market might stretch to more than a day if I stay here and have another pint with all of you." He finished by dropping a coin on the table.
“You do not need to do this, Ronnich, I will cover it this time. You did when you had full purse. And we all know how much you helped the whole village when you could.” The old man returned the dropped coin.
“Helped everyone you could…” Lott muttered silently. “Besides, you are right, who knows what you will get for your fur now?”
“Yes, it’s time to go…” Another man stood up. “We can talk more about this at Duck’s Place in a week when we all come home.”
“Yes, take your money, Ronnich. And if you do good, you can always buy a round at Duck’s then. With a sick child at home, you better keep all the coins. Besides, how is he doing? I heard the fever is not letting him go?”
“He is… slightly better now.”
“Hope he gets really well really soon. There is always an expensive medicine you can buy for him in the town. If you miss a coin, let us know. We will be glad to help.”
“Yes, we will…” they all answered jointly.
“Yes, that is why I am heading there now. It seems not much is really helping him.”
“Well, they have all sorts of medicine there, but it is expensive. Hope you get a good price for you fur… and like we said, we’ll all help if we can.”
“Thank you. Well, hope to see you then all in good health soon…” Ronnich nodded his head toward the others, accepting their good-luck wishes and headed toward the door. He was almost completely dried, and warmed up after spending the last night outside below his cart. His original plans were not to even enter the tavern and part away with any of his money, but then one of the man from his village noticed him and called him in.
A few hours he spent inside, he realized, he could not bring back. The thought of his sick boy hurried his step.
Outside everything seemed quiet. The road, on both sides, seemed deserted. He lowered his head and put his arms to the cart that waited for him besides the main entrance.
He tapped the pocket next to his heart. The paper was still there, with the names of medicine he should get from the town.
Pushed the cart forward made him think of the horse he sold five moons before.
As soon as I get a good coil, I’ll get a horse again, he promised himself as his muscles reminded him that he pushed the cart for too many hours already.
He thought that if he hurries, he can get to the town before noon and sell it all right away. He may even sell his cart. He still had all his father’s tools and it will not be difficult for him to build another one for the next year. That way he could move faster, maybe even catching up with his group as they make the river crossing before the night comes.
That sounded like a good plan, encouraging. He might even be back home in two days. His boy might feel better in three. How long did old Sal say that his boy had without the medicine…? Not more than a month-full at most? That was already three days ago. He would make it home on time. He was sure, he thought as the pain of pushing the cart for the last three days jolted his body. He accepted it, and pushed it away with the thought of his sick boy laying quietly inside his small bed.
Instead of going on the path along the river, Ronnich decided to take a shortcut. It should save him at least an hour, if not more. He hoped that the road through the forest, protected by the trees, was drier, less traveled and less muddy. He was mostly right.
Ronnich made a good speed until he hit the last steep slope through the pine forest. He knew exactly how it curved up for another two miles before reaching its highest peak. After passing the peak, it was all downhill then. An easy walk. The town of Chatters was just another hour away then. But he had to make that peak fast.
The road was empty but the rain has stopped, and he was sure that before too long he will run into others. He was right.
As he made the curve, through the mist of the forest he could see a short old man wearing a cloak that was once white being circled by three men, their swords waving all around him.
"Hey, what are you doing?" he yelled at them from the distance.
"Not your problem!” One of them yelled at him as Ronnich, leaving the cart behind, decided to approach them in haste.
“This concerns you not! You are better off just going back to where you came from,” the other one warned him as Ronnich would not stop.
After hearing those words, he gathered speed, breaking into a run. Three of them suddenly split up and decide to approach him all at once, flanking him from both sides.
"Or maybe we’ll can take care of you first, and then take care your cart as well. What is it that you have in there?"
“You do not even have any weapons on you?”
“I don’t need any with likes of you.”
He didn't wait for them to strike but went to the guy to his right. He picked the rock from the ground, and as the man raised his sword high above his head, he put that stone into his face turning it into a mash of blood and broken nose bones.
He jumped out of the way of sliding sword from the thug behind him, and as the man lost his balance for a second, he grabbed him, breaking his hand between his wrist and his elbow, and taking his sword to meet the iron of the attacker in the center.
As he stopped his blade above his head, he turned around by hundred eighty degrees and slammed the back of the sword against the man's unprotected head, sending him to the grass, face first.
He lazily went to the man with mashed face and picked the second sword in his hand.
“These here… “ he said looking at the swords he held in his hand. “These are good blades, too good for the likes of you. You better let me hold on to them, just in case, so nobody else gets hurt…” he told them as they tried to pick themselves up. “Now you better be gone before I show you what they can do to you…”
They ran toward the protection of the trees, screaming in pain and throwing threats at him to make themselves feel better. “We’ll get you for this… You have not seen the last of us! We’ll hunt you down like a dog!”
“And kill you!”
“Yes, we’ll kill you, you dog1” They yelled at Ronnich, and only hurried inside the protection of the trees after Ronnich made a few rapid steps toward them
Ronnich walked over to the old man who leaned on his unusually looking staff. Ronnich examined it for a long second. It was long, the dark brown color of the tree, yet made of which one he could not guess.
“What is an old man doing dressed in a priest’s robe and traveling all alone through this perilous forest?”
“Oh, young man,” the old man started to say, not taking the hood off that covered his face. “You see well. I am a priest. And I am old. And I thank you for your help. I travel to see your ailing king, but I will be glad to h
elp you pull that cart of yours to the town. There is still strength in my old bones… Now, what is the name that they call you by?”
The sun never came out, and the day remained gray as the clouds-overloaded sky seemed to mourn the ailing king whose future seemed as promising as those of blooming roses in the late autumn's chill.
As they entered into the town, Ronnich and the priest parted their ways with only slight nods of heads. Ronnich mid was already preoccupied and he moved fast to the market which seemed equally gloomy as the sky above. A few regular traders were there, and even less customers
"Rains are coming and travelers are few. We have already bought enough for a winter. The ships will not leave for another ten days. Where are we to store all of those? Our warehouses are already full." Many of excuses that traders used to knock the price down on his fur. He waited all year to sell what he had. He would have waited even more, at least for another month, as colder days would certainly remind people to stock up on their winter cloths. But his boy needed medicine, and the way things seem to appear, he didn't have another month.
In the end, he had to settle for half of what he hoped to get. His mood resembled the mud he stepped in as he turned his back to the market.
Behind the tall Castle's walls, above the city, the atmosphere wasn't any better. The king's chamber reeked of disease, decay and rotting flesh.
That day, the king finally summoned his children. His oldest boy, a tall and proud looking fellow with dark hair and thick eyebrows seemed to be trying very hard to look strong and brave. Next to him was his younger brother, and then twin sisters which were not more than nine winters old. There were tears in those eyes, and many which had already been wiped off.
"Listen, son...sons, my daughters...." The king said. "I tried razing you to be responsible, honorable people. I wish you to continue to be so even when I am gone." Girls broke into cries, their mother standing behind them with her hands around their shoulders could not stop it. "We have to face the truth. If all the great medicine men of our kingdom says that nothing can be done, so be it.