“Good morning, boy,” said Brelg without raising his eyes from his food.
“Morning.” answered Kael as he froze in his tracks.
Brelg frowned, glanced up and waved the boy over. He pushed a chair back from the table and motioned Kael to sit.
“I’ve a bit of a problem. Perhaps you can give me some advice,” began Brelg.
Kael smiled and took his seat at the table.
“An extremely persistent young man I know has been pushing to help me expand my business. He’s rather young, so I’m not sure I’ll approve, but his resolve is slowly wearing me down,“ grumbled Brelg. “I was ready to concede when recent news caused me to become a bit apprehensive.”
Kael smiled broadly.
“I’m sure he’s quite competent, sir,” replied the boy. “Besides, what could go wrong?”
Brelg frowned and placed his fork upon his plate.
“Seriously Kael. This business in the Nagur Wood causes me concern,” said Brelg. “I know how much you want to experience a bit of the wider world, but maybe this isn’t the proper time.”
“You know how the loggers talk when they’ve been in the common room all night,” frowned Kael. “One acre of cleared forest becomes ten. A six point buck becomes twelve. What does their story amount to? Some unfamiliar tracks. A feeling of being watched or tracked. Both are easily explained by a large bear and the fertile imaginations of men alone on the open road.”
“Mr. Drovor is a very sensible man,” returned Brelg with a frown. “He does tend to exaggerate things a bit, but this time his story seems ... different. I’m a fair judge of men, my boy. I must be in this business. The usual twinkle that dances in Drovor’s eye when he spins a tale was missing.”
“Well, you’ve often said that I’ve learned the business pretty well myself,” said Kael proudly. ”My advice to you is to forget Drovor’s tale. How many times has he stood in the common room describing how he out maneuvered a band of highway bandits or outran a pack of starving wolves?”
Brelg furrowed his brow. Kael tried to change the subject.
“Don’t forget,” said the boy. “A candidate for the Zodrian Guard rides with me.”
Brelg smiled and his eyes took on the faraway look Kael often noticed when they spoke of the Zodrian Guard and the capital city.
“That would be a fine day, wouldn’t it?” whispered Brelg lightly nodding his head. “If Aemmon were chosen for the Guard ...”
Brelg’s voice trailed off. Kael smiled and put a hand on his father’s shoulder.
“That would be a fine day for all of us, even mother.”
“Yes, if she were here she would be proud of you both,” sighed Brelg. “She loved you dearly. However, I think she watches me from somewhere shaking her head in disapproval over this trip you’ve concocted.”
“Mother never objected to your trips,” said Kael with a sly grin. “As I recall you went on plenty, leaving the three of us to manage the inn.”
“Business is business,” huffed Brelg. “Besides, I was younger then and settling down proved difficult.”
“Exactly,” winked Kael.
Brelg frowned deeply at the smiling boy. Kael continued to grin until Brelg chuckled and tousled the boy’s mop of black hair.
“Get to work,” laughed Brelg. “Or you’ll never get out of here.”
Kael spun and dashed toward the kitchen to retrieve a mop.
“You better hurry with your chores,” called Brelg after the boy, “and tell Cefiz to get the stove fired up. I don’t want my customers slipping on a wet floor, on their way to a breakfast that has yet to be cooked.”
Cefiz, the inn’s handyman and cook, stood yawning in the kitchen.
“You best get your fires started or he’ll have your head,” smiled Kael.
“Who? Good old Sarge? Angry with me? You must be joking?” Cefiz laughed.
Kael always grinned when Cefiz called the demanding innkeeper ”Sarge”. Aemmon and Kael picked up on the moniker and often used it to refer to their father, but never in his company. Brelg, on the other hand, took to calling Cefiz “chubby”, and constantly teased the cook concerning his expanding waist.
In Kael’s early memories, Cefiz was a powerfully built young man employed by the inn to carry out odd jobs and general maintenance. Since the death of Kael’s mother, Cefiz became the cook of the inn as well. His hair had begun to frost and a noticeable paunch hung over his belt line.
Cefiz pulled wood chips out of a box and stuffed them into the stove.
“So today is the big day?” yawned Cefiz.
“Today is the day,” repeated Kael with a smile.
“I suppose you still don’t care for my suggestion?” said Cefiz.
“Just as I told Sarge,” said Kael eyeing the door. “I’m not a boy anymore. I don’t need you to come along and watch over me. Besides, I think your ‘suggestion’ came from Sarge more than yourself.”
“Are you accusing me of being a deceitful scoundrel?” smiled Cefiz.
“Not a deceitful scoundrel,” said Kael. “Just a loyal one.”
Kael retrieved his mop and returned to his bucket in the common room. While he scrubbed the stone floor, he contemplated his journey through the Nagur. Were any of the dangers real or the stories true?
An inn is a wonderful place to pick up bits and pieces of information. Kael excelled in this ability. He badgered customers for stories from their travels. He lingered over tables where woodsmen or hunters were discussing events in the faraway corners of the kingdom. He ferreted out all he could about places he would never visit and people he would never meet.
However, the recent rumor of trouble didn’t come to Kael by the usual ways of a small village. No local washerwoman or merchant passed the information onto him in casual conversation. Instead, Kael found out in the manner he gathered most of the truly important information in the town of Kelky. He used the Touch.
For as long as Kael could remember he was able to employ the Touch. It was as natural to him as breathing. However, something warned him it wouldn’t be considered normal by others, so he spoke to no one about it, not even Aemmon.
Usually, he performed the Touch when he was engaged in one of his boring chores in and around the inn. He might be washing dishes in the kitchen, mopping the common room floor or hanging laundry in the yard when the desire struck him. He concentrated, forcing his mind to block out all distractions. The banter in the common room faded, the chickens in the yard went still and the rushing of the wind quieted.
Kael focused on what he needed to “touch”. Not in a physical way. Instead, he reached out to an event with something other than his hands. He forced his senses to “brush” against the scene he wished to view. Even if a conversation were whispered in a room full of rowdy patrons, Kael heard it as if he sat hunched over a table with its participants.
The Touch is how he came to hear the rumors concerning the Nagur. A few evenings earlier, two loggers ate dinner in the common room. They were fresh from an excursion to the forests of the lower Zorim Mountains where they cut for weeks then bundled their timber and circulated through the small villages of the Southlands selling their haul.
Often, the loggers held back a portion of the wood and traveled to Luxlor. Although the Grey Elves lived within a massive forest, they never put ax to living wood. They often referred to themselves as “guests” within the Nagur and refused to harm it. The Grey Elves paid a premium for the fresh lumber and the loggers claimed a tidy profit in the Elf city.
This pair of loggers sat within the common room of “The King’s Service” as their foreman returned from Luxlor. He joined the men at their table as Kael passed with an armload of dirty dishes.
“Drovor,” said one of the loggers. “How did you fare? Profitably I hope.”
“Aye,” replied Drovor. “The Elves always pay a fair price for timber. I unloaded a full ...”
Kael stepped past the kitchen door and dumped the stoneware dishes into a tub of h
ot water. His hands plunged in, retrieved a horsehair brush and he slowly began to scrub the hardened mess from the plates. A moment or two into his chore, the boy let his mind wander. Boredom quickly overcame him as he stacked the third of the cleaned plates. He closed his eyes and let himself calm. The bustle of the nearby common room faded. The chatter at the bar grew faint. The Touch drifted from his body.
Kael stood over the tub of soapy water, but another part of him passed through the kitchen door and back into the common room. He couldn’t “see” the room or its occupants, but was well aware of everything and everybody in the dining hall. In fact, the Touch gave Kael more clarity. Rushing through life distracted him, but the Touch let him sit back and truly observe.
He sensed the loggers and moved the Touch toward their table.
“... are always quite free with their coin as long as you treat them fairly,” Drovor was saying.
“Thank heaven. We’ll be out of a job if the Grey Elves ever decide to cut the Nagur,” said one of the loggers.
“True,” muttered Drovor.
“What’s bothering you?” The other man asked. “A fine haul, no accidents and a tidy profit. What more could you want?”
“The Nagur,” stated Drovor. “Something felt wrong. Something was wrong.”
“The only thing wrong with the Nagur is the fact that we don’t cut there and sell the wood back to the Grey Elves,” said the first logger.
“That’s what you think, eh?” An edge entered Drovor’s voice. “Sell ‘em their own wood, that’s your plan?”
“Sure, why not?” continued the man. “The Elves don’t even travel north of the Efer River much. The whole of the North Nagur is there to be cut. We travel all the way to the Zorim for wood that can be had on the Elf’s very doorstep.”
“Let me tell you something,” growled Drovor. “Cutting the Nagur is one of the dumbest things you could do.”
“That’s hogwash. We could be rich if ...”
“Dead!” cut in Drovor. “You could be dead. Men have tried it before. Men like yourself who see nothing but coin in front of their faces. Men who haven’t been on the crews long. Off they go to cut the Nagur and after four or five weeks with no news, everyone realizes you can’t, or shouldn’t lay an ax to that wood. They end up as just another group of fools who tried to log the Nagur and were never seen again.”
“How?” asked the first logger. “The Grey Elves?”
“No,” scoffed Drovor. “The Grey Elves are good people. I should know. I’ve dealt with ‘em for years. Actually, I’ve never had a clue as to why those men disappear. That is until now.”
Kael heard the creak of a chair as Drovor leaned in close and lowered his voice.
“I saw some strange tracks this last visit. Tracks of something big. Never seen the like. Maybe .... eighteen feet long.”
“What d’ya think made ‘em?” asked the first logger.
“Don’t know,” replied Drovor. “But I decided not to press my luck and got out of there as fast as I could. I picked up my pace and had a strange feeling someone ....”
“Don’t fall in and drown,” laughed Cefiz, breaking Kael’s concentration.
The Touch lost its hold on the common room and Kael lurched as his senses sprang back into his consciousness. A loud crash snapped Kael’s eyes open and his breath came in short bursts. The small earthenware bowl he had been washing lay in broken shards at his feet.
“Sorry to startle you, lad,” chuckled Cefiz. “You looked as if you were about to pass out into the wash tub. I would hate to inform Sarge that you drowned in the dishwater while I was outside collecting fuel for the fires.”
Kael turned to find the cook standing upon the threshold to the yard, hefting a stack of split wood. The boy blinked and ran a hand through his dark hair.
“Uh, thanks,” smiled Kael weakly. “Didn’t sleep well last night.”
That was two nights ago. Now Kael rushed through a day of chores in the hopes that he and his brother could head off into the very wood from which Drovor raced. The boy thought over the foreman’s story for the past two days. Slowly he convinced himself that Drovor imagined much of what he saw. Certainly, a bear or other large animal was responsible for the tracks. What other explanation was there? An animal certainly wouldn’t attack only those cutting trees. The whole idea was absurd.
Kael left the kitchen and went to help Aemmon bring firewood into the main hall. They proceeded to work on the remainder of their chores for nearly two hours.
As Kael fed the chickens, a rickety old cart slowly headed up the southern trail. The boy smiled at the old man driving the cart.
“Jasper. Good morning,” called Kael.
“Kael. Already feeding the chickens eh? You woke early today,” called the old man on the buckboard.
Jasper stopped and stepped down in front of Kael. The tinker was old. How old, Kael couldn’t be sure. Jasper’s stark, white hair lay cropped close to his scalp. He wore silvery stubble on his deeply tanned and lined face.
In contrast, the old tinker’s eyes defied age. Neither young nor old. Every time Kael talked to Jasper, the intensity in the old man’s eyes startled the boy. Those eyes were a piercing, silver blue. They captured your attention.
Jasper wore a heavy leather jerkin which shared the shade and texture of his complexion. He sported sturdy wool pants beneath it. Normally, a pipe hung lazily out of his mouth, but today it wasn’t present.
“Come around, boy. Come around,” coaxed Jasper, motioning Kael to the back of the cart.
A stern faced, broad shouldered Zodrian sat on the open gate.
“Good morning, Rin,” Kael remarked.
The man hopped from the back of the cart and stepped from Kael’s path.
“My son is quiet as usual,” Jasper stated. “So I will conduct our business. Take a good look over the merchandise, Kael, while you tell me how your family is getting on. You know I haven’t visited Kelky in months.”
Rin untied a bundle and spread the contents out for Kael to see.
“You’ve been gone for quite some time this season. My brother misses your stories by the fire. You captivate him with news of the greater world,” Kael paused. “How much for the Elven blade?”
“Ah!” said Jasper “Now there is a man with a keen eye. That is a quality piece of weaponry. What do you offer in trade?”
“How does a free meal and a night’s lodging sound?” Kael offered.
“Kael,” frowned the tinker. “One should never take an opponent for a fool. You know I’ll receive a meal from your father for simply trading some news of the world before the fire tonight. Now come, come. Try me again.”
After some consideration, Kael sighed, “I own a Westland bow. It isn’t much, but I take good care of it.”
“Done!” cried the old man with a laugh. “The dagger is yours. You outfox me again, my friend.”
Kael knew he didn’t outwit Jasper. In fact, he grew accustomed to their bargaining sessions ending in a “victory” for Kael. He was sure the tinker allowed him to win. Possibly as payback for the kindness shown by Brelg.
Kael ran his fingers over the intricate detail in the ancient dagger, marveling at the beautiful design trapped under years of tarnish. Jasper questioned the boy on the health of his family and the happenings of the town. Kael didn’t intend to pass along Drovor’s rumors, but as always with Jasper, the boy started to talk and found himself desperate to tell all he knew.
“Kael, elaborate on this trip you plan,” suggested Jasper unexpectedly.
“Jasper, how did you know we ...”
“Remember, Kael. One of my talents is information. I know everything because I must. That is how a traveler survives in this world. Now tell me of your journey,” said Jasper.
“Well,” Kael began. “My father is interested in obtaining more Elven rope and medicines. So we decided I should go to Luxlor to buy them.”
“You mean ‘you decided’ don’t you?” frowned Jasper.
Jasper turned to Rin.
“Old Sarge grows soft as the years go by, eh Rin?”
The straight-faced Zodrian nodded then allowed a slight smile to creep across his face. Jasper turned and walked toward the inn with Rin following.
“I must transact some business with your father. I suggest you stop dawdling if you want to leave before high sun,” called the old trader and he disappeared behind the inn’s front doors.
Kael inspected the dagger he purchased. Surprisingly, the seven-inch blade held a sharp edge even after its apparent neglect. The handle was made of a blue stone, but was so dirty Kael couldn’t determine what type. With a bit of cleaning and sharpening, he he was sure the blade could be restored to its former beauty. Kael rubbed some of the grime from the stone and the light played off its surface. The boy determined that he probably did get the better half of the bargain. He tucked the blade in his tunic and ran to retrieve the Westland bow.
Kael descended from his room into the main hall. He noticed his father sitting at a corner table with Jasper and Rin. Kael approached the table with his bow.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said Kael
“What is it you wish, Kael?” asked his father as all three men turned to look at him.
“I came to give this to old Jasper,” said Kael holding out the bow.
“Kael!” said Brelg sharply. “Plain ‘Jasper’ is the man’s name. Don’t be rude.”
Brelg turned to Jasper and shook his head.
“The boys’ mother was in charge of teaching them proper manners,” said Brelg frowning. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit lax in that department.”
Jasper grinned and waved off any insult he may have received. The innkeeper turned back to his son.
“And what does Master Jasper want with your bow, Kael?”
“I traded for something,” said Kael.
The Merchant and the Menace Page 2