The Travelers' Song

by Brendan O'Gara

  “Hold it! I’m not a half anything, so I don’t know when I’m going to die or anything. Hell, I never know when I’m going to need to take a piss till I have to take one,” Thalin said skeptically. “What makes me less of a candidate to pay the price for the life of one of our own?”

  “You have no cause, Thalin, and I know mine. This is it, this has always been. I have seen this woman in my dreams for countless nights. After all, I am half dwarf,” Gadlin stated flatly. His eyes unmoving from Lambach, he quipped, “I’m flattered, by the way.”

  Lambach smirked, informing Gadlin, “Many would falter at the terms that must be agreed.”

  “I have never told anyone else what I am about to tell you, as this was told to me by Johan when we met in Mooreclasain’s cells in Emeranthia.” Gadlin turned to his friends and repeated the story that Lambach already knew, as a mistress of life and death.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Moria O’Hale noticed the man sitting at the other end of the long table staring at her. She was tired and just wanted to rest before making the easy trek to her home. She’d had a successful day at the market. Her baskets were loaded with vegetables, grain, and other provisions for a week. Moria had found a beautiful dark green brocade for a new dress for a good price. The last thing she needed today was yet another advance from a man who took one look at her ample bosom and attempted to persuade her to join him in a bed, barn hayloft, or behind a wall.

  Not another one, she thought as she picked up the tankard to her right and drained it. “Do not look at him,” she repeated under her breath, over and over. She couldn’t stop herself as she looked at the man out of the corner of her eye. He mirrored her action and drained his tankard, rose, and walked to her end of the table. He sat across from her and smiled. She smiled and ducked her head.

  “May I ask why you’re sitting alone? A woman of your countenance should not be unaccompanied,” he said, looking down at her chest and not at her face, just as she had predicted. Being middle-aged, she had seen that look in men for many years. One reason she loved her husband was that he had actually listened to her talk when they first met and continued to value her mind as well as her other assets. He was as interested in it as he was her body. However, he knew how to please her physically as no other man had done. He had also taught her how to handle herself, and as a result she was safe to go to market without him.

  She looked the man directly in the eyes, realizing that he wasn’t much older than her own son. “Sir, a woman of my age is past worrying about needs such as a chaperone.”

  The man chuckled. “Age is no factor when two people mutually agree that spending time together is warranted.”

  “You speak the truth, sir, however I’m certain my husband would disagree,” she said with a nod, and stood. She smoothed her skirt with her palms, tightened the ties on her cloak, slipped on her gloves, and gathered the baskets that waited at her feet. “Good day to you, kind sir,” she said as she walked out of the tavern.

  Johan shook his head. Not often was he rebuffed by a woman, even one a bit older than he. Actually, older women were usually less immune to his charms. He had no trouble bedding the dames with silvery hair. They were his favorite, he thought. Though this woman was not silver-headed. She appeared to be older than he by a few years. Her body, what he could see under the layers of dress and cloak, was shapely, especially her rear as she walked away. Older women had more experience and knew how to prevent him from fathering children. Yes, they had advantages. He stood and wrapped himself in his cloak as well. He pulled up the hood and walked out into the street.

  The road was full of workers headed home for the evening. The market vendors were packing up their wares and securing their stalls. The town of Midian in the Kingdom of Daysia was a safe trade post. No one was scurrying out of the street in fear, but rather growling stomachs in need of filling after a long day sent them inside. Smells of roasted meat filled the air as evening meals were prepared in various establishments and homes.

  Johan was lost in his thoughts of women. He enjoyed many and loved none. He thought he was in love once, but soon realized that she did not love him. The follies of youth and becoming a man. Love and the fair-haired girl were a distant memory now.

  Johan continued to walk down the dusty road, trying to decide where to go. Maybe the inn would have a better crowd of possible beauties, and maybe one who would warm a bed he could also acquire there.

  Johan rounded the next corner. As he did, he heard a strange squealing sound that sounded like a cat in heat. He heard again the sound and realized it was a woman’s scream. He pulled his weapons; in his left hand a short sword and in his right a meat cleaver. He moved lightly, his back against the wall, listening for the direction of the woman’s call. As he approached the next alley between the buildings, he saw a cluster of three men. He heard a faint whimper of a woman’s cry. He quickly assessed that the men had no visible weapons. Using the word ‘men’ to describe the three brutes was being generous, as they were actually little more than boys. However, there were more than enough of them to overpower someone who did not know how to handle themselves. They were direct, loud, but not rambunctious. Their movements denoted that it was not the first time they had accosted a passerby. Placing his sword back into its scabbard, Johan knew what he was going to do to teach the bullies a lesson they would not soon forget.

  “Avast, ye scallywags. Halt, and state your intentions or ye be sure to be feedin’ the fishes. Soon I says.” Changing his speech to the dialect of his occupation, Johan knew full well that these youths would not understand him. He also knew they would stop and take note of him. He carefully concealed the meat cleaver behind his back in his right hand. Indeed, the man closest in the vicinity of Johan paused. Turning to speak to his accomplice, he saw Johan. He brandished a farming tool, a long-bladed hand sickle used to cut wheat and other such plants. “Back off, you. What do you want, you crook- eyed measle?” the young man shot back.

  “You are a foul one, are you not? Shiver me timbers, why if it is not this old sea dog’s wench you got your paws on. If’n you fail to remove your paws, I will be obliged to do it fer ya.” Johan could tell by the perplexed look on the man’s face he was lost in confusion.

  The oaf found his voice. “Klik, we got us a problem; this seaweed is gettin' in the way.” Without hesitation Klik arrived to help dispose of Johan, wielding a hand axe. Johan knew now that he had their attention. He hoped that the woman could manage freeing herself of the scrawny derelict attempting to control her.

  “Look here,” Klik said. “Off with you now, or I will chop you up into little bits and feed you to the pigs.” Feeling more bold now that he had backup, the man with the big mouth got in on the verbal attacks as well. “Move off or I will cut you open from dick to chin and spill all that seaweed you call guts all over this alley.”

  Johan stopped, and tilted his head. His face was an illusion of fear and contemplation. “Life lesson: if you want to lose a fight, talk about it first.” Johan let fly the hand he had been holding behind his back, meat cleaver brandished. The handle of the knife gave him support in his hands like his hand was made of stone, making contact with the big oaf. The blow whipped his head sideways fast, the skull threatening to pop off. He fell to his knees and on to his back, unconscious.

  “ Oi, you pox ridden boil,” the man with the hand axe yelled. Stepping forward and cocking his arm back, his actions told Johan what he was planning. Johan, having spent a great deal of time on ships and ports where a brawl was a daily occasion, didn’t wait to be hit. He shifted his weight and came around with his right hand once more. The man was struck square in the nose. A wet crunching noise like twisting wet celery sounded, and he fell. The third and last man of the group came from a different gene pool. He had enough sense to see his compatriots were dropped like hot rocks. He released the woman and scattered off like a startled jackrabbit.

  “Are you all right, Miss?” Johan asked the woman. Her head
down, she cowered in a ball on the ground.

  “Yes, yes sir, thank you. And its missus,” she said as she uncurled herself and stood, Johan’s hand on her arm. She pushed her hood from her face, and he could see she was the woman from the tavern. She recognized him and smiled. “I’m Moria O’Hale. Thank you for saving me. I was surely dead had you not come out on the street when you did.”

  “I will escort you home, if that’s acceptable with you. I’m surprised that this sort of thing happened here; however, I don’t want to trust that it won’t happen again. By the way, I’m Johan,” he told her, weapon in hand.

  “Yes, you may walk with me. That will settle my nerves,” she said, and as she looked up at his face, she saw the kindness in his face. And Johan could see the years on hers. “You’ll have to remain at least three feet from me, as is my husband’s custom. I’m certain he’ll want to thank you personally.”

  Johan and Moria walked down the main road instead of the short cut that she had started to take through the lanes. It was safer to remain in the populated areas. Johan began to sing and hum as they continued. Before long Moria hummed, too. Johan looked confused as she led him toward the entrance of town and out. They went a few more feet and he cleared his throat, asking, “You do live in this town, yes?” She nodded.

  Just outside of town they approached a modest house with a large shed off to one side. There was a glow of fire and a loud clanking noise coming from the shed. Ah, a blacksmith, Johan thought.

  The blacksmith was pounding away on an anvil and saw them approach. He set down his tools, wiped his hands, and went directly to his wife. He gently lifted his big palms to her face and cradled each cheek. “What happened? I can see your distress.” Daglin O’Hale appeared to ignore the stranger who was standing behind his wife several yards away, but the blacksmith discreetly watched the man as he shifted on his feet. Moria recounted what had happened in the town. “I owe this man my life,” she said to her husband. Daglin looked at his wife then closed them, resting his forehead on hers. They stood there for a few seconds, long enough for Johan to turn to leave.

  “Wait,” Daglin said to the stranger. “Come here, into my shop.” Moria excused herself and went into the house. “My wife said I owe you her life. I must thank you properly.”

  “I did as any honest man would do,” Johan said, his face coloring slightly.

  “What is your name?” Daglin asked as he stood a step up on wooden riser.

  “Johan.”

  “Johan, do you have people? If you do they would have given you a last name. Do you have a name I can use to remember and to honor in my prayers?” the dwarf looked questioningly at Johan as he crossed his immense arms across his chest, which was almost as wide as he was tall.

  Johan hesitated and sighed. “Johan Star.”

  “Ah HA!” the ruddy-faced dwarf bellowed. “Johan Star. You have a place now in my history. You will forever be known as the one who saved the heart of my life. How can I repay such a feat?”

  Johan began to dismiss the praise but, as one who was hungry, replied, “Sir, a simple meal and maybe a place to lay my head is all the repayment I need.”

  “Meal, done. We do not have an extra place for you to sleep, but that building next door is a brothel. If you don’t mind the noise, I can arrange a bed for you there.” Daglin chuckled.

  A door on the house opened and clattered shut as a small teenage version of Moria came skipping out. She slid her gaze at the stranger. As she was taught, she nodded and addressed only her father. “Papa, Mother said that dinner is almost ready and she has prepared a meal for the guest.”

  “Good. And a place at the table, yes?” Daglin asked.

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Your brother, has he returned?”

  Nista shook her head and skipped back into the house. Daglin instructed Johan to a water barrel where he could wash up. Then the dwarf did the same.

  The family shared a meal with Johan, who would proclaim for years that it was the best pheasant stew that had ever crossed his lips. He was still hoping for female companionship but would not dare disrespect the dwarf by flirting with his daughter.

  “Before you go please, sir, take this.” Daglin stood and pulled out a long thick blade as he explained it was made from dwarven steel, double-edged for use in any fighting style. The blade had a twisted cross-guard, offering protection for the owner’s hand. The ends of the cross-guard had snake heads carved into them. It had a fairly large pommel with dwarven ruins carved in fine detail. The refined details spoke to the craftsmanship and careful skill with which the weapon was crafted. Daglin was proud of the sword and his joy twinkled in his eyes. “See this blade is unadorned. No decorations, no patterns. This beauty needs no embellishments, only to be strong and sharp. I am sure a traveling man like yourself would have use for such a weapon.” Daglin handed the weapon, handle forward, to Johan Star. Johan was humbled and accepted the weapon with a grin. “Thank you, sir.”

  Moria fixed a bundle of traveling food and gave it to Johan. With a nod from Daglin, she gently hugged the man. The dwarf and Johan walked over to what looked like just a house next door. Daglin spoke to the proprietor and made arrangements for Johan to have the finest room, and the company of a woman for the night if he so chose. Johan and Daglin shook hands. The old dwarf headed out the door and home, to his family and fire.

  “And that is why I owe him and can never repay him; he saved my mother’s life when he had no reason to do so.” Gadlin was in tears as he looked at all the faces staring at him in the cave. Lambach nodded.

  “A touching story. Now, I will give you a moment to collect yourselves and to reevaluate your situation. Know this: once this is done it cannot be undone. Your soul will be bound to this bargain,” Lambach said to them, but stared directly at Gadlin. Her eyes pierced his conscience and she knew he wouldn’t falter from his decision. Gadlin looked at his friends, his face a defiant question, seeking their approval. Wandalor and Thalin both nodded in return.

  Lambach reached down toward the altar, hands out. She appeared to hold an invisible cup. She made a motion to scoop from the air of nothingness. In her hand materialized a golden cup. “This is the Cup of Life. Many will say that it is their cup. It is not. The Lord of Light lays claim to it. This sacred cup contains the secret of life. Whoever drinks from it will live.”

  Gadlin held a drinking horn in front of him, a receptacle for the liquid Lambach offered. The contents she poured had a silvery iridescent coloration. The scent of berries and other unnamed fruit filled the air. After the woman poured the fluid from the cup to the horn, she moved quickly and grasped Gadlin’s hand which held the horn. She spoke in multi-voiced tones, “The bargain is struck, enjoy the fruits.” Lambach released Gadlin and stepped back into the wall, vanishing from sight.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Thalin looked around, waiting for the sudden repercussion of their actions. After several seconds, he spoke. “This has all been too easy. We missed something.”

  “I agree with you, Thalin. What was that old adage about a shoe falling?” Gadlin looked around.

  “I do not want to wait around to find out. Back to Blackweb with us. Our friend waits,” Wandalor said, and moved to the exit. He tripped on a basalt stone, slowing his pace. Gadlin and Thalin moved past him.

  Thalin got to the exit first, with Gadlin close behind him. Wandalor came out from behind the waterfall last. The sound of rushing water around their heads subdued any chance that the three would hear the arrows that flew from the bows of the attackers. A waiting attack was beyond the water’s edge and sprang an ambush as soon as the group emerged from the water. Two younger elves had the better view of the trio as they came into sight. The elves weren’t going to miss out on having a story to tell, a story of valor. This motivated them and they shot arrows as fast as they could pull their bowstrings. Inexperienced and arrogant, they weren’t as concerned about hitting their targets as they were about putting out many arrows fa
st. The two older elves on the left bank began to will their vision through various spectrums of light until they both fixed on one of the men who stepped out of the waterfall’s cave. The older elves looked at each other and relaxed their bows, looking at the men again then back at one another.

  “Is that...” the elven lieutenant said, looking at Thalin.

  “No, it is not possible—he is dead.” the elven captain exclaimed.

  “By royal decree,” the lieutenant agreed.

  “That one looks like him. Quick! Get out of here and tell the council what you have seen. The Kinslayer lives,” the elven captain barked at his lieutenant.

  “I do not want to leave you here with the Ravens; in their youth they will get you killed,” the lieutenant protested.

  “You have your orders, go!” the captain shouted.

  Arrows slammed into the stone and sprang off of the wall in a rapid hail of bolts as Gadlin and Thalin dodged, jumping back behind the waterfall and evading the arrows. The pushed into Wandalor and kept him from going out into the line of fire. With leg muscles tightening, breath pushing out and quickly inhaling, both Gadlin and Thalin let the adrenaline spike prepare them for battle.

  “By Loki, they ‘bout got us!” Gadlin shouted as he and Thalin charged back into the cave.

  “Well, like I said, life is not boring with you two. No aimless wandering and no staring off into space, it is all business,” Wandalor said as he saw arrows impact the stone wall where they had stood seconds before.

  Thalin, with quick-wittedness and nimble action, darted back in behind the rushing water and spun in place, taking a knee. He placed his hands on the edge of the water and stone where the water moss grew. They glowed with a dim green light that seemed to blend into the bioluminescence of the waterfall. Thalin arched his back and opened his eyes. His senses tuned in to his surroundings. His breath came through his mouth and out his nose as he controlled his body. He emptied his mind; the only thing he was conscious of was the plant life around him.