Several Years Ago

“Any strange stories pass through here?”

“You’re a spy, I suppose,” the innkeeper replied, in a bored kind of way.

Vero’s master laughed and shook his head.

Her master was a tall man, but scrawny from restraint in diet. His hair was dry and thin like straw. When she first apprenticed to him it was still dark in patches, but it had long since gone totally grey. He was dressed in shabby rags and a traveling cloak which had seen frequent mending. He carried a sword visibly at his waist, which marked him as a more than a common pilgrim.

It was, she admitted freely, exactly the sort of attire royal informers were said to go about in. Although in their own case, it was a result of poverty rather than duplicity.

The innkeeper took no notice of her master’s denial, plowing forward with his own speech. “You sound like one sure enough. Don’t mind if you are, of course. I for one support his majesty. Something goes wrong and a man is liable to blame the king because he’s the one who rules- Even if it’s their own fault. Some of the local lords around here could do with a bit of the king’s justice, if you ask me.”

“Alright then,” her master replied, choosing to play along. “Where should I go then if I wanted to see about some of these local lords?”

“Well now.” The fat inn keeper scratched at the stubble on his neck as he thought about the question. “Rumor has it that a village on the land of Ser Louis, has been beset by murders of the foulest kind. Gruesome- from what I’ve heard. All the neighboring villages have taken to shunning them. Now they’ve begun scaring away the merchants too. If that goes on it’ll be hard times for all of us.”

“Gruesome, like the result of black magic?”

Black magic had recently become a favorite charge brought against nobles his majesty found troublesome. Any number of things could be considered evidence of black magic, and the property of a heretic was forfeit to the crown.

The innkeeper winked conspiratorially. “Just so friend.”

“And this Ser Louis, did he fight for the crown in the war?”

“He fought for a crown to be sure, but not the crown I’m afraid. He took his levy to fight for the bastard false king’s claim.”

“He was granted amnesty after the war?”

“He was captured in the Battle of the Whitewood, but he swore allegiance to his highness. Of course, the man’s already broke his oath of fealty once… so you can make of that what you will.”

Vero’s master nodded his thanks and placed his coin on the bar. “And such a man might find himself tempted to do so again. I’ll thank-you to point me in the right direction when we depart tomorrow.”

“I’d be happy to do so. The Argent Feather Inn has never wavered in support for his royal highness.” The man made a broad sweeping gesture with his arm to indicate the cramped and dingy surroundings.

“If I ever see his majesty, I will be sure to tell him as much.”

Her master left the bar and returned with their tankards to the table where Vero sat watching the proceedings.

“We’re heading towards that village at dawn, I presume?” she asked.

The inn was loud, and the two of them were secreted away in a corner away from the fire. Now that the patrons had the notion they might be spies, they were given as much distance as possible. So long as they spoke closely, they had little fear of being overheard.

“For the past few days, we’ve heard of nothing but these murders. Three every month.” Her master held up the appropriate number of fingers. “I’m sure there will be some profit in us investigating further.”

“Of course, master.” She was excited by the prospect of another hunt, but she kept her tone moderate. If there was a contract on the morrow her master would be drinking heavily tonight. That being the case, she thought she would be better off not drawing any attention to herself.

She sat back in the shadows and listened to the murmur of others’ voices around her. She heard Velian, and old Imperial, along with other dialects she could only understand bits and pieces of. Everyone’s speech had more spirit in it then she had heard in Velois for a long time. The war still seemed to cast a shadow, but life had begun to return.

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Vero took only a single pint. Her master took several.

They had only paid for a space to lay out their bedrolls in the common area, but the private room was unoccupied. The innkeeper must have decided it would be beneficial to ingratiate himself with anyone who might have royal orders, because he offered the room to them.

Vero felt no inclination to decline his generosity, whatever the pretenses it had been offered under. By the end of the night, she was forced to assist her master both to walk outside to make water. Then to climb upstairs to their room.

The bed was large enough to accommodate several people easily and Vero was relieved to have the space between them. Her master fell asleep the moment he lay down his head, which Vero saw as a stroke of fortune. After spending the whole day on the road, she did not feel she had the remaining patience to tolerate any drunkenly groping advances. She took off her boots and cloak, but otherwise remained dressed.

The innkeeper had set out a basin of water for them where she washed her hands and face. When she was finished, she frowned down at her reflection in the still water looking back up at her.

Her body was lithe and dexterous, but waifish thin. She seemed to retain all the awkwardness of adolescence, despite the fact that she was now a young woman. She was tall, her fire red hair was cut short like a man’s, and she wore breaches and a tunic. Her breasts had never developed so much as her mother or sister’s. Consequently, under a heavy traveling cloak, and otherwise in men’s attire, she very easily passed for a boy.

Fortunately, beards had been out of style in the south for some time. So no one would think it odd for a lad not to make at least a passing attempt to display his manhood with a weedy patch of facial hair.

Vero laid down on the bed where her master was already snoring loudly. After years of traveling as his companion she was used to the noise so she fell asleep quickly. If it had not been for the sound, she might have assumed that he was dead.

The village was unimpressive in nearly every way, and Vero had to deliberately withhold a sigh of exasperation when her master stopped.

The old man scanned the motley assemblage of thatch huts and announced, “We’ll speak to the local headman and see what comes of it.”

He had been in a foul temper ever since she had roused him at dawn. He had left explicit instructions for her to do so, but that did not stop him from blaming her for his hangover.

“Are you certain, master?”

“You’ll mind yourself and do as I say, girl. Or I’ll cuff your ear.” The old man had done so often enough that she was sure he meant it.

Vero was silent.

They walked up to a muddy clear space in the center of the houses, and in front of what appeared to be a very modest temple built of wood. On the steps a few indigents sat talking and drinking beer so dark it was black, but their conversation stopped when the Slayer and Vero entered the village common. The residents watched their arrival wearily.

“Ho there, what god do you worship here and where is the priest?” her master called out.

At first there was no reply, then one of the most bored looking of the men shrugged dismissively. “Simple farming folk live here, we worship the Earth Mother mostly. But this is a temple to Queen Luna. Or it was, at least. It was built to ease some noble lady’s burden of sins before she passed on- but the priestess wandered off not long after it was built… It’s stood empty since.”

The Moon Goddess had many faces, at least according to the stories Mama had taught Vero as a child. Luna the Maiden was adventurous, she aided lovers and punished tyrants who believed they were greater than the gods.

Luna the Mother was a caregiver and protector of the innocent. Many heroic tales began with abandoned babes taken by the goddess and fed at her own breast, so that they grew with incredible strength or beauty beyond that of normal men and women. The Mother was the aspect which Vero had been raised to worship.

This temple bore the waning half-moon sign of Luna the Matron. Of all Luna’s major aspects, Vero knew the least of her. She was worshiped by high born ladies mostly. In the stories Mama had told she mostly sought revenge against mortal women her husband King Helios had dallied with.

Vero made the goddess’ sign over her heart- but she took care to turn away from the others so that she would not be observed.

No one took any notice of her, as her master dominated their attention. “What did the priestess do here before she left?”

“Collect tithes,” said a younger man bitterly, before the first fellow chided him with a frown.

“If only more priests and tax collectors would get themselves lost!” Her master barked a laugh at his own jape, and the others joined him after a moment.

Vero thought she noticed more relief than offense in their irregular reaction to his humor.

“Who has authority here then?” her master asked.

One of the older men stood and pointed off towards the horizon. “Ser Louis owns these lands. His manor is still some ways to the south. ‘Was his grandmother that’s memorialized here.”

“Aye, Ser Louis owns these lands- but I asked who has authority here.” This comment raised a more natural chuckle from the men, and the mood began to lighten noticeably.

The young man who had made the remark about tithes spoke up again. “My uncle Phillipe is the eldest and has the largest house in the village.”

“He sounds like the fellow I’m seeking then. Take me to him lad.”

The young man hopped up from where he was sitting, instinctively responding to Vero’s master’s authority, and led them to a nearby house. He need not have bothered, as it was plainly obvious this was the largest house in the village. It was twice as large as its nearest competitor, and constructed of good lumber. Vero thought it was even a little grander than the temple. The neighboring homes all had the appearance of rickety looking wattle and daub.

She stayed quiet and tried to remain unnoticed in her master’s shadow as he led the way in. Before passing through the door, she turned to find the young man still standing and gawking at them. A stern look from her quickly sent him on his way and she closed the door behind them.