“You are too good a person, Gus.” Rose combed through her hair with her fingers. She grunted and growled while untangling the knots of red, cursing under her breath. She sat beside Skiggi on a wooden bench at the head of the uncovered wagon. Its old wheels creaked. Somewhere, a piece of metal clanked against something else, but they had yet to find it. “You paid too much for this thing! I’ll never let you negotiate with our money again!”
“I don’t know why you let him in the first place,” Skiggi said. He held to the reins of a mule–spotted black and gray.
“Because I didn’t want those villagers to see us!” Rose explained. “Riders will look for three performers–two dwarves and a woman. They’re not looking for Gus.”
“It’s been two days and we haven’t seen or heard anything. I don’t think we should worry ourselves,” Augustus said. His feet dangled off the back of the wagon.
“They probably think I bewitched the guards,” Rose said. She groaned. “I’ll never be able to perform in that town again. Though, I suppose it’s not a great loss. The people are crude and their whole town stinks!”
“This stinks!” Dori piped in. “I miss the Mysterium.” She stood, bits of straw clinging to her clothes, and walked across the moving wagon, joining Gus. “Ow!” She held one hand in the other. “I got another splinter!”
“Gus is an expert in haggling!” Rose exclaimed.
Augustus watched the Western Road disappear into the eastern horizon, swerving away on soft rolling hills. A thick canopy of trees offered shade. The road was wide and well-maintained. Their ride wasn’t as smooth as it could have been, and their mule was long in the tooth, but at least they weren’t walking. And the old farmer, who couldn’t afford to restore the wagon, walked away with enough money to buy a new one. “Somebody has to do the right thing, or everything falls apart.”
Rose turned in her seat, dangling her hair over her shoulder, her head tilted, hands passing through thick strands of curls. “I wish my Lord of a father had raised me to be so naïve. Do the right thing and everything will be okay!” She shook out her hair, then flipped it over her other shoulder. “Sometimes I think you’d make a better priest than a bard.”
The village of Turinstein rested between three roads. The Western Road cut across the northern edge of town, splitting it in two. Two roads ran south, on either side of the village, both leading to the City of Hamlen. Their wagon rocked to a stop in front of a three-story building, waiting for a team of oxen to pull their load of freshly sawn logs. The first floor of the building was solid stone. The second and third were timber. Its roof was wide and slanted at a soft angle. A stable stood behind it. On either side, a general store and a trading post. Trade stalls and vendors set up shop right along the road, forming a line stretching east and west. Just across from the Bastion Inn, a town square offered open space for travelers and vendors. A troop of puppeteers parked their wagon at the center of the trade square, setting up a little stage. Children gathered around, and parents, too. Gus missed the Mysterium.
Fran–their mule–didn’t like the dogs, who barked and sniffed at her. She didn’t like the busy little village at all. The mule snorted and hawed at every sudden movement and loud noise. They trained her for a plow, not a wagon, Gus observed.
After battling their way behind the inn, they bartered with the stablemaster, who refused to buy their mule or their cart but offered to help find a buyer–for a small fee. Rose accepted his offer, while Gus helped the stable boy unbridle Fran. The old mule stomped its hooves and chomped on its bit. “Careful, now,” Gus warned him. “She’s nervous.”
“You don’t worry,” the little lad assured him, eyes bright with innocence. “I’ll take good care of her!”
Gus dug into his coin purse and plucked out a silver circling. “Make sure she gets a little extra feed–and if you brush her, I’ll pay you another silver when we depart.” He handed the coin to the kid.
The stable boy took the money with a wide smile and a nod.
Gus left Fran in the care of the stable boy and found their wagon parked in a lonely stall beside a kennel of hounds. He climbed in the back, dug under a pile of straw, and retrieved his weapons–hidden within the folds of a gray cloak: two swords–one given, and one taken. Gus tucked cloak and blade and all into his bedroll, secured them to his backpack, then joined his companions at the Bastion Inn. They ordered food and drink. Gus downed two chicken legs, a breast, and a bowl of supper stew. Rose secured their rooms. The weary travelers retired, but they did not rest right away.
“Everything we had was in the Mysterium,” Dori said. “Our instruments, our weapons, our tools…” She stood at the center of the room, between the feet of two small cots. “Herbs, poisons–things we can’t buy–not here. Not anywhere in the West Duchies.”
“We’ll have to start over again,” Rose said. She shrugged. “What choice do we have?”
“We can get weapons easily enough,” Skiggi said. “And we’ve more than enough for a good wagon and a team of oxen. Did you see the monsters we passed on the road?” Skiggi’s fuzzy brows climbed his forehead. His eyes went wild. “Not snow, nor ice, nor muck could slow that team down!”
“I know it’s probably silly of me to say…” Gus cut in. Everyone turned their gaze on him. “But have you all thought about what this opportunity means to you?”
The others stared at him blankly.
“You lost everything, but you got lucky.” Gus stood up from his seat on the bed. He took the center of the room. Dori took a seat by her husband. “In Shepshed, had you failed, the nobles would have executed you all. In Bruckenbend, the townsfolk nearly hung you on charges of witchcraft.” Augustus met every eye in the room. “This is a chance to start fresh if you’ll but seize it!”
Rose yawned.
“You’re a good lad, Gus,” Skiggi said. “You are.” The dwarf held his wife close. “But we don’t have a cozy mansion to go back to. We don’t have families to go back to. Thieving, plotting, performing–it’s all we’ve got!”
“You knew what we were when you saved us,” Rose added. She stretched her arms over her head. “Now, let’s get a list started. I’m getting sleepy.”
“We don’t have parchment–or ink,” Dori said.
“Then that’s the first thing on our list!” Rose smiled. She ran her fingers through her hair. “And the second is a hairbrush.”
Morning came too early. Gus clung to his covers. For the first time in years, he didn’t jump out of bed. The room was empty. He was alone.
Augustus sat up and flung his feet over the edge of the cot. He sat, listening to the murmurs of townspeople, the plodding of hooves, and the stomping of feet on the floors below. They’re out there, lost in the noise... my wayward companions. I should have parted ways with them after crossing the river. He stared at the half-burned candle on his bedside table. He lifted an oval-shaped stone from a copper bowl, turning it over in his hand. We’ll arrive in Ottoburg in less than a week. I’ll part with them there. Gus let the stone fall from his hand. It clanked against the dry metal.
Gus retrieved the swords stashed beneath his bed. A wet stone waited in a pouch on his belt. He sharpened both blades. They don’t respect me. I’m not even sure if they like me. Gus sighed. I saved their lives, but how many lives will they ruin because of my conscience?
He sat a silver-steel rapier on his bed, stood, and walked across the room, peering out of a small, circular window. He watched the travelers and residents mingle, trading wares and gossip–bargaining, bartering, lying, cheating. They all wanted to come out ahead, even if it meant someone else had to take a loss.
The world will continue as it has, forever. Who am I to stand in its way?
Augustus left the Bastion to be greeted by a clear, cold sky. The wind roared down the Western Road, sweeping up the street. It’s cold cut to the bone. Gus pulled his cloak tight. He passed through a press of bodies loitering on the front porch of the inn and crossed the cobbles.
He searched for his companions in the market square, but to no avail. Cutting through a wide alley, buildings passed on either side. Alleys, both wide and narrow, weaved between them. The little township was on the verge of becoming a bustling city. And it’s all founded on greed, Gus pondered.
He entered a dark alley to his right. Wooden walls scraped his shoulders as he shuffled through. He came to a cross-section of alleyways. Gus glanced to the left. A brown mutt with bristled fur growled at a skinny cat with patchy hair. A dead fish lay between them. Gus stopped and observed.
The dog advanced, vicious teeth snapping, which caused the cat to flinch, dodging the mutt’s mouth and swiping its nose with a rake of claws.
The dog whined and leaped back. It barked at the cat.
The cat hissed, arching its back.
Gus picked up a rock from the ground and ricocheted it off the walls of the alley. When that didn’t scare them off, he cupped his hands and shouted at them. “Ah!” His voice bounced off the walls like the rock he threw. The dog turned its eyes on Gus, baring its sharp fangs, weighing its odds. It turned back to the cat, gave Gus one more look over, then tucked its tail and shied away, retreating down a side passage. The cat remained where it was. Its eyes never left the brown mutt.
It’s only natural, isn’t it? I’m a fool for fighting nature. He plodded onward.
Gus came to a small cobblestone square. A stone well with a little a-frame roof sat in the center. No traders set up shop here. No peddlers called after pedestrians. People busied about: washing maids tended their laundry, and those carrying buckets fetched water for one purpose or another.
The stable boy, wearing a dirty sweat-stained shirt, packed a bucket full of water, sloshing over the brim as he struggled, swaying with its weight.
Another child followed him. He tugged at a dirty shirttail. “Let’s go play!”
“No!” the stable boy said. “My Master told me to fetch water. I’ll catch a whipping if I run off!” He broke free of the other’s grasp, then disappeared down an alleyway.
I suppose there is some small hope. I just wish it didn’t need to be whipped into us. Augustus shook his head. He strolled through the square and came to another line of buildings, a street stretched out before them, connecting the two roads leading to Hamlen. Gus turned left.
It was a good guess. Down the street, Rose spun around and around in a new red dress. This one wasn’t as frilly and didn’t fit quite right, but she moved as gracefully as ever.
A crowd gathered around her, throwing copper circlings at her feet and singing songs for her to dance to. Skiggi and Dori were nowhere to be seen.
A group of men watched, overlooking the crowd, standing on the porch of a nearby building. They held mugs and tankards in their hands and cheered more heartily than all the others; and threw more money than all the others, too. That must be a tavern, he realized. Maybe I’ll find our dwarves there.
The Crossroads Brewery boasted two floors. It welcomed him with a wide-open space filled with tables and chairs. Railed walkways lined the second-story walls, but thick rafters hovered high above the center of the room. A bar lined the back wall and a shelf of booze beyond. Gus spotted Skiggi sitting beside his wife at a table next to the bar. They talked to a gentleman wearing a black cloak.
Augustus approached the bar, a few patrons down from his companions, catching Skiggi’s eyes. From the look in the dwarf’s eye, he made his second good guess of the day. Just stay out of their way.
A mug of Hunter’s Honey cost him half a silver–five times as much as Alexandrian prices. The bartender eyed him sideways. I’m a long way from home. He sipped his mead and waited for the dwarves to finish their business. When the dark-cloaked man left, Gus slid down the bar and joined them. “Why are you all in here, while Rose is outside making money?”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“We had business to attend to,” Skiggi said. “Unless you are blind.” He chugged three big gulps from his dark ale. It smelled Dwarvish.
“I won’t bother asking what that meeting was about,” Gus said.
“Good!” Skiggi smiled. “Then I won’t bother lying to you!” He laughed and clapped Gus on the shoulder.
Gus sipped his mead. “Have you all secured any of the wares on your list?”
“We’re working on it!” Dori assured. She drank from her tankard. “One might say, ‘as we speak.’” She winked at Gus. Dori and Skiggi both laughed.
Skiggi turned to his wife. “There’s a game of dice calling my name! Shall we return?” Dori smiled and nodded. He turned to Gus. “Fancy a game of dice?”
“I don’t gamble,” Augustus insisted. “And if you were smart with your money, you wouldn’t either.”
“Don’t go telling me what to do with my money!” Skiggi slammed his tankard on the thick oak table between them. Skiggi locked eyes with Augustus, who saw little of the dwarf behind the glossy black orbs.
He’s drunk!
“Come on!” Dori grabbed her husband’s arm. “Dice! Dice! Cats and mice! Roll ‘em once! Roll ‘em twice!” She clanked her tankard against the table, creating a rhythm. Onlookers clapped their hands and stomped their feet. “Only losers roll them thrice!” The patrons of the bar picked up the tune and carried it around the room.
Skiggi’s scowl turned into a smile. “Ah! I need more ale!” He got up and stomped over to the bar.
Dori eyed Gus. “Sorry about him. Everyone has their vices, Gus.” She sipped her ale, then left the empty tankard at the table and joined her husband.
Gus finished his mead and stalked across the tavern, heading for the door. A group of four well-armed men burst into the tavern. They wore leathers and chainmail, but no tabards, nor sigils–mercenaries. A bald man led the pack. He wore a long sword on his side.
The soldiers caught many eyes, but no one stirred. They marched across the room to a table in the back corner, where six men sat. “Where’s my money?” the bald leader shouted.
“I–uh…” a gray-bearded man replied.
Gus shook his head. The world will do what it will do. He pulled his cloak tight around him and left the tavern. Outside, Gus turned up the other lane. He walked down the street, looking at his feet, contemplating the rights and wrongs of the world.
He wandered the streets of another strange town. Deep beneath a heart of lies, and a face with a thousand faces, he longed for home and people that knew him.
But who am I? Gus pondered. He stopped in the middle of the street and took a deep breath. His mind wandered to the stolen sword hidden away in his room. I will find out. But first, I must return what was stolen. As he strolled the streets of Turinstone, a secret desire worked its way into his mind like a splinter left untended. He longed to hold the sword in his hands again, to feel the rush of blood when an enemy bore down upon him, to savor the triumph of besting a worthy opponent. There was a euphoric satisfaction in taking a life that meant to take yours. A proving of your worth–your right to live. Gus clenched his fists. It had been a long time since he faced a worthy opponent. The last one was… him… Uthred. Gus shook his head. Childish thoughts. A man lost his life.
The Bastion shed light on a darkened world, spilling yellow onto the street from every window. Music spilled out, too. Gus stalked the shadows, up the street, and into the light of the inn. He entered a scene of merrymaking and revelry. At the back of the room, Rose danced and sang as the dwarves played music. Skiggi tapped away at a hide-covered drum. Dori piped a flute. The patrons of the inn cheered and danced and sang along.
Gus made his way to the bar. Running along the right wall, it stretched the length of the room. He ordered a Hunter’s Honey. The barkeep sat the mug down gently and smiled at Gus. She was a homely woman of middle age, with gray curly hair and a white apron tied around a brown dress. “You’re with them, are you not?”
Gus nodded. “I am.”
“I thought I saw you come in with them yesterday,” she said with a smile. “This round is on the house!”
“Thank you!” Gus raised the mug, then chugged from it. He wiped his lips.
The barkeep leaned against the bar. “Why aren’t you playing with them?”
He shrugged. “I got caught up with a personal matter.”
“Well, now, I won’t pry,” the barkeep assured. “I know how you minstrels are. I loved one, once.” She sighed. “That was before I knew how minstrels are.” The woman chuckled.
“People tire of the same songs being sung by the same voice,” Gus said. He took another gulp of his mead. “We have to keep moving.”
“That’s exactly what he said!” The barkeep laughed. “You are all the same!” She walked away, smiling and shaking her head, to tend to another customer.
Gus sat on a stool and sipped his drink, while his companions summoned songs and, with them, the jingling and jangling of circlings. After two more mugs of Honey, Gus tapped his foot along with Skiggi’s rhythm. He hummed along with Rose’s voice. He felt pretty good.
Augustus turned on his stool just in time to see a group of soldiers approach the bar, led by a man wearing a sword at his hip, and covered in armor. He was bald. Gus recognized him from the Crossroads Brewery. The bald man hailed for the barkeep, smacking his hand against the bar. Every mug and tankard rattled with each pounding. “Hey!” he shouted. “We’re thirsty!”
The barkeep shuffled around, handing out drinks to patient patrons. The bald man watched the woman work. Gus could feel his anger growing each time the barkeep handed a drink to someone that wasn’t him. The man next to Gus, a scruffy fellow with some girth and muscle, stood from his stool. He towered over the bald man, glowering down. The bald man stood his ground. “What?” He pressed a finger into the big fellow’s meaty chest. “Have something on your mind? Care to share?”
“Johanna is working herself to death, what with all these travelers and foreign folk,” the big man said. “Wait your turn like everyone else.”
“Or what?” The bald man put his hand on the hilt of his sword. His friends closed in around the brave, big fellow.
“Or I’ll call the city watch to haul your little gang away in iron!” Johanna shouted from behind her bar. “I’m tired of you mercenaries coming in here and causing a stir every damn night. Is that all you know how to do, you warmonger?”
The bald man’s companions smiled and laughed. They looked at their leader, eager to see his response. He pushed the big fellow, who stumbled backward. “Get him out of my sight!” The other mercenaries latched onto arms and legs, dragging, more than packing, the big man through the room. He struggled to free himself, but they were too many. Gus watched the precession disappear through the front door. The bald man stole the empty stool of the man he had removed, ignoring Gus entirely. “If we were in Alexandria, I would have you dragged out of here in irons and brought to my father’s dungeons. I would have you slowly pulled apart, piece-by-piece, then fed to the hounds.” He smiled and grabbed up the big fellow’s abandoned mug. He drank deeply.
He speaks like a noble-born. Perhaps a son with no inheritance? A bastard, even?
The barkeep crossed her arms. Gray brows furrowed and green eyes burned with defiance. “We’re not in Alexandria. And I have dogs of my own.”
They locked eyes.
The bald man chuckled to himself, drained the mug, then slammed it onto the bar. He stood, tipping the bar stool over. After digging through his coin purse, he lay a single copper on the bar. “Can’t have you accusing me of thieving, can we?”
The barkeep said nothing as the mercenary stomped through the room, leaving a stool on the floor and a chipped mug on her bar. Gus had been so focused on what was transpiring before him, he had not noticed how quiet the inn became. Patrons sipped on their drinks, looking around the room, casting their eyes to the ground. Rose and the dwarves continued their concert, but their crowd dwindled.
“How long have they been here?” Gus asked the barkeep.
She picked up the chipped mug and wiped it down with a rag. “They came into town two weeks ago, talking big things about the war with Umbria and all the money they were going to make.”
“I wonder why they don’t move on?” Gus inquired.
“From the way I understand it, they’re waiting for Count Ebner to arrive with his army.” The barkeep ceased her mug shining. She sat the mug on a dish-littered countertop. “Oh, how the dishes will pile up when they do finally get here–which can’t be soon enough! I’m tired of these Alexandrians walking around like they own our town. All of them are rude and arrogant and lack any common courtesy–or sense.”
Gus sipped his mead.
“God bless me!” She shook her curly head. “Why did I give those thugs a room under my roof?”
Gus and the Moonlit Mysterium went over their list again and again. Rose counted their money twice. “We did good!” Rose said. After counting the money, she immediately retrieved a small hand mirror and began brushing her hair with a little wooden brush, engraved and carved by skilled elvish hands. “Not only did we get a majority of our supplies back, but somehow, we came out ahead!”
“Somehow?” Skiggi laughed. “Rose, you’ve got blisters between your toes!” He pointed at her feet.
Rose shot him an icy glare. “You can see them?”
Skiggi shook his head. The braids of his beard jingled. “Well, no…”
“Who cares about blisters?” Dori asked. “We got rid of the big splinter!”
“And it fetched a fair price,” Skiggi added.
Gus sat on his bed, looking over the supplies in his backpack. And what good will it do? A year from now, you’ll be celebrating a different victory, but you’ll be no closer to the end of your war. It never ends with you people. He unraveled the cloak that wrapped his swords. Upon seeing the blade of Arthur–Ninathril–Gus longed to run his fingers down its razor edge. For a moment, he considered tying them to his belt but decided against it. Everything is in order, he concluded.
They left their room about an hour later. The sun hung low in the East, peeking around the Douhas Mountains. The morning air was crisp and cool.
Around back, they found the stable area and their new wagon waiting at the ready–Fran stood at its head. She waited patiently. Her fur looked sleek. Gus already had a silver circling in hand. He threw his pack and wrapped swords in the back of the wagon.
A loud thud and a commotion stole his attention. It came from inside the stable. “Let me go!” a boy cried.
Augustus marched up to the stable and stood in its open door. Two full-grown men held the stable boy by his arms. His dirty shirt was torn, and his back was marked with bruises. The bald mercenary stood before them. He smiled. “Look here, you little rat! I know you put that nail in my horse’s hoof!” Two other men stood beside their leader, grinning like fools.
The little boy shook his head. “No, sir! I promise! It was an accident! He just stepped on a loose nail!”
The bald man struck the boy across the face with the back of his hand. Gus’ stomach wrenched. Thankfully, the man had enough sense to remove his mailed gauntlet before beating the child.
Gus walked into the stable.
The bald man immediately turned on him. “What the–? Who are you?”
Augustus held out his hands. “Just a stranger passing through town. I overheard the commotion. And was looking for the boy, anyway.” Gus chuckled. “I owe him money.”
The mercenary leader looked to his men and smiled wolfishly. He eyed Gus. “Well, now, maybe we can work something out. The boy here owes me money for ruining my horse’s foot. Give me the money you owe him, and we’ll leave the little shite with his bruises.”
Gus flipped the silver circling to the man. The bald man caught it. He turned it over in his hand, then pocketed it. “A whole silver? For this rat?”
“Hey!” the stable boy shouted. “That’s not fair!”
The mercenary punched the boy in the stomach. Gus found himself paralyzed in shock. The mercenary knelt and put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Life isn’t fair.” He laughed, then shoved the stable boy to the ground. Gus stood still as a statue as the mercenaries marched past him, one by one. The stable boy lay crying in a heap of muddy straw and manure.
Gus followed the men outside, shutting the door behind him.
“Hey!” Gus shouted.
The mercenaries turned to face him. Rose, Skiggi, and Dori, who sat on their wagon, waiting, also turned in their seats. “What’s going on?” Rose asked. “Is everything okay?”
“I thought we made a square deal,” the bald man said, smiling. Gus never stopped to think. He just walked up to the man and punched him square in the jaw. The man staggered backward, falling to the ground. His companions charged Gus. Augustus dodged and moved, lashing out as they drew near. The bald man cackled. “He’s as slick as a fox! Now, this is a real sport!”
Somewhere in the mix of bodies hurtling themselves at him, Gus spotted his companions in the fray. The mercenaries cursed and shouted, as did Rose, who offered a colorful vocabulary to paint their enemies. Soon, an unfamiliar voice joined in–the stablemaster! Gus heard the old man cursing at hooligans and thugs. Gus came face to face with the leader of the mercenaries. The bald man smiled. He drew his sword. Steel scraped sheathes as the other mercenaries armed themselves.
Augustus looked at his companions. Rose bled from her lip. Skiggi had a nasty cut on his cheek. Dori had a black eye. And the stablemaster, who joined in on their side and found himself held at sword point alongside them, looked unscathed. He held a hammer in one hand and a fistful of black hair in the other. “What have you done to my stable yard?” he cried, waving his hammer at the mercenaries.
Augustus raised his hands. He met the bald mercenary’s eyes. “You’ve had your sport. Now, go.”
The man bled from his nostrils. He shook his head. “No.” He sheathed his sword. “You and I had a deal. We will settle the score.” He undid the leather straps at his belt, loosening his swords. Gus looked at the soldiers, who watched their leader with reverence.
He wants a duel? Gus considered. He wanted to hold Ninathril again. Now was his chance. No… if I kill their leader, who will step up to rein them in? What if they lash out against the townsfolk in anger? I started this…
“Just give the word, Gus, and these boys will wake up in a grave!” Skiggi shouted. He frothed at the mouth. His stout arms bulged beneath his shirt.
“No,” Gus said. “No one needs to die for this.”
“I agree,” the bald man said. He removed his chainmail shirt. “We’ll settle this man to man. Fists will be our weapons. An honest sport. My men will make sure you don’t run.” He laughed. Then he cracked his bare knuckles.
And they’ll avenge you if you lose. Gus weighed his options. He eyed his companions, then removed his cloak, his belt, and the dagger hanging from it. He handed them to Skiggi. “Don’t interfere. No matter what happens.”
“Are you really going to do this, Gus?” Dori asked.
Rose held her silence. Somehow, Gus knew she understood the situation.
Gus nodded. “Don’t interfere.” His companions shrunk away, passing through the circle of soldiers. The soldiers formed an arena of bodies for the combatants. Gus approached the bald man, squaring up, lifting his fists, and lowering his chin.
Why do I always fight wars I can’t win?