Scarred, gnarled bowls clatter down onto the homespun tablecloth about a cluster of two-tined forks and bread knives of stained silver.

“Go ahid! Sit yerself reight doun!” commands Herman in a fatherly tone.

I smile sheepishly at him as I wind through his small home, careful not to knock against any of the chairs, shelves, and cabinets separating myself from the dinner table. I respectfully take a seat at the chair farthest from the door, and wait for the others to arrive. I close my eyes and allow my ears to draw a map of the small cluster of buildings surrounding Herman’s home.

The grinding of steel upon steel marks the dirtwater spigot besides which Aduren removes the chain mail he insists upon wearing at all hours of the day. The wispy rubbing of hay bales upon soft earth describes the location of the big red barn in which Kha prepares tonight’s modest sleeping arrangement. An old woman’s laughter provides a shrill beacon to the freshwater pump at the property’s lowest point. Hex chuckles along with Herman’s wife Maude as he works the poorly lubricated hand pump. I listen to Herman hustling about from cupboard to wood stove to wash basin in a mad rush to prepare his best supper. Finally, Hex’s creaky efforts yield water, and I turn to address my new favorite septuagenarian.

Herman stands roughly one and eighths meters tall with a gardeners’ stoop. A long life of exposure has darkened and wrinkled his skin, and shiny heat scars decorate his calves and forearms. Somehow, he still sports a full head of only partially grayed hair, and his eyes dart about with infinite youth from within his weathered features.

“I can’t thank you enough. You’ve got us cityfolk beat for hospitality.”

Herman upends a canister of the lion’s spice into a tall bowl which he has not yet filled with water. A cloud of suffocating dust erupts into his face, and he manages somehow not to cough. He turns to me with a look of extreme exertion on his rapidly flushing complexion. I fail to suppress a smile of amusement. He dashes to the bay window above the washbasin, thrusts his head desperately into the outdoors, and allows a fit of coughing and sneezing to seize him at last.

“Did ye ferget the wader again, dear?” Maude’s lively rasp mocks from down the hill.

Herman comes shakily away from the window. His body shakes with laughter, and he wears the grin of a full bellied fool.

“Noe dear!” he calls back. “Just a scarin away e beetle.” He shuts the window, and turns genuinely towards my seat at room’s rear. “And ye have got us country folk beat for gratitude. Any dae o’ the year!” I couldn’t wipe the gaiety from my face if my life depended on it.

“So tell meh a aboot yerself. Are ye e soldier?” Water cascades from the narrow mouth of a hand whittled goose shaped pitcher into the bowl of spice. I part my lips to regurgitate my stock answer, and pause. For the first time in my adult life, I have no desire to lie about my past.

“Only of the heart!” I respond with utmost sincerity. I nod to the legionnaire’s longsword resting sheathed upon a barley keg by the door. “I stole the blade from my captain when I was just a boy.” Herman scoffs and reassumes his jester’s grin.

“Just a boy! Ha! So what are ye nou? A girl?” Clever. He passes no judgment for my larceny, and a weight I did not know I bore is lifted from my shoulders.

Hex peers through the doorway, assuming a grin uncannily reminiscent of Herman’s.

“What a wonderful house ye ‘ave!” he calls as he removes a thick pair of leather calopedes. He claps them twice together to rid their soles of moist earth, and sets them beside a pair of deep burgundy boots. Herman rounds at the sound, and gesticulates dismissively towards the footwear.

“Ooo ther’s noe need for thet frend. Floor keeps the rein out, not th’ erth." I glance gratefully towards my own tattered boots, to Herman’s indoor slippers, and then to the floor beside the table. It has been recently swept. I plant my right toe against my left heel, and remove my own boots as quietly as possible.

“Do ye get many soldiers in these parts?” Hex speaks to Herman’s back, gazing towards the barn. I close my eyes and allow my ears to pick out Kha’s elephantine feet walloping the soft earth. Kha pauses, likely having caught Hex’ gaze. Hex nods amicably.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“E few.” The fervour of Herman’s glee falls by one degree. “Ein’a love lost ‘tween meself and th’ ermy. As me woman sae, pooer kerupts. Wouldn’t meind a feu soldiers reight aboot nou though.” Hex gestures in Aduren’s direction, first beckoning with his fingers, then dismissing with a shaking palm.

“And whi is thet?” Hex responds in a moderate adaptation of Herman’s highlander accent. “Got wolves?”

“I wish. We got marooders.” What could a Kona tribe possibly be doing this far North? I find Hex’ gaze and hold it for a moment. He urges me on.

“Did you see them? Th’ marauders?” Herman retrieves a meat sack from above the spice cabinet.

“Me Maude did. Eerie lookin’ blokes. Two of em she said.” He tosses a jagged knife into the sack, and makes his way to the door. Hex makes way. “Jest flock thieves though. Gypsies moost leik.” He dons his dark boots, and steps into the outdoors. “And doent ye worry yerself one bit. Thei been gone hours nou.” I look again to Hex as Herman tramps away towards the poultry coop. Hours? I raise my eyebrows. Hex shrugs and returns a worried look.

Aduren thrusts himself into the doorway. His bursting pack is draped over one shoulder, and his doffed mail hangs knee-height from the other. He whiffs the air.

“Smells inCREDible.” He announces to no one in particular. His steel toed combat boots tap the floor as they paint a path earthy residue from the door to the nearest chair. He sighs a sigh of deep contentment, and looks into my eyes.

“So. ‘Ave ye ever been w’th a woman?” I look once more at Hex before meeting Aduren’s gaze. Hex raises a hand to his temple, and rolls his eyes. He shakes his head, and carries his exasperation with him out of the house and down the hill.

------

“And that’s b’cause he’s a virgin!” Aduren bellows mirthfully, downing his sixth pitcher of homemade ale. All eyes turn to Kha’s demure form. His mouth remains awkwardly shut while his body articulates an overwhelmed, shameful state of discomfort. “Don’t worry!” Aduren continues drunkenly. “We know you’ve go’t us all beat down ther! There’s women ‘ll pay for that ye know. So what’s it like?”

Eyebrows rise all around. Kha’s lips part indecisively. The sizzling of the hearth pyre perforates the silence. Kha makes panicked eye contact with Maude, afraid the conversation has become too coarse for the dinner table. She maintains a courteous smile.

“Footlong?” Aduren prods. “More?” He holds up his forearm, inspecting it as he would a piece of fine cutlery. His eyes beg the question. The hearth ejects a triplet of smoldering embers into its guardsheet of metal mesh. Kha flinches.

“Want to kno’ s’mthing about ‘orses?” Hex interjects. Aduren shifts his chair unnecessarily so that he might look at Hex without turning his body. Kha’s savior takes his time in the spotlight.

“Why yes I do.” Aduren prompts, staring into Hex’ unblinking eyes. I am confident that Hex is not about to describe the equine appendage to a table of farmers and fieldhands, but beyond that I have no idea what he might say.

“Did you know…,” Hex begins languidly. Neither man blinks. A childlike smile lays siege to the larger man’s features. The smaller one matches it. “That wild ‘erds run rampant ‘roud here this time o’ year.” Aduren is nonplussed. Hex turns to our hosts. “ ‘nd we din’t feind a single ‘oofprint on our wei around your beaut’ful property.” Herman allows a genuine smile to replace his courteous one.

“Ye knoe th’ highs well lad! Do ye ‘ave family ‘n these parts?” Hex settles into a pensive posture, pressing a hand to his temple to hide from Aduren the wink he shoots to Kha.

“No idea reilly. Jest got me to thinkin about yer flock thieves is all.” Herman takes Maude’s hand underneath the table. “Tell me, Herman, in yer experience - do gypsies drive off wild ‘erds?” Maude begins to shake her furrowed brow.

“Well…no. Not on th’ usuel.” Herman ponders. Hex has already followed this logical avenue to its end, but he continues to lay it out piecewise so that our hosts might feel included.

“Ye see, we seen a little town set on by marooders ourselves. Jest a few days ago too.” I wish I could ask him privately not to go into detail. I do the best I can with my eyes. “Ye ‘ve got not nothing to be ‘fraid about, just tickled my curiosity ‘s all. If ye don’t mind tellin’ a ‘lil more ‘bout what ye saw?”

“Caem bei the seEman’s chrail, them. Oep the paath and reight thru th’ gaet. Laek they oened th’ plaece. Took ‘erman’s caen end shoed the sheep reight oot. Then baek deun the chrail it was.”

“I saa ‘em too.” Herman continues. “From op on top the ‘ouse.” He squints in recollection. “We saa them, and thei saa us. Gess thei figered wasn’t nothin’ we cud doo ‘boot it.” The country breathes a warm breeze through the window atop the washbasin to fill the silence.

“Figured WRong!” Aduren announces. “How long ago did they flee?”

“E smol ma’er of houres.” Herman returns quickly. “But doen’t go troublin’ yuerselves w’th thm. The flock was maerkd, an’ our paladin’s due eny dae nou. ‘Sides sheeps no euse te us b’four th’ nex moon enyhou.”