Dinner was an awkward affair. Vash was not interested in conversation, but the prospect of actual food after three days on the run from the Duke’s Guard after Ragpicker’s Hollow was too tempting to give up. The barmaid, a woman in her middle-years with a few strands of gray threaded through her dark brown hair, brought them bowls of soup and generous hunks of crusty bread. The soup was hearty, if plain. Vegetables and rice with some shredded chicken meat thrown in. Vash didn’t care. He attacked the bowl like he had a bottomless pit to fill in his stomach.
“Nice to see someone appreciating my soup.” The barmaid said, leveling a pointed look at Corwin.
Corwin held up his hands in self-defense. “I just said it needed a bit of salt.”
The woman scoffed, then turned to Jabez. “Drinks for the lads?”
“Round of ales, thank you,” Jabez said in a low rumble Vash was coming to realize was his customary manner of speaking. “And we’ll take our room afterwards.”
“Room’s only got two beds. Want me to toss in a pallet for the new boy?” The barmaid asked, gesturing at Vash.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all.” The barmaid said. “Those rangers left this afternoon, so we have a few spares. Merchant group heads out in the morning, so we might have enough guild-rate rooms available tomorrow night for you all to bunk private. That is, if you’re staying another night?”
“That depends.” Jabez said, breaking his bread and dunking it into his bowl. “Taking this one to the Lodge tomorrow. If our business ends early, then we may head out in the afternoon.”
“Just let me know.” The barmaid shrugged and left to go fetch drinks.
After she left, Jabez flipped open his book again and made a notation on his bookmark. Vash glanced over and saw it was a running tally of numbers. From what he could see, those numbers were quite low. Jabez looked up and noticed him peeking at his notes. The dwarf frowned and closed the book.
“Sorry.” Vash said, flippant. “I didn’t know a running tally of your expenses was a big secret.”
“Not a secret.” Jabez grumbled. “I just expect to have my privacy respected. Just like I’ll respect yours if you become my apprentice.”
“Really?” Vash asked, doubtfully.
Jabez sat back, chewing, and held Vash in a long gaze. Once his mouth was clear, he heaved a sigh. “I didn’t ask about the Vagabond mark on your arm. Didn’t ask about your Eth Mitaan friends. You join the Wayfarers and your past is your past. So long as you do the job, then it can stay in the past. It’s a fresh start, boy. Most folk don’t get that in this life.”
“I don’t like being called ‘boy’.” Vash said, sullen. He never enjoyed being lectured or when people proved him wrong.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jabez said as the barmaid returned with three tankards.
“Here we go, gents.” She said, placing a tankard by each of them. Stopping by Vash, she gave him a thoughtful look. “You look familiar. Have you been here before?”
Vash shook his head. “No, sorry.”
“He’s local to the city.” Corwin explained. “You might have seen him around.”
“Really?” the barmaid said, giving Vash another look, noting his pointed ears. “Hope you weren’t out in Ragpicker’s Hollow. Terrible business what happened out there.”
“What do you think happened out there?” Vash asked, keeping his voice pleasant.
“Vash.” Corwin said, his voice holding a warning note.
The barmaid took a slight step back and frowned down at him. “What I heard happened was that a lot of innocent folk got caught up in a pissing match between the Duke and one of the gangs. Things escalated, now the Hollow is burnt out, and the gang got themselves wiped out when they tried to get revenge. Sound about right to you?”
Vash wanted to say something pithy and cutting, like Iona would have. But what the barmaid said cut pretty close to the reality of the situation. The Eth Mitaan had tweaked the Duke’s nose one too many times. It shouldn’t have happened like that, but they had gotten reckless, drunk on their own success. Now their own people were paying for their hubris.
“Room’s ready when you are.” The barmaid said to Jabez, then strode off to help other customers.
“You’re going to be a delightful traveling companion.” Jabez said, taking a deep drink from his tankard. “Do you piss off everyone you meet, or just people trying to be nice to you?”
Vash stayed silent but glanced up at Corwin, who gave him a look of pity, then concentrated on his own bowl. For the first time in a long time, Vash felt very alone.
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The pallet on the floor hadn’t been too bad. Stuffed with rushes, with a clean sheet and blanket, it was the most comfortable bed he’d slept on all week. The competing snores coming from Jabez and Corwin, however, were another matter. Exhaustion had finally taken him sometime deep in the night as he counted the heartbeats between when Jabez would stop breathing and when he would restart with a loud, sudden snort.
Vash slept fitfully. Dreams of fire, blood, and screams kept bringing him back to consciousness. The unfamiliar locale didn’t help either. Every creak on the stairs or footstep in the hallway brought a surge of panic, making him wish for his tiny room back at the temple. It had been cramped and smelled of damp earth and rot, but he knew every footstep that went past his door was a brother or sister.
When the sun finally rose, Vash felt like he had barely closed his eyes all night. Still, Jabez managed to rise before him and nudge him awake with the toe of his heavy boot. “Come on, lad. Lodge opens soon and we have some work to do.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
From boy to lad. Vash thought as he squirmed out from beneath his blanket. In a week I’ll be “son” or “m’boy”. Won’t that be fun?
Corwin was already awake and buckling on a heavy leather jerkin. A sword with a well-worn hilt wrapped in leather lay on the bed beside him. The scabbard was plain, something any mercenary would carry. The pommel had an intricate device worked into the metal, though. That indicated that it had been crafted specifically for someone, making it more than just a common blade. Wonder where he got that? Vash wondered, pulling on his own tunic and searching for where he’d left his boots.
Jabez hefted a large hammer, the head of which was easily the size of two large fists put together. Dwarvish rune writing was engraved into the head and into the polished wood of the handle. If Vash had to guess, then that hammer was very old and an heirloom of some kind. He had always heard that the dwarves handed down weapons through their families, though usually to favored sons and daughters, not ones who became common Wayfarers.
The tavern was just as empty as the previous night. Only one woman and the halfling occupied the tables when Vash came down the stairs. The smell of sweetrolls wafted from the kitchen, and Vash felt his stomach growl.
The halfling looked up at the sound and gave a lopsided grin. “I know the feeling, friend. Lin’s sweetrolls are half the reason I stay at this inn when I come through Sathsholm.”
“I rarely get something that smells like that to break my fast.” Vash said, looking at the halfling’s plate and the coil of cinnamon, soft dough, and sugar glaze that was in the middle of swift consumption. “I’m lucky to get anything at all, to be honest.”
The halfling nodded, making his long, curled mustaches bob with the motion of his head. “Oh believe me, I understand. I spend most of my time on the road as well. Not as much as you folk, of course, but a considerable part of the year.”
“Us folk?”
“You’re with those Wayfarers, right?” The halfling asked, cocking his head slightly. “I saw you with the dwarf and the big man last night.”
“Oh, right.” Vash nodded. “I guess I’m still on probation.”
“Ah, well, good luck. Need more Wayfarers out there on the Glory Road. Ever since the Obrun River Valley opened up, there’s been no end of bandits and other odd things out on the roads. Too much money flowing and not enough swords to keep it safe.” The halfling shook his head.
“I…I must have missed the news.” Vash said. He’d heard that big things were happening in the north, but big things were always happening in the north and it hadn’t concerned him yet.
“What happened?”
The halfling gave a broad grin and leaned closer, as though he were sharing a great secret. “Only the biggest news in the past century. Dwermothrax, the dread is dead!”
“That’s…good?”
“Dwermothrax was a bloody old dragon. One of the great wyrms. He claimed a vast valley up in the mountains, the headwaters of the Great Obrun river itself, and ruled it like a great scaly tyrant. A few small settlements were allowed up there. Shepherds, farmers, that sort of thing. Dwermothrax tolerated them so long as they didn’t put up a fuss when he raided their sheep. Anyway, a couple months back, a few shepherd boys were tracking some wayward sheep, and they came across Dwermothrax, slinking back into the mountains. His wings were torn to ribbons, and he’d taken great wounds all over his body.” The halfling shook his head in amazement. “Still, he was damn terrifying. The boys tried to hide, but he spotted them, told ‘em that his wounds were mortal and that he wouldn’t be around to keep the valley safe much longer. Told ‘em that the valley and all its riches belonged to those that could keep it, then warned ‘em that dark times were coming and that they had to be prepared. Then he crawled into the caves beneath the mountain. Few days later, a great storm could be seen over Drakenvult, the mountain that he made his home. Everyone says that was his death throes. Now there’s a great rush to the valley to find Dwermothrax’s hoard and plunder the riches that he kept us all away from all these years.”
“That’s quite a story.” Vash said, unsure of how he was supposed to react.
“Aye, and now there are riches coming down the roads. The first folk in the valley found Therium in the rivers. Big nuggets just lying in the water for the taking. Which means there are bigger seams up in the mountains. Artificers and alchemists will pay through the nose for just a bit of that stuff, but that’s nothing compared to what a wizard will pay for a steady supply.” The halfling’s eyes gleamed at the prospect. “But lots of riches means lots of bandits. Which means a load of silver for you folk as caravan guards and bandit patrols.”
“I suppose so,” Vash said, distracted. A tray of sweetrolls was coming out of the kitchen and a plate of them was making its way to the table where Corwin and Jabez were getting settled.
“I see I’m keeping you from important matters.” The halfling chuckled. “I hope we meet again sometime. I’m always looking to make friends with Wayfarers. The name’s Silas Quartercall, of Quartercall’s Fine Goods.”
Silas held out a hand and gave Vash a bright smile. Vash gave a weak grin and accepted the handshake. “Vash Ballard.”
“Pleased to meet you, Master Ballard.” Silas said, pumping Vash’s hand enthusiastically. “If you’re ever in need of coin, look for me on the Glory Road. You and your strapping companions would be most welcome in any caravan I travel with. My partners and I would make it well worth your while.”
“I’ll…uh…I’ll let them know.” Vash said, letting go of Silas’ hand and backing away. The halfling gave him a jaunty wave, then turned back to his table companion, talking animatedly and digging back into his half-finished sweetroll.
“Making new friends?” Corwin asked when Vash finally joined them.
“Wasn’t trying to.” Vash said, still a bit bewildered.
“That’s halflings for you.” Jabez grunted.
“I’ve seen Silas a few times on the Road.” Corwin said, tearing into his sweetroll. “Seems a good sort. Always has an idea of where the winds are blowing.”
“He said that the Obrun River Valley is open and that some big dragon is dead.” Vash shrugged, reaching for a roll.
Jabez paused, a mug halfway to his lips. “Dwermothrax the Dread is dead?”
“That’s what Silas said.” Vash said, taking a bite of the roll. It tasted every bit as good as it smelled. He had a hard time not letting out a moan of pleasure. It had been a long time since he’d had any sweets or rich foods. The Eth Mitaan kept him fed, but the meals couldn’t be called high-quality fare.
“I’ll have to look into that.” Jabez grumbled, taking a drink from a clay mug of strong tea, cloudy with milk and honey.
“That’s up the Highland Road, isn’t it?” Corwin asked. “I thought nobody went up that way.”
“Because of the bloody great dragon.” Jabez said. “There used to be a lot of things in that valley. It was an old outpost during the Malconian Empire. Some of the great wizards had towers up there during the Mage Wars. Who knows how many dungeons have formed since those times?”
“Sounds dangerous.” Corwin said.
“Sounds like an opportunity.” Vash countered.
Jabez gave Vash an appraising look. “Sounds like something we’ll worry about if we can get you Wayfarer status, and if we make good on the quest the Duke gave us to secure your freedom.”
“Corwin mentioned something about that when he came to get me,” Vash said, stuffing the last of his roll into his mouth. “What are we supposed to do, exactly?”
“Helping some mage in a village north of here.” Corwin said. “Nothing special.”
“We’ll talk about that once we get you squared away.” Jabez said, tossing back the last of his tea. “Speaking of which, we should get going before the Lodge gets too busy.”
Corwin nodded, snagging the last roll from the platter and holding it in his teeth while he settled his sword belt.
Vash rose reluctantly, the sweetroll starting to do some somersaults in his stomach. That’s foolish. I’ve been in the inner sanctum of the Eth Mitaan. I’m not worried about some adventurer’s test. “Anything I should know before we do this?”
Jabez thought for a moment, hefting his hammer onto his shoulder. “Evaluations are different at every Lodge and for every Master. If I had any advice, it’s this: being a Wayfarer isn’t about having a bunch of Talents and magic items, it’s about knowing how to use what you do have to your advantage.”
“That’s good.” Vash muttered. “Right now, I don’t have much of anything.”