We didn’t make it to the next village before the storm hit. He didn’t even come very close. Sweeping down from the mountains, the ominous dark clouds continued to build to the west. I started seeing brief flashes of lightning flicker up the sky ahead and began to hear the rumbles of distant thunder. We had barely made it a couple of miles out of the last village. Should we turn around and go back, or forge our way forward?
Honestly, we were still too close to the city for my comfort, so weather be damned we continued our slow progress down the road. And another decision was added to the mistake column. Within a couple of more miles, I felt the temperature begin dropping and the wind started picking up. The lightning was more visible and the peals of thunder much louder. Then, the rain began. It didn’t fall straight down. It blew in at an angle, constantly blasting us in the face as we headed deeper into the storm. The rain was very cold and soon I had handed out all my extra blankets. When the wind would subside from time to time, the smell of wet wool, the stench of the farmyard, permeated the air. I almost jumped out of my skin a couple of times as lightning struck close by. Perhaps the most disheartening thing, though, were the looks of utter misery plastered to my companions’ faces. Misery loves company? There was a lot of company.
By the time we reached the next village, someplace I later learned was named Fair Valley, the storm had already abated, the weather settling into a drenching, driving rain. I knew we had to stop, to find shelter, to get our things dried out. I especially worried about the older members of our party. Hypothermia is no joke.
Fair Valley was neither very fair, nor was it located in a particularly conspicuous valley. When we slowly rolled into town, I noticed something that had not come to my attention the first time I had quickly passed through the settlement. The buildings looked old, much older than most of the places we had traveled through. Many of the buildings were not in great shape, as if the occupants didn’t either have the time or resources to fight off the ravages of years passing. As we slopped our way up the highway, I saw that many people were out on their low, covered porches watching the rain. I didn’t see very many young people. Almost everyone was orcish, and middle aged or older. If the economy of this little village was as depressed as it seemed to be viewing it from an outsider’s perspective, I guess it made sense that most of the younger people would move elsewhere to seek a better life.
Finally, near the center of town I noticed what appeared to be an inn. It was a sprawling single story affair that occupied a good sized portion of the center of the village. The only conspicuous signage was posted just right of the entrance. It read merely “Inn”. That seemed strange to me as every other inn, tavern or restaurant that I had encounter had some sort of fanciful trade name. Not this one, though. I guess if you own the only inn a town has to offer, you can eschew ornamentation in the favor of function. It certainly makes the signage cheaper to replace. Around back, I could see a large barn, big enough to hold our wagons and team. After hitching our oxen to a post provided for that purpose, I directed my new companions up under the covered porch that ran along the front of the building. They spread out unevenly because the roof of the porch leaked and a person had to step carefully to avoid an unintended shower from the water pouring off of it.
Shaking as much water off as I could, I entered. Stepping into a large common room with a merrily blazing fireplace, my eyes swept the establishment. Although the room had enough space for dozens of people, the only customers were a pair of old orcs. They sat at their table, both staring morosely into the fire, sipping their drinks and basically ignoring each other. The only visible staff was a single person behind the bar. A human woman, she looked up at me as I entered.
“You’re making a mess on my floor,” she exclaimed angrily. “Didn’t your mother teach you to stay out of the rain.”
I glanced down at the floor below me and noticed that a small puddle of water had formed below me, dripping from my sodden clothes.
“My apologies,” I replied. “I was caught by the storm out on the road. I’m just returning from the capital with some slaves I purchased and we were between villages when the storm rolled in. They are standing out on the front porch, soaking wet. I don’t want them to take sick and die. I would lose all the money I invested, my life savings. I was wondering if I could pay for food and shelter here so we can all get dried out?”
“Do you have guards on those slaves?” one of the old orcs interjected. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll run off if you leave them unguarded.”
“No, sir,” I responded. “I treat my slaves well, today excepted, and I made certain to purchase only the most docile. If they ran, where would they run to?” Yeah, I was lying my ass off.
“You left a group of dirty five fingers out on the porch of my inn?” the innkeeper shouted at me. “You’ll be driving off my paying customers.” I wondered what paying customers those would be, taking in the state of the furnishings. Some of the chairs looked very rickety, like they would fall apart if they were moved, leading me to believe that they had not been used in many years.
“I’m glad to pay you for your inconvenience and for the mess I am making on your floor,” I said.
The old woman liked that. I could tell because her face lit up at the word pay.
“Do you have livestock or wagons?” she asked.
“I have two medium wagons and three oxen.”
“And how many slaves?”
“Ten of them,” I answered.
“A room for you, space in the barn for your slaves and your team, food for the slaves, some grain for your livestock, am I missing anything else?”
“Is the barn heated?” I asked.
“Don’t be daft, of course the barn isn’t heated,” she responded. “Is this the first time you’re out in the country? You sound like you’re in deep over your head.”
She was correct. I was in way, way too deep. Making this crap up as I went along was getting old. I needed to find someplace to set down some roots, to rest, to plan.
“I think the gentleman over there it correct,” I said. “I am trusting but not too trusting. I can’t leave them all out in the barn while I sleep inside. I could wake up with nothing left. How much to rent your common room after you close for the night? We could all bed down here.”
“Hmm, I would lose some customers, for awhile at least,” the old woman answered. “A lot of upstanding folk would take offense at eating and drinking and socializing in a place where a bunch of slaves were quartered.”
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The other old orc, the one who hadn’t said anything, broke in. “Upstanding customers,” he guffawed. “The next one I see in here with be the first one I have ever seen in here, this gentleman excluded.” He nodded towards me.
“What if I just rented a portion of the room that you don’t use very much,” I said, pointing to a dimly lit corner of the expansive room. “Then you could keep your better customers in another area and they wouldn’t feel so put out?”
“I’ll have you know that we frequently host large gathering here, wedding receptions and the like,” the innkeeper said. I didn’t think that was true given the choked giggles the two old orcs tried unsuccessfully to stifle.
“What will it cost me?” I asked.
“Five gold,” she replied in a no nonsense voice. “And the slaves stay in the barn until we close.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the old orcs. Their eyes looked like they were about to bug out of their heads.
“This was caused by my stupidity,” I shot back. “If I have to pay five gold as a tax for that stupidity, then so be it.”
Squelching over to the bar, I quickly stacked five gleaming gold coins on its pitted top. The old woman’s hand shot out with a dexterity that belied her age and she scooped up the coins. She must have caught a splinter from the bar as she started wincing slightly and picking something out of the heel of her hand. I didn’t feel sorry for her, not one bit.
“Hey, moneybags,” the first orc who had spoken piped in, shaking him empty mug at me. “How about you stand us each a round since we have been so friendly to you.”
Pulling out a silver coin, I dropped it on the counter. “Will this cover another round for my new friends?” I said with an obviously fake winsome smile.
“Hell, that will cover two rounds and dinner as well,” the second orc said. “Thanks, sir.”
I then stomped out into the rain and quickly explained the situation to my retinue. Most of them weren’t very happy being relegated to the barn but when I explained there would be a fire later to get them dried out, it improved their moods considerably. Taking the wagons out to the barn, we were met by an even older and more decrepit human man. He showed us to stalls for the oxen and places to park the wagons. When he was out of earshot, I gathered all my people around me.
“I swear I will make this up to you,” I promised. “We have to show people what they expect to see until we can find a place to call our own.” Just saying that put a sour taste in my mouth.
After getting everyone settled in the barn, I reentered the inn. The two old orcs were merrily dining. They had been joined by a third, similarly aged, orc who looked angry because he had missed out on my largesse. Watching them eat, he sat and sullenly sipped on a large mug of something.
Minutes later, dinner was served to me. I received a platter of tasteless looking coarse bread, a slab of meat that was evenly split between fat and gristle, and a large glop of some sort of root vegetable that had been boiled and mashed beyond recognition. After eyeing the meal for a moment, I stood and carried it over to the third orc.
“Here, you’re missing out,” I said, placing the meal in front of him. He smiled at me, showcasing obvious gaps where teeth once resided. Then, without another word, he started eating contentedly, sliding the meat around his mouth so that he could worry it in the few places that he still had opposing teeth. “Do you mind if I join you all for a drink later?”
“If you’re buying, we’re drinking,” the third orc replied.
Walking back over to the bar, I asked the innkeeper about food for the rest of my companions. She said that there was a cauldron of soup that had just about finished cooking, and it would be served with a few loaves of bread, but I would have to order a couple of slaves to come in and carry it out. I went back out into the weather, the rain having subsided into a cold continuous drizzle, and collected Xeng and Patrick from the barn. They carried the cauldron of soup back to my companions and I toted the bread.
“You can try this to see if you like it,” I announced. “I don’t think you will, though. Feel free to eat the provisions we have instead. We can’t make a fire here to cook, but I don’t hold out high hopes for the quality of the food I purchased.”
I tried the soup. It was thin, greasy and altogether nasty. When nobody was around, we crept out the back of the barn and dumped it in the street. Then, each of us ate preserved food until we were full. It was a far cry from the good meals Jahhaf had been preparing for us, but it was still better than the horrible fare that the inn’s kitchen produced. Once again, I solemnly promised to make it up to everyone. I will say that some people did eat the bread. It was coarse, largely tasteless and more time could have been spent working the dough, but it was edible. It must have been outsourced from somewhere else.
Going back into the inn, I noticed that its total customer base was still comprised of the same three old orcs. I nodded at an empty chair at their table, and asked if I could sit. Receiving nods of ascent, I carefully lowered my weight into the ancient chair. It groaned and popped as I settled into it.
After ordering and paying for another round for the table, we slowly made our way into conversation. I never asked for the orcs’ names, nor did they attempt to acquire mine. The orcs all had firm opinions that I treated my slaves too well, that I was too trusting. Why? Because everybody knew that the dirty five-fingers would cut your throat in your sleep as easily as a farmer slaughtered a pig. And that’s when I first heard about the prophecy.
Apparently, several years after the five-fingered invaders were defeated, several major religions simultaneously but independently released versions of a nearly identical prophecy. The old orcs argued about who released it first. There were surprising commonalities between all of the different versions. The heart of the prophecies emphasized that the five-fingers would rise again, sweeping in from the sea like an ill wind. Countries would fall before them, social order upended until the once slaves controlled everything, all the noble houses forced into ruin. And that, I was told, was why slaves had to be kept in squalor and disciplined strictly. When the invaders came again, they couldn’t find fertile a ground for a slave uprising. Instead, what they would find would be a bunch of well conditioned drones, too fearful to even consider raising a hand against their masters.
I thought they got their reasoning all wrong. If five-fingered humans and other races were integrated into society and made to feel valuable, then there would be no reason to revolt. All these people were doing was stoking the fire, making certain that if there was another invasion their slaves would have a list of grievances to pursue that spanned generations.
Nonetheless, I kept buying rounds while hardly sipping my drink. I thought Levan’s beer was bad, but this stuff was worse. It tasted like used bandages and old sweaty gym socks. Yet these poor fools were quaffing it like it was the very stuff of life.
Eventually, each of the three orcs had their fill and staggered home one after another. The inn was closed for the night and I was told I could bring everyone else in. When I stepped back outside, the rain had stopped, the only evidence of its passing the pools of water on the ground and the puddles in the potholes of the town’s poorly kept streets. We quickly filed into the inn. The old woman admonished us to stay in our designated area, and then went somewhere else in the building to find her rest for the night.
We didn’t stay in our area. Instead, everyone quickly rushed the fire. I fed it again with some wood I found stacked near it. Sodden blankets and some articles of clothing were hung over the tables near it to dry. We were undisturbed that night, the watches I had set proving unnecessary but giving everyone peace of mind. I scheduled the last watch to end just as the sky was starting to brighten from the impending sunrise. We quickly gathered our things and made our way back out to the barn. After hitching the oxen back up to the wagons, we were headed back down the road again.
Apparently, nobody in town was a particularly early riser. I don’t think anyone there noticed when we slipped away, glad to put Fair Valley well behind us.