tHe hUMan?

Winter was approaching fast.

Outside, the wind blew harsher and whispered louder in the ears of travellers. It started biting skin and colouring hands blue, then black if the traveller was not armoured well enough against it. Every day there were more news. A snowstorm had buried a section of the Lonvery Pass. Half a caravan had got blown off course from an avalanche. More ice demons and giants.

Travellers came scarce and fewer than usual, but The Merrymaker made do.

Then, the hooded man returned.

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It was now that day.

A week after they had first met the hooded man. It was a normal day, with a normal chill and a normal wind rattling the windows on the second floor.

Half the words shared during that morning, a week ago, the innkeeper had already forgotten. It was afternoon, and apart from the odd traveller popping in for a warm-up by the fire, the inn was quiet. The rooms upstairs were all cleaned and empty. His son was sweeping the embers by the fireplace, and the innkeeper shook his head to see him holding the broom like one might hold a greatsword.

Still a dreamy lad. Hopefully he would grow out of it one day.

The door opened and invited in a blast of snow. His son groaned when he saw the mess waiting for him, but he brightened when the figure came into the light. That hooded face, those lips always smiling. As the innkeeper would expect of a 'fancy lad', he had taken off his shoes at the door, leaving no muddy tracks as he approached the counter.

The hooded man.

At the sight of him, more of the conversation from that day returned. It was easy to recall now. Most travellers wore hoods, but so little were as polite and refined as this one was.

“Hey! You’re that polite lad from down south! Come on in!”

“Why thank you, sir.”

As always, he ordered a pitcher, but he did not take a sip. The innkeeper clapped his shoulder anyway, feeling lighter than he had in days.

“Blessings on you for taking your shoes off outside. Nobody reads the sign. I’ve had to wax these floors again and again when people track in mud and… worse things.”

“It isn't an issue, sir.”

“Well, how was your business in Schiltigheim?”

The man’s smile widened, “Why, it was all done through the proper proceedings, good sir. And I would call it a success.”

His son bounded over, “Did you get to see the knights? Did you get to see Hordurein the Giant? Gold-Tooth Ysmein?”

The man grinned even wider.

“I did, young sir. Good fellows, the both of them. They wielded their swords well, but a little slow for my taste.”

The innkeeper chuckled, “Think you’re some expert after watching a few duels?”

Now he could see the man’s teeth from how wide he smiled.

“Oh, you know. Everyone’s an expert on something.”

That was a non-answer, but the innkeeper shrugged it away, “Well, I’m sure my son has many questions. But don’t answer him.”

“Aw, Father-”

“Enough, lad. You don’t need to hear any more stories filling up that tiny head of yours,” then he turned back to the man, “So, you are heading back to wherever south, now?”

“Yes. Lyndeira first, then maybe east. There has been talk of… something interesting, good sir. A new species discovered… a good friend in the Carrhan sent me some news. I might go check it out.”

“Really? What have you heard?”

“A species with leaves for hair, and bark for skin. Tree-folk. My friend said their village was an interesting place to be a day or two ago, good sir. And there's some... interesting rewards over there as well.”

“Huh. You go to places to be interested, don’t you? First it was here for a tale, now… there for something else… those tree-things…”

“Very good, sir. I go where the interest takes me.”

The innkeeper mulled it over and grinned, “Well, then my inn must have something interesting, huh? For you to come over twice. I feel a little flattered, lad.”

“Please do, good sir. It does indeed.”

“What does it have, then?”

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The man leaned forward, “A game, good sir.”

“A game? What’s the game?”

The room darkened a little. His son leant forward like a moth towards the last ember, soaking the man in.

“A fun game,” he licked his lips, “a game of chance, good sir.”

The innkeeper felt some hair rise, but it was probably the cold. The man had forgotten to close the door. Well, you couldn’t be perfect.

“Chance? What chance are we talking about?”

“Why, any chance at all. Wouldn’t you leap for a chance at youth again, good sir? Wouldn’t your son chance his life for a try at being a knight?”

“Well, yes. But some chances are, you know, a little bit risky. Don’t need to put so much on chance.”

“But we’re putting quite a lot up to chance right now, aren’t we?”

“What? What are we putting up to chance?”

“Oh, I don’t know. But you know. And your son knows.”

They looked at each other, then back at the man. Suddenly, the room was rather dark, despite it being afternoon. The only light came from the open door, and it blew in chilling air.

Winter was almost here.

“We really don’t know.”

“Maybe you don’t know you do. But you definitely know. Know what you’re putting up to the game right now.”

The man grinned, and now under his hood his entire face was dark. Except for the teeth. The teeth shined out of the hood, all pearly white and sparkling like marble.

“Seriously, this isn’t funny. What’s the game?”

“The game? It’s an easy one.”

He leant forward, and his finger tapped once. Then twice. Then, a rhythm, just tapping, the only sound they could focus on in the silence. The fire stopped crackling to listen.

“Why, such an easy game it is. See the door? If no one walks in… let’s say, before I lose my patience, you’ll lose the game.”

The innkeeper looked around, “What… what am I losing?”

The man didn’t say anything.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His son spoke up, “Um, sir… what are we losing?”

“Oh, I’m not sure myself. But you might know, little Neimon.”

The innkeeper jerked back, “Wait, how do you know my son’s name. I never-”

“Told you, Keith Snowsworn? I don’t need to be told things, Keith.”

Keith shivered. He wanted to walk over to close the door, but he was rooted to the spot.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“I don’t want to play this game, man. This is creeping me out, now.”

“But the game’s already started, Keith. And it’s about to end, soon. Don’t you want to see how it ends?”

“N-no, I don’t.”

His hands went underneath the counter, to the walking stick.

“Oh, are you going to use mana? That’s cheating, you know. The game is supposed to be played without mana, Keith.”

“You’re acting strange. I want you to leave, now.”

“The game’s not over yet. I’ll leave when we sees who wins.”

“We’re not playing. Get out. Neimon, behind me. I won’t fail your mother like this.”

Tap. Tap.

Neimon couldn’t move. He was like him, rooted to the spot, as if the chill outside had turned their blood to ice. The hooded man began to smile again, but it was not that polite one he remembered.

“I think you’d like the game. Maybe even if you lost.”

“W-what is this? Why are you playing this game? Why?”

“Because there’s no one here, and the game is fun when it’s just Keith and Neimon, the two in the middle of nowhere... and me.”

And finally, he managed to grab his walking stick. He tried to focus the mana within it, the restriction, but of course… he could not focus. Not at this time. He could not concentrate on anything except for the man, and the man knew it. He was grinning.

Tap. Tap.

“Please… we don’t want anything from you… you can take our money, take it. Take it.”

“But that’s not what the game is playing for. We already set out the rules, didn’t we?”

His son cowered, “I’m scared now, Father. Father… who is this man? He was so nice... why is he scary?”

Please, someone just walk in. Please.

Tap. Tap.

“Oh, how fun games can be. I have been playing so many games recently.”

If this was a normal conversation, Keith would’ve laughed and pitched in some banter. But this was not normal. Every instinct in him was screaming at him, to hide, to run… but where would they go?

“Don’t think about leaving before the game ends. There’s nothing outside but snow, anyway. I like people who play.”

Tap.

He could barely breathe, let alone put out a thought to his voice, but he did. His son trembling behind him gave some strength.

“Why… why are you doing this? Why are you playing these games?”

The man grinned, “Why do you think?”

“You’re… you’re crazy… you need to leave.”

“Why would I leave? The game’s right here, and it’s about to end.”

He was toying with them. Answering their questions in that same circular pattern, giggling as they came back to the same answer, like how a cat batted around a mouse again and again even if it had already died.

Tap.

Please… anyone… just one person walk in…

“Please… just leave me and my son alone. No games, please.”

“But life isn’t fun without games, no?”

“W-we don’t want life to be that fun, just… just leave us in peace.”

“You don’t play games?”

“N-no.”

“But you did. You played a very fun game with me… remember? When we first met… you told your son not to be a knight. That there were men out there who loved killing little boys like him.”

“Y-yes, I did.”

“You were playing a very dangerous game, then. It was so much fun. But of course, someone was there. So the game had to end. But now, it’s here again, and how delightful this is… all alone, hmm?”

Tap.

“Please, have mercy… don’t… please don’t hurt my son…”

“Oh, but the games aren’t played with mercy. The games are played, and that’s all they care about. And you know, we don’t choose to play. They do. They choose us to play these games. This inn has been standing for ever so long, and you’ve been playing every time someone passes by. You’ve been playing your whole life. And oh… so many times this inn has been empty, with no one to play, and so many times it has been full, and you’ve played with so many then. And you’ve won them all. But now it is empty, yet I am here, and I have travelled ever so far just to play this game, so let’s just see who wins or loses and have some fun, hmm?”

Tap.

“Aren’t you having fun?”

Tap.

Then, they won.

A trio of wanderers burst into the room like the sun on the cold morning. Their chatter filled the silence, and now the room was as light and warm as it had been before the hooded man stepped in. They tracked in mud, but Keith had never been happier at the sight.

The hooded man sagged, “Well… looks like I lost this one. And you won.”

Neither him nor his son could respond.

“Losing is fun, see? Maybe one day I will return and play this game with you again, Keith. And you, Neimon.”

Please… no…

But they couldn’t say a word.

“But then again, I must be on the road, good sirs. I had plenty of fun playing with you.”

They stared at him, mute.

“Do keep an eye out, though, good sirs. When your inn is empty, and it is cold and dark outside… I may come again to play one more time. And maybe I’ll win, or I’ll lose again. But that’s the fun, hmm? You can always play the game again.”

He gave them one last grin, his shining teeth the only thing under his hood. Was he even human?

“Keep having fun, good sirs.”

Then, he left.

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News came by fast when you ran an inn.

People loved to talk when out of the cold and holding a pitcher of warm ale. Keith found himself gravitating towards any customer after the hooded man left, even the rotund and brash ones, even the ones that cost him money. And how they loved to talk, especially drunk, so the news came by within hours of the hooded man’s departure.

A battalion of Schiltigheim Bannersworn had gone missing. Gold-Tooth Ysmeir and Hordurein the Giant were among them.

So… he had won one of his games, hadn’t he?

Around it spins.