by RG Long
Stinkrunt, the goblin pusher! He thought as he listened to the little goblin struggle in the water. Stinkrunt, the big and scary!
Or something like that.
4: The Rusty Hook
Ealrin would soon learn that the Rusty Hook was the only inn on the island.
It was an old two-story building. The second floor had rooms that could be rented out by the night or longer if you wished. Some rooms had beds crammed next to each other and others offered a more spacious experience. It all depended on your coin purse.
The ceilings were the same at both levels: parallel wood beams that held either the floor above or the ceiling in place. The walls were the same plaster as it was throughout Ealrin’s room. Though originally white, the salt from the sea had yellowed it over the years. The furniture, linens, and most of the people shared the same smell of the sea. If you lay quietly in your room, it was easy to hear the birds calling over the harbor and the waves charging to shore, causing all manner of ships and boats to bump against their docks.
The Rusty Hook was indeed aptly named, for the salt in the air had managed to add at least a small measure of rust to every metal surface. There must have been finer inns in other countries, but it was the only choice in Good Harbor.
That didn’t seem to make a difference to those who would come and go, spending a few nights and then returning to the sea.
Ealrin's use of his legs and body returned slowly. At first it was a chore to leave his bed and sit in the chair by the fire as Holve told him more about the island.
Yet after a few days rest and eating real food, instead of the broth they fed him while he was recovering, Ealrin began to regain his strength. He had begun to walk around the town of Good Harbor a bit, exploring his temporary home.
Instead of taking his meals in his room next to the fire, Ealrin began to sit in the common eating area that served as both the dining and welcoming area of the Rusty Hook. All who came and went through the little inn made their way through here.
Some of the tenants only stayed a night or two, just long enough to rest and eat a meal. Or perhaps they lingered long enough to share in a conversation with someone they had arranged to meet. These discussions would take place in the shadiest part of the dining hall with hushed voices and hidden faces.
Others visited for a greater duration. In fact, the longer a tenant meant to stay at the Rusty Hook, the more they would be inclined to make their presence known.
Their dress and manner varied as much as the shapes of the clouds over the harbor. One pair wore pelts and skins as their only clothing. They were dressed for a much colder climate than the mild spring Good Harbor was experiencing. Another came in robes and veils so thick that it made it impossible to distinguish who they were or any of their physical features.
Two things all visitors had in common: very seldom did any travel alone, and every one of them knew Holve. For the shadowy ones, a nod of the head in his direction would suffice. Sometimes he was invited over to the shadows in order to hear the news that was being discussed. With others, the greeting was more like seeing an old friend. Like the man who came a little more than a week after Ealrin begun eating his meals out in the open.
He was dressed in similar clothes as Holve: a leather vest and pants with a simple cloth shirt. A navy cloak covered his body and a hood lay unused on his back. He was much broader than either Ealrin or Holve and, as a breath of fresh wind from the east, much more jovial than any other visitor had been up to this point, especially Holve.
When he saw Holve, he ran towards him and picked him right off the ground in an embrace, letting loose a hearty, genuine laugh.
"Easy Roland, you'll crush me to pieces!" said Holve as Roland put him down, nursing his sides and giving him a stern look. Ealrin couldn’t help but notice that Holve had a small twinkle in his eye.
Maybe he has a soft side down there somewhere, Ealrin thought.
"We'd all be better for it, Holve. That way you could be in more places than one. I've much to tell you,” replied Roland as he sat opposite Ealrin.
Elezar came over to the table and Roland let out another shout of joy. He had begun to rise, but the innkeeper and cook raised his old hands to stop him.
"You hug me like you did Holve and you'll certainly break my bones. What are you eating, Roland?" said Elezar in good spirits.
He was indeed older than many other people Ealrin had set eyes on. His gray hair was long, but tidy. Both his eyes were green, but only one was able to see. He playfully kept reminding Ealrin his left one was his good one and not to look at the right's playful jumping about. His hands were wrinkled and burned from many days and nights of keeping up the old inn and cooking for the tenants there.
"Your biggest plate full of your best catch. Whatever is left of it anyway. Po tells me that the fish haven't been biting like they used to," said Roland, looking hopefully at another patron's plate.
"That's because Po's not fishing like he used to," said Elezar, rolling his eyes. "I swear that boy will never make a living with his head in the clouds."
With that Elezar headed back to the kitchen.
Roland took off his cloak and laid it next to him on the bench. Ealrin could see Roland's eyes matched his scruffy brown hair well. He was a handsome man, but perhaps would have been more so if he didn't carry with him all of those scars of battle. A cut across his cheek and another across his forehead denied him a polished look. Yet still, his smile was such that it could make you forget your troubles and enjoy the company of one so jovial.
Roland shuffled around so that the assortment of weapons strapped to his back wasn't in the way of his seat. A menacing battle-ax, two swords, and a few others that were difficult to keep track of. Ealrin was sure there were at least eight but decided not to stare, just in case.
"And who might your young friend here be, Holve? I've never seen him around, nor have I known you to travel with a companion," inquired Roland, looking inquisitively at him.
Somewhere in Ealrin's mind, he took offense to being called young.
Since he hadn't a clue as to how old he might be, being offended felt odd. He ignored it.
"Well Roland, I'll trade you tales since you say you have news for me," said Holve, reading Ealrin's face. Ealrin really had no desire to share his story.
He didn't know it. Holve told it instead.
As Roland's meal of three pieces of bread and some unidentifiable fish came to their table, he was just wrapping it up.
"And so he's been gaining back his strength here at the Rusty Hook. Though I fear he'll need cooking of a different sort soon. He hasn't said whether or not he likes the fish," finished Holve with a rare smile at Ealrin. In fact, it may have been the first Ealrin had seen.
Ealrin thought for a moment and then realized he had only eaten fish or some variant of it for the last few days. His stomach rumbled a bit in agreement with Holve's statement.
"No memory, eh?" said Roland through a mouth full of food. "No worries there, young Ealrin. There are things I'd much rather forget myself if I had the chance."
"Like that time you went off searching for a dragon, eh Roland?" Holve said it with a bit of irritation in his voice.
"I've just met this young man, and here you are wanting to show off my most embarrassing tale," said Roland with mock remorse. "Fine. A story from me and then my news, Holve."
Roland wasn't embarrassed by his story. In fact, he seemed to be relishing in the chance to tell it. Ealrin noticed that a few of the Rusty Hook's patrons had taken a break from their meals and had begun listening to the tale.
Roland took another bite out of his fish, chewed and swallowed, then started on his tale.
"I was venturing through the villages and towns in the northern rim of the republic. There were rumors of a cleric who had been rounding up some followers and asking for all their gold. Normally religion doesn't bother me, but this one felt odd. I found the cleric and was able to expose his lie pretty easily. What I couldn't s
hake were the rumors I heard after the cleric. Dragon. One living up in the high mountains somewhere. He got himself a stash of gold and was killing anyone who came within a few leagues of the place. So, naturally, I went looking for it. I have to say, adding Dragon Bane to the end of my name seemed pretty tempting. Well, all the signs pointed to one cave up on the Morath Mountain. But what I found wasn't a Dragon. It wasn't a stash of gold either. Just some troll Shaman trying to act all-important. He burned down most of the trees, and what wouldn't burn he snapped in half just to add to the story. I figure he was trying to scare everyone away because he thought he found some rimstone in the area. Well, taking on a troll, Shaman wasn't near the adventure I was hoping for, but he turned out to be pretty tough. Seeing as how I'm standing here and he's not, you can guess who won. But I still hold a grudge against all trolls because of what he did to me."
At this, Roland leaned in for dramatic effect. As a result, everyone else in the end also leaned in a little closer to hear what the troll had done to him. The inn's patrons held their breath.
"He turned me into a chicken."
Roland waited just a moment to let the absurdity of his statement sink in before throwing his head back and roaring with laughter. For good measure, he began clucking like a chicken and actually threw up into the air a handful of real chicken feathers.
It wasn't long before the entire inn was laughing, Ealrin included. It was the first time he'd laughed since he arrived here. It may have been the first time he'd smiled as well.
"I can't believe after all these years you still carry around a pouch of chicken feathers," said Holve through a half stifled chuckle.
He does have some humor then, Ealrin thought.
"And I can't believe you still set me up for that story every time we meet," chuckled Roland, wiping away tears of his own.
Most of the patrons at the inn went back to eating their meals, breaking out into small fits of laughter as one or two retold Roland's joke.
"So how much of your tale is true?" Ealrin inquired.
"The cleric and the troll are real. I checked those out myself, after I heard his version of it the third time," said Holve. "But, to my knowledge, our friend Roland has never been a chicken."
"In manner of speaking or in reality?" asked Roland, finishing off his supper. He was obviously pleased with himself for telling his story so well and for the reaction he’d received from the other patrons.
"Still, the only thing I got for all my troubles was a scar that won't heal on my neck from that blasted shaman," he said, rubbing it with his hand. "It's funny to tell it my way, but as it happened, I'd much rather forget. As I said, Ealrin, some things are fine for forgetting."
"I'd rather know who I am, and clear the fog in my head," Ealrin replied.
"Ah, but perhaps the man you were wasn't who you truly wished to be?” Roland said as he swallowed his fish and bread. “Like that cleric who used religion as a selfish means for himself. Suppose you used to be like him? Perhaps fate has granted you the chance of a better life than you lived before, hmm?" Roland said through half a mouthful of fish he had just purloined from Holve's plate. "Now, Holve," Roland said, turning his gaze back to his old friend with a wink. "I've been watching the goblins in the west..."
The thought Roland offered up hadn't occurred to Ealrin.
Would he be glad to remember his old life, or be shocked at the revelation? Was he a good person? He felt as if he was. But what if his feelings were wrong? Perhaps he was someone who was ruthless, uncaring, and unsympathetic towards others. What if the life he had forgotten was, indeed, worth forgetting?
There wasn't much time for consideration. Because Elezar came crashing out the kitchen, shaking a butcher knife at a man dressed from head to toe in brown cloth. The odd attire obscured his features.
"Thief! Brigand!" yelled the old man as he chased the man out the door. "Give me back that locket!"
5: The Stolen Locket
Roland and Holve were the first out the door behind Elezar. Ealrin quickly got up and followed the group out of the inn.
Elezar stood cursing the north, and throwing a wooden spoon as the thief made good his escape. Roland and Holve were standing next to him.
"What did he take Elezar?" asked Holve, putting a hand on his shoulder.
At this, Elezar began to weep.
"He grabbed my locket, Holve! That's the most precious thing in the world to me. I don't know why he'd take it. It certainly wouldn't fetch a good price at market," he said through fits of sobbing.
"Doesn't seem to be interested in selling it," said Roland, still looking in the direction the thief went.
“Either he’s desperate or stupid. Both are dangerous," Holve said as he adjusted the sword in his hilt. “Feeling up for a bit of adventure, Ealrin?”
Ealrin wasn’t sure. He’d only made a few short walks around the town of Good Harbor. This didn’t seem like it was going to be anything like those trips. Trekking after a thief who already had a good head start on them and was heading out of town towards the forests and small mountains of the island seemed more than a little taxing for him.
But, then again...
It was hard to put a finger on it. Just like when Roland had called him young, the thought of going off on a chase like this, an adventure, made sense to Ealrin. Perhaps the man he couldn’t remember used to do things like this all the time; chased down thieves, climb mountains, did for others instead of himself.
Something in it was natural.
“Let’s go,” said Ealrin.
“Now, there is a little fight still left in you," said Holve. “Let’s see if you can put it to any good use.” Holve was almost glaring at him as he spoke. Was he daring him to run after the thief after just recovering from his injury? It certainly felt like it to Ealrin.
“Are you sure old friend?” Roland said cautiously. “Ealrin here may not be up for it.”
At this, Ealrin knew actions would speak volumes when his words would fall short and he set off at a jog in the direction of the thief.
“Are you going to let him keep his head start?” he shouted over his shoulder.
The chase had begun.
***
GOOD HARBOR WAS CONCENTRATED on the shore. Most of the businesses were built as close to the water as earth would allow. Ancient stones shored up the water as to not allow the soil to be washed out to sea by the tides. Looking down into the depths would allow you to see the murky water of the Forean Sea, the eastern side of the island.
The various shops and businesses that made up Good Harbor's commercial district could be visited with a morning walk. Each was made of wood and fairly plain, save for the painted signs that dictated whether you were walking into a baker’s store or a fish market. The paint was peeling off the front and sides of most of the buildings due to the sea air. Each was closely packed next to the other, to be close to the shore and in sight of any traveler who stepped off of the docks. The stores all had some sort of glass front or window to show off their wares and several had their wares laid out on tables. The effect was four or five streets that split out from the docks to do your shopping on, with each having its own flavor of things to sell: metal and leather, fruit and other grown food, meat and animals. The five streets made the city of Good Harbor look like the fingers of a hand outstretched, with the palm being the docks and the water.
The docks themselves were a maze of old, sun-bleached, and slightly warping wooden paths that allowed small rowboats to be tied to them. Piles of goods were stacked onto every available space. Not that they stayed there long. Either they would go to the shops or the residents, or be put onto the ships that were anchored out further at sea. The water close to Good Harbor was too shallow to allow for the bigger ships to sail too close.
The residences that came after the shops, further past the shore, could all be seen with a walk during the afternoon. Though the Rusty Hook was a good place to stay if one didn't wish to be seen, you could hardly walk arou
nd the city of Good Harbor without being noticed by the general population.
Not a good place for a thief to run and hide. The people were too proud to be a refuge for thieves intentionally.
So it was no surprise that the thief passed the walls of the city as quickly as possible. Though the town was small, an ancient wall protected it from outsiders and invaders.
"A city without a wall is like a chest without a lock. Easy pickings," Holve would later say.
The wall was the only thing made of stone in the whole city. Everything else was wooden and made from the trees that were closer to the city than the far mountains. Holve said that the wall was older than Elezar.
The trio jogged past the town and down one of the dirt roads that ran from Good Harbor to the outside farms and small villages. A man who was guarding the door to the city had seen the thief run past the door and pointed the direction out to the three. It was not yet fully dark and the gates weren't closed. He reminded them, as they ran by, that he would be closing the gates behind them and to expect not to be let in during the night unless they made a big racket trying to get someone’s attention.
Apparently the city guard was understaffed.
Holve knew every farmer and villager by name. Ealrin was certainly impressed. Not just with Holve's uncanny recollection, but also by the sheer time and energy it must have taken the man to learn such small details.
The first house belonged to a farmer and his family. After asking if they had seen a man who fit the description, the farmer replied "He went running like he was a demon being chased toward the Lonely Pass!" Holve had thanked the man and promised to return to catch up later, but for now the group was quick to resume their pursuit.
Holve's mind was a treasure trove of information about the island and its inhabitants.
Ealrin's mind was an island in and of itself: one shrouded in fog.
The island could be covered from coast to coast in two days time at a jog. Both Holve and Roland had done this on several occasions. As they ran, Roland was relating the stories to Ealrin, who was thankful for an excuse not to say much and only let out a grunt every once in a while. His body was still not fully recovered from being injured, and his ribs, though sufficiently scabbed over and healing, were still sore and bruised. Currently, they were screaming at the abuse he was inflicting on them.
