The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  “Down!”

  The carriage swerves as I pull Reynold down and I see Ressa blur beside me. The crossbow bolt streaks towards the side of the carriage and shatters as it touches us. The bolt doesn’t break the magically-reinforced sides of the carriage—

  But it does end the spell. The world goes bright again and I realize we’re visible. The Goblins shout and Reynold desperately flaps the reins to move us faster. I glance back at the Goblin with the crossbow—

  And recognize her. Rags meets my shocked gaze for one second, and I see her own eyes widening. And then we’re past her in a blur of snow.

  “We’re almost away, Miss Ressa!”

  Reynold shouts in relief as the Goblins fall away behind us. Then he shouts in alarm as someone runs ahead of us. The tall Hobgoblin is streaking at us from the side, on a direct collision course as he rides his massive Carn Wolf. I hear Ressa mutter something from my side. I’m scrabbling at my belt for a potion, one of the bags—anything. But I’m too slow, and the tall Hobgoblin’s mouth is open in a roar as he holds a crimson sword over his head—

  On the carriage beside me, Ressa stands up. Her hand blurs, and something flashes at the Hobgoblin. He jerks, and his sword deflects a flying object with a ringing sound. Ressa’s hands move again and the Hob snarls and jerks his reins. The Carn Wolf dodges away as five more black blurs fly at him. He strikes down each one, but while he does the carriage flies on. In a second we’re past him, and his howl of fury confirms that we are safe.

  Then we’re gone. The Goblins racing after us stop as they become distant figures, and then just blips on the horizon. We race on through the snow, once again lost in a void of silence.

  The three of us just sit on the front of the carriage, breathing hard. At least, Reynold and I am. Ressa is still sitting on the edge, still gripping the open door she came out of. Reynold’s hands are white on the reins and I’m wondering if I’m going to have a heart attack.

  Gods. What just happened? Goblins, obviously. But so many? Where are they going? Was that Rags, Erin’s little friend!? And the other Hob—I could have sworn he was the one at the inn! What’s going on?

  And Ressa? My head turns and I stare at her. She returns my look impassively.

  “We’re safe now.”

  That’s all she says. Slowly, she begins to pull herself back into the carriage, ignoring the wind ripping at her maid’s uniform. I call out to her.

  “Wait! What was that?”

  She just stares at me. And shrugs.

  “My orders were to keep you safe.”

  I point to her with a trembling hand. It was just a blur—hell, all of that was a blur. But I saw what she threw at the Hobgoblin.

  “That was a throwing star. Are you—?”

  Ressa slams the door to the carriage without a second word. I stare at the door. Oh my god. That can’t be true, can it? Is she a ninja mai—

  Nah. I sit back with the [Butler] and shake my head. I’m going nuts. This entire thing is nuts. I’m nuts, I want to eat nuts—I’m shaking—

  So is poor Reynold. His face is pale, although he still looks pretty damn composed for someone who just drove us through a Goblin army. More props to him, I guess. If this is how all British people are, no wonder they didn’t crack when they were getting the shit bombed out of them during World War II.

  I’m generalizing. And panicking. I take a few more breaths of cold air to still my beating hard. That was—jeez.

  After a minute I rap on the little window that connects us with the coach with a trembling hand. It doesn’t open.

  “Hey. You in there. Pass us a bottle, will you?”

  I shout it at Ressa and hear no response. But after a moment, the window slides open and one of the bottles of wine is handed through, bottom-first.

  I pop the cork after six tries, and then drink from the top. It’s probably high-grade stuff I gulp down; I don’t even taste it. After I down a third of the bottle I nudge Reynold. He jumps and the carriage swerves; when he sees the bottle, he gratefully accepts it and drinks from it without a word.

  We just sit in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. After we finish it, I throw the bottle into the snow, ignoring every instinct in my body that tells me not to litter, and I get Ressa to pass us another one.

  Reynold drinks, I drink. We stare at the landscape, and I look at the side of the carriage. The crossbow bolt didn’t even scratch the paintwork. God.

  I want this carriage.

  After I’m feeling a bit warmer and the cold sweat has mainly evaporated, I glance at Reynold. He’s got a bit of a flush as well. I glance at him. He’s just a [Butler], wearing a light grey jacket over his dark clothing. He’s holding the reins steady, guiding the magic horses forward.

  “Is it always like this?”

  He shudders, and shakes his head for a second before changing his mind and nodding weakly.

  “Sometimes. On bad days.”

  “Jeez.”

  I sit back, and stare ahead. The world is white. It rushes past me with a roaring sound made faint by the carriage’s magic. I sigh, and look ahead. My friends and Goblins lie behind. And in the distance I see a faint shape on the horizon. Dark buildings, rising out of the ground as the light in the sky fades to nothing.

  Invrisil, the City of Adventurers, awaits. And after that—

  Lady Magnolia.

  3.11 E

  Day 31

  I wake up when I hear the crying. It isn’t Durene. She sleeps beside me, or rather, slightly apart from me on the floor of her cottage. Even though we’re close, we sleep a bit apart. Durene sometimes rolls over in her sleep, and I have no desire to be squished like a bug twice. Especially because she’s so hard to wake up when she’s in a deep sleep.

  Cautiously, quietly, I roll out of my side of the bed, trying not to wake Durene. She needs her sleep, and if she knows I’m awake she’ll fuss over me and be too anxious to rest. I shiver as my shoulder touches the cold floor of Durene’s cottage. I briskly get up and grope around for my clothing, locating the undergarments and over garments I placed next to my head when I slept.

  It’s harder than I’d like; I keep finding what I think is a coat and instead pulling up part of the warm blanket Durene and I were sharing. Part of the issue is that I can’t tell where clothing stops and Durene’s bed begins.

  My friend and host Durene doesn’t have a proper bed; just a mattress made of soft blankets and pillows. I can understand why; she’d probably break any raised surface with her weight, and even a king-sized bed wouldn’t exactly be that big for her. Durene’s not a giant, but she is half-Troll, and that means she’s easily six foot six, or maybe even taller. I can only guess; I’m barely five eleven myself, so I have to use that as a reference when measuring her.

  Fully dressed but sock-less, I shiver as I pad around the room. Still cold, even with multiple layers. I feel at one of the windows and touch a wooden shutter, cold and frozen. Right. Durene has no glass.

  But I don’t need to go outside to feel the cold emanating from the window. And the lovely little fire Durene made last night has gone out, even the embers. Winter is truly and deeply upon us.

  Normally I wouldn’t care. I’d wake up later, and help Durene make breakfast. But today is different. I pause as I hunt for a sock and raise my head.

  “There it is again.”

  I whisper the words. Someone is crying. Not someone, actually. Something. I can tell it’s no person out there, but something animal. It’s shrieking. I think it’s a bird, but it sounds far different from any bird call I’ve heard back home. Far more anxious and…desperate.

  Yes, a bird. But then, maybe I’m being too hasty here. I think it’s a bird, but given that I’m in a fantasy world, couldn’t it well be a bird person? Do they exist? I’ll have to ask Durene when she wakes up.

  Regardless, this creature’s definitely in some distress to be broadcasting so loudly. I’ll be the first to admit I’m more sensitive to sounds than Dur
ene, but this bird got me up even in the middle of my sleep. And it’s odd, but I have a very strong compulsion to go to it. And I even know where this…bird…is.

  “Very odd.”

  My socks are on, and my comfortable shoes are laced. I pause with my hand on the door, wondering what I’m doing. It’s snowy outside, and even though I have my walking cane in one hand, I know from experience how easy it is to get lost by myself.

  But the creature calls out again, and I push open the door and walk outside before I can stop myself. After all, I can just retrace my steps if I go a short ways. It’s not that far—and I can shout for Durene.

  All excuses, I know. But I have to follow this feeling. And so I silently close the door so as not to wake Durene and walk out into the snow.

  It’s deep. I nearly stumble as I find it’s a foot deep. Jeez, winter here is not fun. And Durene’s told me it can snow far more before the season is over. I poke at the snow in front of me, but my cane’s no good in this weather. I make a disgusted noise, but still—

  “A rock straight ahead?”

  No. It’s just my imagination. But a few cautious steps forward and my cane pokes into the snow and finds—

  A rock. Yes, a rock. Either that or some kind of fossilized vegetable. Nah, it’s a rock. But how did I know it was there?

  Half a dozen explanations pop into my head, but I have no time to stop and consider them. The bird cries out again, and this time I can tell it’s from the ground, a little bit ahead of me and to the left, on the edge of the forest surrounding the cottage.

  “Yes, yes. I’m coming.”

  No longer walking with my cane, I stride across the snowy ground with more confidence than I’ve felt in a long time. I know I’m walking straight through Durene’s frozen-over garden, and I also know what spots are slippery and even that she’s sown several crops for next year that are hibernating under the ice—and that there’s a cluster of turnips she forgot to pull up. I skirt her fence, walk towards a tree, and stop.

  How did I just do that? It wasn’t sight—I’ve never seen in my life, but I know you’d use your eyes for that and I had mine shut the entire time. But I knew where everything was. Yet here I stop, at the edge of where my…perception of the landscape fades away. Yes, it’s as if there’s a large circle around Durene’s cottage I can sense, and then just emptiness past that.

  And at the base of one tree, I can sense anxious movement, faint life. And my ears confirm that as I hear the creature cry out in alarm as I approach.

  “What’s this, now?”

  Broken branch. Twigs, bird poo, bones…the remains of a nest. And on the ground—

  I reach out and something pecks at my hand. I yelp and draw my hand back, and the fledgling bird cries out again, calling for its parents. But if it had parents, it wouldn’t be alone. So, shivering, I come to a quick decision.

  “None of that, now.”

  The bird cries out in alarm and tries to get away, but it’s much too weak and cold. I briskly scoop it up and ignore its struggling. The bird pecks at me again, but this time he only gets my gloves. I walk back to Durene’s cottage, thinking hard all the while.

  Bird fallen from nest? Doubtless. What happens to birds when that happens? I know the best thing to do is to put it back in the nest, but what if the parent is gone? Maybe it’s just independent?

  No—I feel gently at the bird as it squawks anxiously again and amend my opinion. I don’t feel any feathers, only fuzz. This is no fledgling, a semi-adult bird. It’s a baby chick, or whatever the correct term is. I’m no bird watcher.

  And two more things I note: the bird is quite big for a baby. And it’s also very cold. It’s shivering; how long was it out in the snow? I hurry up and push into the cottage.

  A low growling sound makes the bird in my hands shut up instantly. I smile as I hear Durene snoring; she didn’t even notice me come back in. Well, she might have to wake up soon regardless.

  First things first. I don’t bother hunting for anything; I just turn and grab a bowl out of Durene’s shelves. Once again, I know exactly which one will fit the bird, and in another second I’ve wrapped it gently in a towel, both to warm it and prevent it from escaping. The chick is trembling. No doubt it thinks I’m going to eat it.

  Well, food is a good idea, both for me and it. I sense around, and find some bread. I slice some, again, with more confidence than I’d ever have normally, and offer some crumbled bits to the bird. It shies away from my hand, and then I feel a cautious peck at my bare skin. The bird finds a crumb, seems to taste it, and then spits the wet stuff back onto my hand.

  “Huh?”

  That’s odd. Don’t all birds like bread? I frown and try again. But this time the bird just squawks a bit as I try to push the crumbs at it, and it doesn’t touch them even when I leave some crumbs in the bowl for it.

  “Drat. What kind of bird do you call yourself?”

  I grumble at the bird as I move onto my alternate plan: getting this place warmed up. Durene’s stacked firewood in a corner, but up till this point I’d let her make the fire. I like to think I’m quite capable, but it really is a bad idea to have the blind guy messing around with flames.

  But once again, I can quite definitely tell where things are, and even if I can’t see the position of the fireplace, I know where it is. Almost like…a memory? Or a fact. Either way, my hands are steady as I strike the flint and steel repeatedly and eventually manage to get some kindling to light.

  “Fire, check.”

  What’s next? I feed the flames a bit and fan them to make them brighter, or however it is that’s supposed to work. I guess if the bird won’t eat, I’ll get something. There are eggs in a basket Durene brought from the village, but I’d feel guilty eating them right at this moment. How about…hm?

  Sausage?

  Oh yes, there’s half a dried sausage in Durene’s pantry. I know she’s been saving it for a special occasion; meat is a luxury for her. I hesitate as I bring it out. Maybe just a bit? Fried sausage would be a treat, but can I…?

  The chick suddenly squawks and kicks up a racket as I bring the sausage past it. I frown, stop, and clumsily tear off a bit of meat.

  “You want this? Really?”

  I know baby birds eat meat. I mean, they eat bugs. But I thought they liked seeds and plants more than—you know what? I’m not going to argue with the facts, especially when one fact is trying to tear the bit of meat out of my fingers.

  The chick greedily devours the first bit of meat I feed it, then the next. Bemused, I find a knife and slice up a good portion of the sausage into bite-sized morsels to feed the chick. It scarfs the pieces down—so quickly and so fast that I’m worried I’ll overfeed it and make it sick! I stop after I’ve given it nearly a quarter of the sausage, but then the chick just cries out for more!

  “Shush, you!”

  It doesn’t listen to me. What a sound it makes! It’s more like a whistle than a cry. It sounds nothing like the twittering sparrows and occasional duck that will wander by my parent’s home. But it does sound familiar…

  “Huh? Wuzzis?”

  I lightly nudge the squalling chick with a knuckle.

  “And now you’ve woken Durene. Good job, you.”

  “Laken? What’s going on? Why are you awake and—what’s that?”

  I turn and smile at Durene. Her confused voice and the way she clumsily makes her way over to me—these are the things that are now familiar to me. Funny, but after a month of living in her company I know her so well.

  “Good morning, Durene. Sorry to wake you, but we have a guest.”

  “Is that a bird? And…my sausage?”

  Her voice is dismayed, but after a round of explanations she’s only too willing to help me make breakfast and play detective. The first thing she does is exclaim over the way I’m able to help her prepare today’s meal: a soup made of onions, leeks, peas, and cabbage. Pottage, in fact. It’s seasoned heavily with dried thyme and some garlic and it tastes no
t bad at all. True, it’s a poor meal to live on each day, but I’m happy enough eating it.

  “How can you tell where everything is?”

  Durene is bewildered as I nimbly pour soup into a bowl and bring it to the table, next to the restless chick. I shake my head, smiling fit to burst.

  “I have no idea. It must be from my Class!”

  “But how? I thought an [Emperor] ruled. Why can they see things? Without their eyes, I mean.”

  “It’s not exactly the same.”

  Cautiously, I spoon the hot soup into my mouth and think as I chew.

  “It’s gotta be—I think we added too much thyme, Durene—it must be due to the fact that this is part of my domain. That is to say. My demesne.”

  “Your—what?”

  “Demesne. It’s another word for, well, land owned by someone. I know this is your cottage, Durene, but I claimed it when I became an [Emperor].”

  “I know that. And I’m happy to let you, uh, have it.”

  “Thank you. But that means I own every part of the land, not just the cottage. The ground, the sky—that must be why I can sense where to go. Because it is mine.”

  “Oh.”

  My friend’s voice is a sigh of wonder. A loud sigh, which makes the chick on the table next to me chirp in alarm. I sit up at the odd cry and frown again, tickled by that same thought.

  “This is one weird bird, though. I can feel it, but I’m afraid that even with my new…abilities…I can’t really tell what it is. Durene, what does it look like?”

  I hear Durene get up anxiously and pace around the chick. She comes nearer to me and apparently bends over, because the chick pecks her nose.

  “Ow!”

  “Careful. It’s pretty violent for a baby. It is a baby, right?”