Hilda's Inn for Retired Heroes

by Cyn Bagley

  It was near midnight when one of Rooso's men saw the spymaster walk through the streets, past the lights and the pubs that lighted the night. Drunken laughter burst out of one pub, then quieted when the owner of the laughter caught sight of the Draugr. The drunk stepped back into the pub and was quiet until he overcame his fear with more ale and a willing wench.

  Hilda had already felt the disquiet as if something dangerous was walking the night. She was with Rooso, the fire tube on her shoulder, and Sassy wrapped around her neck, when the message arrived. He looked so normal, the spymaster, that at first the spy hadn't realized that he was the Draugr. He had all the motions right for a living man in a dangerous place. He even carried a sword except he was the only one to leave the castle that night.

  Rooso and Hilda received another message that the Draugr had gone through the open front gate of the city. When he left, the guards shut the gate and locked it. It was the confirmation that they were following the Draugr.

  Since the gates were closed at dusk, they wouldn't be able to go out that way without being seen. With the city guards taking orders from the mage, it wouldn't be a good thing to be seen. So how she take out her men in full dark, through the gates?

  If she could get out without the guards knowing, they might be able to stop the Draugr. She asked, "Does anyone know a way out of the city without going through the gates."

  Rooso gave her that look. "Promise on your life that you won't tell."

  She shook her head, yes. Rooso sent the rest of the men home. They would have to kill the Draugr with only two them. A thrill went down her back and stopped in her stomach. It would be like old times.

  She had been on a few desperate missions in her day. It still made her stomach clench and her mouth dry.

  Delhaven, port city

  Draugr

  It was fully dark, when the spymaster walked out of the castle and towards the gates to capture the child that the mage wanted. He was almost fully Draugr, but that small part of him that was still human kept the beast in check. He had to get in and out of the city gates without the guards realizing that he was a danger. In the beginning, it was easy to fight the need to taste human flesh. Just the thought of cannibalizing other human beings had made him sick.

  His hunger had grown since then. The mage had kept him fed with scraps of flesh from his experiments. It was enough to keep him fed, but not enough to feed the every growing hunger. The small part of his mind was relieved that he had not eaten anything alive, yet. It would only be a matter of time. In the back of his mind a little voice screamed, kill me now. He couldn't be killed. He was undead and growing more undead by the day. That part of him would die eventually when the hunger became too great.

  It was a fight he could not win.

  The spymaster stopped at the gates.

  "Who goes there," said a guard. He saw the spymaster and opened the door to his small station. He had seen the spymaster a few times and knew that he was important.

  "May I help you, sir?"

  "Guard," the spymaster's voice was dry and low. "I will be back before sunrise. Will you be here?"

  The guard looked surprised. "My orders are that no one will go in and out of this gate at night," he said.

  "Let me out," the spymaster tried to keep from growling. It would be so good to eat this guard tonight. He couldn't.

  "Yes, sir," said the guard.

  The Draugr could feel the guards fear as he looked into the guard's eyes. He wanted to feast on the guard's eyes, just his eyes.

  The guard snapped out of his small trance and opened the gate. He refused to watch the Draugr walk down the dusty road as he closed the gate. If it had been day, he would have seen little puffs of dirt under the Draugr's feet. The guard could feel his atavistic brain scream, he's coming back.

  Since the Draugr didn't have to hide his nature once out of the sight of the guard, he sniffed for the smell of the new heir. It was a cinnamon-vanilla scent that tickled his nose. He followed the smell, past the right fork and towards a small village, Rosfield, that supplied the castle with apples and berries. For a moment his taste buds awakened and he remembered the taste of apple pie with cream. If he could produce tears, he would have cried.

  His body kept walking towards the boy's scent of woods, dirt, and cinnamon-vanilla. He stumbled through the woods. The path, stomped by many feet, opened into a small clearing with structures. Around the structures were the orchards. From the cottages, he could hear the slight snores and sleeping noises of the peasants. His hunger flared. Just one bite. No one would ever know. But the mage had been specific. He was not allowed to hurt anyone, just bring the boy.

  In the last cottage filled with children, he smelled the boy. The child was probably three or four. It was hard to tell because the children looked like they hadn't been fed much. There were no adults in this cottage. It was probably filled with unwanted and undesirable children. They smelled of dirt and manure. He opened his mouth and could taste a slight hint of blood.

  He walked into the cottage.

  Delhaven, port city

  Hilda Brant

  Rooso led Hilda to an underground tunnel leading out of the city. It smelled of sewage. The stink of fecal matter and rotting garbage was so strong that she pulled her scarf over her nose and mouth. She tried to breathe through her mouth as they stepped on wet slick stone and pooled water. Rats ran from them as they lit the dark spaces with lanterns.

  Hilda tried not to look at the water near her feet. The puddles had little lumps floating in it. She could tell from the watermarks on the wall that sometimes, probably during the spring and early fall, the tunnel water came up to her chest.

  When they finally reached the widened opening near a river, they crawled out on their hands and knees. Hilda tried unsuccessfully to brush off the stinky mud. She checked the tube to see if it had been damaged. It looked fine, but she wouldn't know if it worked until Sassy triggered it. Sassy grumbled and complained at the stink and the dark. The elemental was grumpy about being dragged down into a tunnel that stunk of sewage water. She was fire, not water.

  It took them twenty minutes to find the Draugr's footsteps. She knew as soon as tracked him that he was going to Rosfield. Rosfield had a reputation for growing expensive fruit for the upper classes. Until recently they had been a free community. A few years ago, it had been subjugated by Lord Barton for a rebellion. Hilda knew that most of the residents of this small village were more interested in a successful harvest than a rebellion.

  These people were little more than slaves. They could not be bought or sold, but they were tied to the land. They couldn't leave the village. Why would the Draugr go there when there were perfectly good areas in the city that he could plunder?

  They were too late when they reached the village and saw the Draugr carry a sleeping child out of a cottage. When Rooso suggested that they attack, Hilda stopped him. If they attacked the Draugr, the child would be killed. They followed him to the woods on the outskirts of the city and watched the Draugr carry the child through the gates into the city.

  It felt like a failure although it was more like a scouting mission. They still had a Draugr at large and the Draugr had a child. Why would the Draugr would kidnap and not kill? Or maybe he had killed the inhabitants? Hilda slipped into the cottage and saw the children still asleep, wrapped around each other like little puppies. Curious.

  She needed to know why this child was taken. The larger house usually belonged to the headman. Rooso rousted the headman and his wife. The headman still in his nightclothes, shivered as Hilda questioned him. At first he wouldn't say anything, until Rooso put a knife to his throat. The headman had no clue of the child's identity except he was a bastard and was good at climbing the tops of the apple trees. His wife had more information. Hilda threw a half-copper on the ground and left them scrabbling in the dirt.

  Sassy purred and calmed her temper.

  "A Draugr took the child," she told Rooso. "The Draugr will probably take
the child back to the castle."

  The headman screamed, crawled to her, and grabbed her legs. "Please take us. Please." He almost screamed as she pried him off her. Rooso had to hit him a few times before he fell to the ground and wept. The wife nodded at Hilda and then whispered in her husband's ear. Hilda was sure that the wife would have her husband settled quickly. After the nod, she also knew that the wife was smart enough to keep both of their mouths shut.

  Hilda and her men went back to the city and through the sewage. They needed to be through the tunnel before the sun started to light the city. The tunnel was as stinky as she remembered. This time the smell permeated her clothes and skin. When they got out, they hurried back to the inn. It would be full bathes for the both of them and then they would have to burn their clothes.

  She needed to plan the next move. She knew a few things. One, the Draugr must be killed. Two, the mage must be killed. Three, they needed to find out more about the child. Lastly, she needed to find a way to keep her inn. It wouldn't be long if they didn't find a way to pay their taxes that the whole lot of them would be on the streets.

  She had become soft. The inn with its beds and warmth had changed her from a mercenary to a civilian. It was her home, and she would defend it, fiercely.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Delhaven, port city

  Lord Barton's castle

  The Draugr sniffed the child, ready to take a bite, when the mage commanded him to put the boy on a cot in the tower. The mage sent the Draugr away with a piece of meat from the last experiment. The Draugr was looking gray and drained. He would need to feed more often or the mage would have to finish the transformation. The mage had held back from the full-transformation because he had learned from his experiments that when a person became a full-Draugr, he lost his reasoning power. The spymaster would be no good to him as full-Draugr.

  There was only a short window of time, where a Draugr could be held in transition. If the mage didn't finish the transformation, the Draugr would either kill himself or the mage would lose control when the Draugr turned completely. A Draugr was not as beautiful as a vampire undead. They didn't need to be. They just needed to be quick enough to catch prey. The prey that could run from the Draugr would be hunted for days, months, years until they were killed. The Draugr hunted by smell and were hard to kill, but in a transitional state they made the perfect servants for his work.

  He checked to see if the boy was awake yet. Either the boy was faking it or he was fast asleep. Since the boy was tied together with a piece of cloth around his mouth, the mage felt safe. The boy wouldn't be moving soon.

  The mage called for a maid. "I need a bath," he said. "Tub and water."

  He watched the house servants carry up the tub, and fill it with water. It took a lot of effort to carry buckets of warm water up the tower steps. As soon as it was filled he shooed the servants out of the tower.

  The mage woke the boy. The boy screamed and tried to pull away from the mage. "Don't, Don't." the boy screamed. The mage put a hand over his mouth. The boy bit him.

  The mage made a sign in the air and the boy quit crying although tears dripped from his eyes. The boy tried to scream and his face turned red, but there was no noise.

  With impatient hands, he stripped the boy. When the boy tried to pull away, the mage slapped him. The boy stood still until he was naked.

  "Get into the tub," he told the boy. The boy looked at the tub and then looked at the mage. The boy shook his head, no.

  The mage grabbed him around the waist and put him in the tub. "Sit down," he said. The mage was a little repulsed that he had to do this task. It was beneath him. The boy stunk. Mud and dirt was caked all over his body, face, arms, and legs. The boy had never bathed.

  He scrubbed the boy until his skin was red and raw. The miscreant wiggled and tried to get away from him. After the last slap, the boy stilled. He could tell that the boy hadn't been fed enough because his body was the size of a three-year-old. The boy had to be at least six years old to be the former Lord's bastard.

  When he finished scrubbing the boy, the bath water was black. He helped the boy dress and sat him on the cot.

  "Stay," he said as if the boy was a dog. He handed the boy a piece of hard bread to keep him busy. He called up the servants to take away the bath water. The house servants carefully looked away from him. They didn't lift an eyebrow at the filthy water. They had learned through past experience that if they upset the mage, one of them would disappear and never be seen again. Then they would have to deal with cleaning up blood from the floor and stairs. If truth be told, they were scared to death of the mage. Even Lord Barton didn't generate this much fear.

  Once the tub was taken away, the mage told the boy to stay in the tower. To make sure, he locked the door with a big key and then clipped it at his waist. Utmost discretion had to be taken for the next few steps. Lord Barton had to make the boy his own. No one could know that the bastard was actually Lord Barton's bastard brother.

  They couldn't hide that the boy had been born a bastard. So the mage went down the stairs to the Lord's chambers. The Lord dismissed his servants and his hanger-ons and they went into the back room to discuss what needed to be done.

  "Lord," the mage said "I have found the boy." It would do the mage no good if he disrespected the Lord now. To make his plans work, he needed the Lord's cooperation.

  Lord Barton nodded his head gracefully. He also had his plans for the boy that he had been working on for many years. He just needed the heir. Soon he would be terminating the mage's employment with extreme prejudice. He kept his smile hidden behind a hand.

  Because the mage had a high opinion of himself, he also underestimated Lord Barton's intelligence. The Lord had let him run with his little projects in hopes that the power would help Lord Barton's bid for the crown. The Lord was now eighth in line for the throne. With an heir and proof of his virility he might be closer.

  If he could get the little bastard trained in courtly procedures and start him on an education, they could be in the high-court by next year.

  "So where is he?" Lord Barton asked. He drank a shot of whiskey, then handed the mage one.

  "In my quarters, Lord," the mage answered. "I gave him a bath."

  Lord Barton nodded his head in approval. The little bastard, he would have to quit thinking of the boy like that, would have been filthy. "What was he? A pigkeeper? Farmer's boy?"

  "I think he picked apples for your table," the mage was amused at the Lord's speculation. It was like he wanted to humanize the boy, even though he was just a tool.

  "Bring the boy here," said Lord Barton. The mage gave a quick head bow and walked out the door. Lord Barton had one this round. The bargaining chip was the boy and the mage was willing to give him up. "Good," Lord Barton said to himself.

  He called in the Castellan. "Get Mr. Clarke." Just as the Castellan turned to go out the door, Lord Barton said "Get him yourself. I need him immediately."

  The Castellan scurried out the door. In a few minutes Mr. Clarke walked in. The man was tall and thin as if he had never trained for combat fighting. Most of the men Lord Barton knew were muscular and could swing a battle axe. Lord Barton reminded himself that he needed Mr. Clarke for his brain and not necessarily for his fighting skills. Mr. Clarke's hands were spattered in ink.

  "Your lordship," he said.

  "I have just found my son," he told Mr. Clarke. "You will be his tutor. He has not been trained and will need all the basics."

  Mr. Clarke nodded his head. "Plus," Lord Barton continued "You will have to make sure he is dressed properly. He has been living a village life for too long." Lord Barton raised his eyes to the heavens. "I have been looking for him for so long, praise god."

  Mr. Clarke was careful to keep his face solemn. From Mr. Clarke's point of view, the child would need protection from most of the people in this household. It had never been a good place for a child, but with the mage in resident the castle had a gloom to it that made sane fo
lks leave the place alone.

  The mage walked in with the boy securely in hand. The boy had some intelligence to his face. It was obvious that the boy had worked hard. There were calluses on his hands and feet. The boy was small like he had had too few meals. Compared to most noble children, he was stunted. The first thing Mr. Clarke was going to do to that child was to feed him.

  It was obvious that the mage had cleaned the child. His face was scrubbed to a rosy hue. Mr. Clarke nodded both to the mage and to the Lord, took the child in hand, and left. He found the Castellan outside the door, waiting for instructions.

  "The boy," said Mr. Clarke "needs food and a place to sleep. He is the Lord's new heir so a place near me would be best."

  The Castellan nodded his head and hurried away. He took the boy to his rooms to wait for the Castellan. Mr. Clarke was well aware that his fortunes could rise and fall with this boy. He wished he hadn't come to the attention of the black mage.

  "What is your name boy?" Mr. Clarke sat on a plush chair, the only expensive thing in the room, and stretched out his legs.

  The boy was sullen, no way around it. He looked down at his feet and mumbled. He figured that the word "John" came out of his mouth, but his words were so slaughtered by his unbreeding that Mr. Clarke sighed. It would take him years, not months to get this child trained.

  The boy swung his feet and then looked up at Mr. Clarke. He had anger in his eyes. Oh yes, Mr. Clarke could work with that. "You need to learn to speak up, boy," said his new tutor. "You also need to look people in the eyes. You are not a serf anymore."

  There was a knock on the door. A maid-servant brought in a plate of food full of different breads and cheese. She dipped towards the young boy and hurried out to fetch a pitcher of mulled wine. It was cut with water so was suitable for a young growing lad.

  The boy's face changed instantly. He looked longingly at the food. When Mr. Clarke nodded towards the food, he grabbed with his hands and pushed the bread into his mouth. "Stop," said Mr. Clarke, and under his breath he said, "I think we should start on our first lesson."