Hilda's Inn for Retired Heroes

by Cyn Bagley

  "Did you wash your hands, young man?"

  The boy looked astonished, "'m just eat'in." Mr. Clark had to strain to understand the boy's words.

  "Put the bread down, uh, uh, on the plate. Now see that pitcher of water?" The boy nodded his head yes. "Go wash your hands."

  The boy hopped off the wooden stool and hurried towards the pitcher. He splashed some of the water in the bowl, and it went over the bowl and on the dresser. Mr. Clarke restrained his temper. The boy would be trained, but not by harsh words.

  The hard soap by the dish was rubbed on his hands and he put his hands in water. Mr. Clarke came over and washed his hands after the boy. The boy watched him intently. Mr. Clarke suspected that the boy was smart enough to figure out the fine points of washing. The hard part would be to get the boy's respect.

  The boy walked back quickly to the stool and began to eat his first piece of bread. Mr. Clarke put some bread on a plate, picked up a knife and buttered it, and then he bit small pieces off the bread. The boy soon followed Mr. Clarke. They ate in silence. Mr. Clarke looked at the boy approvingly. He might be easier to train than he thought.

  He almost changed his mind after pointing at different objects in the room. He corrected the boy's speech over and over. After an hour both he and the boy were frustrated. Teaching the boy to speak would take more a long time.

  Soon Mr. Clarke was ready for a break. He took the boy out to the stables. When he saw the horses, the boy's face light up. He left the boy in the capable hands of the groom. He knew the boy would be shown how to brush a horse, muck the stables, and many of the important skills for caring for horses.

  Mr. Clarke went into the castle looking for the resident tailor. The tailor would have some underthings and over clothes so that the boy would look his rank. He assumed that the mage had already burned the boy's clothes from the village. He could keep his outer clothing for outside training.

  When he finished lining up the clothes and making sure the boy's bedroom was aired and the linens were fresh, he went to the armory. The boy would soon be old enough to start page training. He would consider talking to Lord Barton about sending the boy to another castle to start his training for knighthood. If the Lord really wanted this boy to take over, he would need to go through the same training as the other noble sons.

  But first things first, it would take a while to get the boy in the right physical conditioning. He might be taking a few of the castle boys to the river to swim. They could teach John and in the process the boy would become healthier. Mr. Clarke was worried about the boy's health. He was certain from his inspection that the boy should be checked for disease and then fed until he had gained a few pounds. It would be a balance between physical conditioning and mental conditioning.

  No time like the present to start.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Delhaven, port city

  Lord Barton's castle

  Lord Barton stood on the balcony overlooking the city. The people looked like ants going about their business. Just a little glow of satisfaction. He now had an heir. It would take some time to get this heir ready. There would be no fostering for this child. He needed the child's full loyalty.

  This child was a symbol of his fertility and his power. In the next few weeks he would fill the people's heart with terror. They would obey him or their families and children would be dead.

  Also with the help of the mage, Lord Barton would root out the magic folk. He wanted full control of all the power in the walled city. Once the magic and the magic uses were harnessed to him, then there would be no free magicians. All the mages would be property of his family. All towards one goal.

  His smile was cruel as he looked down on the people. His plans had been in fruition for years. The mage had provided good service and counsel. Once he enslaved another mage less volatile, then his mage would die. Lord Barton encouraged the lower servants to gossip about his mage. Some of the rumors were enlightening.

  When the mage was captured, he had prepared his own food, some porridge or some such, every day, and never letting anyone touch it. As the mage felt safer, he let the house servants bring the food to his tower. Only the strongest took the food up. The maids were terrified of the mage. Some of the servants had disappeared, never to be seen again.

  The rumors said that the mage had experimented on their unfortunate fellows. At the very least he had killed them in extremely grisly rituals. The house servants avoided the mage as much as possible.

  Lord Barton had been taught by his father to be a good steward of the people. He didn't like the people, but like his horses and cows if the people were treated properly then they performed well. Even a tyrant knew this much. The mage's cruel behavior was not necessary.

  You can't use the dead. You can only unmake a person. The spymaster was a good example. He had seen the Draugr come back from his last mission. His clothes were tattered. His hands and nails were crusted in dirt. The man's face was gray and his eyes had become completely black. Even his hair was scraggly and uncombed. The spymaster had been proud of that head of hair. He was not the same man, even with the mage's assurances that his intelligence was intact. It made Lord Barton shudder.

  The spymaster before his transformation had been a well-dressed, smart, well-spoken man. His advice had been invaluable. Lord Barton wondered who was handling the spymaster's string of spies.

  Oh Fool, he thought. I should have guessed. I have no one to blame, but myself. Why would the mage target the spymaster? To gain his spies. And I went along with it. The spymaster knew everything. Now he knows nothing. Only the mage would have the wherewithal to support the string of spies.

  He summoned his closest servant. "Mandrel," he said, "I need someone to watch the mage. Don't let him know."

  Mandrel bowed his head, his face hidden from Lord Barton. "It will be done, my Lord." Then he was gone.

  Mandrel had been with him for many years. He was non-descript, average height, average color, and average in all of his habits. He was another man that Lord Barton had rescued. Mandrel may not survive this assignment.

  Lord Barton went to back to his thoughts. To gain his goals, his estate needed growing and tending.

  Delhaven, port city

  Draugr

  The gloom settled on the street as Greta painfully dragged herself to a small alley where she kept a small box filled with her treasures. She slept there most nights since she lost her herbal business. She was a hedge witch who didn't have enough golds to fix her own leg.

  She was aware of her surroundings. Just a few days ago an older man, also on the streets had disappeared. She knew he was dead. If he were alive, he would have been back on his corner, hat on the ground, asking for pennies at the corner near "The Goat," a place where you could get food and ale for just pennies. It didn't taste good, but it sustained life.

  Before she reached her box, she saw a shadow leaning over her treasures. Instead of fear, she felt anger. This thing was stealing the last of her treasures. She dragged her leg and tried to get to the shadow before it stole everything. It turned around.

  When she saw the gray face under the shadowed hood, she screamed. It reached for her, picked her up, until her neck was near his mouth. She had only a few moments to feel the excruciating pain as he ripped into her neck. She was dead when he ripped her body apart and feasted on the flesh and blood. He smashed her treasures with her arm and then munched on it.

  The spymaster had never tasted anything so good, so live.

  At that moment he became fully Draugr. The last bit of his conscience died. His stomach was plump and he burped. He felt the strength of anger course through his body. As the night deepened he walked through the city, sniffing for blood and flesh. He was full now, but tomorrow night he would hunt again. Something younger perhaps. A child.

  By morning he was safe in the castle. The mage was too distracted to even connect these new deaths to him. The Lord thought he was dead already. He may not have a conscience, but he stil
l had a brain. The blood was sluggish and didn't nourish it as well as it should. It would have to do.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Delhaven, port city

  Marketplace

  The marketplace was a little sluggish this morning, only a few booths open and very few buyers looking at the food and other goods. Hilda sent Stefan and Davi to buy vegetables and gave Stefan a few other instructions. Since they had lost the Draugr a couple nights ago, Hilda thought Davi could walk the marketplace in hopes of scenting the Draugr's trail.

  Although not as good as a bloodhound, Davi wouldn't howl when he came across the scent of the Draugr. Also from Hilda's experience, hounds were deathly afraid of Draugrs. They whined, cried, and ran away from the scent. Hell, she was scared while trailing the thing. And, Stefan and Davi would be safer doing this in the daytime.

  Davi whistled and laughed, free for a short while from the inn. The tents and flags whipped in the breeze.

  Stefan walked beside Davi, watching the few people around them as Davi gaped and then enjoyed the feel of cobblestones against his feet, smells of cooking meat and sausages, and the sounds of people haggling. The slight warmth of the autumn sun hit his face, last remnants of summer before the kiss of winter.

  Even though Davi had the look of a young man, he still had that coltish look of a boy turning into a man.

  Soon they reached the vegetable stand. Stefan had given Davi the list of things they needed to get, mostly vegetables. As soon as he saw Davi at the stand, he pulled the boy away. "We'll come back later," he said.

  "I thought Miss Hilda would want the freshest vegetables," Davi's voice rose.

  "Young sir," said Stefan in amusement after he nodded at the stand owner. "She can't afford the freshest. We'll wait until they are picked over and then get our vegetables at a discount."

  Davi seemed a little discontented. Money was never a problem when you were a dragon. If he could just change into his form, it would be a few years yet, then he could get any gold he wanted. He would give it to Hilda. Of course, dragons didn't usually give up gold they had taken.

  They wandered through the marketplace. Every once in a while Stefan would stop and talk to a merchant. He would ask about the roads, about other cities, and about the cost of goods. Davi listened.

  Then Stefan would listen to the merchant gossip about the hardships of taking their goods down the roads. There had been a merchant train that had been robbed, and killed. The wagons filled with good was found in another marketplace. No one knew who had killed the merchants.

  This rumor had been going around the marketplace for the last two months. It had made many of the merchants scared enough to hire guards when they were going long distances.

  Stefan wasn't sure if the rumor was for the benefit of the guards, or if it had really happened. He tucked this bit of information into his head to pass to Hilda.

  It was almost mid-day when Davi began to sniff. Stefan watched him. Davi walked in circles for several minutes until Davi found the entrance to a small alley. Stefan followed. Hilda thought it better not to tell Davi that they were trying to follow a Draugr. To Davi it was just an interesting smell that didn't fit with the plants, animals, and people.

  When Davi started to walk faster, Stefan knew Davi was on the trail. They wandered through the back alleys and stopped at a bar. Then they shuffled out of the alley before the owners of the bar sent them on their way. Davi turned his head left and right to catch the scent.

  The trail wandered through the city, and then Davi stopped at the docks. This area was where the harder men lived and worked. Under a dock they found a floating body that had been bled dry. Flesh had been bitten out of its face, neck, and hands. They left it there, it wouldn't be good to have found a body, and continued away from the dock. Something, probably the Draugr, had been playing down here.

  It took the two of them hours, but they eventually ended up at the castle gates. Stefan pulled Davi away from the trail and they walked back to the marketplace. Hilda had warned him that the trail might lead to the Lord's castle. Davi was not to enter the castle for any reason. Secrets and more secrets.

  They took a circuitous route back to the marketplace and stopped in doorways to check if anyone was following. After a few of these precautions, Davi started to get impatient. Eventually they made it back to the marketplace and bought their vegetables.

  Just to make sure, Stefan took Davi through more sections of the small city before they wandered back to the Inn. By then Davi was tired and cranky. He still needed to check the horses. Rob would be waiting for him. By midnight he was tucked up in the hayloft, fast asleep.

  Stefan waited in the public room with a mug of ale. When Hilda nodded his head, he slipped into the little room behind the bar and waited. He sipped his ale and waited.

  When Hilda came to the back room, Stefan told her of the trail leading to the castle, plus the body they had found floating under the docks. The Draugr had slipped the leash of the mage and was still using the castle as a nest. The Draugr's reign of terror would increase as his need for flesh increased. She nodded her head at his conclusions. "We need to put him down."

  Stefan had been with Hilda during the war and had heard many stories about Draugrs. Just knowing that a Draugr was in their city was scared him. He would be carrying more weapons when he was outside of the inn.

  Stefan slipped back into the public room. Hilda sat and considered. She knew enough to suspect that a black mage in Lord Barton's employ had made the Draugr. She didn't know which was the greater danger - the mage or the Draugr.

  Sassy had hissed during their playtime that there was a way to burn out mage powers. Michael refused to talk about it though. The subject made him uncomfortable.

  In the morning she would warn her sister that the Draugr was now hunting around the docks. She shuddered when she thought of the devastation that could be caused by one Draugr.

  Delhaven, port city

  Lord Barton's castle

  Lord Barton sat in his chair reading Mr. Clarke's report on the child. The boy's name was John, a good strong family name. He wouldn't have to change the his name. Although, the boy looked about four, he was closer to seven years old. Lord Barton could feel the red climb his cheeks and he wanted to throw the report in the fire. Damn, his father, god rest his soul.

  He took a breath and tried to read the rest of the report.

  It was surprising that his father had only this one living bastard after the way he kept his mistresses. Lord Barton was more discreet. His father had spread his seed far and wide. Lord Barton had killed his father's bastards whenever he found them.

  It had angered Lord Barton that he had been unable to get a single boy through marriage or mistresses. He had tried marriage twice and lost both brides through tragic accidents when they didn't have sons. When he tried to marry a young girl, her father packed her off to the king's court. The gossip had already reached the aristocratic world that his brides tended to die early. Even if he had consummated a runaway marriage, the father would have gotten an annulment for his daughter. He was desperate to deceive the court. It had to work.

  If his King knew of his other peccadillo, pain, his ruin would be much much worse. But he was not the only courtier with a sadist streak. He would rather whip a woman than have sex with her. He had no fondness in his soul for anyone even his supposed heir. If the boy didn't live up to the standards, he would put him in his torture chamber and look for another. It was that simple.

  The previous Lord Barton did not have this same streak. It came from Lord Barton's mother. She liked to pinch until blood came to his arms. As a young child living under her care, he had bruises up and down his legs and arms. She told his father that the boy was active and clumsy.

  It had been a relief when he was fostered at Lord Resthold's castle. The other pages decided in the first few days that he was clumsy and not too bright. The pages had pulled him into dark corners and beat him. His only surcease had come from the torture ch
ambers.

  He would slip into the dungeons to watch the torturer at play. He would imagine that his tormentors, including his mother were put to the rack. His blood would rise, and in the excitement, he would feel sexual release as he watched the torture. When the victims died, he would be disappointed. Death as a release.

  Lord Barton sighed. It had been too long since he had played. It was time to time in the dungeons.

  Instead of sending for his torturer, he went down into the the castle torture rooms that were next to the dungeons. The stairs wound down into the earth as he touched the stone walls with his hands, pressing against the walls so that he wouldn't trip and fall. As he got closer to the rooms, he could hear a beat, more like a clang.

  He pulled open the wooden door and breathed a sigh. The smells of despair filled the room. In the corner of the room was an old torture machine, the Iron maiden, which was his particular favorite. One of the house servants was on her knees scrubbing the blood from the stone floor. She would scrub and then throw dirt on the blood, and then she would sweep it up. She kept her head down. The back of her neck was crisscrossed with scars from her time with the torturer.

  "My Lord," the torturer greeted him jollily. His face was round and he had a belly. This man had never forgotten a meal or an ale in his entire life. The Lord could see the sharp gleam in his eye. This man was ambitious, but careful. He had a leather apron over his clothes to keep the blood from him. It still splattered his face and arms.

  "What can I do for you, my lord," his manner, face, and body were servile. Lord Barton smiled.

  "What project do you have today," Lord Barton looked towards the table near the middle of the room. It looked like a young man in his early twenties.

  "Oh yes," the torturer bustled towards the table. "I'm afraid he is already dead."

  Lord Barton could see that the man had been bleed, beaten, carved, but was basically still in one piece. "I see."