Protector's Curse

by Keith Walsh

  “Not at all,” said Magnus, shaking his head. “Please, allow me,” he continued, stretching his hand out to stop Grott from standing. “Thank you,” said Grott, understanding the gesture and lowering himself back into his seat. “You will find a jug and tankards just inside the door behind the bar on the left,” he continued, pointing across his body at the door. Magnus stood, followed the direction of Grott’s pointing finger and moved towards the bar.

  “The water is in the first barrel on the right as you walk through the door,” added Grott after him. Magnus acknowledged this with a wave of his arm and continued walking, happy to have a moment’s respite from the awkward silence that hung over the table. As he disappeared through the door Durok cleared his throat and spoke.

  “Have some fruit and meat, maybe even a little bread but avoid the cheese if you’re feeling unwell,” he said, addressing Dallious and gesturing at the tray of food, his expression one of encouragement. Dallious paused for a moment but eventually he reached out and tentatively took a slice of peeled orange. He eyed the fruit for a moment, glanced at Durok, who nodded in return, then finally but gingerly put it in his mouth. His cheeks flushed at first but soon his taste buds welcomed the refreshing juicy sweetness that the orange released upon chewing. Swallowing the small mouthful he let out a sigh of relief as though he had just climbed a mountain.

  Durok smiled at him then, understanding exactly what he went through, and Dallious half-smiled back. “Tastes sweet. I’m not quite sure why but I expected it to be somewhat sour,” he said, reaching out and taking a slice of meat next. “Humph, how rude” chimed in Grott. “You eat a man’s food and then insult him while he sits watching you,” he added, frowning at Dallious.

  “I’m sorry,” replied Dallious. “I meant no offense,” he continued, his tone genuine. “I thank you for the food and the ale from earlier,” he added, before anyone else could speak. Grott seemed unmoved by his gratitude, casting a dismissive glance at Dallious.

  “Dear oh dear, you really can be a grumpy so-and-so,” said Durok, fixing a cynical look on Grott before laughing heartily. Grott gave him a hard stare before joining in with a chuckle of his own, waving him away. Dallious cast his eyes over both men during their exchange and although he allowed himself a slight smile he did not join in with the laughter. “What’s so funny?” asked Magnus returning to the table with a jug, presumably filled with water, in one hand and four tankards in the other.

  “Nothing really,” replied Durok, while shifting the tray of food to make more room for the jug and tankards. “I was simply teasing Grott about his winning personality,” he added, chuckling. Magnus smiled.

  “Oh that,” he said, pouring the water. “Yes, for someone who runs a busy tavern in town his manner can leave a lot to be desired from time to time,” he finished, still smiling and looking at Grott. The tavern keeper met the look with a sarcastic one of his own, then turned to Dallious and spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone sincere. “It’s just…” he trailed off for a moment as if considering the best way to express what he wanted to say.

  “Please, speak your mind freely,” encouraged Dallious, giving Grott his undivided attention. The landlord took an intake of breath, leaned back in his chair and raised his chin slightly, showing his appreciation of Dallious’ candour. “I feel you are somewhat responsible for what happened here last night,” he revealed at last, holding Dallious’ eye.

  Dallious looked away and thought for a moment. He could not remember much of what had transpired, but concentrating now, some of it started to come back to him. He remembered giving his coin to one of the Manson brothers and how he had tried to rise and confront them when the girl Beth was hurt, but not much else. Grott, Durok and Magnus remained silent during Dallious’ thoughts but he could feel their eyes upon him urging him back to the present.

  “I don’t remember much of last night,” he confessed, addressing Grott with an apologetic look. Grott listened, his expression unreadable. “But some of what I do remember is the girl…”

  “Beth,” interrupted Grott.

  “Yes, Beth,” continued Dallious, showing no hint of frustration at the fact he already knew that. “I remember her being hurt,” he added. “Almost killed more like,” retorted Grott angrily. “Is she all right?” asked Dallious with genuine concern and ignoring Grott’s anger.

  “No thanks to you,” replied Grott, Dallious’ concern doing nothing to ease his current mood. “Grott!” snapped Magnus, staring fiercely at the tavern keeper and noting he had his attention. “You cannot put sole blame on this man,” he said, nodding at Dallious while keeping his eyes fixed on the tavern keeper. “Do you forget he tried to help?”

  “Oh yes, I seem to remember him catching the unwanted attention of the Manson brothers by throwing his coin around carelessly and then when Beth had been all but killed he rose from his chair, like a true hero, only to fall over it and slump to the floor,” scolded Grott, sarcastically. “Help indeed,” he added, clearly fuming now. Magnus could feel his own temper rising slightly.

  “At least he tried Grott,” he said in a raised tone, glaring. “That is more than can be said of everyone else, including me,” he added, noting Grott’s now burning eyes. “I tried too,” said Grott. “Exactly,” said Magnus, regaining a small amount of control. “Tried… but you did no better though, did you?” he continued. Grott’s anger became such that he could not find the words to respond before Dallious spoke.

  “Please,” he said, raising his good hand in a placating gesture. “Do not fight on my behalf,” he continued looking between Grott and Magnus. “I do accept blame for the events of last night and I am truly sorry I could not do more to help when things got out of hand. I truly am.”

  “What has happened, happened,” chipped in Durok. “We should put it behind us and focus on what is the best thing to do next. And arguing isn’t that,” he added, leaning in and bracing himself on his elbows, hands clasped but with one finger raised. Both Grott and Magnus leaned back in their seats, taking a deep breath before releasing it through their nostrils. “I’m sorry Grott,” offered Magnus, leaning slightly on his left arm with his hand open apologetically.

  “No, no – I am sorry Magnus,” replied Grott, his anger subsiding, helped by Durok’s truthful logic. “And to you Dallious,” he continued, after a moment’s pause. “I apologise for being so negative towards you,” he added, with a slight bow. Dallious shook his head.

  “Think nothing of it Grott. I deserve the berating,” he admitted, nodding along with his words, arms crossed and resting on the table. “The truth is, I have not been myself of late.”

  “You owe us no explanation Dallious,” interjected Magnus, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. Dallious smiled warmly at the gesture, his mood light. “Thank you, but clearly keeping things to myself is not helping so perhaps talking a little about them will, if you would indulge a stranger?” he asked, his eyes passing over each of the three men in turn. Grott simply nodded.

  “Please,” responded Magnus, with a nod of his head and a wave of his hand, “feel free.” Durok shrugged and said, “Of course,” raising his hands. “Thank you,” Dallious said before taking pause, considering how exactly to start. The others waited patiently. “You see,” he began, addressing no one in particular. “Despite the impression I may have given over the last day and night, I have never been much of a drinker. A small amount of wine here or there with a meal maybe but nothing like what I have shown here.”

  “One could not have guessed judging by how much you can down in a sitting, but your lack of recovery the morning after betrays you to a trained eye such as mine,” said Grott. “Yes. I found that strange too,” added Durok. “You looked truly awful when you stumbled down here this morning.” Magnus just looked on, offering no response of his own.

  “Well, you are a perceptive man Grott, continued Dallious, offering a weak smile at the tavern keeper. “Several days ago, a man from my past came back into my life and t
urned it upside down.” Dallious’ mood darkened visibly as his thoughts settled on the image of Kalen. “I thought at worst he would take my life. A life I had finally found peace in. A life I had at last come to value.”

  Durok, Magnus and Grott all sat in silence, completely focussed on Dallious. “I couldn’t have been more wrong,” he said, staring blankly at the table, memories flooding back. “Death, in all its finality, would have been a kindness.” Dallious sniggered sarcastically then, shaking his head and catching the listening group off guard. “Although it explains why the bastard didn’t finish me when he had the chance,” he continued, the others settling. “Instead he allowed me to live, while taking from me any chance of vengeance,” he said, raising his right stump for the three men to see.

  “And then…” he paused for a moment, tears welling. He quickly rubbed them away, sniffling. Durok and Magnus looked at one another, than at Grott and each of them had sympathy in their eyes. “…he killed someone.” There came another pause and the tears flowed freely down Dallious’ face, and this time he made no effort to stem them. Instead he let them drip to the table below, impacting on its hard surface.

  Durok made to reach out and place a hand on Dallious’ shoulder but he caught Grott shaking his head and stopped. He looked quizzically at the tavern keeper who after slyly checking that Dallious paid no attention to him, squinted his eyes and mouthed the words “let it be.”

  Durok’s confused expression turned to one of realisation as an understanding of what Grott meant came to him. The tavern keeper was indeed a perceptive man and he knew it best to let Dallious’ emotions run unchecked. Magnus confirmed his agreement with the other two men with a slight nod after seeing that Dallious paid no heed to them, lost in his own thoughts.

  “Someone I loved…” continued Dallious through his tears, unaware of what had transpired between the others, “…with all my heart.” He covered his face with his hand briefly before pressing his palm onto the forehead and raking his fingers through his hair. He held that position for a while, visibly struggling to regain some control over his sobbing, but seemingly uncaring of what the others thought of his display.

  “All my skill, years of training, of fighting and my many victories. And the one time winning actually mattered most to me, I failed!” He let out a loud ragged breath. “I couldn’t save her,” he whispered, grabbing a lock of his hair and squeezing it tightly, an action, the others noticed, that would clearly cause considerable pain.

  “I tried,” he continued, releasing the grip on his hair. Durok wanted to speak. He wanted to console the man crying openly in front of three strangers but he knew he did not have the words. He felt tears well within his own eyes upon imagining how he would feel if Lucy were taken from him but he fought them back.

  Grott felt terrible. His treatment of Dallious had been nothing short of cold and for a man so perceptive he should have seen through the drunken ranting and aggressive outbursts. Durok was right, he had become a grumpy so-and-so.

  Magnus didn’t show much emotion. He sat with a confident, almost arrogant, look upon his face, his mind considering Dallious’ words. Skill, years of training, fighting and victories, he knew there to be more to the cripple then first appeared. Just as Dallious had seen through his lie about being a merchant traveller he could see more in Dallious. Fighters know fighters, he thought.

  “I tried,” repeated Dallious, still lost in thought, no longer talking to the others or perhaps even aware of their presence. At least that is how it seemed to them until, with a loud sniffle and a rub of his eyes, Dallious lifted his head and perked up ever so slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said, addressing each of the group now. “I don’t know what came over me,” he continued, sniffling some more and appearing to have regained his composure.

  Durok and Magnus seemed convinced that was the worst of it over with. “Please don’t apologise,” offered Durok. “You are obviously overcome with grief. I only wish I had the words…” he trailed off, a look of sympathetic resignation on his face. “Aye,” chipped in Magnus, trying hard not to show he was now more interested in what Dallious could do as a fighter, rather than his sob story from his past.

  Grott, on the other hand, remained silent. He knew Dallious had not broken through his grief that easily and waited patiently for whatever would follow. “I’m sorry,” said Dallious again much to the confusion of Durok and Magnus who looked at one another then to Grott as if seeking some understanding from him. He gave them a brief wink and although still confused they sat in silence.

  “I’m sorry,” repeated Dallious for a third time, his voice barely a whisper, his head sinking back into his chest and his hand returning to cover his face as the crying started again, this time more audible and openly then before. There he sat, untouched and uninterrupted, repeating the same words over and over again, crying uncontrollably, clear to the others that his apology was no longer for them.

  Grott sat with his lips pursed and eyed Magnus and Durok with an expression of pride that silently said ‘I knew that was coming.’ It was a look Durok acknowledged with a humble wry smile, while Magnus simply ignored it, instead casting a somewhat disappointed expression at the grief-stricken Dallious. His feelings towards the cripple had changed ever since the admission of his fighting skills.

  Almost as though Dallious could sense Magnus’ disapproving stare he stood abruptly, sending his chair crashing to the ground behind him. The sudden action mixed with the sound of the chair hitting the ground caused the others to jump.

  Standing now, Dallious snorted loudly and with some tears still present he locked eyes with Magnus, who squirmed in his seat under the fiery, judgemental glare. Durok immediately felt ill at ease and looked to Grott, who clearly felt the same but neither one of them opted to speak. “You are no merchant,” said Dallious, staring at Magnus accusingly.

  Magnus didn’t respond, still a little taken aback by Dallious’ sudden change in character. “You should have acted last night,” continued Dallious. Magnus, regaining some of his lost composure, met Dallious harsh stare and he considered, for a moment, a rebuttal but then realised that he agreed with the cripple and instead he looked away. Before Durok or Grott could offer any opinion or objection, Dallious spoke again. “Where is Beth?” he asked with a frown, focussing on Grott now.

  “She’s upstairs,” answered Grott, blinking. “Second room on the right,” he added, realising Dallious waited for more information and eager to be relieved from the intensity in his eyes. “My wife, Lucy, is with her,” said Durok, happy to see that when Dallious turned to him the intensity was not so prevalent. “Have they eaten yet?” asked Dallious, still looking at Durok, his expression easier. He was fond of the blacksmith.

  “Actually, no,” replied Durok, suddenly aware that he had forgotten to bring food to his wife and her patient, and feeling a little ashamed for it. Without another word Dallious picked up the tray, which still had a reasonable amount of food left on it, and ignoring his downed chair he made his way towards the stairs leading up to the rooms.

  None of the group raised any objection and as he reached the base of the stairs he stopped and turned. “Oh, and Grott,” he said, awaiting a response. “Yes,” replied Grott, turning to see Dallious standing proudly, tray in hand, shoulders back. “If the Manson brothers come here today, looking for trouble…” he trailed off, fixing Grott with a purposeful stare. “Ye… Yes,” replied Grott, his speech stuttering under the intense stare.

  “I will kill them.”

  And with that, Dallious turned on his heels and walked up the stairs and out of sight. “That’s the first time I have seen any backbone in the man,” said Grott, as the three remaining men looked at each other with bewildered expressions. “Aye,” replied Magnus. “I thought for a minute that the way he turned on me, it was as if he read my mind,” he added with a twist of his head. “Why did you think that?” asked Durok with a raised eyebrow, clearly confused by Magnus’ admission.

  “Well
, to be honest,” started Magnus, dividing his response between Durok and Grott. “I had not been thinking of him in a good light, ever since he claimed to be a skilled fighter.” With a deep breath Durok leaned back in his chair and stretched, considering for a moment what Magnus had just said.

  “He’s been through a lot,” Durok said eventually. “Fighter or not he is still only human and I can’t imagine how I would feel if someone took my Lucy from me,” he continued, leaning back into the table and bracing his arms upon it. “That’s true, I suppose,” replied Magnus, with a sarcastic smile, as though prepared to concede on Durok’s point but only a little.

  “It does not even bare thinking about,” chipped in Grott, looking at Durok, one hand by his side and the other resting on the table in a relaxed manner. “What?” responded Durok, raising his eyebrows again. “Losing Lucy,” said Grott, “in that way I mean.”

  “Oh,” replied Durok. “No, you’re right – it doesn’t.”

  “Take Beth for instance. Now she is not mine but it is no secret that I care dearly for the girl,” continued Grott, ignoring Durok’s response and making it obvious where he really wanted the conversation to go. “But my, when I saw her fall last night and lay still…” he paused for a moment, his mind revisiting the memory.

  “As you said…” offered Durok, holding his sentence long enough to be sure he had Grott’s attention again. “It doesn’t bare thinking about,” he finished, with an empathetic smile.

  “Yes,” said Grott, with an air of resignation, “you’re absolutely right.”

  Chapter 15

  Sister felt a presence emanating from behind her. “I know you’re there Ramous,” she said, resisting the urge to turn around.